The Queen of Swords

by Michael Moorcock

  The birds screeched in surprise and anger but for some reason they did not take to the air. They shifted from foot to foot and darted their beaks at the scarlet warriors who now advanced upon them.

  The black birds waited until the dead Vadhagh were almost upon them before they began to flap their wings and fly skyward.

  Rhalina was staring in horror at the scene. “By all the Great Old Gods, Corum—what new foulness is this?”

  “It is a foulness which aids us,” said Corum grimly. And he called out, “Strike!”

  And the barbed lances were flung by scarlet arms and found the heads of each black bird. There was an agitation in the air and then the creatures had fallen to the slopes.

  Rhalina continued to watch wide-eyed as the living-dead riders dismounted and went to collect their prizes. Corum had learned what happened in that netherworld whenever he summoned aid from it. By calling upon his earlier victims he could have their aid if he supplied them with victims of their own—then these victims would replace them and presumably the souls of the first victims would be released to find peace. He hoped that this was so.

  The leading Vadhagh picked up two of the birds by their throats and slung them over his back. He turned a face that was half shorn away and looked through eyeless sockets at Corum.

  “It is done, master,” droned the dead voice.

  “Then you may return,” said Corum, half-choking.

  “Before I go, I must impart a message to you, master.”

  “A message? From whom?”

  “From One Who is Closer to You than You Know,” said the dead Vadhagh mechanically. “He says that you must seek the Lake of Voices, that if you have the courage to sail across it then you might find help in your quest.”

  “The Lake of Voices. Where is it? Who is this creature you speak of…”

  “The Lake of Voices lies beyond this mountain range. Now I depart, master. We thank you for our prizes.”

  Corum could bear no longer to look at the Vadhagh. He turned away, replacing the jeweled patch over his eye. When he looked back the Vadhagh had gone and so had the birds, all save the one which had been slain by the Hand of Kwll.

  Rhalina’s face was pale. “These ‘allies’ of yours are no better than creatures of Chaos! It must corrupt us to use them, Corum…”

  Jhary got up from the position in which he had been before the arrival of Corum’s ghastly warriors. “It is Chaos which corrupts us,” he said lightly, “which makes us fight. Chaos brutalizes all—even those who do not serve it. That you must accept, Lady Rhalina. I know it is the truth.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Let us make our way to this lake,” she said. “What was its name?”

  “A strange one.” Corum looked back at the last dead bird. “The Lake of Voices.”

  They trudged on through the mountains, resting frequently now that the danger of the birds had been removed, beginning to feel a new threat—that of hunger and thirst, for they had no provisions with them.

  Eventually they began to descend and they saw sparse grass growing on the lower slopes and beyond the grass a lake of blue water—a calm and beautiful lake which they could not believe existed in any realm of Chaos.

  “It is lovely!” Rhalina gasped. “And we might find food there—and at least we shall be able to quench our thirst.”

  “Aye…” said Corum, more suspiciously.

  And Jhary said, “I think your informant said we should need courage to cross it. I wonder what danger it holds.”

  * * *

  They could barely walk by the time they reached the grassy slopes and left the harsh rock behind them. On the grass they rested and they found a spring nearby so that they did not have to wait until they reached the lake to quench their thirst. Jhary murmured a word to his cat which sprang suddenly into the air on its wings and was soon lost from sight.

  “Where have you sent the cat, Jhary?” asked Corum.

  Jhary winked at him. “Hunting,” he said.

  Sure enough, in a very short time the cat returned with a small rabbit, almost as big as itself, in its claws. It deposited the rabbit and then left to find another. Jhary busied himself with the building of a fire and soon they had feasted and were sleeping while one of their number kept watch until he was relieved by another.

  Then they continued on their way until they were less than a quarter of a mile from the shores of the lake.

  It was then that Corum paused, cocking his head on one side.

  “Do you hear them?” he asked.

  “I hear nothing,” Rhalina said.

  But Jhary nodded. “Aye—voices—as of a great throng heard in the distance. Voices…”

  “That is what I hear,” Corum agreed.

  And as they neared the lake, walking swiftly over the springy turf, the babble of voices increased until it filled their heads and they covered their ears in horror for they realized now why it would take courage to cross the Lake of Voices.

  The words—the murmurings, the pleadings, the oaths, the shouts, the crying, the laughter—they were all issuing from the blue waters of the apparently peaceful lake.

  It was the water that spoke.

  It was as if a million people had been drowned in it and continued to talk although their bodies had rotted and been dispersed by the liquid.

  Looking desperately about him, his hands still covering his ears, Corum saw that it would be impossible to try to skirt the Lake of Voices for it was apparent that on both sides of them there stretched marshland which they would be unable to cross.

  He forced himself to move closer to the water and the voices of the men and the women and the children were like the voices which must populate hell.

  “Please…”

  “I wish—I wish—I wish…”

  “Nobody will…”

  “This agony…”

  “There is no peace…”

  “Why…?”

  “It was a lie. I was deceived…”

  “I, too, was deceived. I cannot…”

  “Aaaaaaa! Aaaaaaa! Aaaaaaa!”

  “Help me, I beg thee…”

  “Help me!”

  “Me!”

  “The fate which cannot be borne except with…”

  “Ha!”

  “Help…”

  “Be merciful…”

  “Save her—save her—save her…”

  “I suffer so much…”

  “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…”

  “It seemed so splendid and there were lights all around…”

  “Beasts, beasts, beasts, beasts, beasts…”

  “The child… It was the child…”

  “All morning it wept until the lurching thing entered me…”

  “Soweth! Tebel art…”

  “Forlorn in Rendane I composed that strain…”

  “Peace…”

  * * *

  And then Corum saw that a boat was waiting for them on the shore of the Lake of Voices.

  And he wondered if he would be sane by the time they reached the other side.

  2

  THE WHITE RIVER

  CORUM AND JHARY hauled on the boat’s long oars while Rhalina lay sobbing in the bow. With every pull upon the oars the water was disturbed further and instead of a splashing sound a new babble of voices broke out. They sensed that the voices did not come from beneath the water but from within it—as if every single drop of water contained a human soul which expressed its pain and the terror of its situation. Corum could not help but wonder if every lake in existence were not like this and that this was the only one they could actually hear. He strove to shut his mind to such fearful speculation.

  “Wish that…”

  “Would that…”

  “If I…”

  “Could I…”

  “Love—love—love…”

  “Sad soothing songs seeking souls so soft so sensitive seeming smooth silken…”


  “Stop! Stop!” begged Rhalina, but the voices went on and Corum and Jhary pulled the harder on their oars, their lips moving in pain.

  “I wish—I wish—I wish—I wish…”

  “Curl awake in kitten time the condemnation of my…”

  “Once—once—once…”

  “Help us!”

  “Release us!”

  “Give us peace! Peace!”

  “Please, peace, please, peace…”

  “Opening without resort…”

  “Cold…”

  “Cold…”

  “Cold…”

  “We cannot help you!” Corum groaned. “There is nothing we can do!”

  Rhalina was screaming now.

  Only Jhary-a-Conel kept his lips tight shut, his eyes fixed on the middle distance, his body moving rhythmically back and forth as he continued to row.

  “Oh, save us!”

  “Save me!”

  “The child is—the child…”

  “Bad, mad, sad, glad, bad, sad, mad, glad, mad, bad, glad, sad…”

  “Be silent! We can do nothing!”

  “Corum! Corum! Stop them! Is there no sorcery at your command which will hush their voices?”

  “None.”

  “Aaaah!”

  “Oorum canish, oorum canish, oorum canish, sashan faroom alann alann, oorum canish, oorum canish…”

  “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…”

  “Nobody, nothing, nowhere, needless misery, what purpose doth it serve, which man benefits?”

  “Whisper softly, whisper low, whisper, whisper…”

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

  Now Corum released one hand from his oar and slapped at his head as if trying to drive the voices out. Rhalina had collapsed completely on the bottom of the boat and he could not distinguish her cries, her pleadings and demands, from the others.

  “Stop!”

  “Stop, stop, stop, stop…”

  “Stop…”

  “Stop…”

  “Stop…”

  There were tears flowing down Jhary’s face, but he rowed on, not once altering the rhythm of his movements. Only the cat seemed undisturbed. It sat on the seat between him and Corum and it washed its paws. To the cat the water was like any other water and thus to be avoided as much as possible. Once or twice it cast nervous glances over the side of the boat but that was all.

  “Save us, save us, save us…”

  Then a deeper voice, a warm, humorous, pleasant voice, cut through the others and it said:

  “Why do you not join them? It would save you this misery. All you need do is to stop your rowing and leave the boat and enter the water and relax, becoming one with the rest. Why be proud?”

  “No! Do not listen! Listen to me!”

  “Listen to us!”

  “Listen to me!”

  “Do not listen to them. They are really happy. It is just that your coming disturbs them. They wish you to join them—to join them—to join them—to join them…”

  “No, no, no!”

  “No!” screamed Corum. He plucked the oar from the rowlocks and he began to beat at the waters of the lake. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

  “Corum!” Jhary spoke for the first time. He clung to the side as the boat rocked badly from side to side. Rhalina looked up in terror.

  “Corum! You will make it worse. You will destroy us if we fall into the lake!” Jhary cried.

  “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

  Keeping one arm on his own oar Jhary reached across and tugged at Corum’s scarlet robe. “Corum! Desist!”

  Corum sat down suddenly and looked strangely at Jhary as if he were an enemy. Then his expression softened and he put the oar back in its place and began to row. The shore was not too distant now.

  “We must get to the shore,” Jhary said. “It is the only way in which we’ll escape the voices. You must hang on a little longer, that is all.”

  “Yes,” said Corum. “Yes…” And he resumed his rowing and avoided looking at Rhalina’s tortured features.

  “Molten sleeping snakes and old owls and hungry hawks populate my memories of Charatatu…”

  “Join them and all the splendid memories may be shared. Join them, Prince Corum, Lady Rhalina, Sir Jhary. Join them. Join them. Join them.”

  “Who are you?” Corum said. “Did you do this to them all?”

  “I am the Voice of the Lake of Voices, that is all. I am the true spirit of the Lake. I offer peace and union with all your fellow souls. Do not listen to the minority of discontented ones. They would be discontented wherever they were. There are always such spirits…”

  “No, no, no, no…”

  And Corum and Jhary pulled even harder on their sweeps until suddenly the boat scraped up the shore and there was an angry motion in the water and a huge water spout suddenly appeared and began to whine and roar and scream and shout.

  “NO! I WILL NOT BE THWARTED! YOU ARE MINE! NONE ESCAPES THE LAKE OF VOICES!”

  The water spout assumed a form and they could see a fierce, writhing face there—a face full of rage. Hands, too, formed from the water and began to reach out for them.

  “YOU ARE MINE! YOU WILL SING WITH THE REST! YOU WILL BE PART OF MY CHORUS!”

  The three scrambled hastily from the boat and dashed up the shore with the water thing growing larger and larger behind them and its voice roaring louder and louder.

  “YOU ARE MINE! YOU ARE MINE! I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO GO!”

  But a thousand tinier voices all babbled:

  “Run—run swiftly—never return—run—run—run…”

  “TRAITORS! STOP!”

  And the voices stopped and there was silence until the roaring creature of water bellowed once more.

  “NO! YOU HAVE MADE ME DISPEL THE VOICES—MY VOICES—MY PETS! I MUST BEGIN AFRESH TO COLLECT MY CHOIR! YOU HAVE MADE ME BANISH THEM! COME BACK! COME BACK!”

  And the creature grew even taller as they ran all the faster, its watery hands reaching out for them.

  Then, suddenly, with a scream, it began to tumble back into the lake, no longer able to sustain its shape. They watched it fall, they watched it writhe and gesticulate in anger and then it was gone and the lake was the peaceful stretch of blue water they had first seen.

  But this time there were no voices. The souls were still. By accident the three had made the creature tell its captives to be silent and had evidently broken the spell which it had had over them.

  Corum sighed and sat down on the grass. “It is over,” he said. “And all those poor spirits are at rest now…”

  He smiled at the expression of panic on the cat’s face and he realized how much more horrifying their last experience had been to the little animal.

  Then, when they had rested, they climbed the hill and looked down upon a desert.

  It was a brown desert and through it ran a river. But it seemed that the river was not of water. It was white, like pure milk, and it was wide and it wandered lazily through the brown landscape.

  Corum sighed. “It seems to go on for ever.”

  “Look,” said Rhalina and she pointed. “Look, a rider!”

  Mounting the brow of a hill and coming towards them was a man on a horse. He was slumped in the saddle and plainly had not seen them, but Corum drew his sword nonetheless, and the others drew theirs. The horse moved slowly, plodding on as if it had been walking for days.

  They saw that the rider, dressed in patched and battered leather, was asleep in his saddle, a broadsword hanging by a thong from his right wrist, his left hand gripping the reins of the horse. He had a haggard face which gave no indication of his age, a great hooked nose and untrimmed hair and beard. He seemed a poor man, yet hanging on his saddle pommel was a crown which, though coated with dust, was plainly of gold studded with many precious gems.

  “Is he a thief?” Rhalina wondered. “Has he stolen that crown and is trying to escape those who own it?”

  When it was a few feet from them the horse s
topped suddenly and looked at them with large, weary eyes. Then it bent and began to crop the grass.

  At this the rider stirred. He opened his eyes. He rubbed them. He, too, peered at them and then seemed to ignore them. He mumbled to himself.

  “Greetings, sir,” said Corum.

  The gaunt man screwed up his eyes and looked at Corum again. He reached down behind him for a water bottle, unstopped it and flung back his head to drink deeply. Then, deliberately, he put the stopper back into the bottle and replaced the thing behind him.

  “Greetings,” said Corum again.

  The mounted man nodded at him. “Aye,” he said.

  “From where do you travel, sir?” Jhary asked. “We ourselves are lost and would appreciate some indication of what, for instance, lies beyond that brown waste there…”

  The man sighed and looked at the waste, at the white, winding river.

  “That is the Blood Plain,” he said. “The river is called the White River—or by some the Milk River, though it is not milk…”

  “Why the Blood Plain?” Rhalina asked.

  The man stretched and frowned. “Because, madam, it is a plain and it is covered in blood. That brown dust is dried blood—blood spilled an age since in some forgotten battle between Law and Chaos, I understand.”

  “And what lies beyond it?” Corum said.

  “Many things—none that is pleasant. Nothing is pleasant in this world since Chaos conquered it.”

  “You are not on the side of Chaos?”

  “Why should I be? Chaos dispossessed me. Chaos exiled me. Chaos would have me dead, but I move all the while and have not been found yet. One day, perhaps…”

  Jhary introduced his friends and then himself. “We seek a place called the City in the Pyramid,” he told the haggard rider.

  The rider laughed. “As do I. But I cannot believe it exists! I think Chaos pretends such a place resists it to offer hope to its enemies so that it may give them still more pain. I am called, sir, the King Without a Country. Noreg-Dan was once my name and I ruled a fair land and, I think, I ruled it wisely. But Chaos came and Chaos minions destroyed my nation and my subjects and left me alive to wander the world seeking a mythical city…”

  “So you have no faith in the City in the Pyramid?”