hardening his heart to the sight of her grief, blaming himself for letting himself fall in love with the woman.
With all the men he could muster who had some knowledge of shipcraft, Corum descended the steps that led from below the castle floor down through the rock to the sea caves where the ships lay. He found one skiff that was in better repair than the others and he had it hauled upright and inspected.
Rhalina had been right. There was a great deal of work to be done before the skiff would safely ride the waters.
He would wait impatiently, though now that he had a goal—no matter how wild—he began to feel a lessening of the weight that had been upon him.
He knew that he would never tire of loving Rhalina, but that he could never love her completely until his self-appointed task had been accomplished.
He rushed back to the library to consult the book she had mentioned. He found it and discovered the name of the island.
Svi-an-Fanla-Brool. Not a pleasant name. As far as Corum could make out it meant "Home of the Gorged God." What could that mean? He inspected the text for an answer, but found none.
The hours passed as he copied out the charts and reference points given by the captain of the ship that had visited Moidel's Mount thirty years before. And it was very late when he sought his bed and found Rhalina there.
He looked down at her face. She had plainly wept herself to sleep.
He knew that it was his turn to offer her comfort.
But he had no time . . .
He undressed. He eased himself into the bed, between the silks and the furs, trying not to disturb her. But she stirred.
"Corum?"
He did not reply.
He felt her body tremble for a moment, but she did not speak again.
He sat up in bed, his mind full of conflict. He loved her. He should not love her. He tried to settle back, to go to sleep, but he could not.
He reached out and stroked her shoulder.
"Rhalina?"
"Yes, Corum?"
He took a deep breath, meaning to explain to her how strongly he needed to see Glandyth dead, to repeat that he would return when his vengeance was taken.
Instead he said, "Storms blow strongly now around Moidel's Castle. I will set aside ray plans until the spring. I will stay until the spring."
She turned in the bed and peered through the darkness at his face. "You must do as you desire. Pity destroys true love, Corum."
"It is not pity that moves me."
"Is it your sense of justice? That, too, is . . ."
"I tell myself that it is my sense of justice that makes me stay, but I know otherwise."
"Then why would you stay?"
"My resolve to go has weakened."
"What has weakened it, Corum?"
"Something quieter in me, yet something, perhaps, that is stronger. It is my love for you, Rhalina, that has conquered my desire to have immediate revenge on Glandyth. It is love. That is all I can tell you."
And she began to weep again, but it was not from sorrow.
The Tenth Chapter
A Thousand Swords
Winter reached its fiercest. The towers seemed to shake with the force of the gales that raged around them. The seas smashed against the rocks of Moidel's Mount and sometimes the waves seemed to rise higher than the castle itself.
Days became almost as dark as night. Huge fires were lit in the castle, but they could not keep out the chill that was everywhere. Wool and leather and fur had to be worn at all times and the inhabitants of the castle lumbered about like bears in their thick garments.
Yet Corum and Rhalina, a man and a woman of alien species, hardly noticed the winter's brawling. They sang songs to each other and wrote simple sonnets concerning the depth and passion of their love. It was a madness that was upon them (if madness is that which denies certain fundamental realities) but it was a pleasant madness, a sweet madness.
Yet madness it was.
When the worst of the whiter had gone, but before spring elected to show herself; when there was still snow on the rocks below the castle and few birds sang in the gray skies above the bare and
With all the men he could muster who had some knowledge of shipcraft, Corum descended the steps that led from below the castle floor down through the rock to the sea caves where the ships lay. He found one skiff that was in better repair than the others and he had it hauled upright and inspected.
Rhalina had been right. There was a great deal of work to be done before the skiff would safely ride the waters.
He would wait impatiently, though now that he had a goal—no matter how wild—he began to feel a lessening of the weight that had been upon him.
He knew that he would never tire of loving Rhalina, but that he could never love her completely until his self-appointed task had been accomplished.
He rushed back to the library to consult the book she had mentioned. He found it and discovered the name of the island.
Svi-an-Fanla-Brool. Not a pleasant name. As far as Corum could make out it meant "Home of the Gorged God." What could that mean? He inspected the text for an answer, but found none.
The hours passed as he copied out the charts and reference points given by the captain of the ship that had visited Moidel's Mount thirty years before. And it was very late when he sought his bed and found Rhalina there.
He looked down at her face. She had plainly wept herself to sleep.
He knew that it was his turn to offer her comfort.
But he had no time . . .
He undressed. He eased himself into the bed, between the silks and the furs, trying not to disturb her. But she stirred.
"Corum?"
He did not reply.
He felt her body tremble for a moment, but she did not speak again.
He sat up in bed, his mind full of conflict. He loved her. He should not love her. He tried to settle back, to go to sleep, but he could not.
He reached out and stroked her shoulder.
"Rhalina?"
"Yes, Corum?"
He took a deep breath, meaning to explain to her how strongly he needed to see Glandyth dead, to repeat that he would return when his vengeance was taken.
Instead he said, "Storms blow strongly now around Moidel's Castle. I will set aside ray plans until the spring. I will stay until the spring."
She turned in the bed and peered through the darkness at his face. "You must do as you desire. Pity destroys true love, Corum."
"It is not pity that moves me."
"Is it your sense of justice? That, too, is . . ."
"I tell myself that it is my sense of justice that makes me stay, but I know otherwise."
"Then why would you stay?"
"My resolve to go has weakened."
"What has weakened it, Corum?"
"Something quieter in me, yet something, perhaps, that is stronger. It is my love for you, Rhalina, that has conquered my desire to have immediate revenge on Glandyth. It is love. That is all I can tell you."
And she began to weep again, but it was not from sorrow.
The Tenth Chapter
A Thousand Swords
Winter reached its fiercest. The towers seemed to shake with the force of the gales that raged around them. The seas smashed against the rocks of Moidel's Mount and sometimes the waves seemed to rise higher than the castle itself.
Days became almost as dark as night. Huge fires were lit in the castle, but they could not keep out the chill that was everywhere. Wool and leather and fur had to be worn at all times and the inhabitants of the castle lumbered about like bears in their thick garments.
Yet Corum and Rhalina, a man and a woman of alien species, hardly noticed the winter's brawling. They sang songs to each other and wrote simple sonnets concerning the depth and passion of their love. It was a madness that was upon them (if madness is that which denies certain fundamental realities) but it was a pleasant madness, a sweet madness.
Yet madness it was.
When the worst of the whiter had gone, but before spring elected to show herself; when there was still snow on the rocks below the castle and few birds sang in the gray skies above the bare and
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