The Champion of Garathorm

by Michael Moorcock

  There had been one last battle in which Ilian and Katinka van Bak had led a few hundred survivors against Ymryl. They had put up a splendid fight and taken many of the invaders that day, but they were eventually beaten. Ilian was not sure if any of her people had escaped, but there seemed to be no survivors, save herself and Katinka van Bak.

  And they had been captured. And Ymryl had lusted for her and seen, too, that with her at his side he would have no diffi­culty in ruling those citizens who still hid in the forests beyond Virinthorm and crept out at night to slaughter his men.

  When she had resisted him, he had given orders that she should be imprisoned, that she should be kept awake and fed only the minimum to keep her alive. He had known that she would eventually agree to what he wanted.

  And now, as she ate, Ilian suddenly remembered what she had done. Something which Katinka van Bak had not mentioned.

  And Ilian could barely swallow the food in her mouth as she turned to look at Katinka van Bak.

  'Why did you not remind me of that?' she said coldly. 'Of my brother.'

  'You were not to blame for that,' said Katinka van Bak. The older woman lowered her eyes to the ground. 'I should have done what you did. Anyone would. They tortured you.'

  'And I told them. I told them where he would be hiding. And they found him and they slew him.'

  'They tortured you,' said Karen van Bak harshly. 'They tore your body. They abused it. They did not let you sleep. They did not let you eat. They wanted two things from you. You only gave them one. That was a triumph!'

  'You mean I gave them my brother instead of myself. Is that a triumph?'

  'In the circumstances, yes. Forget it, Ilian. We may yet avenge your brother - and the rest."

  'I must do much to atone for that thing,' said Ilian. She knew there were tears in her eyes and she tried to force them back.

  'There is much, anyway, that must be done,' said Jhary-a-Conel.

  2

  Outlaws Of A Thousand Spheres

  The small black and white cat drifted high above the forest on a warm upcurrent of air. The sun was setting. The cat waited, for it preferred to go about its business at night. From the ground, if it could be seen at all, the cat would have been mis­taken for a hawk. It hovered, keeping its position by the slight­est movements of its wings, close to a city but recently occu­pied by a huge and ferocious army.

  Katinka van Bak had not lied when she had described the army which had defeated her. Her only lie concerned where she had engaged this army and what its intentions were. In a sense, of course, it had occupied the Bulgar Mountains, for did not this land, in some mysterious way, exist within that range?

  As the sun sank, so the small black and white cat dropped lower and lower until at last it had settled upon a branch close to the top of one of the tallest trees. A breeze blew, rustling the leaves and making the trees, from where the cat sat, seem to move like the waves of a strange sea.

  The cat jumped and landed on a lower branch, jumped again and this time spread its wings, soaring a few feet before finding another foothold.

  Slowly it began to descend towards the city, whose lights could be seen far below. Not for the first time was the cat scout­ing for its master, Jhary-a-Conel; going somewhere where Jhary himself, or his friends, could not go.

  At last the cat lay stretched on a branch directly over the centre of the city. Virinthorm had no walls, for it had been long since she had needed them, and all her main buildings were built of carved, polished ebony, inlaid with whale ivory bought from the coastal peoples to the south. Those people had once hunted whales, but now the few who were left were hunted by monsters themselves. The other buildings were all built of hardwood, for stone was a rarity in Garathorm, and all had a rich, mellow look to them - those which had been left untouched by the invaders' brands.

  The cat dropped still lower, digging its claws into the smooth roof of a large building and climbing to the main beam.

  A terrible smell filled the city. It was a smell of death and of decay. The cat found it at once unpleasant and interesting, but it denied itself the instinct to explore the source of the odours. Instead it spread its wings and flew away from the building and then back again, losing height rapidly and then gliding gracefully through an open window.

  The cat's unusual sixth sense had not betrayed it. It found itself in a bedroom. The room was strewn with rich brocades, silks and feather cloaks. The bed was unmade and in great disorder. Empty wine-cups were scattered everywhere and there was evidence that much wine had been spilled through­out the room over the course of weeks or months. On the bed lay a naked man. To one side of him, huddled in each other's arms and sleeping fitfully, lay two young girls. There were many minor cuts and bruises on their bodies. Both had black hair and pale skins. The man had bright yellow hair, which might have been dyed. The hair on his body was not the same col­our, but a reddish brown. It was an extremely muscular body and it must have measured at least seven feet long. The head was large and tapered from the wide cheek-bones to the jaw, almost to a point. It was a brutish head and a powerful head, yet there was also a look of weakness in it. Something about that pointed jaw and that cruel mouth made the face not quite handsome (though some might have found it so) and instead it was oddly repulsive.

  This was Ymryl.

  Around his thick neck was slung by a cord a silver-dressed amber horn.

  This was Ymryl, the Yellow Horn.

  And his horn could be heard for miles, if he needed to sum­mon his men. And it was said that the notes of that horn could be heard elsewhere, too. It was said that they could be heard in Hell, where Ymryl had comrades.

  Ymryl stirred, as if he sensed the cat's presence. The cat swiftly flew to a ledge high up on the far wall. Trophies had once been kept there, but the gold shield, won by one of Ilian's ancestors, had been dragged from its place months before. Ymryl coughed and groaned and opened his eyes a fraction. He rolled over on the bed and leaning his elbows on the back of one of the girls poured himself wine from the jug which rested on the nearby table. He drained the wine-cup, sniffed and sat up straighter on the bed.

  'Garko!' growled Ymryl. 'Garko! Here!'

  From another room a creature came scuttling. The creature had four short legs, a round torso into which was set a face, and long spindly arms ending in large hands.

  'Master?' whispered Garko.

  'What's the hour?'

  'Just past sunset, master.'

  'So I've slept through the day, have I?' Ymryl got up and dragged on a dirty robe, looted from the king's own chests. 'Doubtless it has been another dull day. No news from the west?'

  'None. If they planned to attack, we should know by now, lord.'

  'I suppose so. By Arioch! I grow bored, Garko. I began to suspect that somehow we are all in this damned place as a punishment. I wish I knew how I had offended the Lords of Chaos, if that's the case. We thought at first that we had been given a paradise to loot. Few of the people knew the first thing about making war. It was so easy to take over their cities. And now we find ourselves with nothing to do. How go the sor­cerer's experiments?'

  'He remains frustrated in his attempts to get his dimension travelling machine to work for him. I have little faith in him, master.'

  Ymryl sniffed. 'Well, he slew the maid for me - or the next best thing. And at some distance. That was clever. Perhaps he will yet find a way through for us.'

  'Perhaps, master."

  'I cannot understand why even the most powerful amongst us is unable to summon word from the Lords of Chaos. If I were not Ymryl, the Yellow Horn, if I were a lesser man, I should feel abandoned. I ruled a great nation in my own world, Garko. I ruled it in the name of Chaos. I gave Arioch many sacrifices, Garko. Many.'

  'So you have told me, master.'

  'And there are others here who were kings in their own worlds. Some ruled empires. And barely one of us seems to have shared the same time or even the same plane. That is what puzzles me. Each c
reature - human or unhuman (like yourself) - came here at the identical moment, and came here from a dif­ferent world. It could only be the work of Arioch. Or some other powerful Chaos Lord, for we are all - or most of us - servants of those great Lords of Entropy. And still Arioch does not tell us his reason for bringing us here."

  'It could be that he has none, master.'

  Ymryl snorted. Without much anger, he cuffed Garko ac­ross the top of his head. 'Arioch always has reasons. Yet he is good to those who serve him without question - as I served him for many years in my own world. I thought at first that this must be a reward...'

  Ymryl took his jug and his cup to the window and stared out at the city he had conquered while he poured himself more wine. He tilted back his yellow head and gulped the wine. 'I grow so bored. So bored. I thought those who took the wes­terly provinces would have become greedy by now and would have tried to attack us. But they, it seems, are as wary as I. They do not wish to anger Arioch by turning on the others. I am beginning to alter my thinking on that subject now. I think Arioch expects us to fight. He wishes to discover which is the strongest. That could be why we were brought here. A test, you see, Garko.'

  'A test. I see, master.'

  Ymryl sniffed. 'Summon the sorcerer. I would consult with him. It could be that he can help me understand what to do.'

  Garko backed from the room. 'I will summon him, master.'

  The small black and white cat watched as Ymryl strode about the room, his brows drawn in thought. There was an immense sense of physical power about the man and yet at the same time there was an indecisiveness which perhaps he had not always had. Perhaps, before he pledged himself to Chaos, he had been stronger. It was often said that Chaos warped those who served it - and not always physically.

  Once Ymryl paused and stared about him, as if he again sensed the presence of the cat. But then he raised his head and murmured:

  'Arioch! Arioch! Why do you not come? Why do you send no messenger to us?'

  For a few moments Ymryl waited expectantly, then he shook his head and continued his pacing.

  Some time later Garko returned.

  'The sorcerer is here, master."

  'Let him enter.'

  Then there came into the room a bent figure in a long green robe decorated with writhing black serpents. Upon his face was a mask moulded to resemble the head of a striking snake. The mask was made of engraved platinum and its details were picked out in precious stones.

  'Why did you summon me, Yellow Horn?' The sorcerer's voice was faintly muffled, slightly querulous, yet deferential withall. 'I was in the middle of an experiment.'

  'The experiment, if it is as successful as the rest, can wait a little, Baron Kalan.'

  'I suppose you are right.' The serpent mask turned this way and that as its owner glanced about the brightly lit room. 'What did you wish to discuss with me, Ymryl?'

  'I wanted your opinion of our situation. My own opinion you know - that we are here because of some scheme brewed by the Lords of Chaos ...'

  'Yes. And as you know, I have no experiences of these super­natural beings. I am a scientist. If such beings exist, then they seem devious to the point of stupidity -'

  'Silence!' Ymryl raised his hand. 'I tolerate your blasphem­ies, Baron Kalan, because I respect your talents. I have assured you that Duke Arioch of Chaos and the rest not only exist but take a great interest in the affairs of mankind, in every sphere of existence.'

  'Very well, if I must accept that notion, then I am as much at a loss as yourself to understand why they do not manifest them­selves. My own theory is linked to my own experience. In my experiments in the realm of time-manipulation I caused an im­mense disruption which resulted, among other things, in this particular phenomenon. Like you, I sense that I am stranded here. Certainly all the efforts I have made to send my pyramid through the dimensions have met with total failure. That in itself is a problem I find hard to answer. Some conjunction of the planes has doubtless taken place - but why so many folk from so many different planes should all find themselves sud­denly in this world, as we found ourselves, I do not know.'

  Ymryl yawned and fingered his yellow horn. 'And that is the sum of what you have said. You do not know.'

  'I assure you, Ymryl, that I am working on the problem. But I must do so in my own way -'

  'Oh, I'm not blaming you, sorcerer. It seems the most ironic thing of all that there are so many clever people here and none can solve the problem. The languages we speak sound the same, but they are all essentially different. Our terms are not the same. Our references are not the same. What I call sorcery, you call "science". I speak of gods and you speak of the principles of science. They are all the same thing. Yet the words them­selves confuse us.'

  'You are an intelligent man, Ymryl,' Kalan said. 'I'll grant you that. I wonder why you waste your time as you do. You seem to get little relish even from your butchery, your wench­ing, your drinking...'

  'You begin to go too far, even for my tolerance,' Ymryl said softly. 'I must spend my time somehow. And I've little respect for scholarship, save where it's useful. Your know­ledge has proved useful to me once. I live in the patient hope that it will prove useful a second time. I am damned, you see, Baron Kalan. I know that. I was damned the instant I accepted the gift of this horn I wear about my throat. The horn that helped me rise from being the leader of a band of cattle-thieves to be ruler of Hythiak, the most powerful nation in my world.' Ymryl smiled bleakly. 'The horn was given me by Duke Arioch himself. It summoned aid from Hell whenever I needed it. It made me great. Yet it made me, also, a slave. Slave to the Lords of Chaos. I can never relinquish their gift, just as I can never now refuse to serve them. And being damned, I see no point to life. I had ambition when I was a cattle-raider. Now I have only nostalgia for those simple days, when I spent my time drinking, killing and wenching.' And Ymryl's bleak smile widened and he laughed. 'I appear to have gained very little from my bargain."

  He put an arm around the stooped shoulders of the sorcerer and led him from the room.

  'Come. I'll see how you progress with your experiments!' The little cat crept further out onto the ledge and looked down. The two young girls still slept in each other's arms. The cat heard Ymryl's laughter echoing back to the room. It launched itself from the ledge and flew over the bed and out through the window, heading back to where it had left Jhary-a-Conel.

  3

  A Meeting In The Forest

  'So we can anticipate a falling out, soon, amongst the invaders,' said Jhary-a-Conel. By some mysterious means the cat had com­municated to him all it had seen. He stroked its small round head and it purred.

  It was dawn. From the cave Katinka van Bak led three hor­ses. Two of the horses were good, strong stallions. The third horse was Jhary's yellow nag. By now Ilian had become used to the sense of familiarity she had when she saw things she was sure she could never have seen before. She mounted one of the stallions and settled herself in the saddle, inspecting the wea­pons she found in the saddle sheaths - the sword and the lance with the odd, ruby tip where its point should be.

  Without thinking, she looked for a grip half-way down the shaft. The grip had a jewel set into it. She knew that if she pres­sed the jewel destroying flame would leap from the ruby tip of the lance. Philosophically, she shrugged, glad enough to have a weapon that was as powerful as those possessed by many of Ymryl’s warriors. She noticed that Katinka van Bak had a similar weapon, though Jhary's arms were of the more conven­tional kind, an ordinary lance, a shield and a sword.

  'What of these gods in whom Ymryl pins so much faith,' Katinka asked Jhary as they rode into the massive forest, 'do they have any reality at all, Jhary?'

  'They had once - or will have. I suspect that they exist when men need them to exist. But I could be wrong. Rest assured, however, Katinka van Bak, that when they do exist they are extremely powerful.'

  Katinka van Bak nodded. 'Then why do they not help Ym­ryl?'

  'It
is possible that they do,' Jhary said, 'without him realis­ing it.' He took a deep breath of the sweet air. He looked ad­miringly at the huge blooms, the variety of greens and browns of the trees. 'Though often these gods are unable to enter hu­man worlds themselves and must work through agents like Ymryl. Only a powerful sorcery could bring Arioch through, I suspect.'

  'And this Dark Empire lord - Baron Kalan, without a doubt - he has not sufficient skill?'

  'I am sure his skill is sufficient, in his own sphere. But if he does not believe in Arioch - save, perhaps, intellectually - then he is useless to Ymryl. It is lucky for us.'

  'The thought of more powerful beings than Ymryl and his pack invading Garathorm is not a pleasant one,' said Ilian. Though undisturbed by the strange half-memories which flit­ted through her head from time to time, she had become gloom­ier since she had remembered her screaming betrayal of her brother, Bradne. She had never seen his body, though she had heard there was little left of it when Ymryl's raiders brought it back to the city, for Katinka van Bak had appeared to rescue her before Ymryl could enjoy the sight of Ilian's horror.