“I was told that now Lord Arkyn has returned he will attempt to regain all the power he once had over the world. But he needs mortals as his agents and of these agents Corum is the most important—but it is certain that most of the folk of Lywm-an-Esh will serve Arkyn, too, for they learned the ways of the—the Shefanhow—long since…”
“So all our suspicions were correct,” King Lyr said in quiet triumph. “We do well to ready for war against Lywm-an-Esh. We fight against that soft degeneration misnamed as Law!”
“And you would agree that it is my duty to destroy this Corum?” Glandyth asked.
The king frowned. Then he raised his head and looked directly at Glandyth. “Aye.” He waved his hand. “Now take that stinking Shefanhow from this hall. It is time to summon the Dog and the Bear!”
* * *
High on the central roof beam the little cat felt its fur stiffen. It was inclined to leave the hall there and then, but made itself stay. It was loyal to its master and Jhary-a-Conel had told it to witness all that passed during Lyr’s gathering.
Now the warriors had packed themselves around the walls. The women had been dismissed. Lyr himself left his throne and the whole centre of the hall was now barren of men.
A silence fell.
Lyr clapped his hands from where he stood, still surrounded by his Grim Guard.
The doors of the hall opened and prisoners were brought in. There were young children and women and some men of the peasant class. All were comely and all were terrified. They were wheeled into the hall in a great wicker cage and some of the children were wailing. The imprisoned adults made no attempt to comfort the children any longer, but clutched at the wicker bars and stared hopelessly out into the hall.
“Aha!” King Lyr cried. “Here is the food of the Dog and the Bear. Tender food! Tasty food!” He relished their misery. He stepped forward and the Grim Guard stepped forward too. He licked his lips as he inspected the prisoners. “Let the food be cooked,” he commanded, “so that the smell will reach into Yffarn and whet the appetites of the gods and draw them to us.”
One of the women began to scream and some of them fainted. Two of the young men bowed their heads and wept and the children looked out of their cage uncomprehendingly, merely frightened by the fact of their imprisonment, not of the fate which was to come.
Ropes were passed through loops at the top of the cage and men hauled on the ropes so that the entire contraption was raised towards the roof beams.
The little cat shifted its position, but continued to observe.
A huge brazier was wheeled in next and placed directly below the cage. The cage rocked and swayed as the prisoners struggled. The eyes of the watching warriors glowed in anticipation. The brazier was full of white-hot coals and now servants came with jars of oil and flung it upon the coals so that flames suddenly roared high into the air and licked around the wicker cage. A horrid ululation came from the cage then—a dreadful, incoherent noise which filled the hall.
And King Lyr-a-Brode began to laugh.
Glandyth-a-Krae began to laugh.
The earls and the counts and the dukes and the captains of his Court all began to laugh.
And soon the screams subsided and were replaced by the crackling of the fire, the smell of roasting human flesh.
Then the laughter died and silence came again to the hall as the warriors waited tensely to see what would happen next.
Somewhere beyond the walls of Castle Kalenwyr—somewhere out beyond the town—beyond the darkness of the night—there came a howling.
The little cat drew itself further back along the beam, close to the opening which led into the passage beyond the hall.
The howling grew louder and the flames of the great brazier seemed to be chilled by it and went out.
Now there was pitch darkness in the hall.
The howling echoed everywhere, rising and falling, sometimes seeming to die and then rising to an even louder pitch.
And then it was joined by a peculiar roaring sound.
These were the sounds of the Dog and the Bear—the dark and dreadful gods of the Mabden.
* * *
The hall shuddered. A peculiar light began to manifest itself over the vacant throne.
And then, wreathed in radiance of unpleasant and unnameable colours, a being stood on the granite dais and it turned its muzzle this way and that, sniffing for the feast. It was huge and it stank and it stood upon its hind legs like a parody of those who, quaking, observed it.
The Dog sniffed again. Noises came from its throat. It shook its hairy head.
Still from somewhere came the other sound—the sound of grunting and roaring. This now grew louder and louder and, hearing it, the Dog cocked its head on one side and paused in its sniffing.
A dark blue light appeared on the dais on the opposite side of the throne. It took a form and the Bear stood there—a great, black bear with long, black horns curling from its head. It opened its snout and grimaced, displaying its pointed fangs. It reached out towards the charred wicker cage and it ripped it down from where it hung.
The Dog and the Bear fell upon the contents of the cage, stuffing the roasted human flesh into their mouths, growling and snuffling and choking, crunching the bones with the bloody juices running down their snouts.
And then they were finished and they lounged on the dais and glared around them at the silent, fearful mortals.
Primitive gods for a primitive people.
For the first time King Lyr-a-Brode left his circle of guards and walked towards the throne. He lowered himself to his knees and raised his arms in supplication to the Dog and the Bear.
“Great lords, hear us!” he moaned. “We have learned that Lord Arag has been slain by our enemy the Shefanhow who is in league with our enemies of Lywm-an-Esh, the Sinking Land. Our cause is threatened and thus is your own rule in danger. Will you aid us, lords?”
The Dog growled. The Bear snuffled.
“Will you aid us, lords?”
The Dog cast its fierce eyes about the hall and it seemed that the same feral glint was in every other eye there. It was pleased. It spoke.
“We know of the danger. It is greater than you think.” The voice was clipped, harsh and it did not come easily to the canine throat. “You will have to marshal your strength quickly and march swiftly upon our enemies if those we serve are to retain their power and make you, in turn, stronger.”
“Our captains are already gathered, my lord the Dog, and their armies come to join them at Kalenwyr.”
“That is good. Then we shall send you the aid we can send.” The Dog turned its huge head and regarded its brother the Bear.
The Bear’s voice was high-pitched but easier to understand.
“Our enemies will also seek aid, but they will have greater difficulty in finding it, for Arkyn of Law is still weak. Arioch—whom you call Arag—must be brought back to his rightful place to rule these planes again. But if he is to do this a new heart must be found for him and a new fleshly form. There is only one heart and one form which will serve—the heart and form of his banisher, Corum in the Scarlet Robe. Complicated sorcery will be required to prepare Corum once he is captured—but captured he must be.”
“Not slain?”
It was Glandyth’s disappointed tones.
“Why spare him?” said the Bear.
And even Glandyth shuddered.
“We leave now,” said the Dog. “Our aid will arrive soon. It will be led by one who is a messenger to the Great Gods themselves—to the Sword Ruler of the next plane, Queen Xiombarg. He will tell you more than can we.”
And then the Dog and the Bear were gone and the stink of the cooked human flesh hung in the black hall and King Lyr’s quaking voice called through the darkness. “Bring brands! Bring brands!”
The doors were opened and a dim, reddish light fell down the middle of the hall. It showed the dais, the throne, the torn wicker cage, the extinguished brazier, and the kneeling, shuddering kin
g.
Lyr-a-Brode’s eyes rolled as he was helped to his feet by two of his Grim Guards. He did not seem to relish the responsibility which his gods had implied was his. He looked almost pleadingly at Glandyth.
And Glandyth was grinning and Glandyth was panting like a dog about to feast on fresh-caught prey.
* * *
The little cat crept down the beam, along the passage, up the stairs to the tower. And it went away on weary wings, back to Castle Moidel.
3
LYWM-AN-ESH
IT WAS A still, warm afternoon in high summer and a few wisps of white cloud lay close to the horizon. Bright, gentle blossoms stretched across the sward for as far as the eye could see, growing right down to where the yellow sand divided the land from the flat, calm ocean. All the flowers were wild, but their profusion and variety gave the impression that they had once been planted as part of a vast garden which had been left untended for many years.
Just recently a small, trim schooner had beached on the sand and out of it had emerged a bright company, leading horses down makeshift gangplanks. Silks and steel flashed in the sunlight as the whole complement abandoned the craft, mounted its steeds and began to move inland.
The four leading riders reached the sward and their horses moved knee-deep through wild tulips as soft and richly coloured as velvet. The riders took deep breaths of the marvelously scented air.
All save one of the riders were armoured. One, tall and strange-featured, wore a jeweled patch over his right eye and a six-fingered jeweled gauntlet upon his left hand. He had a high, conical helm, apparently of silver, with an aventail of tiny silver links suspended from staples round the lower edge of the helm. His byrnie was also of silver, although its second layer was of brass, and his shirt, breeks and boots were of soft brushed leather. He had a long sword at his side, its pommel and guard decorated with delicate silverwork as well as red-and-black onyx. In a saddle sheath was a long-hafted war-axe with decorations matching those on the sword. On his back was a coat of a peculiar texture and of brilliant scarlet and on this were crossed a quiver of arrows and a long bow. This was Prince Corum Jhaelen Irsei in the Scarlet Robe, caparisoned for war.
Next to Prince Corum rode one who also wore mail, though with an elaborate helm fashioned from the shell of the giant murex and with a shield which was also made from shell. A slender sword and a lance were the weapons of this rider and she was the beautiful Margravine Rhalina of Allomglyl, caparisoned for war.
At Rhalina’s side rode a handsome young man with a helm and shield that matched hers, a tall lance and a short-hafted war-axe, a sword and a long, broad-bladed baselard. His long cloak was of orange samite and matched the sleek coat of his chestnut mare whose jeweled harness was probably worth more than the rider’s own gear. And this was Beldan-an-Allomglyl, caparisoned for war.
The fourth rider wore a broad-brimmed hat which was somewhat fastidiously tilted on his head and which now sported a long plume. His shirt was of bright blue silk and his pantaloons rivaled the scarlet of Corum’s cloak, there was a broad yellow sash about his waist with a well-worn leather sword belt supporting a sabre and a poignard. His boots reached to the knee and his long, dark blue cloak was so long that it stretched out to cover the whole of his horse’s rump. A small black-and-white cat was perched upon his shoulder, its wings folded. It was purring and seemed to be an animal of singularly pleasant disposition. The rider occasionally reached up to stroke its head and murmur to it. And this was the sometime traveler, sometime poet, sometime companion to champions Jhary-a-Conel and he was not seriously caparisoned for war.
Behind them came Rhalina’s men-at-arms and their women. The soldiers wore the uniform of Allomglyl, with helms, shields and breastplates made from the gigantic crustaceans that had once populated the sea.
It was a handsome company and it blended well with the landscape of the Duchy of Bedwilral-nan-Rywm, most easterly county in the land of Lywm-an-Esh.
They had left Castle Moidel behind them after a vain attempt had been made to awaken the huge bats that slept in the caves below the castle (“Chaos creatures,” Jhary-a-Conel had murmured, “they’ll be hard to press into our service now.”) and Lord Arkyn, doubtless concerned with more pressing matters, had failed to answer their call to him. It had become plain that Castle Moidel could no longer be defended, when the winged cat had brought back its news, and they had decided to ride all together to the capital of Lywm-an-Esh which was called Halwyg-nan-Vake and warn the king of the coming of the barbarians from the east and the south.
As he looked around him Corum was impressed by the beauty of the landscape and thought he could understand how such a lovely land had produced in a Mabden race so many characteristics he would normally call Vadhagh.
It was not cowardice which had made them abandon Moidel’s Mount but it was caution and the knowledge that Glandyth would waste many days—perhaps weeks—by planning and launching an attack on the castle they no longer occupied.
The main city of the Duchy was called Llarak-an-Fol and it would be a good two days’ ride before they reached it. Here they hoped to get fresh horses and some information concerning the present state of the country’s defenses. The duke himself lived in Llarak and had known Rhalina as a girl. She was certain he would help them and that he would believe the tale they brought. Halwyg-nan-Vake lay another week’s ride, at least, beyond Llarak.
Corum, although he had suggested much of their present plan, could not rid from his head some sense that he was retreating from the object of his hatred and part of him wanted to turn back to Moidel and wait for Glandyth’s coming. He fought the impulse but the conflict in him often made him gloomy and a poor companion.
The others were more cheerful, delighting in the fact that they were able to help Lywm-an-Esh prepare for an attack which King Lyr-a-Brode thought would be unexpected. With superior weapons, there was every chance of the invasion being completely thwarted.
Only Jhary-a-Conel sometimes had the task of reminding Rhalina and Beldan of the fact that the Dog and the Bear had promised aid to King Lyr, though none knew what form that aid would take and how powerful it would be.
They camped that night on the Plain of Blossoms and by the next morning had reached rolling downlands. Beyond the downs, sheltered by them, lay Llarak-an-Fol.
Then, in the afternoon, they came to a pleasant village built on both sides of a pretty stream and they saw that the village square was full of people who stood around a water trough upon which was balanced a man in dark robes who addressed them.
They reined in on the slope of the hill and watched from a distance, unable to make anything of the babble they heard.
Jhary-a-Conel frowned. “They seem rather agitated. Do you think we are late with our news?”
Corum fingered his eye-patch and considered the scene. “Doubtless nothing more than some local village affair, Jhary. Let’s you and I ride down there and ask them.”
Jhary nodded and, after a word with the others, they rode rapidly towards the village.
Now the dark-robed man had seen them and their company and he was pointing and shouting. The villagers were plainly disturbed.
As they entered the village street and drew close to the crowd, the dark-robed man, whose face was full of madness, screamed at them. “Who are you? On which side do you fight? Do you come to destroy us? We have nothing for your army.”
“Hardly an army,” murmured Jhary. Then more loudly he called, “We mean you no harm, friend. We are passing this way on our journey to Llarak.”
“To Llarak. So you are on the duke’s side! You will help bring disaster on us all!”
“By what means?” Corum called.
“By leaguing yourselves with the forces of weakness—with the soft, degenerate ones who speak of peace and who will bring terrible war to us.”
“You are still not especially specific,” Jhary said. “Who are you, sir?”
“I am Verenak and I am a priest of Urleh. Thus I serve
this village and have its well-being at stake—not to say the well-being of our entire nation.”
Corum whispered to Jhary: “Urleh is a local godling of these parts—a sort of vassal deity to Arioch. I should have thought that his power would have disappeared when Arioch was banished.”
“Perhaps that is why this Verenak is so upset,” suggested Jhary with a wink.
“Perhaps.”
Verenak was now peering closely at Corum. “You are not human!”
“I am mortal,” Corum told him equably, “but I am not of the Mabden race, it is true.”
“You are Vadhagh!”
“That I am. The last.”
Verenak put a trembling hand to his face. He turned again to the villagers. “Drive these two out from here lest the Lords of Chaos take their vengeance upon us! Chaos will soon come and you must be loyal to Urleh if you would survive!”
“Urleh no longer exists,” said Corum. “He is banished from our planes with his master Arioch.”
“It is a lie!” screamed Verenak. “Urleh lives!”
“It is not likely,” Jhary told him.
Corum spoke to the villagers. “Lord Arkyn of Law rules the Five Planes now. He will bring peace to you and a greater security than you have ever previously known.”
“Nonsense!” Verenak shouted. “Arkyn was defeated by Arioch ages since.”
“And now Arioch is defeated,” Corum said. “We must defend this new peace we are offered. Chaos in all its power brings destruction and terror. Your land is threatened by invaders of your own race who serve Chaos and plan to slay you all!”
“I say that you lie—you seek to turn us against the Great Lord Arioch and the Lord Urleh. We are loyal to Chaos!”
The villagers did not seem to be as certain of that statement as Verenak.
“Then you will bring only disaster to yourselves,” Corum insisted. “I know that Arioch is banished—I am the one who sent him into limbo. I destroyed his heart.”
“Blasphemy!” shrieked Verenak. “Begone from here. I will not let you corrupt these innocent souls.”
The Queen of Swords Page 4