The Chronicles of Castle Brass

by Michael Moorcock

  'I am hungry,' said Hawkmoon. "That proves two things to me - that I'm made of ordinary flesh and that it has been a long while since our comrades returned to the ship.'

  Erekose sniffed at the cool air. 'Aye. I wonder, now, why I remained. Perhaps it is our fate to be marooned here - an irony, eh? Seeking Tanelorn we are allowed to exist in all the Tanelorns. Could this be all that remains?'

  'I suspect not,' said Hawkmoon. 'Somewhere we'll find a gateway to the worlds we want.'

  Hawkmoon sat on the shoulder of a fallen statue, trying to distinguish from the many shadows some shadow he might recognize.

  Some yards away John ap-Rhyss and Emshon of Ariso were searching in the rubble for a box Emshon was sure he had seen on their way to do battle with Agak and Gagak and which, he had told John ap-Rhyss, was bound to contain something of value. Brut of Lashmar, a little better recovered, stood near them, not joining in the search.

  Yet it was Brut who noticed later that a number of shadows which had previously been static were now in motion. 'Look, Hawkmoon,' he said. 'Is the city coming alive?'

  The rest of the city remained as it had always been, but in one small corner of it, where the silhouette of a particularly ornate and delicate house was cast against the stained, white wall of a ruined temple, three or four of the human shadows were moving. And still they were only shadows - the men who cast them were not visible. It was like a play Hawkmoon had once witnessed, with puppets manipulated behind a screen

  Erekose was on his feet, clambering towards the scene, Hawkmoon close at his heels and the others following a little less speedily.

  And very faintly they could hear sounds - the clatter of weapons, shouts, the shuffle of booted feet on stone.

  Erekose stopped when his own height was almost equalled by the height of the shadows. Cautiously he reached out to touch one, stepping forward.

  And Erekose had vanished!

  All that remained of him was his shadow. It had joined the others. Hawkmoon saw the shadow draw its sword and range itself beside another shadow, which seemed to him familiar. It was the shadow of a man no larger than Emshon of Ariso who watched the shadow-play with his mouth open, his eyes glazed.

  Then the motion of the fighting men began to slow again, Hawkmoon was wondering how he might rescue Erekose when the tall hero had reappeared, dragging another with him. The other shadows had frozen once more.

  Erekose was panting. The man with him was lacerated with a score of small wounds, but did not seem badly hurt. He was grinning in relief, wiping a whitish dust from the orange fur which covered his body, sheathing his sword, wiping his whiskers with the back of his paw-like hand. It was Oladahn. Oladahn of the Bulgar Mountains, kin to the Mountain Giants, Hawkmoon's closest friend and companion through most of his greatest adventures. Oladahn, who had died at Londra, who Hawkmoon had seen next as a glassy-eyed ghost in the swamps of the Kamarg and lastly upon the decks of The Romanian Queen, where, bravely, he had attacked Baron Kalan's crystal pyramid and, as a consequence, vanished.

  'Hawkmoon!' Oladahn's joy at seeing his old comrade made him forget all else. He ran forward and embraced the Duke of Koln.

  Hawkmoon found himself laughing with pleasure. He looked up at Erekose. 'How you saved him I know not. But I am grateful to you.'

  Erekose, infected by their joy, laughed, too. 'How I saved him, I know not!' He glanced back at the static shadows. 'I found myself in a world scarcely more substantial than this one. I helped fight off those who attacked your friend - in desperation, as our movements became sluggish, I fell back - and here we are again!'

  'How came you to that place, Oladahn?' Hawkmoon asked.

  'My life has been confusing and my adventures peculiar since I last saw you aboard that ship,' Oladahn said. 'For a while I was the prisoner of Baron Kalan, unable to move my limbs, yet with my mind functioning normally. That was not pleasant. Then, suddenly, I was freed. I found myself upon a world involved in a battle between four or five different factions and served with one army and another, never quite understanding the issues involved. Then I was back in the Bulgar Mountains, wrestling a bear and getting the worst of the encounter. Then I came to a metal world, where I was the only creature of flesh amongst a motley variety of machines. About to be mangled by one of the machines (which was not without a certain philosophical intelligence) I was saved by Orland Fank - you remember him? - and taken to the world I have just escaped from. Fank and I sought the Runestaff there, a world of cities and of conflict. On an errand for Fank in a particularly violent quarter of one of the cities, I was set upon by more men than I could deal with. About to be slain, I found myself again frozen. This condition lasted for hours or for years (that I shall never know) until just before I was rescued by your comrade here. Tell me, Hawkmoon, what became of our other friends?'

  'It's a long tale and it has little point, since I can explain few of the events in it,' Hawkmoon told him. He recounted something of his adventures, of Count Brass, Yisselda and his missing children, of the defeat of both Taragorm and Baron Kalan, of the disruption their insane vengeance and scheming had brought to the multiverse, ending: 'But of D'Averc and Bowgentle I can tell you nothing. They vanished much as you vanished. I would guess that their adventures are a match for yours. It is significant, is it not, that you have been snatched from inevitable death so many times?'

  'Aye,' said Oladahn. 'I thought I had a supernatural protector - though I became tired of leaping, as it were, from the cooking pot into the stove! What have we here?'

  Stroking his whiskers, he looked about him, nodding politely to Brut, John and Emshon who were all staring at him in restrained amazement. 'It would seem significant that I have been allowed to join you again. But where is Fank?'

  'I left him at Castle Brass, though he said nothing of meeting you. Doubtless he resumed his quest for the Runestaff and found you during that adventure.' Hawkmoon described everything he could of the nature of the island on which they now stood.

  This description left Oladahn scratching at the red fur of his head and shrugging his shoulders. Almost before Hawkmoon had finished, he was looking at the various rents in his jerkin and divided kilt, picking at the drying blood on his various wounds.

  'Well, friend Hawkmoon,' he said, distracted, 'I'm content enough to be at your side again. Is there anything to eat?'

  'Nothing,' John ap-Rhyss said feelingly. 'We'll starve to death if we can find no game on this island. And nothing appears to live here, save ourselves.'

  As if in answer to this declaration, there came a howling from the other side of the city. They looked towards the source of the sound.

  'A wolf?' Oladahn asked.

  'A man, I think,' said Erekose. He had not sheathed his sword and he used it to point.

  Ashnar the Lynx came running towards them, leaping over stones, darting around tottering towers, his own sword raised above his head, his mad eyes glaring, the little bones in his braids dancing about his savage skull. Hawkmoon thought he attacked, but then he saw that Ashnar was pursued by a tall, lean, red-faced man in a bonnet and kilt, a plaid flying from his shoulders, his sword bouncing in the scabbard at his side.

  'Orland Fank!' cried Oladahn. 'Why does he chase that man?'

  Hawkmoon could hear Fank's shouts now. 'Come here, will ye? Come here, man! I mean ye no harm!'

  Then Ashnar had tripped and fell, whimpering and scrabbling amongst dusty stones. Fank reached him, knocked the sword from his hand, gathered a fistful of braids and raised the barbarian's head.

  Hawkmoon called: 'He is mad, Fank. Be gentle with him.'

  Fank looked up. 'So it's Sir Hawkmoon, is it? And Oladahn? I wondered what had become of ye - deserted me, did you?'

  'Almost,' answered the kin of the Mountain Giants feelingly, 'to Brother Death into whose arms you sent me, Master Fank.'

  Fank grinned, letting go of Ashnar's hair.

  The barbarian made no effort to rise, merely lay in the dust and moaned.

  'Wha
t harm has that man offered you?' Erekose asked Fank sternly.

  'None. I could find no other human being in this gloomy conglomeration. I wanted to question him. When I approached him he let forth his heathen howling and tried to escape.'

  ‘How found you this place?' Erekose asked.

  'By an accident. My quest for a certain artifact has led me through several of the Earth's many planes. I had heard that the Runestaff might be found in a certain city - called, by some, Tanelorn. I sought Tanelorn. My investigations led me to a sorcerer in a city on the world where I found young Oladahn here. The sorcerer was a man made all of metal and he was able to direct my path to the next plane, where Oladahn and I lost each other. I found a gateway and entered it and here I am ...'

  ‘Then let's make haste back to your gateway,' said Hawkmoon eagerly.

  Orland Fank shook his head. 'Nay, it's closed behind me. Besides, I've no wish to return to that strifing world. Is this not, then, Tanelorn?'

  'It is all the Tanelorns,' said Erekose. 'Or so we think, Master Fank. Leastways, it is what remains of them. Was not the city you were in called Tanelorn?'

  'Once,' said Fank. 'Or so a legend said. But men came who made selfish use of its properties and Tanelorn died, to be replaced by its opposite.'

  'So Tanelorn can die?' Brut of Lashmar looked miserable. 'It is not invulnerable ...'

  'Only if those who dwell in it are men who have lost that particular kind of pride which destroys love - so I heard, at any rate.' Orland Fank looked embarrassed. 'And are therefore themselves invulnerable.'

  'Any city would be preferable to this dumping ground of lost ideals,' said Emshon of Ariso, showing that while he had taken Orland Fank's point he was not particularly impressed by it. The dwarfish warrior tugged at his moustaches and grumbled on to himself for a while.

  'So these would be all the "failures",' said Erekose. "We stand amongst the ruins of Hope. A wasteland of broken faith.'

  'So I would surmise,' Fank replied. 'But nonetheless there must be a way through to a Tanelorn which has not succumbed, where the borderline is narrow. And that is what we must seek for now.'

  'But how do we know what to seek?' John ap-Rhyss asked reasonably.

  ‘The answer lies within ourselves,’ Brut said in a voice that was not really his. 'That is what I was once told. Look for Tanelorn within yourself - an old woman said that when I asked her where I might find that fabulous city and know peace. I dismissed the statement as being empty of any real meaning, merely a piece of philosophical obfuscation, but I begin to realize that she offered me practical advice. Hope is what we have lost, gentlemen, and Tanelorn will open her gates only to those who hope. Faith flees from us, but faith is required before we can see the Tanelorn we need.'

  'I think you speak good sense, Brut of Lashmar,' said Erekose. 'For all that, of late, I have come to adopt the soldier's armour of cynicism, I understand you. But how can mortals hope in a sphere dominated by bickering gods, by the warring of those they desire so much to respect?'

  'When gods die, self-respect buds,' murmured Orland Fank. 'Gods and their examples are not needed by those who respect themselves and, consequently, respect others. Gods are for children, for little, fearful people, for those who would have no responsibility to themselves or their fellows.'

  'Aye!' John ap-Rhyss's melancholy features were almost cheerful.

  A mood was coming to them all. They laughed as they looked from face to face.

  And then Hawkmoon was drawing out his sword and pointing it upward, towards the stagnant sun, and he cried:

  'Here's Death for gods and Life for men! Let the Lords of Chaos and of Law destroy themselves in pointless conflict. Let the Cosmic Balance swing how it likes, it shall not affect our destinies.'

  'It shall not!' shouted Erekose, his own sword raised. 'It shall not!'

  And John ap-Rhyss, and Emshon of Ariso, and Brut of Lashmar all drew their swords and echoed the cry.

  Only Orland Fank seemed reluctant. He tugged at his clothing. He fingered his face.

  And when they had done with their impetuous ceremony, the Orkneyman said:

  Then none of you will help me seek the Runestaft?'

  And a voice from behind Orland Fank said:

  'Father, you need seek no further.'

  And there sat the child whom Hawkmoon had seen in Dnark, who had transformed himself into pure energy in order to inhabit the Runestaff when Shenegar Trott, Count of Sussex, had sought to steal it. The one who had been called the Spirit of the Runestaff, Jehamiah Cohnahlias. The boy's smile was radiant, his manner friendly.

  'Greetings to you all,' he said. 'You summoned the Runestaff.'

  'We did not summon it.' said Hawkmoon.

  'Your hearts summoned it. And now, here is your Tanelorn.'

  The boy spread his hands and it seemed as he spread them that the city became transformed. Rainbow light filled the sky

  .

  The sun shuddered and burned golden. Pinnacles, seeming slender as needles, raised themselves into the glowing air, and colours gleamed, pure and translucent, and a great stillness came upon that city, the stillness of tranquillity.

  'Here is your Tanelorn.'

  Chapter Two

  In Tanelorn

  'Come, I will show you some history,' said the child.

  And he led the men through quiet streets where people greeted them with friendly gravity.

  If the city shone, now, it shone with a light so subtle that it was impossible to identify its source. If it had one colour, it was a kind of whiteness which certain kinds of jade have, but as white contains all colours, the city was of all colours. It thrived; it was happy; it was at peace. Families lived here; artists and craftsmen worked here; books were written; it was vital. This was no pallid harmony - the false peace of those who deny the body its pleasures, the mind its stimuli. This was Tanelorn.

  This, at last, was Tanelorn, perhaps the model for so many other Tanelorns.

  'We are at the centre,' said the child, 'the still, unalterable centre of the multiverse.'

  'What gods are worshipped here?' asked Brut of Lashmar, his voice and his face relaxed.

  'No gods,' said the child. They are not required.'

  'And is that why they are said to hate Tanelorn?' Hawkmoon stepped to one side to allow a very old woman to pass him.

  'It could be,' said the child. 'For the proud cannot accept being ignored. They have a different sort of pride in Tanelorn -and that is a pride which prefers to be ignored.'

  He took them past high towers and lovely battlements, through parks where excited children played.

  'They play at war, then, even here?' said John ap-Rhyss. 'Even here!'

  'It is how children learn,' said Jehamiah Cohnahlias. 'And if they learn properly, they learn enough to abjure warfare when they are grown.'

  'But the gods play at war,' said Oladahn.

  ‘They are children, then,' said the child.

  Hawkmoon noticed that Orland Fank was weeping, but he did not seem to be sad.

  They came to a cleared part of the city, a kind of amphitheatre, but its sides consisted of three ranks of statues, somewhat larger than life size. All the statues were of the same colouring as the city; all seemed to glow with something resembling life. All the first rank of statues were of warriors, the second rank was chiefly of warriors, too, and the third rank was of women. There seemed to be thousands of these statues, in a great circle, beneath a sun which hung above the centre, red and still, as it had been on the island - but the red was mellow, the sky a warm, faded blue. It was as if it were evening here, always.

  'Behold,' said the child, 'Behold Hawkmoon, Erekose. These are you.' And he lifted one of his arms in its heavy, golden sleeve, to point at the first rank of statues, and there was a dull, black staff in his hand which Hawkmoon recognized as the Runestaff. And he noticed, for the first time, that the runes carved on it were in a script not dissimilar to that which was carved into the sword which Elric had
borne, the Black Sword, Stormbringer.

  'Look on their faces,' said the child. 'Look Erekose, look Hawkmoon, look Champion Eternal.'

  Looking, Hawkmoon saw faces he recognized amongst the statues. He saw Corum and he saw Elric and he heard Erekose murmur: 'John Daker, Urlik Skarsol, Asquiol, Aubec, Arflane, Valadek ... They are all here ... all, save Erekose ...'

  'And Hawkmoon,' said Hawkmoon.

  Orland Fank spoke. There are gaps in the ranks. Why so?'

  They wait to be filled,' said the child.

  Hawkmoon shivered.

  'They are all the manifestations of the Champion Eternal,' said Orland Fank. Their comrades, their consorts. All in one place. Why are we here, Jehamiah?'

  'Because the Runestaff has summoned us.'

  'I'll serve it no longer!' This was Hawkmoon. 'It has done me much harm.'

  'You need not serve it, save in one way,' said the child mildly, 'It serves you. You summoned it.'

  ‘I tell you that we did not.’

  'And I told you that your hearts summoned it. You found the gateway to Tanelorn, you opened it, you allowed me to reach you.'

  ‘This is mystical maundering of the most outrageous kind!' Emshon of Ariso bristled. He made to turn away.

  'It is the truth, however,' said the child. 'Faith bloomed within you when you stood in those ruins. Not Faith in an ideal, or in gods, or the fate of the world - but Faith in yourselves. It is a force to defeat every enemy. It was the only force which could summon the friend that I am to you.'

  'But this is a business concerning heroes,' said Brut of Lashmar. 'I am not a hero, boy, not as these two are.'

  'That is for you to decide, of course.'

  'I'm a plain soldier, a man of many faults ...' began John ap-Rhyss. He sighed. 'I sought only rest.'

  'And you have found it. You have found Tanelorn. Do you not, however, wish to witness the outcome of your ordeal upon the island?'

  John ap-Rhyss directed a quizzical glance at the child. He tugged at his nose. 'Well...'