The Chronicles of Castle Brass

by Michael Moorcock

  It was something which gleamed like polished coal. An irregularly cut gem. She knew what it must be.

  As she straightened up she noticed that the quality of the light around her had altered subtly. It was as if clouds had passed across the sun, yet the rains were not due yet for another two months.

  Jhary-a-Conel came running towards her. 'So you did slay him! But I fear that action will bring more trouble to us.' He glanced at the gem she held. 'Keep that safely. If we come through this together, I will show you what you must do with it.'

  Overhead, in the darkening sky, through the topmost branches of Garathorm's massive trees, there came a sound. It was like the beating of the wings of a gigantic bird. And there was a stink, too, that made the smell of the corpses seem sweet in comparison.

  'What is it, Jhary?' Ilian felt fear filling her whole mind. She wanted to flee from the thing which was coming to Virinthorm.

  'Kalan warned you that there would be consequences if he was slain here. You see, his experiments created the disruptions in the whole balance of the multiverse. By slaying him you have enabled the multiverse to begin healing itself, though that will bring further disruptions of what some would call a minor nature.'

  'But what causes that sound, that smell?'

  'Listen,' said Jhary-a-Conel. 'Do you hear anything else."

  Ilian listened carefully. In the distance she could hear the barking note of a war-horn. Ymryl’s horn.

  'He has summoned Arioch, Lord of Chaos,' said Jhary. 'And Kalan's dying has enabled Arioch to break through at last. Ymryl has a new ally, Ilian.'

  Chapter Three

  The Swaying Of The Balance

  Jhary was full of a wild, despairing mirth as he mounted his yellow horse, casting many glances at the sky. It was still dark, but the sound of that awful flapping had gone and the stink had faded.

  'Only you, Jhary, know what we fight now,' said Katinka van Bak soberly. She wiped sweat from her face with her sleeve, the sword still in her hand.

  Yisselda of Brass rode up. On her arm was a long, shallow cut. The blood had congealed in the wound.

  'Ymryl has withdrawn his attack,' she said. 'I cannot determine what strategy he plans ...' Her voice tailed off as she saw Kalan's corpse still lying in the ashes. 'So,' she said, 'he is dead. Good. He had the superstition, you know, that he could only be slain by my husband, Hawkmoon.'

  Katinka van Bak almost smiled. 'Aye,' she said. 'I know.'

  'Have you any thought as to what Ymryl plans next?' Yisselda asked Katinka van Bak.

  'He has little need of strategy now, according to what Jhary tells us,' the warrior woman replied wearily. 'He has demons aiding him now!'

  'You are choosing the terminology to suit your own prejudices,' said Jhary-a-Conel. 'If I called Arioch a being of considerably advanced mental and physical powers, you would accept his existence completely.'

  'I accept his existence, anyway!' snorted Katinka van Bak. 'I have heard him. I have sniffed him!'

  'Well,' said Ilian in a small voice, 'we must continue our fight with Ymryl, even if it is doomed. Shall we continue our defensive strategy or alter it to one of attack?'

  'It scarcely matters now,' said Jhary-a-Conel, "but it would be nobler to die in an attack, would it not?' He smiled to himself. 'Strange how death remains unwelcome, for all I understand my fate.'

  They moved through the trees, their mounts abandoned. They were stealthy and they carried the flame-lances they had taken from the dead Dark Empire warriors whom Kalan had led.

  Jhary led them and now he paused, raising his hand as he looked down through the leaves, wrinkling his nose.

  They saw Ymryl's camp. He had made it on the very edge of the city. They saw Ymryl, his yellow horn bouncing on his naked chest. He wore only a pair of silken breeks and his feet were unshod. His arms were bound about with bracelets of leather studded with jewels and he had a broad leather belt round his waist, which carried his heavy broadsword, his broad-bladed dirk and a weapon which could shoot tiny, squat arrows across long distances. His great untidy mop of yellow hair fell across his face and his uneven teeth gleamed as he grinned somewhat nervously at his new ally.

  His ally was about nine feet tall and about six feet broad with a dark, scaly skin. It was naked, hermaphrodite, and there was a pair of leathery wings folded on its back. It seemed to be in some pain as it moved about, gnawing hungrily at the remains of one of Ymryl's soldiers.

  But the unnerving thing about Ymryl's ally was its face. It was a face which kept changing. At one moment it would be repulsively bestial and ugly, at another it would become the face of a beautiful youth. Only the eyes, the pain-racked eyes, did not change. Occasionally, however, they flashed with intelligence, but for the most part were cruel, fierce, primitive.

  Ymryl's voice trembled, but it was triumphant. 'You will aid me now, will you not, Lord Arioch. It was the bargain we made...'

  'Aye, the bargain,' grunted the demon. 'I have made so many. And so many have reneged of late ...'

  'I am still loyal to you, my lord.'

  'I am under attack myself. Huge forces come against me on many planes, in many times. Men disrupt the multiverse. The balance has gone! The balance has gone! Chaos crumbles and Law is no more ...'

  Arioch seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Ymryl.

  Ymryl said hesitantly: 'But your power? You still have your power?'

  'Aye, much of it. Oh, I can aid you in your business here, Ymryl, for as long as it should last.'

  'Last? What mean you, my Lord Arioch?'

  But Arioch chewed the meat from the last bone and threw it down, dragging himself across the ground to peer towards the centre of the city.

  Ilian shivered as she saw the face change to become fat, fleshy, jowelled, the teeth rotting. The lips moved as Arioch murmured to himself. 'It is a matter of perspective, Corum. We follow our whims ...' Arioch scowled. Ah, Elric, sweetest of my slaves .. . all turning - all turning. What means if' And the features changed again, to become the features of a handsome boy. 'The planes intersect, the balance tilts, the old battles become obscure, the old ways are no more. Do the gods truly die? Can the gods die?’

  And, for all she loathed the monster, Ilian felt a peculiar pang of sympathy for Arioch as she overheard his musings.

  'How shall we strike, great Arioch?' Ymryl stepped up to his supernatural master. 'Will you lead us?'

  'Lead you? It is not my way to lead mortals into battle. Ah!' Arioch let out a scream of agony. 'I cannot remain here!'

  'You must, Arioch! Our bargain!'

  'Yes, Ymryl, our bargain. I gave you the horn, that which is brother to the Horn of Fate. And there are so few still loyal to the Chaos Lords, so few worlds where we may still survive ...'

  'Then you will give us power?"

  Again Arioch's face changed, back to its primitive, demonic form. And Arioch growled, all the intelligence disappearing from his face. And he drew deep, snorting breaths, and his body began to change colour, to grow in size, to flare with reds and yellows as if a mighty furnace roared within him.

  'He gathers his strength,' whispered Jhary-a-Conel, his lips close to Ilian's ear. 'We must strike now. Now, Ilian.'

  He leapt, his flame-lance sending out its stream of ruby light. He jumped into the ranks of the great army and four warriors were cut down before any realised that an enemy had come among them. Now others of Ilian's warriors dropped from the trees, following Jhary's example. Katinka van Bak, Yisselda of Brass, Lyfeth of Ghant, Mysenal of Hinn - all jumped into the fray, jumped to certain death. And Ilian wondered why she hung back.

  She saw Ymryl yell urgently at Arioch, saw Arioch reach out to touch Ymryl. And Ymryl's body glowed, seeming to burn with the same fire which filled Arioch.

  And Ymryl screamed, drawing his sword, and rushing upon Ilian's handful of warriors.

  That was when Ilian jumped, placing herself between her folk and Ymryl.

  Ymryl was possessed. His form radiated a m
onstrous energy as if Arioch himself possessed that mortal body. Ymryl's eyes, even, were the bestial eyes of Arioch. He snarled. He came at Ilian with his great sword hissing through the air. 'Ah, now, Ilian. This time you shall die. This time!'

  And Ilian tried to block the blow, but so strong had Ymryl become that her sword was driven back against her body. She stumbled backward, again barely able to ward off Ymryl's next swipe at her. He fought with reasonless ferocity and she knew that he must kill her.

  And behind Ymryl, Arioch had grown to huge proportions. His body continued to writhe, growing larger and larger, but containing less and less substance. The face altered constantly now, from second to second, and she heard a faint voice calling:

  'The balance! The balance! It sways! It bends! It melts! It is the doom of the gods! Oh, these puny creatures - these men,..’

  And then Arioch was gone and only Ymryl was left, but an Ymryl filled with Arioch's terrible power.

  Ilian continued to retreat before the rain of blows. Her arms were aching. Her legs and her back were aching. She was afraid. She did not want Ymryl to kill her.

  Somewhere she heard another sound. Was it a yell of triumph? Did it mean that all her comrades were dead now, that Ymryl's soldiers had destroyed every one of them?

  Was she the last of Garathorm?

  She fell back as, with a terrific blow, Ymryl knocked the sword from her hand. Another blow split her buckler. Ymryl drew back his arm to deliver the death stroke.

  Chapter Four

  The Soul Gem

  Ilian tried to stare Ymryl in his eyes as she died, those eyes which were no longer his own, but Arioch's.

  But then the light in them began to fade and Ymryl looked about him in wonder. She heard him say:

  'It is over, then? We go home?'

  He seemed to be looking at scenery that was not the scenery of Garathorm. And he was smiling.

  Ilian reached out and her hand grasped the hilt of her sword. With all her strength she thrust out at Ymryl and she saw his blood spurt, his face become astonished, as gradually he faded into nothingness, as Arioch had faded before him.

  Dazed, Ilian staggered upright, not knowing if she had killed Ymryl. Now she would never know.

  Katinka van Bak lay nearby. She had a great, red wound in her body. Her face was white as if all her blood had gone. She was panting. As Ilian approached her, Katinka said:

  'I heard the story of Hawkmoon's sword - the Sword of the Dawn it was called. It could summon warriors from another plane, another time. Could some other sword have summoned Ymryl... ?' She hardly knew what she was saying.

  Jhary-a-Conel, supported by Yisselda of Brass, came limping out of the battle-dust. His leg was cut, but not deeply.

  'So you saved us, after all, Ilian,' he said. 'As the Eternal Champion should!' He grinned. 'But does not, I'll admit, always do...'

  'I saved you? No. I cannot explain this. Ymryl vanished!'

  'You slew Kalan. It was Kalan who had created the circumstances which allowed Ymryl and the rest to come to Garathorm. With Kalan's death the rift in the multiverse begins to mend. In healing itself, it replaces Ymryl and all who served Ymryl back in their respective eras. I'm sure that's what happened. These are strange times, Ilian of Garathorm. Almost as strange for me as they are for you. I'm used to gods exerting their will -but Arioch - he is wretched now. Do the gods die in all planes, I wonder?'

  'There have never been gods on Garathorm,' said Ilian. She bent to attend Katinka van Bak's wound, hoping that it was not as serious as it looked. But it was worse than it looked. Katinka van Bak was dying.

  'They have all gone, then?' said Yisselda, hardly realising, still, that their friend was so badly wounded.

  'All - including corpses,' said Jhary. He was fumbling in the pouch at his belt. 'This will help her,' he said. 'A potion to kill pain.'

  Ilian put the vial to Katinka van Bak's lips, but the warrior woman shook her head. 'No,' she said, 'it will make me sleep. I want to remain awake for what little life I have left. And I must go home.'

  'Home? To Virinthorm?' said Ilian softly.

  'No. To my own home. Back through the Bulgar Mountains.' Katinka sought with her eyes for Jhary-a-Conel. 'Will you take me there, Jhary?'

  'We must have a litter,' he said. He called to Lyfeth, who had come up. 'Can some of your folk make a litter?'

  Ilian said absently. 'You are all still alive? But how? I thought you went to your deaths ...?'

  'The sea-folk!' said Lyfeth as she went away to help make the litter. 'Did you not see them?'

  'The sea-folk? My attention was on that demon ...'

  'Just as Jhary leapt down into their camp, we saw their banners. That was why we chose to attack when we did. Look!'

  Moving towards the trees to cut branches, Lyfeth pointed.

  And Ilian smiled with pleasure as she saw the warriors there, each armed with a great harpoon-gun, each mounted on huge seal-like creatures. On only a few occasions had she seen the sea-folk, but she knew that they were proud and that they were strong, hunting the whales of the sea upon their amphibious beasts.

  While Yisselda dressed Katinka van Bak's wounds, Ilian went to thank King Treshon, their leader.

  He dismounted and bowed graciously. 'My lady,' he said. 'My queen.' Though an old man, he was still very fit and muscles rippled on his bronzed body. He wore a sleeveless mail shirt and a leather kilt, just as all his warriors did. 'Now we can make Garathorm live again.'

  'Did you know of our battle?'

  'No. We had spies watching Arnald of Grovent - he who finally became leader of those who took our towns. When he set off to march against Ymryl, we decided that it was the best time to strike - while they were divided and concentrating on attack from other quarters -'

  'Just as we did!' Ilian said. 'It is happy for both of us that we decided upon the same strategy.'

  'We were well-advised,' said King Treshon. '

  'Advised? By whom?'

  'By yonder youth ..." King Treshon indicated Jhary-a-Conel who was sitting next to Katinka van Bak and conversing with her in a low voice. 'He visited us a month or so since and outlined the plan we followed.'

  Ilian smiled. 'He knows much, that youth.'

  'Aye, my lady.'

  Ilian reached into her belt purse and felt the hard edges of the black jewel. She was in a reflective mood as she trudged back to where Jhary sat, having taken her leave of King Treshon for the moment.

  'You told me to keep the jewel safe,' she said. She took it from her purse, holding it up. 'Here it is.'

  'I am glad it is still here,' said Jhary. 'I feared it would be whisked back to wherever Kalan's corpse now lies!'

  'You planned much of what has happened here, Jhary-a-Conel, did you not?'

  'Plan it? No. I serve, that is all. I do what must be done." Jhary was pale. She noticed that he was trembling.

  "What's ill? Did you sustain a worse wound than we thought?'

  'No. But those forces which pulled Arioch and Ymryl from your world also demand that I leave, it seems. We must make haste to the cave.'

  'The cave?'

  'Where we first met.' Jhary got up and ran towards his yellow horse. 'Mount whatever there is to ride. Have two of your warriors bear Katinka's litter. Bring Yisselda of Brass with you. Quickly, to the cave!' And he was already riding.

  Ilian saw that the litter was almost ready. She told Yisselda what Jhary had said and they went to find mounts.

  'But why am I still in this world?' Yisselda said, frowning. 'Should not I have returned to the world where Kalan held me prisoner?'

  'You feel nothing - nothing pulling you from here?' Ilian said.

  'Nothing.'

  Impulsively Ilian reached forward and kissed Yisselda lightly on the cheek. 'Farewell,' she said.

  Yisselda was surprised. 'You do not come with us to the cave?'

  'I come with you. But I wished to say goodbye. I cannot explain why.'

  Ilian felt a mood of peace begi
n to descend on her. Again she touched the black jewel in her pouch. She smiled.

  Jhary was standing in the cave-mouth when they arrived. He looked even weaker than before. He held his black and white cat tightly to his chest.

  'Ah,' he said. 'I thought I would not be here. Good.'

  Lyfeth of Ghant and Mysenal of Hinn had insisted on carrying Katinka van Bak's litter themselves. They made to carry it into the cave, but Jhary stopped them. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'You must wait here. If Ilian does not return, you must elect a new ruler in her place.'

  'A new ruler? What do you intend to do with her?' Mysenal leapt forward, hand on his sword. 'What harm can befall her in that cave?'

  'No harm. But Kalan's jewel still contains her soul...' Jhary was sweating. He gasped and shook his head. 'I cannot explain now. Be assured I will protect your queen...'

  And he followed Yisselda and Ilian, who were now carrying Katinka van Bak's litter, into the cave.

  Ilian was astonished at how deep the cave was. It seemed to go on and on into the mountainside. And it became colder as they went deeper. Yet she said nothing, trusting Jhary.

  She turned only once, when she heard Mysenal's excited voice in the distance, shouting: 'We blame you for nothing, now, Ilian! You are absolved ...'

  And she wondered at Mysenal's tone and why he should feel such urgency in expressing that sentiment. Not that it meant a great deal to her. She knew her guilt, whatever others said.

  And then Katinka van Bak said weakly from her litter. 'Is this not the spot, Jhary-a-Conel?'

  Jhary nodded. Since the light had faded, he had carried an odd globe in his hand - a globe which gleamed with light. He set this down upon the floor of the cavern and then Ilian gasped at what she saw. It was the corpse of a tall and handsome man, dressed all in furs. There was no wound on his body, nothing to indicate how he had died. And his face reminded her of someone's. She closed her eyes. 'Hawkmoon ...' she murmured. 'My name...'

  Yisselda was sobbing as she knelt down beside the corpse.

  'Dorian! My love! My love!' She turned to look up at Jhary-a-Conel. 'Why did you not warn me of this?'