The Knight of Swords

by Michael Moorcock

  He sailed for another four days, without sleep, and the reef offered neither a passage through nor a place to land.

  A light mist, tinged pink by the sun, now covered the water in all directions and Corum kept away from the reef by using his lodestoae and by listening for the sounds of the surf on the rocks. He drew out his maps, pricked out on skin, and tried to judge his position. The maps were crude and probably inaccurate, but they were the best Shool had had. He was nearing a narrow channel between the reef and a land marked on the map as Khoolocrah. Shool had been unable to tell him much about the land, save that a race called the Ragha-da-Kheta lived thereabouts.

  In the light from the boat, he peered at the maps, hoping to distinguish some gap in the reef marked there, but there was none.

  Then the boat began to rock rapidly and Corum glanced about him, seeking the source of this sudden eddy. Far away, the surf boomed, but then he heard another sound, to the south of him, and he looked there.

  The sound was a regular rushing and slapping noise, like that of a man wading through a stream. Was this some beast of the sea? The Mabden seemed to fear many such monsters. Corum clung desperately to the sides, trying to keep the boat on course away from the rocks, but the waves increased their agitation.

  And the sound came closer.

  Corum picked up his long, strong sword and readied himself.

  He saw something in the mist then. It was a tall, bulky shape—the outline of a man. And the man was dragging something behind him,. A fishing net! Were the waters so shallow, then? Corum leaned over the side and lowered his sword, point downward, into the sea. It did not touch bottom. He could make out the ocean floor a long way below him. He looked back at the figure. Now he realized that his eyes and the mist had played tricks on him. The figure was still some distance from him and it was gigantic—far huge'r than the Giant of Laahr. This was what made the waves so large. This was why the boat rocked so.

  Corum made to call out, to ask the gigantic creature to move away lest he sink the boat, then he thought better of it. Beings like this were considered to think less kindly of mortals than did the Giant of Laahr.

  Now the giant, still cloaked in mist, changed his course, still fishing. He was behind Corum's boat and he trudged on through the water, dragging his nets behind him.

  The wash sent the boat flying away from the Thousand-League Reef, heading almost due east, and there was nothing Corum could do to stop it He fought with the sail and the tiller, but they would not respond. It was as if he was borne on a river rushing toward a chasm. The giant had set up a current which he could not fight.

  There was nothing for it but to allow the boat to bear him where it would. The giant had long since disappeared in the mist, heading toward the Thousand-League Reef, where perhaps he lived.

  Like a shark pouncing on its prey, the little boat moved, until suddenly it broke through the mist into hot sunshine.

  And Corum saw a coast. Cliffs rushed at him.

  The Second Chapter

  Temgol-Lep

  Desperately Corum tried to turn the boat away from the cliffs. His six-fingered left hand gripped the tiller and his right hand tugged at the sail.

  Then there was a grinding sound. A shudder ran through the metal boat and it began to keel over. Corum grabbed at his weapons and managed to seize them before he was flung overboard and carried on by the wash. He gasped as water filled his mouth. He felt his body scrape on shingle and he tried to stagger upright as the current began to retreat. He saw a rock and grasped it, dropping his bow and his quiver of arrows, which were instantly swept away.

  The sea retreated. He looked back and saw that his upturned boat had gone with it. He let go of the rock and climbed to his feet, buckling his swordbelt around his waist, straightening his helmet on his head, a sense of failure gradually creeping through him.

  He walked a few paces up the beach and sat down beneath the tall, black cliff. He was stranded on a strange shore, his boat was gone and his goal now lay on the other side of an ocean.

  At that moment Corum did not care. Thoughts of love, of hatred, of vengeance disappeared. He felt that he had left them all behind in the dream world that was Svi-an-Fanla-Brool. All he had left of that world was the six-fingered hand and the jeweled eye.

  Reminded of the eye and what it had witnessed, he shivered. He reached up and touched the patch that covered it.

  And then he knew that by accepting Shool's gifts, he’d accepted the logic of Shool's world. He could not escape from it now.

  Sighing, he got up and peered at the cliff. It was unscaleable. He began to walk along the gray shingle, hoping to discover a place where he could climb to the top of the cliff and inspect the land in which he found himself.

  He took a gauntlet given him by Shool and drew it over his hand. He remembered what Shool had told him, before he left, about the powers of the hand. He still only half-believed ShooFs words and he was unwilling to test their veracity.

  For more than an hour he trudged along the shore until he moved round a headland and saw a bay whose sides sloped gently upward and would be easily scaled. The tide was beginning to come in and would soon cover the beach. He began to run.

  He reached the slopes and paused, panting. He had found safety in time. The sea had already covered the largest part of the beach. He climbed to the top of the slope and he saw the city.

  It was a city of domes and minarets that blazed white in the light of the sun, but as he inspected it more closely Corum saw that the towers and domes were not white, but comprised of a multicolored mosaic. He had seen nothing like it.

  He debated whether to avoid the city or approach it. If the people of the city were friendly, he might be able to get their help to find another boat. If they were Mabden, then they were probably unfriendly.

  Were these the Rhaga-da-Kheta people mentioned on his maps? He felt for bis pouch, but the maps had gone with the boat, as had his lodestone. Despair returned.

  He set off toward the city.

  Corum had traveled less than a mile before the bizarre cavalry came racing toward him—warriors mounted on long-necked speckled beasts with curling horns and wattles like those of a lizard. The spindly legs moved swiftly, however, and soon Corum could see that the warriors were also very tall and extremely thin, but with small, rounded heads and round eyes. These were not Mabden, but they were like no race he had ever heard of.

  He stopped and waited. There was nothing else he could do until he discovered if they were his enemies or not.

  Swiftly, they surrounded him, peering down at him through their huge, staring eyes. Their noses and their mouths were also round and their expressions were ones of permanent surprise.

  "Olanja ko?" said one wearing an elaborate cloak and hood of bright feathers and holding a club fashioned like the claw of a giant bird. "Olanja ko, drajer?"

  Using the Low Speech of the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh, which was the common tongue of the Mabden, Corum replied, "I do not understand this language."

  The creature in the feather cloak cocked his head to One side and closed his mouth. The other warriors, all dressed and armed similarly, though not as elaborately, muttered amongst themselves.

  Corum pointed roughly southward. "I come from across the sea." Now he used Middle Speech, which Vadhagh and Nhadragh had spoken, but not Mabden.

  The rider leaned forward as if this sound was more familiar to him, but then he shook his head, understanding none of the words.

  "Olanja ko?"

  Corum also shook his head. The warrior looked puzzled and made a delicate scratching gesture at his cheek. Corum could not interpret the gesture.

  The leader pointed at one of his followers. "Mor naff a!" The man dismounted and waved one of his spindly arms at Corum, gesturing that he climb on the long-necked beast.

  With some difficulty, Corum managed to swing himself into the narrow saddle and sit there, feeling extreme discomfort.

  "Hoj!" The leader waved to his men and
turned his mount back toward the city. "Hoj—ala!"

  The beasts jogged off, leaving the remaining warrior to make his way back to the city on foot.

  The city was surrounded by a high wall patterned with many geometric designs of a thousand colors. They entered it through a tall, narrow gate, moved through a series of walls that were probably designed as a simple maze, and began to ride along a broad avenue of blooming trees toward a palace that lay at the center of the city.

  Reaching the gates of the palace, they all dismounted, and servants, as thin and tall as the warriors, with the same astonished round faces, took away the mounts. Corum was led through the gates, up a staircase of more than a hundred steps, into an enclave. The designs on the walls of the palace were less colorful but more elaborate than those on the outer walls of the city. These were chiefly in gold, white, and pale blue. Although faintly barbaric, the workmanship was beautiful and Corum admired it.

  They crossed the enclave and entered a courtyard that was surrounded by an enclosed walk and had a fountain in its center.

  Under an awning was a large chair with a tapering back. The chair was made of gold and a design was picked out upon it in rubies. The warriors escorting Corum came to a halt and almost immediately a figure emerged from the interior. He had a huge, high headdress of peacock feathers, a great cloak, also of many brilliant feathers, and a kilt of thin gold cloth. He took his place on the throne. This, then, was the ruler of the city.

  The leader of the warriors and his monarch conversed briefly in their own language and Corum waited patiently, not wishing to behave in any way that these people would judge to be unfriendly.

  At length the two creatures stopped conversing. The monarch addressed Corum. He seemed to speak several different tongues until at length Corum heard him say, in a strange accent.

  "Are you of the Mabden race?"

  It was the old speech of the Nhadragh, which Corum had learned as a child.

  "I am not," he replied haltingly.

  "But you are not Nhedregh."

  "Yes—I am not—'Nhedregh.' You know of that folk?”

  "Two of them lived amongst us some centuries since. What race are you?"

  "The Vadhagh.”

  The king sucked at his lips and smacked them. "The enemy, yes, of the Nhedregh?"

  "Not now."

  "Not now?" The king frowned.

  "All the Vadhagh save me are dead," Corum explained."And what is left of those you call Nhedregh have become degenerate slaves of the Mabden."

  "But the Mabden are barbarians!"

  "Now they are very powerful barbarians."

  The king nodded. "This was predicted." He studied Corum closely. "Why are you not dead?"

  "I chose not to die."

  "No choice was yours if Arioch decided."

  "Who is 'Arioch'?"

  "The God."

  "Which God?"

  “The God who rules our destinies. Duke Arioch the Swords."

  "The Knight of the Swords?"

  "I believe he is known by that title in the distant south." The king seemed deeply disturbed now. He licked; his lips. "I am King Temgol-Lep. This is my city, Arke. He waved his thin hand. "These are my people, the Ragha-da-Kheta. This land is called Khoolocrah. We, too, soon shall die."

  "Why so?"

  "It is Mabden time. Arioch decides." The shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Arioch decides. Soon Mabden will come and destroy us."

  "You will fight them, of course."

  "No. It is Mabden time. Arioch commands. He lets the Ragha-da-Kheta live longer because they obey him, because they do not resist him. But soon we shall die."

  Corum shook his head. "Do you not think that Arioch is unjust to destroy you thus?"

  "Arioch decides."

  It occurred to Corum that these people had not been so fatalistic once. Perhaps they, too, were in a process of degeneration, caused by the Knight of the Swords.

  "Why should Arioch destroy so much beauty and learning as you have here?"

  "Arioch decides."

  King Temgol-Lep seemed to be more familiar with the Knight of the Swords and his plans than anyone Corum. had yet met. Living so much closer to his domain, perhaps they had seen him.

  "Has Arioch told you this himself?"

  "He has spoken through our wise ones."

  "And the wise ones—they are certain of Arioch's will?"

  "They are certain."

  Corum sighed. "Well, I intend to resist his plans. I do not find them agreeable!"

  King Temgol-Lep drew his lids over his eyes and trembled slightly. The warriors looked at him nervously. Evidently they recognized that the king was displeased.

  "I will speak no more about Arioch," King Temgol-Lep said. "But as our guest we must entertain you. You will drink some wine with us."

  "I will drink some wine. I thank you." Corum would have preferred food to begin with, bat he was still cautious of giving offense to the Ragha-da-Kheta, who might yet supply him with the boat he needed.

  The king spoke to some servants who were waiting in the shadows near the door into the palace. They went inside.

  Soon they returned with a tray on which were tall, thin goblets and a golden jug. The king reached out and took the tray in his own hands, balancing it on his knee. Gravely, he poured wine into one of the cups and handed it to Corum.

  Corum stretched out his left hand to receive the goblet.

  The hand quivered.

  Corum tried to control it, but it knocked the goblet away. The king looked startled and began to speak.

  The hand plunged forward and its six fingers seized the king's throat.

  King Temgol-Lep gurgled and kicked as Corum tried to pull the Hand of Kwlt away. But the fingers were locked on the throat. Corum could feel himself squeezing the life from the king.

  Corum shouted for help before he realized that the warriors thought that he was attacking the king on his own volition. He drew his sword and hacked around him as they attacked with their oddly wrought clubs. They were plainly unused to battle, for their actions were clumsy and without proper coordination.

  Suddenly the hand released King Temgol-Lep and Corom saw that he was dead.

  His new hand had murdered a kindly and innocent creature! And it had ruined his chances of getting help from the Ragha-da-Kheta. It might even have killed him, for the warriors were very numerous.

  Standing over the corpse of the king, he swept his sword this way and that, striking limbs from bodies, cutting into heads. Blood gushed everywhere and covered him, but he fought on.

  Then, suddenly, there were no more living warriors. He stood in the courtyard while the gentle sun beat down and the fountain played and he looked at all the corpses. He raised his gauntleted alien hand and spat on it.

  "Oh, evil thing! Rhalina was right! You have made me a murderer!"

  But the hand was his again, it had no life of its own. He flexed the six fingers. It was now like any ordinary limb.

  Save for the splashing of the water from the fountain, the courtyard was silent.

  Corum looked back at the dead king and he shuddered. He raised his sword. He could cut the Hand of Kwll from him. Better to be crippled than to be the slave of so evil a thing!

  And then the ground fell away from him and he plunged downward to fall with a crash upon the back of a beast that spit and clawed at him.

  The Third Chapter

  The Dark Things Come

  Corum saw daylight above and then the flagstone slid back and he was in darkness with the beast that dwelled in the pit beneath die courtyard. It was snarling in a corner somewhere. He prepared to defend himself against it.

  Then the snarling stopped and there was silence for a moment.

  Corum waited.

  He heard a shuffling. He saw a spark. The spark became a flame. The flame came from a wick that burned in a clay vessel full of oil.

  The clay vessel was held by a filthy hand. And the hand belonged to a hairy creature whose eyes
were full of anger.

  "Who are you?" Corum said.

  The creature shuffled again and placed the crude lamp in a niche on the wall. Corum saw that the chamber was covered in dirty straw. There was a pitcher and a plate and, at the far end, a heavy iron door. The place reeked of human excrement.

  "Can you understand me?" Comm still spoke the Nhadragh tongue.

  "Stop your gabbling." The creature spoke distantly, as if he did not expect Corum to know what he was saying. He had spoken in the Low Speech. "You will be like me soon."

  Corum made no reply. He sheathed his sword and walked about the cell, inspecting it. There seemed no obvious way of escape. Above him he heard footsteps on the flagstones of the courtyard. He heard, quite clearly, the voices of the Rhaga-da-Kheta. They were agitated, almost hysterical.

  The creature cocked his head and listened. "So that is what happened," he mused, staring at Corum and grinning to himself. "You killed the feeble little coward, eh? Hm, well I don't resent your company nearly so much. Though your stay will be short, I fear. I wonder how they will destroy you . . ."

  Corum listened in silence, still not revealing that he understood the creature's words. He heard the sound of the corpses being dragged away overhead. More voices came and went.

  "Now they are in a quandary," chuckled the creature. "They are only good at killing by stealth. What did they try to do to you, my friend, poison you? That's the way they usually get rid of those they fear."

  Poison? Corum frowned. Had the wine been poisoned? He looked at the hand. Had it—known? Was it in some way sentient?

  He decided to break bis silence. "Who are you?" he said in the Low Speech.

  The creature began to laugh. "So you can understand me! Well, since you are my guest, I feel you should answer my questions first. You look like a Vadhagh to me, yet I thought all the Vadhagh had perished long since. Name yourself and your folk, Friend."

  Corum said, "I am Corum Jhaelen Irsei—the Prince in the Scarlet Robe. And I am the last of the Vadhagh."

  "And I am Hanafax of Pengarde, something of a soldier, something of a priest, something of an explorer—and something of a wretch, as you see. I hail from a land called Lywm-an-Esh—a land far to the west where ..."