The Chronicles of Castle Brass

by Michael Moorcock

  "And our destination?’

  Corum took a draught from his own wine cup. 'I have heard the name Tanelorn spoken, but the Captain told me nothing of that. Perhaps the name is spoken in hope. I have received no evidence of any specific destination.'

  ‘Then Brut of Lashmar was deceiving me.'

  'Deceiving himself, more like,' said Corum. 'But perhaps Tanelorn is where we are bound. I have been there once, I seem to remember.'

  'And did you find peace there?'

  'Briefly, sir, I think.'

  'Your memory, then, is poor?'

  'It is no worse than the memories of most of us who sail on the "Dark Ship,' said Corum.

  'Have you heard of the Conjunction of the Million Spheres?'

  "Yes, it strikes a chord. A time of great changes, is it not, on all the planes? When the planes intersect at specific points in their histories. When our normal perception of Time and of Space becomes meaningless and when it is possible for radical alterations to be made in the nature of reality itself. When old gods die..."

  'And new ones are born?’

  'Perhaps. If they are needed.'

  'You can amplify, sir?'

  'If my memory were jogged, Dorian Hawkmoon, I am sure that I could. There is much in my head which will not, as it were, come forward. Knowledge is there, but also pain - and perhaps the pain and the knowledge are too closely linked, so that one is buried with the other. I believe I have been mad.'

  'I, too,' said Hawkmoon. 'But I have been sane, also. Now I'm neither. It is an odd feeling.'

  'I know it well, sir.' Corum turned, indicating the other occupants of the cabin with his cup. 'You must meet your comrades. This is Emshon of Ariso’ A fierce-faced little man with heavy moustaches and a glowering manner looked up from the table, grunting at Hawkmoon. He had a thin tube in his hand, which he lifted frequently to his lips. Within the tube were herbs of some kind, smouldering, and it was their smoke which the dwarfish warrior inhaled. 'Greetings, Hawkmoon,' he said. 'I hope you're a better sailor than myself, for this damned ship's inclined to pitch like an unwilling virgin at times,"

  ‘Emshon has a gloomy disposition,' said Corum, smiling, 'and something of a coarse manner of speech, but he's agreeable enough company most of the time. And this is Keeth Woecarrier, who is convinced he brings doom to all he rides with ...'

  Keeth looked shyly away, muttering something which none could hear. From beneath his bearskin cloak he raised a huge hand in greeting, and all that Hawkmoon heard of his words was: 'It's true. It's true.' He was a big, lumbering soldier dressed in patched leather and wool, with a skin cap upon his head.

  'John ap-Rhyss.' This was a tall, thin man with hair falling well below his shoulders and a drooping moustache adding to his melancholy look, clad all in faded black, save for a bright insignia stitched to his shirt above his heart. He wore a dark wide-brimmed hat and his grin of greeting was sardonic. 'Hail to you, Duke Dorian. We have heard of your exploits in the land of Yel. You fight the Dark Empire, do you not?'

  'I did,' said Hawkmoon. 'But that fight is now won.'

  'Have I been away so long?' John ap-Rhyss frowned.

  'It is useless to measure Time in the ordinary way,' Corum said warningly. 'Accept that in Hawkmoon's immediate past the Dark Empire is defeated - in yours, it is still strong.’

  'I am called Turning Nikhe,' said the one closest to John ap-Rhyss. He was bearded, red-haired, with a quiet, wry manner. In contrast to ap-Rhyss, he was covered all over in jingling talismans, in beads, decorated leather, embroidery, charms of gold, silver and brass. His sword-belt was embedded with semiprecious jewels, with little falcons of bronze, with stars and arrows. 'I have my name because I once changed sides during a battle, and am considered a traitor in certain parts of my own world (though I had my reasons for doing what I did). Be warned of that, however. I am not a land soldier, as most of you, but a sailor. My own ship was rammed by ships of King Fesfaton's navy. I was drowning when rescued by this vessel. I had thought I'd be needed for crew, but find myself a passenger.'

  'Who crews the ship, then?' Hawkmoon asked, for he had seen none but these warriors.

  Turning Nikhe laughed in his red beard. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'But there are no sailors aboard, save you count the Captain.'

  The ships sails herself,' said Corum quietly. 'And we have speculated on whether she is commanded by the Captain or whether she commands him.'

  'It's a sorcerous ship and I wish I had no part of her,' said one who had not yet spoken. He was fat, sporting a steel breastplate engraved with naked women in all manner of poses. Beneath this he wore a red silk shirt and there was a black neckerchief at his throat. He had golden rings in the lobes of his large ears and his black hair fell in ringlets to his shoulders. His black beard was trimmed and tapered and his moustache curled over his swarthy cheeks, almost to his hard, brown eyes. 'I am Baron Gotterin of Nimplaset-in-Khorg and I know where this ship is bound.'

  ‘Where, sir?'

  'For Hell, sir. I am dead, as we all are - though some are too cowardly to admit it. On Earth I sinned with zest and with imagination and am in no doubt of my fate.'

  ‘Your imagination fails you now, Baron Gotterin,' said Corum dryly. "You take a view which is exceptionally conventional.'

  Baron Gotterin shrugged his big shoulders and took a deep interest in the contents of his wine cup.

  An old man stepped out of the shadows. He was thin, but strong, and he wore garments of stained, yellow leather which accentuated his pallor. On his head was a dented battle cap, of wood and iron, the wood studded with brass nails. His eyes were bloodshot, moody and his mouth had a morose set to it. He scratched the back of his neck, saying: 'I'd rather be in Hell than imprisoned here,' he said. 'I'm a soldier, as we all are, and keen to be at my trade. I am most dreadfully bored.' He nodded to Hawkmoon. 'I'm called Chaz of Elaquol and I have the distinction of never having served in a victorious army. I was fleeing, defeated as usual, when I was driven by my pursuers into the sea. My luck is useless in battle, but I have never been captured. This, however, was the strangest rescue of them all!'

  ‘Thereod of the Caves,' said one even paler than Chaz, presenting himself. 'I greet you, Hawkmoon. This is my first voyage, so I find all its aspects interesting.' He was the youngest of the company, with an awkward manner of moving. He wore the faintly scintillating skins of some reptile and there was a cap on his head of the same stuff, and he had a sword so long that it jutted a foot above his back (on which it was slung) and almost touched the floor.

  The last to be introduced had to be shaken awake by Corum. He sat at the far end of the table, an empty goblet still in his gloved hand, his face hidden by the fair hair hanging over it. He belched, grinned apologetically, looked at Hawkmoon with friendly, foolish eyes, poured himself more wine, drank off the whole goblet, made to speak, failed, and dosed his eyes again. He began to snore.

  'That's Reingir,’ said Corum, 'nicknamed "The Rock” though how he came by the name he has never been sober enough to tell us! He was drunk when he came aboard and has kept himself in that state ever since, though he's amiable enough and sometimes sings for us.’

  'And you know not why we have all been gathered?' Hawkmoon asked. 'We are all soldiers, but appear to have little else in common.'

  "We have been picked to fight some enemy of the Captain's,' said Emshon. 'All I know is that it's not my fight and I would have preferred to have been consulted before being selected. I had a plan to storm the Captain's cabin and take over the ship, sailing for pleasanter climes than these (have you noticed it is always misty?) but these "heroes" would have none of it. You've precious little in the way of guts. The Captain would only have to fart and you'd scatter!'

  The others took this with amusement. Evidently, they were used to Emshon's braggadocio.

  'Do you know why we're here, Prince Corum?' Hawkmoon asked. 'Have you spoken with the Captain?'

  'Aye - spoken at some length. But I'll say nothing until you've
seen him.'

  "And when will that be?'

  "Quite soon, I'd think. Each of us has been summoned shortly after coming aboard.'

  'And told next to nothing!' complained Chaz of Elaquol. 'All I want to know is when the fight begins. And I pray that it's won. I'd like to be on a winning side before I die!'

  John ap-Rhyss smiled, showing his teeth. ‘You do not instill us with confidence, Sir Chaz, with your many tales of defeat.'

  Chaz said seriously. 'I care not if I survive the coming battle or not, but I have a feeling in my bones that it will be successful for some of us.’

  'Only some?' Emshon of Ariso snorted and made a bad tempered gesture. 'Successful for the Captain, maybe.'

  'I am inclined to think that we are privileged,' said Turning Nikhe quietly, There is not one of us here who was not close to death before the Dark Ship found us. If we are to die, then it will probably be in some great cause.'

  ‘You are a romantic, sir,' said Baron Gotterin. 'I am a realist. I believe nothing of what the Captain has told us. I know for certain that we go to our punishments.'

  'Everything you say, sir, proves only one thing - that you possess a dull and primitive conscience!' Emshon was plainly pleased with his own remark. He smirked.

  Baron Gotterin turned away and found himself staring into the melancholy eye of Keeth Woecarrier who made an embarrassed noise and looked at the floor.

  ‘This bickering frets me,' said Thereod of the Caves. 'Will anyone join me in a game of chess?' He indicated a large board fastened by leather straps to a bulwark.

  'I’ll play,' said Emshon, 'though I tire of beating you.'

  ‘The game is new to me,' said Thereod mildly. 'But I learn, Emshon, that you'll admit.'

  Emshon rose from the table and helped Thereod unstrap the board. Together they carried it to the table and clipped it into place. From a chest Thereod took out a box of pieces and began to arrange them. Some of the others gathered to watch the game.

  Hawkmoon addressed Corum. 'Are all of these counterparts of ourselves?'

  'Counterparts or other incarnations, do you mean?'

  'Other manifestations of the so-called Champion Eternal,' said Hawkmoon. 'Do you know the theory? It explains why we recognize each other, why we have seen each other in visions.’

  'I know the theory well,' said Corum. 'But I do not believe most of these warriors are our counterparts, as you call them. Some, like John ap-Rhyss, are from the same worlds. No, in this company, I think only you and I share - what? - a soul?'

  Hawkmoon looked hard at Corum. And then he shivered.

  Chapter Two

  The Blind Captain

  Hawkmoon had no idea how much time had passed before Brut came back to the cabin, but Emshon and Thereod had played two games of chess and were half-way through another.

  The Captain is ready to receive you, Hawkmoon.' Brut looked tired; mist streamed in through the open door before he could slam it shut.

  Hawkmoon got up from his chair. His sword caught under the table and he freed it so that it swung to its usual position on his thigh. He drew his cloak about him, fastening the clasp.

  'Don't spring so readily to his bidding,' Emshon said grumpily, raising his eyes from the board. 'He needs us, does the Captain, for whatever his venture is.'

  Hawkmoon smiled. ‘I must satisfy my curiosity, Emshon of Ariso.'

  He followed Brut from the cabin and along the chilly deck. He thought that he had noticed a large wheel forward, whence boarded, and now he saw one at the stern. He commented on this to Brut.

  Brut nodded. "There are two. But only one steersman. Apart from the Captain, he seems to have been the only other being on board." Brut pointed through the thick, white mist, and there was the outline of a man, his two hands upon the wheel. He stood extraordinarily still, dressed in thick, quilted jerkin and leggings. He seemed fixed to the wheel, fixed to the deck, and Hawkmoon could have found himself doubting if the man lived at all ... He could tell from the motion of the ship that she sailed with more than natural speed and, looking up at the sail, he saw that it was full, but no wind blew now, not even that unearthly wind with which he had become familiar. They passed a cabin identical to that which they had left and then reached the high forward deck. Under this was a door whose substance was not the same as the dark wood of the rest of the ship. It was of metal, but a metal which had a vibrant, organic quality to it, a russet cast which reminded Hawkmoon of the pelt of a fox.

  ‘This is the Captain's cabin," said Brut. 'I'll leave you here, Hawkmoon. I hope you receive answers to at least some of your questions.'

  Brut walked back to his own cabin, leaving Hawkmoon contemplating the strange door. He stretched out a hand to touch the metal. It was warm. It sent a shock through him.

  'Enter, Hawkmoon,' said a voice from within. It was a richly timbred voice, but it sounded remote.

  Hawkmoon looked for a handle, but found none. He began to press on the door, but already it was opening. Bright, ruby light struck eyes grown used to the dimness of the stern cabin. Hawkmoon blinked, but moved towards the light, while the door closed behind him. The air was warm and sweetly scented; brass and gold and silver fixtures glinted; glass shone. Hawkmoon saw rich hangings, a deep, many-hued carpet, red lamps fixed to bulkheads, subtle carvings; there were purples, dark reds, dark greens and yellows; there was a polished desk, its rails of gleaming, twisted gold, and on the desk were instruments, charts, a book. There were chests, a curtained bunk. Beside the desk stood a tall man who might, in face and figure, have been a relative of Corum's. He had the same tapering head, the fine red-gold hair, the almond, slanting eyes. His loose garments were all of the same shade of buff and the sandals on his feet were of silver, while silver laces were wound about his calves. On his head was a circlet of blue jade. But it was the eyes which drew Hawkmoon's attention. They were a milky white, flecked with blue, and they were blind. The Captain smiled.

  'Greetings, Hawkmoon. Have you been given our wine, yet?'

  'I had some wine, aye.' Hawkmoon watched as the man moved deftly towards a chest on which were set out a silver jug and silver cups.

  'You will have some more?'

  'I thank you, sir.'

  The Captain poured the wine and Hawkmoon picked up his cup. He sipped and the wine filled him with a sense of well-being. 'I have not had this vintage,' he said.

  'It will restore you,' said the Captain, taking a cup for himself.' And will have no ill-effects, I assure you.'

  ‘There is a rumour on board, sir, that your ship is bound for Tanelorn.'

  ‘There are many who sail with us who yearn for Tanelorn,' said the Captain, turning his blind head to face Hawkmoon. For a moment Hawkmoon thought that the Captain looked not at his face but directly into his soul. He crossed the cabin to one of the portholes and looked out at the white, swirling mist. The steady rising and falling forward motion of the ship seemed to become more pronounced.

  'You answer cryptically,' said Hawkmoon. 'I had hoped that you would be more direct with me.'

  'I am as direct as I can be, Duke Dorian, be assured of that.'

  'Assurances...' began Hawkmoon, then held back the rest of the sentence.

  'I know,' said the Captain. 'They are of little use to a mind in the torment which you must feel. But I believe that my ship takes you closer to Tanelorn and to your children.'

  'You know that I seek my children?'

  'Yes, I know that you are a victim of the disruptions which have come about as a result of the Conjunction of the Million Spheres."

  'Can you tell me more of that, sir?'

  'You know already that there are many worlds which exist in relation to your own, but separated by barriers which cut them off from your perception. You know that their histories are often similar, that the beings sometimes called the Lords of Law and the Lords of Chaos war permanently for domination of those worlds and that certain men and women have a destiny which involves them in those wars?'

 
'You speak of the Eternal Champion?'

  'Of him and of those who share his fate.'

  'Jhary-a-Conel?'

  ‘That is one of his names. And Yisselda is another name. She has many counterparts, too.'

  'And what of the Cosmic Balance?'

  'Of the Cosmic Balance and the Runestaff little is known.'

  'You do not serve either?'

  'I do not believe so.'

  ‘That, at least, is a relief to my ears,' said Hawkmoon, replacing his finished cup upon the chest. 'I have become tired of talk of great destinies.'

  'I will speak of nothing but the practical business of survival,' the Captain told him. 'My ship has always sailed between the worlds - guarding, perhaps, the many borders where they are weakest. We have known no other life, I think, my steersman and I. I envy you that, Sir Champion -I envy you the variety of your experience.'

  'I have a mind to exchange destinies, if you would like to, Captain.'

  The blind man laughed quietly. 'I do not think that that is possible.'

  'So my being aboard your ship has something to do with the Conjunction of the Million Spheres?'

  'Everything. As you are aware, the event itself is rare enough. And this time the Lords of Law and Chaos and their many minions battle with particular ferocity to see which of them shall control the worlds when the Conjunction is passed. They involve yourself in all your guises, for you are important to them, make no mistake of that. As Corum, you have created a special problem for them.'

  'Corum and I are the same, then?'

  'Different manifestations of the same Hero, drawn from different worlds at different times. A dangerous business - normally two aspects of the Champion coexisting in the same world at the same time would be an alarming prospect - and we have four such aspects to, consider. You have not yet met Erekose?'

  'No.'

  'He inhabits the forward cabin. Eight other warriors are there, too. They await only Elric. We sail now to find him. He must be drawn from what would be your past, just as Corum has been drawn from what would be your future if you shared the same world. Such are the forces at work which make us risk monumental stakes! I pray that it will prove worthwhile.'