The Champion of Garathorm

by Michael Moorcock

  'Some,' she admitted. 'Go on, Hawkmoon. We shall soon be at the other side."

  'But where does it lead?' He brought his body fully round to confront them. The fireglobe in his hand burned dully and turned his face to a demonic red. 'Directly to the Dark Em­pire camp? Do you two work for my old enemies? Is this a ruse? You have neither of you told me enough!'

  We are not in the pay of your enemies,' said Katinka van Bak. 'Continue, Hawkmoon, please. Or shall I lead?' She step­ped forward.

  Hawkmoon involuntarily put a hand to the hilt of his sword, pushing back his great fur cloak to do so. 'No. I trust you, Katinka van Bak, yet everything in me warns me of a trap. How can this be?'

  'You must go on, Sir Champion!' said Jhary-a-Conel quietly, stroking the fur of his small black and white cat, which had emerged from his jerkin. 'You must.'

  'Champion? Champion of what?' Still Hawkmoon's hand gripped the sword hilt. 'Of what?'

  'Champion Eternal," said Jhary-a-Conel, softly still. 'Fate's soldier...'

  'No!' Though the words were all but meaningless, Hawkmoon could not bear to hear them. 'No!!'

  His gloved hands flew to his ears.

  And that was when his two friends rushed at him.

  He was still not as strong as he had been before his madness. He was weary from the climb. He struggled against them until he felt Katinka van Bak's dagger pricking his eye and he heard her urgent voice in his ear:

  'Killing you is the easiest way to achieve our purpose, Hawkmoon,' she said. 'But it would not be the kindest. Besides, I am reluctant to cut you off from this body, should you desire to return to it. Thus I shall only kill you if you make it impossible for me to do ought else. Do you understand ?'

  'I undersand treachery,' he said savagely, still testing his strength against their clutches, 'and I thought I smelled the spring. I smelled traitors, instead. Traitors who posed as friends.'

  One of them extinguished the fireglobe. The three stood in blackness and Hawkmoon heard the echoes of his words.

  'Where is this place?' He felt the dagger point prick his eye again. 'What are you doing to me?'

  'It was the only way,' said Katinka van Bak. 'It was the only way, Champion.'

  It was the first time she had called him that, though Jhary had used the term frequently.

  'Where is this place?' he said again. 'Where?'

  'I wish that I knew,' said Katinka van Bak. And her voice was almost sad.

  Then she evidently struck him on the back of the head with her armoured gauntlet. He felt the blow and guessed what caused it. For a moment he thought that it had not succeeded in its intention of driving consciousness from him. Then he rea­lised that he had sunk to his knees.

  Then he realised that his body seemed to be falling away from him in the blackness of the cave.

  And then he knew that her blow had done what it had inten­ded, after all.

  Book Two

  A Homecoming

  1

  Ilian Of Garathorm

  Hawkmoon listened to ghosts.

  Each ghost spoke to him in his own voice.

  In Hawkmoon's voice...

  ... then I was Erekos and I slew the human race. And Urlik Skarsol, Prince of the Southern Ice, who slew the Silver Queen from Moon. Who bore the Black Sword. Now I hang in limbo and await my next task. Perhaps through this I shall find a means of returning to my lost love Ermizhad. Perhaps I shall find Tanelorn.

  (I have been Elric)

  Fate's soldier ... Time's tool ... Champion Eternal .., Doomed to perpetual strife.

  (I have been Corum. In more than one life I have been Corum)

  I know not how it began. Perhaps it will end in Tanelorn.

  Rhalina, Yisselda, Cymoril, Zarozinia ...

  So many women.

  (I have been Arflane. Asquiol. Aubec.")

  All die, save me.

  (I have been Hawkmoon ...)

  'No! I am Hawkmoon!'

  (We are all Hawkmoon. Hawkmoon is all of us")

  All live, save me.

  John Daker? Was he the first?

  Or the last?

  I have betrayed so many and been betrayed so much.

  Faces floated before him. Each face was different. Each face was his own face. He shouted and tried to push them away.

  But he had no hands.

  He tried to revive himself. Better to die under Katinka van Bak's knife than suffer this torment. It was what he had feared. It was what he had tried to avoid. It was the reason he had not pursued his argument with Jhary-a-Conel. But he was alone against a thousand - a thousand manifestations of himself.

  The struggle is eternal. The fight is endless.

  And now we must become Ilian. Ilian, whose soul was driven out. Is this not a strange task?

  'I am Hawkmoon. Only Hawkmoon.'

  And I am Hawkmoon. And I am Urlik Skarsol. And I am Ilian of Garathorm. Perhaps here I shall find Tanelorn. Fare­well to the South Ice and the dying sun. Farewell to the Silver Queen and the Screaming Chalice. Farewell Count Brass. Farewell Urlik. Farewell Hawkmoon ...

  And Hawkmoon began to feel his memories fading from him. In their place came crowding a million other memories. Memories of bizarre worlds and exotic landscapes, of crea­tures both human and inhuman. Memories that could not pos­sibly belong to a single man, and yet they were like those dreams he had had at Castle Brass. Or had he experienced them at Cas­tle Brass? Perhaps it had been elsewhere? In Melnibone? In Loos Ptokai? In Castle Erorn by the sea? Aboard that strange ship which travelled beyond the Earth? Where? Where had he dreamed those dreams?

  And he knew that he had dreamed them in all of those places and that he would dream them again in all those places.

  He knew that there was no such thing as Time.

  Past, present and future were all the same. They existed all at the same moment - and they did not exist at any moment.

  He was Urlik Skarsol, Prince of the Southern Ice, and his chariot was drawn by bears, moving across the ice beneath a dy­ing sun. Moving towards a goal. Searching, as Hawkmoon searched for Yisselda, for a woman whom he could not reach. Ermizhad. And Ermizhad had not loved Urlik Skarsol. She had loved Erekose. Yet Erekose was Urlik Skarsol, too.

  Tanelorn. That was Urlik's goal.

  Tanelorn. Should it be Hawkmoon's?

  The name was so familiar. Yet he had found Tanelorn many times. He had dwelled there once and each time Tanelorn had been different.

  Which Tanelorn must he seek?

  And there was a sword. A sword which had many manifesta­tions. A black sword. Yet it was often disguised. A sword ...

  Ilian of Garathorm bore a good sword. Ilian felt for it, but it was not there. Ilian's hands ran over chain mail, over silk, over flesh. Ilian's hands touched cool turf and Ilian's nose smelled the richness of spring. Ilian's eyes opened. Two strangers stood there, a young man and a middle-aged woman. Yet their faces were familiar.

  Hawkmoon said: 'Katinka van ...' and then Ilian forgot the rest of the name. Hawkmoon felt his body and was astonished. "What have you made me into...?' And Ilian wondered at those words, even though they came from Ilian's mouth.

  'Greetings, Ilian of Garathorm, Champion Eternal,' said the young man with a smile. He had a small black and white cat on his shoulder. The cat had a pair of wings folded on its back.

  'And Hawkmoon, farewell - for the moment, at least,' said the middle-aged woman who was dressed all in battered plate armour.

  Ilian said Vaguely: 'Hawkmoon? The name is familiar. Yet I thought for an instant I was called Urlik Skarsol, also. Who are you?'

  The young man bowed, showing none of the patronising mockery or condescension with which Ilian had become fam­iliar, even when at court.

  'I am Jhary-a-Conel. And this lady is Katinka van Bak, whom you may remember.'

  Ilian frowned. 'Yes ... Katinka van Bak. You are the one who saved me when Ymryl's pack pursued me ...'

  And then, for a moment, Ilian's memory faded.

&
nbsp; Hawkmoon said, through Ilian's lips: 'What have you done to me, Katinka van Bak?' He felt at his body in horror. His skin was softer. His form was different. He had become shorter. 'You have made me into ... into a woman!'

  Jhary-a-Conel leaned forward, his eyes full of an abnormal intensity. 'It had to be done. You are Ilian of Garathorm. This world needs Ilian. Trust us. It will benefit Hawkmoon, too.'

  'You plotted this together. There was no army in the Bulgar Mountains! That tunnel...'

  'It led here. To Garathorm,' Katinka van Bak said. 'I discov­ered this passage between the dimensions when I hid from the Dark Empire. I was here when Ymryl and the others arrived. I saved your life, Ilian, but they were able, with their sorcery, to drive your spirit from you. I was in despair for Garathorm. Then I met Jhary here. He conceived a solution. Hawkmoon was close to the point of death. As a manifestation of the eternal Champion his spirit could substitute for Ilian's — for she is an­other manifestation of that Champion, you see. That story I told you. I knew it might bring you here - through the tunnel. The army I described does raid beyond the Bulgar Mountains. It raids Garathorm.'

  Hawkmoon's brain was whirling. 'I don't understand. I oc­cupy another's body? Is that what you are saying? This can only be Dark Empire work!'

  'Believe us that it is not!' said Katinka van Bak seriously.

  'Though the Dark Empire has played some part, I feel, in bringing this disaster about," said Jhary-a-Conel. 'The exact part is yet to be discovered. But only as Ilian can you hope to oppose those who now rule this world. It is Ilian's fate, you see. Only Ilian's. Hawkmoon could not have succeeded ...'

  'So you have imprisoned me in this woman's body ... But how? What sorcery accomplished it?'

  Jhary looked at the grassy ground. 'I have some skill in this particular area. But you must forget that you are Hawkmoon. Hawkmoon has no place in Garathorm. You must be Ilian, or our work is wasted. Ilian - whom Ymryl desired. And because he could not possess her, he drove her spirit from her. Even Ymryl did not realise what he was doing - that Ilian's destiny is to wage war against him. Ymryl merely sees you, Ilian, as a desirable woman, albeit a fierce foe who led the remnants of her father's army against him.'

  'Ymryl ...' Hawkmoon strove to hang on to his own iden­tity, but it was slipping away from him again. 'Ymryl, who serves Chaos. Ymryl, the Yellow Horn. They came from no­where and Garathorm fell to them. Ah, I remember the fires. I remember my father, kindly Pyran. With all his reluctance to fight, he battled Ymryl long ...'

  'And then you took up Pyran's flaming banner. Remember, Ilian? You took up that burning flag, the fame of all Garathorm, and you rode against Ymryl's force ...' Katinka van Bak said softly. 'I had taught you the use of sword, shield and axe, while I guested at Pyran's court, after I fled the Dark Empire. And you put all my learning to splendid use until only you and I remained alive upon the field.'

  'I remember,' said Ilian. 'And we were only spared because they were amused to discover our feminine sex. Ah, the humilia­tion I felt when Ymryl tugged the helm from my head! "You shall rule beside me," he said. And he reached out a hand still covered in the blood of my people, and he touched my body! Oh, I remember.' Ilian's voice became hard and fierce. 'And I remember that it was then I swore to slay him. Yet there was only one way and I was unable to follow it. I could not. And, be­cause I resisted him, he imprisoned me...'

  'Which was when I was able to rescue you. We fled. His pack followed. We fought it and destroyed it. But Ymryl's sorcerers found us. In his rage he made them reach out and drive your spirit from you.'

  'Ah, the sending. Yes. They attacked. I remember nothing more."

  'We were hiding in the cave. I had some idea to take you through, back to my own world where I thought you would be safe. But then, when your soul went out of you, there was no point to it. I met Jhary-a-Conel, who had been drawn to Gara­thorm by the same forces which brought Ymryl. Between us we determined what we must try to do. Your memories were still within your skull. Only an - an essence - was lacking. So we had to find a new soul. And Hawkmoon's was not in use then, as he rotted in his tower at Castle Brass. With many misgivings we did what we had to do. And now you have a soul again.'

  'And Ymryl?'

  'He believes you - gone. He has doubtless forgotten you and thinks he rules all Garathorm with nothing to fear. His rabble army rides roughshod over all the land. Yet even those crea­tures have hardly been able to spoil Garathorm's beauty."

  'Garathorm is still lovely,' agreed Ilian. She looked from where she stood on the slopes of the hill, the cave mouth behind her, and saw her world with fresh eyes, as if for the first time.

  Not far off was the edge of the great forest - the forest which covered this world's single continent. Save for Garathorm, all the rest was sea containing the occasional small island. And the trees were huge. Some stretched several hundred feet into the air.

  The sky was wide and blue and in it burned a huge golden sun. The sun shone on flowers whose heads measured more than twelve feet across. It made their colours almost blinding in their intensity. Scarlets, purples and yellows predominated. Among the blooms flew butterflies whose proportions matched those of the flowers and whose colours were even richer. One particularly glorious insect had wings measuring nearly two feet long. And among the vine-hung boles of the trees fluttered great birds, their plumage glittering in the deep shadows of the forest. And Ilian knew that there was hardly a bird or a beast in that forest which a human had to fear. She breathed the thick air with relish and she smiled.

  'Yes,' she said, 'I am Ilian of Garathorm. Who could wish to be anything else? Who would want to dwell anywhere but in Garathorm, even in these times?'

  'Exactly,' said Jhary-a-Conel in some relief.

  Katinka van Bak began to unwrap a big fur cloak which Ilian did not recall having seen before. In the cloak was a variety of stone pots. The lids of the pots were sealed with wax.

  'Preserves,' explained Katinka van Bak. 'Meats, fruits and veg­etables. These will sustain us for a while. Let's eat now.'

  And while they ate, Ilian recalled the terrors of the past months.

  Garathorm had become a united land some two centuries earlier, thanks to the diplomacy (not to mention the lust for power) of Ilian's ancestors. And for those two hundred years there had been peace and prosperity for all the inhabitants of the great arboreal continent. Learning flourished, as did the arts. Garathorm's capital, the ebony city of Virinthorm, had grown to great proportions. Its suburbs stretched for several miles from the old city, under the branches of the great, sheltering trees, which protected Garathorm from the heavy rains which, for a month every year, beat down upon the island continent. Once, it was said, there had been other continents and Gara­thorm had been a desert. Then some cataclysm had swept the earth, perhaps causing the melting of the polar ice, and when the cataclysm was past, only Garathorm remained. And Gara­thorm was changed, becoming a place where foliage grew to en­ormous proportions. The reason for this was still unknown. Garathorm's scholars had yet to find a clue to the answer. Per­haps it lay beneath the sea, in the drowned lands.

  Twenty years earlier Ilian's father, Pyran, had come to the throne on the death of his uncle. Ilian had been born but two years before, almost to the day. And Pyran's rule began what many believed to be a Golden Age for Garathorm. Ilian had grown up in an atmosphere of humanity and happiness. Always an active girl, she had spent much time riding the ostrich-like vayna through the forests. The vayna could make considerable speed upon the ground, and almost as good speed when it ran along the thick branches of the trees, leaping from branch to branch with a rider clinging to its back. It was one of the most exhilarating pastimes in Garathorm. And when, several years ago, Katinka van Bak had suddenly arrived at the court of King Pyran, exhausted, confused and close to death from many wounds, Ilian took to her immediately. Katinka's story had been a strange one. Somehow she had been transported through time - either into the future or the past, she could not
be sure - after fleeing from enemies who had defeated her in a great battle. The details of her passage through time were vague, but she had soon become a welcome guest at the court and, to occupy her own mind as much as to help Ilian, had agreed to teach Ilian the martial arts. In Garathorm there were no warriors. There was only a ceremonial guard and groups of others whose task it was to protect the remoter farmsteads against attacks from the few wild beasts which still remained in Garathorm. Yet Ilian took to the sword and the axe as if she was the cub of some an­cient reaver. It was as if she had always pursued such arts. And she found a peculiar satisfaction in learning everything Kat­inka van Bak could teach her. For all that her childhood had been happy, it had always seemed to lack something until that moment.

  Her father had been amused by her enthusiasm for such ar­chaic pursuits. And her enthusiasm had been infectious amongst many of the young people at court. Eventually there had been several hundred girls and boys who felt at ease with a sword and a buckler and elaborate mock tournaments became a feature of court festivals.

  Perhaps it was not coincidence, then, but some working of Fate, that had prepared a small but highly skilled army to resist Ymryl when he came.

  Ymryl had come suddenly to Virinthorm. A few rumours had arrived ahead of him and King Pyran had sent emissaries to investigate the disturbing reports coming from the remoter quarters of the continent. But before the emissaries could re­turn, Ymryl had arrived. It emerged later that he was part of a larger army which had swept over the whole of Garathorm and taken all the main provincial cities within a matter of weeks. At first it was thought that they had come from some previously unknown land beyond the sea, but there was no evidence to suggest it. Like Katinka van Bak, Ymryl and his comrades had arrived mysteriously in Garathorm. They hardly seemed, them­selves, to know how they had got here.

  Speculation as to their origin became unimportant. All efforts were put into resisting them. Scholars were asked to invent weapons. Engineers, too, found that they were asked to put their skills to conceiving methods of destruction. They were not used to thinking in such terms and few weapons were pro­duced. Katinka van Bak, Ilian and about two hundred others, harried Ymryl's rabble army, and scored a few victories in skirmishes, but when Ymryl was ready to march against the tree-sheltered city of Virinthorm, he marched. He could not be resisted. There were two battles fought in the great glade beyond the city. At the first battle King Pyran brought out the ancient war-flag of his ancestors - the burning flag, which blazed with a strange fire and which was made of a cloth which never per­ished. With that flag held in his own hand, he went against Ymryl, leading an army of poorly armed and untrained citi­zens. King Pyran was slaughtered with his folk and Ilian had barely managed to drag the burning banner from his dead hand before she escaped with the remains of her own professional fighters - those who had once shared her enthusiasm for mili­tary arts and who had swiftly become hardened veterans.