Jhary frowned. 'An Earl Glandyth was mentioned in a tavern, I think - with some admiration. A mighty warrior, I gathered. The whole city seemed preparing for war, but I did not understand the issues or what they considered their enemies. I think they spoke of the land of Lywm-an-Esh with a certain amount of loathing. And they were expecting allies from across the sea.'
'Allies? From the Nhadragh Isles, perhaps?' Corum asked him.
'No. I think they spoke of Bro-an-Mabden.'
'The continent in the west!' Rhalina gasped. 'I did not know many Mabden still inhabited it. But what moves them to plan war against Lywm-an-Esh?'
'Perhaps the same spirit which led them to destroy my race,' Corum suggested. 'Envy - and a hatred of peace. Your people, you told me, adopted many Vadhagh customs. That would be enough to win them the enmity of Glandyth and his kind.'
'It is true,' Rhalina said. 'Then this means that we are not the only ones who are in danger. Lywm-an-Esh has not fought a war for a hundred years or more. She will be unprepared for this invasion.'
A servant brought in Jhary's clothes. They were clean and dry. Jhary thanked him and began to don them, as unselfconsciously as he had taken them off. His shirt was of bright blue silk, his flared panteloons were as bright a scarlet as Corum's robe. He tied a big yellow sash about his waist, and over this buckled a sword from which hung a scabbarded sabre and a long poignard. He pulled on soft boots which reached the knee and tied a scarf about his throat. His dark blue cloak he placed on the bench beside him, together with his hat (which he carefully creased to suit his taste) and his bundle. He seemed satisfied. 'You had best tell me all you think I need to know,' he suggested. 'Then I may be able to help you. I have gathered a great deal of information in my travels - most of it useless…'
Corum told him of the Sword Rulers and the Fifteen Planes, of the struggle between Law and Chaos and the attempts to bring equilibrium to the Cosmic Balance. Jhary-a-Conel listened to all of this and seemed familiar with many of the things of which Corum spoke.
When Corum had finished, Jhary said: 'It is plain that attempts to contact Lord Arkyn for help would, at this moment, be unsuccessful. Arioch's logic still prevails on these five planes and must be completely demolished before Arkyn and Law can know real power. It is ever the lot of mortals to symbolize these struggles between the gods and doubtless this war which seems likely between King Lyr-a-Brode and Lywm-an-Esh will mirror the war between Law and Chaos on other planes. If those who serve Chaos win - if King Lyr-a-Brode's army wins, in fact - then Lord Arkyn may yet again lose his power and Chaos will triumph. Arioch is not the most powerful of the Sword Rulers - Xiombarg has greater power on the planes she rules and Mabelode has even more power than Xiombarg. I would say that you have hardly experienced the real manifestations of Chaos's rule here.'
'You do not comfort me,' said Corum.
'It is perhaps better, however, to understand these things,' Rhalina said.
'Can the other Sword Rulers send aid to King Lyr?' Corum asked.
'Not directly. But there are ways of manipulating these things through messengers and agents. Would you know more of Lyr's plans?'
'Of course,' Corum told him. 'But that is impossible.'
Jhary smiled. 'I think you will discover that it is useful to have a companion to champions as experienced as myself in your employ.' And he stopped and reached into his bag.
He brought something out of the sack which, to their astonishment, was alive. It seemed unruffled by the fact that it had spent a day at least inside the sack. It opened its large, calm eyes and it purred.
It was a cat. Or, at least, it was a kind of cat, for this cat had resting on its back a pair of beautiful black wings tipped with white. Its other markings were black and white, like those of an ordinary cat, with white paws and a white muzzle and a white front. It seemed friendly and self-possessed. Jhary offered it food from the table and the cat ruffled its wings and began to cat hungrily.
Rhalina sent a servant for milk and when the little animal had finished drinking it sat beside Jhary on the bench and began to clean itself, first its face, paws and body and then its wings.
'I have never seen such an animal!' Beldan muttered.
'And I have never seen another like it in all my travels,' Jhary agreed. 'It is a friendly creature and has often aided me. Sometimes our ways part and I do not see it for an age or two, but we are often together and he always remembers me. I call him Whiskers. Not an original name, I fear, but he seems to like it well enough. I think he will help us now.'
'How can he help us?' Corum stared at the winged cat.
'Why, my friends, he can fly to Lyr's Court and witness what takes place there. Then he can return with his news to us!'
'He can speak?'
'Only to me - and even that is not speaking as such. Would you have me send him there?'
Corum was completely taken aback. He was forced to smile. 'Why not?'
'Then Whiskers and I will go up to your battlements, with your permission, and I will instruct him what to do.'
In silence the three watched Jhary adjust his hat on his head, pick up his cat, bow to them and mount the stairs that would take him to the battlements.
'I feel as if I dream,' said Beldan when Jhary had disappeared.
'You do,' said Corum. 'A fresh dream is just beginning. Let us hope we survive it.
CHAPTER TWO
The Gathering at Kalenwyr
The little winged cat flew swiftly Eastward through the night and came at last to gloomy Kalenwyr.
The smoke of a thousand guttering brands rose up from Kalenwyr and seemed to smear out the light of the moon. Square blocks of dark granite made up the houses and the castles and nowhere was there a curve or a soft line. Dominating the rest of the city was the brooding pile of King Lyr-a-Brode and around its black battlements flickered oddly coloured lights and there was a rumbling like thunder, though no clouds filled the night sky.
Towards this pile now flew the little cat, alighting on a tower of harsh angles and folding its wings. It turned its large, yellow eyes this way and that, as if deciding which way it would enter the castle.
The cat's fur prickled, the long whiskers for which it had been named twitched, the tail went stiff. The cat had become aware not only of sorcery and the presence of supernatural creatures in the castle, but of a particular creature which it hated more than all the rest. Its progress down the side of the tower became even more cautious. It reached a slotted window and squeezed in. It was in a darkened, circular room. An open door revealed steps winding down the inside of the tower. Tensely the cat made its way down the steps. There were plenty of shadows in which to hide, for Castle Kalenwyr was a shadowy place.
At last the cat saw brand-light burning ahead and it paused, looking warily around the door frame. The brands illuminated a long, narrow passage and at the end of the passage were the sounds of many voices, the clatter of arms and of wine-cups. The cat spread its wings and flew into the shadows of the roof, finding a long, blackened beam down which it could walk. The beam passed through the wall with a little room to spare and the cat squeezed through to find itself looking down at a huge gathering of Mabden. It walked further along the beam and then settled itself to watch the proceedings.
In the centre of Castle Kalenwyr's Great Hall was a dais carved from a single block of unpolished obsidian and upon this dais was a throne of granite studded with quartz. Some attempt had been made to carve gargoyles upon the stone, but the workmanship was crude and unfinished. Nonetheless, the half-shapes carved there were more sinister than if they had been fully realized.