Knight of the Swords

by Michael Moorcock

  The ship’s moaning dropped in pitch as it descended.

  “Have your sword ready, Master Jhary,” Corum said.

  Jhary’s sword was already in his hand. “There are ten or more of them,” he cautioned. “Two of us. Will you use your powers?”

  “I hope not. I am disgusted by all that is of Chaos.”

  “But, two against ten...”

  “There is the steersman. And the farmer.”

  Jhary pursed his lips but said no more. The ship bumped to the ground. The steersman emerged holding a long pole-axe.

  “Who are you?” came a nervous voice from within the low wooden house.

  “Friends,” Corum called. He said to the steersman: “Get the woman and children on board the craft.” He vaulted over the rail. “We’ll try to hold them off while you do that.”

  Jhary followed him and stood unsteadily on the ground. He was not used to a surface which did not move beneath him.

  The barbarians were approaching cautiously. The leader laughed when he saw how many there were to deal with. He gave a bloodthirsty yell, cast aside his brand, drew a huge mace from his belt and spurred his pony forward, leaping the wicker barricade the farmer had erected. Corum danced aside as the mace whizzed past his helmet. He lunged. The sword caught the man in the knee and he shouted in rage. Jhary jumped through the barricade and ran to pick up the discarded brand, the other horsemen on his heels. He dashed back into the farmyard and fired the wicker work. It began to splutter as another rider leapt his horse over it. Jhary flung his poignard and it went true to the barbarian’s eye. The man screamed and fell backwards off his pony. Jhary grabbed the reins and mounted the unruly creature, yanking savagely at the bit to turn it. Meanwhile the barricade was beginning to burn and Corum dodged the mace which was studded with the fangs of animals. He saw an opening, lunged again and caught the barbarian in the side. The man went forward over his pony’s neck, clutching at his wound, and was borne away across the farmyard. Corum saw others trying to force their horses to brave the smoky blaze.

  Now Bwydyth was helping the farmer’s young wife carry a cot to the Sky Ship.

  Two boys and an older girl came with them. The farmer, still a little dazed by what was happening, came last, holding the rusty broadsword in both hands.

  Three riders leapt suddenly through the barricade and bore down on the group.

  But Jhary was there. He had recovered his poignard and he flung it again.

  Again it went straight into the eye of the nearest rider, again the rider fell backwards, his feet easily coming free from the leather loops he used as stirrups. Corum dashed for the pony and leapt into the saddle, flinging up his sword to protect himself from a heavy war-axe aimed at him. He slid his sword down the haft of the axe and forced the man to shorten his grip on it so that it was hard to bring back. While the man struggled to raise the axe Jhary took him from the rear, stabbing him through the heart so that his sabre-point appeared on the other side of the barbarian’s body. There were more barbarians now. The farmer had hacked the legs of a pony from under one and before the warrior could disentangle himself had split him from shoulder to breastbone, using the sword rather like a woodman would use an axe.

  The children and the woman were on board the ship. Corum took another barbarian in the throat and leant down to pull at the farmer who was hacking blindly at the corpse. He pointed at the ship. The farmer did not seem to understand at first, but then dropped his bloody broadsword and ran to the ship.

  Corum slashed at his last opponent and Jhary dismounted to recover his poignard. Corum turned the horse, extended an arm to Jhary who sheathed his weapons and took the arm, riding in the stirrup until they reached the Sky Ship. They both hauled themselves aboard. The ship was already rising through the smoky air. Two riders were left staring up at the disappearing ship. They did not look happy, for they had expected an easy slaying and now most of their number were dead and their prey was escaping.

  “My stock,” said the farmer, looking down.

  “You are alive,” Jhary pointed out.

  Rhalina was comforting the woman. The Margravine had drawn her sword, ready to join the men if they were too hard-pressed. It lay on the seat near-by.

  Now she held the smallest boy in her arms and stroked his hair.

  Jhary’s cat peered out from a locker under the seat, was assured that the danger was over and fluttered up to settle again on its master’s shoulder.

  “Do you know anything of their main army?” Corum asked the farmer. The Prince in the Scarlet Robe dabbed at a minor wound he had received on his mortal hand.

  “I have heard - heard things. I have heard that it is not a human army at all.”

  “That may be true,” Corum agreed, “but do you know its whereabouts?”

  “It is almost upon Halwyg - if not there already. Pray, sir, where do you take us?”

  “I fear it is to Halwyg,” Corum told him.

  The Sky Ship sailed on over the desolated land. And now they could see that the bands of outriders were larger - plainly part of the main army. Many noticed the ship’s passage over their heads and a few cast their lances at it or shot an arrow or two before returning to their burning, their raping and their murder.

  It was not these that Corum feared but the sorcery which Lyr-a-Brode might now command.

  The farmer was peering earthwards. “Is it all like this?” he asked grimly.

  “As far as we know. Two forces march on Halwyg - one from the East and one from the South-West. I doubt if the barbarians of Bro-an-Mabden are any more merciful than their comrades.” Corum turned away from the rail.

  “I wonder how Llarak-an-Fol fared,” said Rhalina as she cradled a sleeping child. “And did Beldan stay there or was he able to continue with our men to Halwyg? And what of the Duke?”

  “We shall know all this soon, I hope.” Jhary allowed a little dark-haired boy to stroke his cat. The cat bore the assault with gravity.

  Corum moved nervously about the deck, peering ahead to seek Halwyg’s beflowered towers.

  Then, “There they are,” said Jhary softly. “There’s your host from Hell.”

  Corum looked down and saw the tide of flesh and steel that swept across the land. Mabden horsemen in their thousands. Mabden charioteers. Mabden infantry. And things which were not Mabden - things summoned by sorcery and recruited from the Realms of Chaos. There was the Army of the Dog - huge, loping beasts the size of horses, more vulpine than canine. There was the Army of the Bear - each massive bear walking upright and carrying a shield and a club. And there was the Army of Chaos itself - misshapen warriors like those they had met earlier in the yellow abyss, led by a tall horseman in dazzling plate armour which clothed him from head to foot - doubtless the messenger of Queen Xiombarg of whom they had heard.

  And just ahead of the host’s leaders were the walls of Halwyg-nan-Vake, looking from this distance like a huge, complicated floral model.

  Drums sounded from the ranks of the host of Hell. Harsh trumpets cried out the Mabden bloodlust. Horrid laughter rose towards the Sky Ship and howls escaped the throats of the Army of the Dog - mocking howls that anticipated victory.

  Corum spat down on the horde, the stench of Chaos now strong again in his nostrils. His mortal eye changed to burning black with an iris of flaming gold as his anger seized him and he spat a second time upon the flowing vileness below. He made a noise in his throat and his hand went to the hilt of his sword as he remembered all his hatred of the Mabden who had slain his family and maimed him. He saw the banner of King Lyr-a-Brode - a crude, tattered thing bearing the Sign of the Dog and the Sign of the Bear. He sought to find his great enemy, Earl Glandyth-a-Krae, amongst the ranks.

  Rhalina called, “Corum - do not waste your strength now. Calm yourself and save your energy for the fight which must yet come!”

  He sank down upon the seat, his mortal eye slowly fading back to its original colour. He panted like one of the dogs that marched below and the jewel
s covering his faceted, alien eye seemed to shift and glitter with a different rage from his own...

  Rhalina shivered when she saw him thus, with hardly any trace of the mortal about him. He was like some possessed demi-god of the darkest legends of her people and her love of him turned to terror.

  Corum buried his ruined head in his grafted, six-fingered hand and whimpered until the mood was driven out of him and he could look up and seem sane again. His rage and his fight to vanquish it had exhausted him. Pale and limp he lay back in the seat, one hand on the brass rail of the Sky Ship as it began to circle down over Halwyg.

  “Not much more than a mile away,” Jhary murmured. “They’ll have surrounded the walls by the morning, if not stopped.”

  “What army of ours could stop them?” Rhalina asked him hopelessly. “Lord Arkyn

  ’s reign is to be short-lived I fear.”

  The drums continued to rattle out their jubilation. The trumpets continued to blare their triumph. The howls of the Army of the Dog, the grunts of the Army of the Bear, the cacklings and shriekings of the Army of Chaos, the ground-shaking thunder of the ponies” hooves, the rumble of the iron-bound chariot wheels, the clatter of the war-gear, the creak of harness, the bellowing laughter of the barbarians, all seemed to come closer with each heartbeat as the horde of Hell swept inevitably towards the City of the Flowers.

  The Second Chapter

  The Siege Begins

  The Sky Ship circled lower and lower over the tense and silent city as the sun began to set and the towers echoed the sounds of the satanic horde still marching relentlessly towards it.

  The streets and parks of Halwyg were packed with weary soldiers, camped wherever they could find an open space. Flowers had been trampled underfoot and edible shrubs had been stripped to feed the red-eyed warriors who had been driven back to Halwyg by the barbarian force. They were so tired that only a few looked up when the Sky Ship passed over their heads on its way to the roof of King Onald’s palace. It landed on deserted battlements but almost immediately guards, in the murex-helms and the mother-o”-pearl breastplates, bearing the round shell shields of Lywm-an-Esh, with spears and swords, rushed up to apprehend them, doubtless thinking they were enemies. But when they saw Rhalina and Corum they lowered their weapons in relief. Several of them were wounded from previous encounters with the barbarian host and all looked as if they would be improved by more than a night’s sleep.

  “Prince Corum,” said the leader, “I will tell the king that you are here.”

  “I thank you. In the meantime I hope some of your men will help these people here, whom we saved from Lyr’s men a short time back.”

  “It will be done, though food is scarce.”

  Corum had considered this. “The Sky Ship here can forage for you, though it must not be endangered. It may find a little food.”

  The steersman took a scroll from inside his jerkin and handed it to Corum.

  “Here, Prince Corum, are the rare substances our city needs if it is to attempt to crash once again through the Wall Between the Realms.”

  “If Arkyn can be summoned,” Corum told him, “I will give him this list, for he is a god and therefore more knowledgeable about such things than any of us.” In Onald’s simple room, still covered with maps of his land, they found the grim-faced king.

  “How fares your nation, King Onald?” Jhary-a-Conel asked him as they entered.

  “It is scarcely a nation any longer. We have been forced further and further back until barely all that’s left of us is gathered here in Halwyg.” He pointed at a large map of Lywm-an-Esh and he spoke in a hollow voice. “The County of Arluth-a-Cal - taken by the sea-raiders from Bro-an-Mabden - the County of Pengarde and its ancient capital Enyn-an-Aldarn - burned - it flames all the way to Lake Calenyk by all reports. I have heard that the Duchy of Oryn-nan-Calywn still resists them in its most Southern mountains, as does the Duchy of Haun-a-Gwyragh - but Bedwilral-nan-Rywm is completely taken, as is the County of Gal-a-Gorow. Of the Duchy of Palantyrn-an-Kenak, I do not know...”

  “Fallen,” said Corum.

  “Ah - fallen...”

  “They close in now from all quarters it seems,” Jhary said, looking carefully at the map. “They landed along each of your coasts and then systematically began to tighten their circle - the whole horde converging on Halwyg-nan-Vake. I would not have thought barbarians capable of such sophisticated tactics - or of keeping to them even if they thought of them...”

  “You forget Xiombarg’s messenger,” Corum said. “He doubtless helped them make this plan and trained them in its manipulation.”

  “You speak of the creature all in brilliant armour that rides at the head of his deformed army?” King Onald said.

  “Aye. What news have you of him?”

  “None that can help us. He is invulnerable, by all accounts, but, as you say, has much to do with the organizing of the barbarian army. He rides often at King Lyr’s side. His name, I have heard, is Gaynor - Prince Gaynor the Damned...”

  Jhary nodded. “He figures often in such conflicts. He is doomed to serve Chaos through all eternity. So now he is Queen Xiombarg’s lackey, is he? It is a better position than some he has attained to in the past - or the future

  - whichever it is...”

  King Onald looked oddly at Jhary and then continued. “Even without the aid of Chaos they would outnumber us ten to one. With our better weapons and superior tactics we might have resisted them for years - at least kept them on our coasts - but this Prince Gaynor advises them on every move. And his advice is good.”

  “He has had plenty of experience,” said Jhary, rubbing at his chin.

  “How long can you withstand a siege?” Rhalina asked the king.

  He shrugged and stared miserably out of the window at his crowded city. “I know not. The warriors are all weary, our walls are not particularly high, and Chaos fights on Lyr’s side...”

  “We had best hasten to the temple,” Corum said, “and see if Lord Arkyn can be summoned.”

  Through the packed streets they rode, seeing hopeless faces on all sides.

  Carts cluttered the broad avenues and camp-fires burned on the lawns. Half the army seemed to bear wounds of one description or another and others were inadequately armed and armoured. It hardly seemed that Halwyg could stand Lyr’

  s first assault. The siege would not be long, thought Corum as he tried to make faster headway through the throng.

  At last they reached the temple. The grounds of this were packed with sleeping, wounded soldiers and Aleryon-a-Nyvish, the priest, was standing in the entrance to the temple as if he had known they were coming.

  He welcomed them eagerly. “Did you find aid?”

  “Perhaps,” answered Corum. “But we must speak with Lord Arkyn. Can he be summoned?”

  “He awaits you. He came not a few moments since.”

  They strode rapidly into the cool darkness. Mattresses filled it but they were at this time unoccupied. They awaited the wounded and the dying. The handsome shape which Lord Arkyn had chosen to assume stepped from the shadows. “How fared you in Xiombarg’s Realm?”

  Corum told him what had transpired and Arkyn looked disturbed by what he heard. He stretched out his hand. “Give me the scroll. I will seek the substances needed by the City in the Pyramid. But it will take even me some time to locate them.”

  “And in the meanwhile the fate of two besieged cities is in doubt,” Rhalina said. “Gwlãs-cor-Gwrys in Xiombarg’s Realm and Halwyg-nan-Vake here. The destiny of one depends upon the other.”

  “Such mirrorings are common enough in the struggle between Law and Chaos,”

  murmured Jhary.

  “Aye - they are,” agreed Lord Arkyn. “But you must try to hold Halwyg until I return. Even then we cannot be sure that Gwlãs-cor-Gwrys will still be standing. Our one advantage is that Queen Xiombarg now concentrates upon two battles - the one in my Realm and the one in her own.”

  “Yet her messenger Prince G
aynor the Damned is here and seems to represent her adequately,” Corum pointed out.

  “If Gaynor were destroyed,” Arkyn said, “much of the barbarian advantages would go. They are not natural tacticians and without him there will be some confusion.”

  “But their numbers alone represent a mighty big advantage,” Jhary said. “And then there is the Army of the Dog and the Army of the Bear...”

  “Agreed Master Jhary. Still, I say, your most important enemy is Gaynor the Damned.”

  “But he is indestructible.”

  “He can be destroyed by one as strong and as fate-heavy as himself.” Arkyn looked significantly at Corum. “But it would take much courage and could mean that both would be destroyed...”

  Corum inclined his head. “I will consider what you have said, Lord Arkyn.”

  “And now I go.”

  The handsome figure vanished and they were left alone in the temple.

  Corum looked at Rhalina and then he looked at Jhary. Neither met his gaze.

  They both knew what Lord Arkyn had asked of him - of the responsibility which had been put upon his shoulders.

  He frowned, fingering the jewelled patch on his eye, flexing the fingers of the six-fingered alien hand extending from his left wrist.

  “With the Eye of Rhynn and the Hand of Kwll,” he said. “With Shool’s obscene gifts which were grafted to my soul almost as wholly as they were grafted to my body, I will attempt to rid this Realm of Prince Gaynor the Damned.”

  The Third Chapter

  Prince Gaynor the Damned

  “He was once a hero,” said Jhary as they stood on the walls that night, peering out at the thousand campfires of the Chaos army surrounding the city, “this Prince Gaynor. He, too, fought on the side of Law. But then he fell in love with something - perhaps it was a woman - and became a renegade, throwing in his lot with Chaos. He was punished - punished some say, by the Power of the Balance. Now he may never serve Law or know the pleasure of Law. Now he must serve Chaos eternally, just as you, eternally, serve Law...”