The Eternal Champion

by Michael Moorcock

  “And I shall always love you, Erekosë. You will live for ever, but…”

  “There is no proof of that,” I said gently. “And I am by no means invulnerable, Iolinda. I sustained enough cuts and bruises in my weapons practice to realise that!”

  “You will not die, Erekosë.”

  “I would be happier if I shared your conviction!”

  “Do not laugh at me, Erekosë. I will not be patronised!”

  “I am not laughing at you, Iolinda. I am not condescending to you. I only speak the truth. You must face that truth. You must.”

  “Very well,” she said. “I will face it. But I feel that you will not die. Yet, I have such strange premonitions—I feel that something worse than death could befall us.”

  “Your fears are natural, but they are baseless. There is no need for gloom, my dear. Look at the fine armour I wear, the powerful sword I bear, the mighty force I command.”

  “Kiss me, Erekosë.”

  I kissed her. I kissed her for a long time and then she broke from my arms and ran to the door and was gone.

  I stared at the door, half thinking of running after her, of reassuring her. But I knew that I could not reassure her. Her fears were not really rational—they reflected her constant sense of insecurity. I promised myself that later I would give her proof of security. I would bring constants into her life—things she could trust.

  Trumpets sounded. King Rigenos was coming aboard.

  A few moments later the king entered the cabin, tugging off his crowned helm. Katorn was behind him, as sullen as ever.

  “The people seem enthusiastic,” I said. “The ceremony seemed to have the effect you desired, King Rigenos.”

  Rigenos nodded wearily. “Aye.” The ritual had plainly taken much from him and he slumped into a hanging chair in the corner and called for wine. “We’ll be sailing soon. When, Katorn?”

  “Within the quarter-hour, my lord king.” Katorn took the jug of wine from the slave who brought it and poured Rigenos a cup without offering one to me.

  King Rigenos waved his hand. “Would you have some wine, Lord Erekosë?”

  I declined. “You spoke well in the hall, King Rigenos,” I said. “You fired us with a fine bloodlust.”

  Katorn sniffed. “Let us hope it lasts until we get to the enemy,” he said. “We have some raw soldiers sailing on this expedition. Half our warriors have never fought before—and half of those are boys. There are even women in some detachments, I’ve heard.”

  “You seem pessimistic, Lord Katorn,” I said.

  He grunted. “It is as well to be. This finery and grandeur is all right for cheering up the civilians, but it’s best you don’t believe it yourself. You should know, Erekosë. You should know what real war is all about—pain, fear, death. There’s nothing else to it.”

  “You forget,” I said. “My memory of my own past is clouded.”

  Katorn sniffed and gobbled down his wine. He replaced the cup with a clatter and left. “I’ll see to the casting off.”

  The king cleared his throat. “You and Katorn…” he began, but broke off. “You…”

  “We are not friends,” I said. “I dislike his surly, mistrustful manner—and he suspects me of being a fraud, a traitor, a spy of some sort.”

  King Rigenos nodded. “He has hinted as much to me.” He sipped his wine. “I told him that I saw you materialise with my own eyes, that there is no question you are Erekosë, that there is no reason not to trust you—but he persists. Why, do you think? He is a sane, sensible soldier.”

  “He is jealous,” I said. “I have taken over his power.”

  “But he was as agreed as any of us that we needed a new leader who would inspire our people in the fight against the Eldren!”

  “In principle, perhaps,” I said. I shrugged. “It does not matter, King Rigenos. I think we have worked out a compromise.”

  King Rigenos was lost in his own thoughts. “There again,” he murmured, “it could have nothing to do with war, at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gave me a candid look. “It might concern matters of love, Erekosë. Katorn has always been pleased by Iolinda’s manner.”

  “You could be right. But again there is nothing I can do. Iolinda seems to prefer my company.”

  “Katorn might see it as mere infatuation with an ideal rather than a real person.”

  “Do you see it as that?”

  “I do not know. I have not talked to Iolinda about it.”

  “Well,” I said, “perhaps we shall see when we return.”

  “If we return,” said King Rigenos. “In that, I must admit, I’m in agreement with Katorn. Overconfidence has often been the main cause of many defeats.”

  I nodded. “Perhaps you are right.”

  There came shouts and cries from outside and the ship lurched suddenly as the ropes were cast off and the anchors hauled in.

  “Come,” said King Rigenos. “Let us go out on deck. It will be expected of us.” Hastily he finished his wine and placed his crowned helmet upon his head. We left the cabin together and, as we came out, the cheering on the quayside swelled louder and louder.

  We stood there waving to the people as the drums began to pound out the slow rowing rhythm. I saw Iolinda seated in her carriage, her body half-turned to watch as we left. I waved to her and she raised her own arm in a final salute.

  “Goodbye, Iolinda,” I murmured.

  Katorn darted me a cynical look from the corner of his eye as he passed to supervise the rowing.

  Goodbye, Iolinda.

  The wind had dropped. I was sweating in my war-gear, for the day was oppressed by a great flaming sun, blazing in a cloudless sky.

  I continued to wave from the stern of the swaying vessel, keeping my gaze on Iolinda as she sat there erect in her carriage, and then we had rounded a bend in the river and saw only the rearing towers of Necranal above and behind us, heard only the distant cheering.

  We beat down the Droonaa River, moving fast with the current towards Noonos of the Jewelled Towers—and the fleets.

  9

  AT NOONOS

  OH THESE BLIND and bloody wars…

  “Really, Bishop, you fail to understand that human affairs are resolved in terms of action.”

  Brittle arguments, pointless causes, cynicism disguised as pragmatism.

  “Would you not rest, my son?”

  “I cannot rest, Father, while the Paynim horde is already on the banks of the Danube.”

  “Peace…”

  “Will they be content with peace?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “They won’t be satisfied with Vietnam. They won’t be content until the whole of Asia is theirs… And after that, the world.”

  “We are not beasts.

  “We must act as beasts. They act as beasts.”

  “But if we tried…”

  “We have tried.”

  “Have we?”

  “Fire must be fought with fire.”

  “Is there no other way?”

  “There is no other way.”

  “The children…”

  “There is no other way.”

  A gun. A sword. A bomb. A bow. A vibrapistol. A flame lance. An axe. A club.

  “There is no other way.”

  * * *

  On board the flagship that night, as the oars rose and fell and the drum continued its steady beat and the timbers creaked and the waves lapped at the hull, I slept poorly. Fragments of conversations. Phrases. Images. They tumbled in my tired brain and refused to leave me in peace. A thousand different periods of history. A million different faces. But the situation was always the same. The argument—made in myriad tongues—did not change.

  Only when I rose from my bunk did my head clear and at length I resolved to go on deck.

  What sort of creature was I? Why did it seem that I was for ever doomed to drift from era to era and act out the same rôle wherever I went? What trick—what cosmic joke had
been played upon me?

  The night air was cool on my face and the moonlight struck through the light clouds at regular intervals so that the beams looked like the spokes of some gigantic wheel. It was as if the chariot of a god had sunk through the low cloud and become embedded in the coarser air beneath.

  I stared at the water and saw the clouds reflected in it, saw them break to reveal the moon. It was the same moon I had known as John Daker. The same bland face could be made out staring down in contentment at the antics of the creatures of the planet it circled. How many disasters had that moon witnessed? How many foolish crusades? How many wars and battles and murders?

  The clouds moved together again and the waters of the river grew black as if to say that I would never find the revelation I sought.

  I looked to the banks. We were passing through a thick forest. The tops of the trees were silhouetted against the slightly lighter darkness of the night. A few night animals voiced their cries from time to time and it seemed to me that they were lonely cries, lost cries, pitiful cries. I sighed and leaned against the rail and watched the water creamed grey by the slashing oars.

  I had better accept that I must fight again. Again? Where had I fought before? What did my vague memories mean? What significance had my dreams? The simple answer—the pragmatic answer (or certainly one that John Daker could have best understood)—was that I was mad. My imagination was overwrought. Perhaps I had never been John Daker. Perhaps he, too, was another crazed invention.

  I must fight again.

  That was all there was to it. I had accepted the rôle and I must play it to the finish.

  My brain began to clear as the moon set and dawn lightly touched the horizon.

  I watched the sun rise, a huge scarlet disc moving with steady grandeur into the sky, as if curious to discover the sounds that disturbed the world—the beat of the drum, the crack of the oars.

  “You are not sleeping, Lord Erekosë. You are eager, I see, to do battle.”

  I felt I did not need Katorn’s banter added to the burden. “I thought I would enjoy watching the sun rise,” I said.

  “And the moon set?” Katorn’s voice implied something that I could not quite grasp. “You seem to like the night, Lord Erekosë.”

  “Sometimes,” I said. “It is peaceful,” I added as significantly as I could. “There is little to disturb a man’s thoughts in the night.”

  “True. You have something in common with our enemies, then.”

  I turned impatiently, regarding his dark features with anger. “What do you mean?”

  “I meant only that the Eldren, too, are said to prefer the night to the day.”

  “If it is true of me, my lord, “I said, “then it will be a great asset to us in our war with them if I can fight them by night as well as by day.”

  “I hope so, my lord.”

  “Why do you mistrust me so, Lord Katorn?”

  He shrugged. “Did I say that I did? We struck a bargain, remember?”

  “And I have kept my part of it.”

  “And I mine. I will follow you, do not doubt that. Whatever I suspect, I will still follow you.”

  “Then I would ask you to discontinue these little jibes of yours. They are naïve. They serve no purpose.”

  “They serve a purpose for me, Lord Erekosë. They ease my temper—they channel it into a suitable area.”

  “I have sworn my oath to Humanity,” I told him. “I will serve King Rigenos’s cause. I have my own burdens to bear, Lord Katorn.”

  “I am deeply sympathetic.”

  I turned away. I had come close to making a fool of myself—appealing to Katorn for mercy, almost, by claiming my own problems as an excuse.

  “Thank you, Lord Katorn,” I said coldly. The ship began to turn a bend in the river and I thought I could see the sea ahead. “I am grateful for your understanding.” I slapped at my face. The ship was passing through a cloud of midges hovering over the river. “These insects are irritating, are they not?”

  “Perhaps it would be best if you did not allow yourself to be subjected to their intentions, my lord,” Katorn replied.

  “Indeed, I think you are right, Lord Katorn. I will go below.”

  “Good morrow, my lord.”

  “Good morrow, Lord Katorn.”

  I left him standing on the deck and staring moodily ahead.

  In other circumstances, I thought, I would slay that man.

  As it was, there seemed a growing chance that he would do his utmost to slay me. I wondered if Rigenos were correct and Katorn was doubly jealous of me—jealous of my reputation as a warrior, jealous of Iolinda’s love for me.

  I washed and dressed myself in my war-gear and refused to bother myself with all these pointless thoughts. A little later I heard the helmsman shout and went on deck to see what his call signified.

  Noonos was in sight. We all crowded the rails to get a glimpse of this fabulous city. We were half blinded by the glare from the towers for they were truly jewelled. The city flared with light—a great white aura speckled with a hundred other colours, green and violet and pink and mauve and ochre and red, all dancing in the brighter glow created by a million gems.

  And beyond Noonos lay the sea—a calm sea gleaming in the sunshine.

  As Noonos came closer, the river widened until it was clear that this was where it opened into the ocean. The banks became more and more distant and we kept closer to the starboard bank, for that was the bank on which Noonos was built. There were other towns and villages dotted amongst the wooded hills overlooking the river mouth. Some of them were picturesque, but they were all dominated by the port we were approaching.

  Now seabirds began to squeal around our topmast and, with a great flapping of wings, settle in the yards and squabble, it appeared, for the best spot in the rigging.

  The rhythm of the oars became slower and we began to back water as we approached the harbour itself. Behind us the squadron of proud ships dropped anchor. They would join us later when the pilot had come out to give them their mooring order.

  Leaving our sister ships behind, we rowed slowly into Noonos, flying the standard of King Rigenos and the standard of Erekosë—a black field supporting a silver sword.

  And the cheering began again. Held back by soldiers in armour of quilted leather, the crowds craned their necks to see us as we disembarked. And then, as I walked down the gangplank and appeared on the quayside, a huge chanting began that startled me at first when I realised what the word was that they were chanting.

  “EREKOSË! EREKOSË! EREKOSË! EREKOSË!”

  I raised my right arm in salute and almost staggered as the noise increased until it was literally deafening. I could barely refrain from covering my ears!

  Prince Bladagh, Overlord of Noonos, greeted us with due ceremony and read out a speech that could not be heard for the shouting, and then we were escorted through the streets towards the quarters we were to use while making our brief stay in the city.

  The jewelled towers were not disappointing, though I noticed that the houses built closer to the ground made a great contrast. Many of them were little better than hovels. It was quite plain where the money came from to encrust the towers with rubies, pearls and emeralds.

  I had not noticed this great disparity between the rich and the poor in Necranal. Either I had been too impressed by the newness of the sights or the royal city took pains to disguise any areas of poverty, if they indeed existed.

  And there were ragged people here, to go with the hovels, though they cheered as loudly as the rest, if not louder. Perhaps they blamed the Eldren for their misery.

  Prince Bladagh was a sallow-featured man of about forty-five. He had a long, drooping moustache, pale, watery eyes and his gestures were those of an irritable but fastidious vulture. It emerged, and I was not surprised, that he would not be joining us in our expedition but would remain behind “to protect the city”—or his own gold most likely, I thought.

  “Ah, now, my liege,”
he muttered as we reached his palace and the jewelled gates swung back to admit us (I noticed that they would have shone better if they had been cleaned). “Ah, now—my palace is yours, King Rigenos. And yours, too, Lord Erekosë, of course. Anything you need.”

  “A hot meal—and a simple one,” King Rigenos said, echoing my own sentiments. “No banquets. I warned you not to make a large ceremony of this, Bladagh.”

  “And I have not, my liege.” Bladagh looked relieved. He did not seem to me to be a man who enjoyed spending money. “I have not.”

  The meal was simple, though not particularly well-prepared. We ate it with Prince Bladagh, his plump, stupid wife, Princess Ionante, and their two scrawny children. Privately I was amused at the contrast between the city seen from a distance and the appearance and way of life of its ruler.

  A short while later the various commanders who had been assembling in Noonos for the past several weeks arrived to confer with Rigenos and myself. Katorn was among them and was able to outline very succinctly and graphically the battle plans we had worked out between us in Necranal.

  Among the commanders were several famous heroes of the Two Continents—Count Roldero, a burly aristocrat whose armour was as workmanlike and free from decoration as my own; also there was Prince Malihar and his brother, Duke Ezak, both of whom had been through many campaigns; Earl Shanura of Karakoa, one of the farthest provinces and one of the most barbaric. Shanura wore his hair long, in three plaits that hung down his back. His pale features were gaunt and criss-crossed with scars. He spoke seldom and usually to ask specific questions. The variety of the faces and the costumes surprised me at first. At least, I thought ironically, Humanity was united on this world, which was more than could be said for the world John Daker had left. But perhaps they were only united for the moment, to defeat the common enemy. After that, I thought, their unity might well suffer a setback. Earl Shanura, for instance, did not seem too happy about taking orders from King Rigenos, whom he probably considered soft.

  I hoped that I could keep so disparate a group of officers together in the battles that were to follow.