The White Wolf's Son

by Michael Moorcock

  “The Cosmic Balance? It’s broken?” The fox found his hat and licked at the dusty felt until he was satisfied it was clean enough to readjust on his head.

  “The Cosmic Balance can’t be broken, though perhaps it can be destroyed. It is an idea. But those elements which represent it only rarely come together. Frequently they take unfamiliar forms.” Prince Lobkowitz watched as the Kakatanawa rather inexpertly rounded up the horses and, helped by Lieutenant Fromental, harnessed them to their carriages. “Of course, the Balance itself is merely the symbol of the forces which work to control the multiverse, but it is a useful and powerful symbol. Control the symbol, many believe, and you control both Law and Chaos. Since rational people have never wanted such control, and irrational people were incapable of achieving it, the theory has still to be tested.”

  “It has never been tested? Never? What is this Balance, then? How is it comprised?” Lord Renyard looked on intently as Elric began to pick through the ruins where the ornithopter had landed, perhaps hoping to find concrete clues to where his daughter and great-granddaughter had been taken. It seemed obvious that they had been carried off to Granbretan. Probably to Londra. Few escaped that island, he guessed. He cocked his gloomy head to hear Prince Lobkowitz’s reply.

  “Traditionally the Balance comprises a stem, a crosspiece and two bowls suspended on golden chains from the crosspiece. It combines the essence of both Order and Entropy. The stem is rooted in a great rock sometimes popularly called the Rock of Ages. Others merely call it ‘the Stone.’ In some parts of the multiverse these elements are themselves individually venerated, even worshipped. One found its way into legend as Excalibur, Arthur’s sword, which was embedded in a rock before he pulled it free. Other tales speak of the Stone as the Grail, a giant emerald—not always a magnificent cup—which has the power to cure the world’s pain. Some believe it is the same thing as the Runestaff, which appears to have the Grail’s properties and can reveal itself in many forms.”

  The fox opened his mouth in a puzzled grin. “I fear, sir, that as a rational creature, ‘tis hard for me to understand such strange logic …”

  Prince Lobkowitz nodded slowly, watching the others and mopping at his neck. Like them he was sweating, probably as a result of Elric’s potions. “Throughout the multiverse, intelligent, imaginative beings ascribe differing powers and forms to these symbols,” he said. “The cups, the swords, the rocks, are merely the more familiar forms we choose. Manipulation through representation is the quest of every alchemist, for instance. That’s the peculiar logic by which we control the elements, which some condemn as sorcery. Represented by elementals—sentient beings with the power of the tornado or the forest fire, the earthquake or the storming heavens—these forces are far stronger than anything we can invent or hope to control. Even those above the elementals, the Lords of the Higher Worlds, who represent our vices and virtues as well as our ambitions and temperaments, our intellect, our courage, even our morality, would not challenge the power of the Balance. They, too, understand how they must perpetually struggle, Law against Chaos, in order to maintain the life of the multiverse, to ensure that it grows neither moribund nor too fecund. Either state is antipathetic to our existence. What’s more, we are ourselves manifestations of those conditions. That’s perhaps why we exist at all. Through our stories, which are formed from our desires and fears, we create order and ensure our own existence. The multiverse protects her own security and her own continuing growth by creating those forces which will, in balance, sustain her. We represent such forces in symbols which we use to interpet and organize that small part of the multiverse we inhabit and understand.”

  Elric came back, having found nothing. “And then,” he said, by way of augmenting Prince Lobkowitz’s explanation, “there are the Grey Fees.” He allowed himself a thin smile, to which, by way of acknowledgment, Lobkowitz responded.

  “The Grey Fees, it’s believed, is the primordial matter which can be given shape entirely by thought and desire,” he said. “Some who have studied the magical arts are convinced that control of all other elements is as nothing if you control the Grey Fees. The Balance is the regulator. Destroy that regulator and you personally become regulator, with control of all creation.”

  “Aha!” The fox was at last enlightened. “You become God!”

  “And that, we are convinced, is the obscenity which the Dark Empire and their allies, von Minct and Klosterheim among them, wish to manifest, believing that both God and Satan, in their reconciliation, no longer have interest nor the power to manipulate and control.”

  Lord Renyard found this easy to understand. He murmured something about epicurianism and stoicism. “And there will always be those, too, who by creating conflict manage to take advantage of all sides.”

  “This began some centuries ago,” Prince Lobkowitz concluded, “when Prince Elric’s distant relative, Ulric von Bek, was commissioned by Satan to seek the Holy Grail and thus cure the world’s pain. Your friend, Manfred von Bek, got himself involved in a plot by the Duchess of Crete and her associates, who wished to find the ultimate alchemical power over nature, which involves, of course, the ability to control the elements, thus turning lead into gold and so forth. Still later, the present old Count Ulric forestalled a Nazi plot to gain that power. But Klosterheim and Gaynor, who cannot easily die, because of their own experiments and skills, continued to seek control of the Grail. That is what they believe they are doing now, but I suspect Bous-Junge, Taragorm and all those other brilliant, poisoned minds of Granbretan have even more ambitious plans.”

  “If they gain that control—”

  “Then we all cease to exist, I fear. However, they are more likely to fail and bring catastrophe down upon themselves. But even that prospect does not greatly concern our friend Klosterheim. It is oblivion he desires, I suspect, and this is his means of finding it. Annihilation. Even Gaynor has decided that he would rather die than lose his chance at controlling the very life-stuff of existence. Not that he fully comprehends what that death will mean for him: an agony of ‘now’ in which he relives the moment before his death for eternity. For if you would abolish time, you abolish all that makes you a living creature, as opposed to an atomic particle, which has no history but is re-created over and over again.” Prince Lobkowitz let out a melancholy sigh. He could tell that not all the assembled party followed his reference to physics. But the expedition was reassembled at last. He looked to Elric. “What now, old friend?”

  Elric was troubled. “Apparently, we’ve been outmaneuvered by our enemies. Granbretan and her allies now possess at least two of the elements they seek, and will do everything they can to gather the rest. Even the Black Sword isn’t safe from them. We gamble everything on this game—as, I suspect, do they.”

  “And our time grows short,” said Prince Lobkowitz. “Now every Knight of the Balance, in every manifestation of our world, comes together to defeat those greedy forces, the combined power of the Dark Empire, Klosterheim, Gaynor and the rest. We must outwit them, as they have just outwitted us. They have a habit of cunning, which most of us lack. And that little girl’s well-being, her very life, depends upon what we do next.”

  “I would give my life for the child,” said Lord Renyard simply.

  “As we all would,” agreed Prince Lobkowitz. “But we do not wish Prince Elric, for instance, to give his life, for that would mean that he could not fulfill his destiny elsewhere. So you see, dear Lord Renyard, we act out of necessity, not sentiment, nor always decently, nor always courageously, in a highly complex conflict, full of subtle attack and counterattack. Imagine a large orchestra, in which every instrument must be in perfect tune if a particular piece of music is to be played, also perfectly and at a specific moment. Yet each member of that orchestra can be separated by thousands of miles or even thousands of years, scattered across the multiverse, which, if not infinite, appears to be infinite. If only one of our heroes does not act as he is supposed to act, if events do not happen e
xactly when they are due to happen, if Elric and his avatars do not do what they must all do precisely at the right moment, then there is no hope for any of us. Life will be extinguished. The multiverse will collapse into inchoate primal matter, and there will be no intelligence, this time, to give it form.”

  “You refer to the death of God. The death of an idea. Even so, it takes a certain courage to continue to live in such circumstances,” said Lieutenant Fromental, his open, friendly face graver than usual. “Any fool can throw up his arm with his fist around a sword and cry ‘Liberty or Death!’ but it takes a special kind of hero to know that it is not for him to choose the time of his death, or even choose his own weapons. You know that, I think, old friend.” He came up to the others, dusting his hands and smiling sympathetically at Elric. “But what I am seriously curious about is, who betrayed us? Too often, it seems to me, our enemies have anticipated our moves, known where we were going and what we planned.”

  Elric ran his pale hand through his milk-white hair. “Aye. As if we had a spy in our midst Yet the idea is anathema. Everything we do and say is based on mutual trust and mutual hatred of a common enemy. Who would have either the motive or the means of betraying us?”

  The albino paused and shrugged. He rubbed his chin. “I have come from a world where betrayal and lies are commonplace, where anything is said and done in order to win at all costs, where people have grown used to hypocrisy and deceit and regard them as natural, legitimate instruments of trade, politics and daily intercourse, unable to distinguish truth from falsehood. They embrace the sentimental lie with the enthusiasm others bring to religion. Indeed that habit of mind has become their religion. Yet those of us who came together so recently to avert this plot are all habitual enemies of Gaynor, Klosterheim and their kind. We must reject the Prince of Lies. It is in our self-interest to remain loyal to one another.” He sighed. “Well, there is nothing to do now but go to Granbretan and see if we can find the children before those creatures begin mingling their blood with those sacred objects.”

  “Children’s blood!” The fox was shocked. “They are sacrificing children? How disgustingly barbaric! But why?”

  “The corrupted practices of sorcery,” said Prince Lobkowitz. “You begin by believing that like affects like. Like then becomes like. Therefore, like controls like. Pure blood of near-immortals is the material they hope to use to produce their new reality. When the multiverse melts and collapses into its unformed and uncontrolled fundamentals, they will absorb the blood, making it their own, and ensure that they survive to re-create the multiverse to their own design. Even if they fail, as I suspect they must, it will destroy all that regulates the multiverse. Meanwhile many heroes will die for nothing, believing themselves to be dying for a cause, dying to rebalance the elements, dying in defense of God himself. Every avatar of the one we call the Champion Eternal will perish.”

  “The destruction of the Knights of the Balance,” murmured Lieutenant Fromental. “Even Satan did not seek that.” He spoke with strong feeling, as if from experience. “We must go there. We must save our little mademoiselle.”

  Prince Lobkowitz drew his greying brows together. “But how on earth can we reach Granbretan undetected?”

  “That is not our chief problem,” Elric told him. “We can scavenge masks from the many corpses Duke Dorian has left us. I’m told the Dark Empire forces have retreated back to their Silver Bridge which spans the sea between Karlye and Deau Vere. Even if Colonel Bastable cannot help us, as I believe he intends to, it would be easy for most of us to join groups of refugees. It will be considerably more difficult to find and rescue young Oonagh and my daughter.”

  Lord Renyard was a little perplexed. “I must go with you, gentlemen. How do you propose to disguise me?”

  A new voice chimed in from behind them. “At last! Thank the Lord we are still to some degree synchronized. I would have been here sooner, but I had some minor problems with a timing device. I am sorry I was unable to keep our appointment in Mirenburg, Monsieur Zodiac. I simply couldn’t leave the job at that point. The machine shops and factories are the only ones in this extraordinary world where I could find the engineers and craftsmen I needed. And as usual, they were behind schedule. Anyway, she’s ready now. I gather you got my message.”

  Elric turned, recognizing the voice, but it was Prince Lobkowitz and Lieutenant Fromental who spoke first, together. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”

  The strong, open features of the newcomer brightened in a grin. “Good afternoon to you, too, gentlemen!” He stepped forward to embrace Prince Lobkowitz and shake the hands of his fellow Knights of the Balance. With heavy goggles pushed back over a military cap, he wore something very close to a uniform, in light blue and scarlet. In certain worlds he would have been recognized immediately as a member of His Majesty’s Imperial Merchant Air Service.

  Colonel Oswald Bastable was glad to see his old friends. He told them quickly of his time in Mirenburg, how he had thought it unwise to reveal himself to the party there, because he, too, had seen Klosterheim and Gaynor in the palace. “I decided to let them focus on you, gentlemen, whom they had already detected. This allowed me the time I needed to complete my ‘infernal machine.’ Of course, without Prince Yaroslaf’s help, nothing would have been possible. Your word, Monsieur Zodiac, went a long way with him.

  “I tried to tell Countess von Bek to wait, that I was preparing a better means of travel, but she left precipitously while I was at the factory clearing up some details of my ship. Young Oonagh almost recognized me when I joined you briefly for that first meal at Prince Yaroslaf’s reception. The prince was sworn to secrecy, but I couldn’t resist making brief contact with you. It was a bit of a toss-up, you see. I could have told her who I was and risked old Klosterheim and company guessing what I was up to, or I could keep my identity secret and risk your party, Prince Lobkowitz, leaving before I could contact you. That, of course, is exactly what happened. When I heard you had gone, I ran after you, but you were already some distance from Mirenburg. I was a little too late, it seems. I guessed they were waiting for you to leave the safety of the city, where they’d be able to take a crack at you. I tried to warn you, but unfortunately you misinterpreted me. Anyway, she’s completed now and at your disposal. Training the crew was the hardest part. They have a very different theory of aeronautics. They’re not British, you see. However …”

  With a modest gesture of his gauntleted hand, Colonel Bastable pushed back his cap, turned and indicated low hills behind them.

  Flying low, casting a long shadow on the ground, her engine droning softly, hull glittering with newly doped canvas, bright metal and fresh paint, flying a Union Jack from her aftlines, came a slender airship, the glass portholes of her armored gondola winking like round, innocent eyes.

  “Gentlemen, may I present HMAS Victoria. She’s our prototype. A nifty little bus, though I do say so myself. Carrying some pretty powerful ordnance. And I think we can slip across the channel in her tonight, what, and do what we need to do.”

  Prince Lobkowitz nodded gravely, staring hard into Colonel Bastable’s face. “I suspect, sir, that you have a personal agenda in this matter.”

  Wide-eyed, Bastable returned his stare. “To protect the well-being of this world, sir? How does that sound?”

  Elric, unable to determine the nature of their exchange, turned away in some impatience, leading the party towards the airship as she began to settle in the air a few feet above the ground.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE SIGHT OF the Scots balloonist made me feel suddenly sick and helpless. St. Odhran’s crooked smile told me all I needed to know. He had betrayed us. We were as good as finished. I remembered how Monsieur Zodiac had trusted him, even leaving his sword in the traitor’s hands!

  “You rotten …” I couldn’t come up with a word bad enough. I was close to tears.

  Countess Flana had better things to do. She had grown bored with me. Asking the chevalier to sit down, she summone
d slaves and ordered them to wheel me out of her little sanctuary. Before I had the chance to recover my composure, I found myself in a set of apartments which, the slaves told me, had been prepared for me.

  Certainly it looked as if my capture had been anticipated for quite a while. There were changes of clothes in my size, a neat little bed with a fluffy down comforter, and everything was made for a person of my height. Everything but the doors and windows, that is. They were, if anything, oversize, and all discreetly locked, barred or both. The windows were so high, I couldn’t see out of them. Only when I managed to clamber on top of a piece of asymmetrical furniture (which vaguely resembled a hippopotamus) could I see a few roofs, the odd chimney against a black and scarlet sky full of perpetual, restless movement, clouds of smoke creating sinister half-familiar shapes. The glass was thick and blemished. It helped produce the effect of warped menace. I was glad to get down and have a look around my cell.

  As prisons went, it was luxurious. There was a little sitting room with funny-looking chairs and another of those weird toilets. The cupboards revealed more clothes, many of them really beautiful, a couple of plain masks, which fit me, some books made of light, silvery stuff which was neither paper nor plastic. Pictures in the books gave the impression of movement. The script was in a language I could scarcely understand. I tried to do a bit of reading, but the strain was too much.

  At some point a slave brought me my supper, which consisted of a cup of salty soup, several different kinds of fish in thin strips laid on the plate in rows, some fruit and a very sweet drink which reminded me of that apricot nectar which Mum would never let us have because she said the sugar in it would rot through bone, let alone our teeth. I felt quite a lot better after I’d eaten, though. I was ready to face, if not the worst Granbretan could throw at me, then something close. They had shown me that poor, ragged creature, his skin hanging in ribbons from his body, so that I could sit and think of the similar fate in store for me, but in spite of the evidence, I refused to believe they were going to do anything so cruel.