Andrew Offutt: The Undying Wizard

It was on the landing above the sprawling main chamber they sat and ate, for they would not join those corpses and bones and tattered clothing below, nor cared any to remove the remains of corpse-slain Britons and the others… men on whom death had heeds been brought twice.

Cormac rose, stretched, looked about, and gave them a wolfish grin.

“We should have seen to armour and weapons afore we fed our bellies,” he said, and there were sour looks and groans. “But-hunger spoke more loudly than the weapon-man’s instinct. Now, though… we must rub and with care, for water is no friend to steel, and salt water is worse-and in our steel rests our lives!”

“What boots steel against an enemy already dead?” Findbar grumbled.

“Leave your blades and armour as they are then, son of Lirchin,” Cormac said, and he assumed the posture familiar to those who wore coats or shirts of linked steel. Once his belt was opened and removed, he hitched up the skirts of his mailcoat-and bent forward from the waist until his hands slapped the

floor. With legs braced, he wiggled his torso and shook his shoulders-and forty pounds of steel links slid clinking and jingling down his body and arms. With one hand he coaxed the weighty mass at his neck, and his mailcoat jingled off over his head to form a smallish pile on the floor. Only fools attempted to press such weight as if removing an ordinary shirt, and then but once.

Straightening, he peeled off the padded coat beneath, and with a wrinkling of noses all knew that soon they must endure not just that of Cormac mac Art, but the odorous sweat of all their number.

Seating himself on the floor in wet tunic and leggings, Cormac proceeded to the examination and rubbing of his armour. His sword scabbard was propped against the wall upside down. The long brand lay beside it, though it bore no trace of seawater. He had been more than mindful of protecting blade and sheath, and had reminded and warned his companion.

The oil all weapon-men carried was rubbed into leathern armour; steel coats were carefully rubbed and wiped with cloth; a bale of linen had been brought from the ship for that purpose, though it was far too fine.

Armour, Wulfhere Hausakluifr of the Danes observed, was finer.

“Someone stinks abominably,” he also observed, without looking up from his clinking mail.

“ Some one!”

Wulfhere grinned; Cormac chuckled. “Would that all that bluster today had brought rain as well,” Samaire said, aware of her own addition to the odour in the narrow, longish defense hall.

“Rain will come,” Bas said, and once again the entire company stared at him.

Cormac pursed his lips. “Tonight?”

“On the morrow, more likely,” the druid said in a careless tone.

“Ye know this?” Brian asked in a voice little above a whisper.

“Rain will come,” Bas said, and seemed to vanish within himself once more. He had no armour to see to, but sat crosslegged in his woolen robe that must have weighed twenty pounds with its burden of sea water.

“Druid,” Wulfhere said, rubbing and rubbing, shifting links, rubbing and rubbing. “Ye said it was your talk to Behl and Crom and whatever other gods of Eirrin brought down the sky-fire at… him . I had as much reason to believe it was Father Odin and his son the Thunderer. Now ye’ve said that Quester and all aboard it will be safe on the morrow, and too that rain will come. No such clouds I saw today-nor does this old wound in my… ham bespeak its coming.” The Dane paused; Bas mac Miall said naught. “An all this comes to pass, Druid of Eirrin, I shall bethink myself of… changing my allegiances.”

Far away, thunder rumbled.

Samaire smiled. “Thor heard, Wulfhere-or is it Thunor?”

“Behl,” the druid said, sounding as though he spoke from a deep well, “heard.”

There was silence long upon them, then, but for the clink of mail and the swish of cloth.

At last Ros mac Dairb of Dun Dalgan rose and started for the steps. Instantly Cormac challenged.

“Where go ye, Darb’s son?”

Ros paused, looked back. “Nature calls.” Then he remembered,’ catching his lip in his teeth for a moment like a child caught in the wrong. “Och! Each in sight of the others-but mayhap two or several others also have need to make a little rain of our own?”

Cormac showed them his almost-smile, nodded, and returned his attention to his mailcoat. It had been long with him, and was valuable, and had proven itself among his best friends-with sword and buckler-on many occasions. He was more methodical in its cleaning than any man he had ever known. A single rust spot could weaken a link so that a swordpoint would enter! Never had mac Art lost so much as one link to rust.

Ros and three others left, close together.

“Small value that be to me ,” Samaire muttered.

“When they return,” Cormac said, “you and Wulfhere and I will go and examine the stars.”

Samaire’s eyes rose; so did the Dane’s. “Wulfhere!”

After a moment he rumbled, “I know how to stand close, with my back turned, weapon-companion.”

After another moment, Samaire and another actually managed to laugh.

And so it was accomplished, and when all had sallied forth and returned, Cormac rose, stripped his leggings to reveal what none but Wulfhere and Samaire had seen afore: very pale, hairy legs with bulging calves and thighs solid as biceps. He spread padded coat and leggings on the floor and leaned against the outer wall to gaze upon them.

He told, then, all he knew of Thulsa Doom, and when he’d done, their exclamations and questions consumed as much time as his narrative.

“It is only with me, then, that Thulsa Doom had quarrel,” he said quietly, when questions had dribbled away and he had silenced them again. “To-day or on the morrow, all of you could take your leave, and most likely in safety.”

“Methinks we have covered this point afore,” Brian na Killevy said.

“Aye,” Wulfhere said, and others nodded.

“It’s foolish ye all be,” Cormac told them.

“No more foolish than yourself,” Wulfhere told him in an equable tone.

“Time approaches, Champion of Eirrin,” Samaire said, “when ye should still your foolish tongue that we may all sleep.”

Cormac appeared to take no note of either remark. It’s not giving myself up for dead I am. Ye all can take Amber Rowan , and the booty, and go. I shall follow, in Quester . I have coped with Thulsa Doom afore, and-”

“You and I will. follow in Quester ,” Wulfhere said.

“And I,” Brian said, and they began again, until Cormac’s look again brought silence.

Into that new quiet Osbrit said hopefully, “I was navigator on Amber Rowan . The sea I know, and-”

Ros was staring at the Briton; he interrupted. “Can ye handle her alone?”

Osbrit shook his head.

“Then ye’ll not be going,” Ros told him, and Brian and Wulfhere grinned.

Cormac said, “We must sleep. After this day of fruitless toil, it will not come hard. Remember: None must leave this group.” He swept them with his gaze, and decided to be more graphic. “For he who does will then be prey for Thulsa Doom, and when next we see our companion he will be Thulsa Doom.”

He looked around about at them, and he saw fear and apprehension in their faces. Good , Cormac mac Art thought. Let them be fearful-let us all be fearful. Else-Thulsa Doom wins, and I am no such fool as to believe he will let any of this company live.

Next day it did indeed rain, and they were able to catch drinking water aplenty. It was good that they did; they left not the island that day, either.

Chapter Seventeen: