The Queen of the Swords

CHAPTER ONE What the Sea God Discarded

Now the skies of summer were pale blue over the deeper blue of the sea; over the golden green of the mainland forest; over the grassy rocks of Moidel's Mount and the white stones of the castle raised on its peak. And the last of the Vadhagh race, Prince Corum in the Scarlet Robe, was deep in love with the Mabden woman, Margravine Rhalina of Allomglyl.

Corum Jhaelen Irsei, whose right eye was covered by a patch encrusted with dark jewels so that it resembled the orb of an insect, whose left eye (the natural one) was large and almond-shaped with a yellow centre and purple surround, was unmistakably Vadhagh. His skull was narrow and long and tapering at the chin and his ears were tapered, too. They had no lobes and were flat against the skull. The hair was fair and finer than the finest Mabden maiden's, his mouth was wide, full-lipped, and his skin was rose-pink and flecked with gold. He would have been handsome save for the baroque blemish that was now his right eye and for the somewhat grim twist to his lips. Then, too, there was the alien hand which strayed often to his sword-hilt, visible when he pushed back his scarlet robe.

This left hand bore six fingers on it and seemed encased in a jewelled gauntlet (not so - the 'jewels' were the hand's skin). It was a sinister thing and it had crushed the heart of the Knight of the Swords himself - my lord Arioch of Chaos - and allowed Arkyn, Lord of Law, to return.

Corum certainly seemed a being bent on vengeance and he was, indeed, pledged to avenge his murdered family by slaying Earl Glandyth-a-Krae, servant of King Lyr-a-Brode of Kalenwyr, who ruled the South and the East of the continent once ruled by the Vadhagh. And he was also pledged to the Cause of Law against the Cause of Chaos (whose servant Lyr and his subjects were). This knowledge made him sober and manly, but it also made his soul heavy. He was also unsettled by the thought of the power grafted to his flesh - the Power of the Hand and the Eye.

The Margravine Rhalina was womanly and beautiful and her gentle face was framed by thick, black tresses. She had huge dark eyes and red, loving lips. She, too, was nervous of the sorcerous gifts of the dead wizard Shool, but she tried not to brood upon them, just as earlier she had refused to brood upon the loss of her husband, the Margrave, when he had been drowned in a shipwreck while on his way to Lywrn-an-Esh, the land he served and which was gradually being covered by the sea.

She found more to laugh at than did Corum and she was his comfort, for once he had been innocent and had laughed a great deal, and he remembered this innocence with longing. But the longing brought other memories - of his family lying dead, mutilated, dishonoured on the sward outside Castle Erorn as it burned and Glandyth brandished his weapons which were clothed in Vadhagh blood. Such violent images were stronger than the images of his earlier, peaceful life. They forever inhabited his skull, sometimes filling it, sometimes lurking in the darker corners and merely threatening to fill it. And when his revenge-lust seemed to wane, they would always bring it back to fullness. Fire, flesh and fear; the barbaric chariots of the Denledhyssi - brass, iron and crude gold. Short, shaggy horses and burly, bearded warriors in borrowed Vadhagh armour - opening their red mouths and bellowing their insensate triumph, while the old stones of Castle Erorn cracked and tumbled in the yelling blaze and Corum discovered what hate and terror were…

Glandyth's brutal face would fill his dreams, dominating even the dead, tortured faces of his parents and his sisters, so that he would often awake in the middle of the night, fierce, tensed and shouting.

Then only Rhalina could calm him, stroking his ruined face and holding his shaking body close to her own.

Yet, during those days of early summer, there were moments of peace and they could ride through the woods of the mainland without fear, now, of the Pony Tribes who had fled at the sight of the ship Shool had sent on the night of their attack - a dead ship from the bottom of the sea, crewed by corpses and commanded by the dead Margrave himself, Rhalina's drowned husband.

The woods were full of sweet life, of little animals and bright flowers and rich scents. And though they never quite succeeded, they offered to heal the scars on Corum's soul; they offered an alternative to conflict and death and sorcerous horror and they showed him that there were things in the universe which were calm and ordered and beautiful and that Law offered more than just a sterile order but sought to establish throughout the Fifteen Planes a harmony in which all things could exist in all their variety. Law offered an environment in which all the mortal virtues could flourish.

Yet while Glandyth and all he represented survived, Corum knew that Law would be under constant threat and that the corrupting monster Fear would destroy all virtue.

As they rode, one pretty day, through the woods, he cast about him with his mismatched eyes and he said to Rhalina, 'Glandyth must die!'

And she nodded but did not question why he had made this sudden statement, for she had heard it many times in similar circumstances. She tightened the rein on her chestnut mare and brought the beast to a prancing halt in a glade of lupins and hollyhocks. She dismounted and picked up her long skirts of embroidered samite as she waded gracefully through the knee-high grass. Corum sat on his tawny stallion and watched her, taking pleasure in her pleasure as she had known he would. The glade was warm and shadowy, sheltered by kindly elm and oak and ash in which squirrels and birds had made their nests.

'Oh, Corum, if only we could stay here forever! We could build a cottage, plant a garden…'

He tried to smile. 'But we cannot,' he said. 'Even this is but a respite. Shool was right. By accepting the logic of conflict I have accepted a particular destiny. Even if I forgot my own vows of vengeance, even if I had not agreed to serve Law against Chaos, Glandyth would still come and seek us out and make us defend this peace. And Glandyth is stronger than these gentle woods, Rhalina. He could destroy them overnight and, I think, would relish so doing if he knew we loved them.'

She kneeled and smelled the flowers. 'Must it always be so? Must hate always breed hate and love be powerless to proliferate?'

'If Lord Arkyn is right, it will not always be so. But those who believe that love should be powerful must be prepared to die to ensure its strength.'

She raised her head suddenly and there was alarm in her eyes as they stared into his.

He shrugged. 'It is true,' he said.

Slowly, she got to her feet and went back to where her horse stood. She put a foot into the stirrup and pulled herself into the side-saddle. He remained in the same position, staring at the flowers and at the grass which was gradually springing back into the places it had occupied before she had walked through it.

'It is true.'

He sighed and turned his horse towards the shore.

'We had best return,' he murmured, 'before the sea covers the causeway.'

A little while later they emerged from the forest and trotted their steeds along the shore. Blue sea shifted on the white sand and, still some distance away, they saw the natural causeway leading through the shallows to the mount on which stood Castle Moidel, the farthest and forgotten outpost of the civilization of Lywm-an-Esh. Once the castle had stood among woods on the mainland of Lywm-an-Esh, but the sea now covered that land.

Seabirds called and wheeled in the cloudless sky, sometimes diving to spear a fish with their beaks and return with their catch to their nests amongst the rocks of Moidel's Mount. The hooves of the horses thumped the sand or splashed through the surf as they neared the causeway which would soon be covered by the tide.

And then Corum's attention was caught by a movement far out to sea. He craned forward as he rode and peered Into the distance.

'What is it?' she asked him.

'I am not sure. A big wave, perhaps. But this is not the season of heavy seas.' He pointed. 'Look.'

'There seems to be a mist hanging over the water a mile or two out. It is hard to observe. She gasped. 'It is a wave!'

Now the water near the shore became slightly more agitated as the wave approached.

'It is as if some huge ship were passing by at great speed,' Corum said. 'It is familiar…'

Then he looked more sharply into the distant haze. 'Do you see something - a shadow - the shadow of a man on the mist?'

'Yes, I do see it. It is enormous. Perhaps an illusion - something to do with the light…'

'No,' he said. 'I have seen that outline before. It is the giant - the great fisherman who was the cause of my shipwreck on the coast of Khoolocrah!'

'The Wading God,' she said. 'I know of him. He is sometimes also called the Fisher. Legends say that when he is seen it is an ominous portent.'

'It was an ominous enough portent for me when I last saw him.' Corum said with some humour. Now good-sized waves were rolling up the beach and they backed their horses off. 'He comes closer. Yet the mist follows him.'

It was true. The mist was moving nearer the shore as the waves grew larger and the gigantic fisherman waded closer. They could see his outline clearly now. His shoulders were bowed as he hauled his great net, walking backwards through the water.

'What is he thought to catch?' whispered Corum. 'Whales! Sea-monsters?'

'Anything,' she replied. 'Anything that is upon or under the sea.' She shivered.

The causeway was now completely covered by the artificial tide and there was no point in going forward. They were forced further back towards the trees as the sea rolled in in massive breakers, crashing upon the sand and the shingle.

A little of the mist seemed to touch them and it became cold, though the sun was still bright. Corum drew his cloak about him. There came the steady sound of the giant's strides as he waded on. Somehow he seemed a doomed figure to Corum - a creature destined to drag his nets forever through the oceans of the world, never finding the thing he sought.

'They say he fishes for his soul,' murmured Rhalina. 'For his soul.'

Now the silhouette straightened its back and hauled in its net. Many creatures struggled there - some of them unrecognizable. The Wading God inspected his catch carefully and then shook out the net, letting the things fall back into the water. He moved on slowly, once again fishing for something it seemed he would never find.

The mist began to leave the shore as the dim outline of the giant moved out to sea again. The waters began to subside until at last they were still and the mist vanished beyond the horizon.

Corum's horse snorted and pawed at the wet sand. The Prince in the Scarlet Robe looked at Rhalina. Her eyes were blank, fixed on the horizon. Her features were rigid.

'The danger is gone,' he said, trying to comfort her.

'There was no danger,' she said. 'It is a warning of danger that the Wading God brings.'

'It is only what the legends say.'

Her eyes became alive again as she regarded him. 'And have we not had cause to believe in legends of late?'

He nodded. 'Come, let's get back to the castle before the causeway's flooded a second time.'

Their horses were grateful to be moving towards the Sanctuary of Moidel's Castle. The sea was rising swiftly on both sides of the rocky path as they began to cross and the horses broke spontaneously into a gallop.

At last they reached the great gates of the castle and these swung open to admit them. Rhalina's handsome warriors welcomed them back gladly, anxious for their own experiences to be confirmed.

'Did you see the giant, my lady Margravine?' Beldan, her steward, sprang down the steps of the west tower. 'I thought it another of Glandyth's allies.' The young man's normally cheerful, open face was clouded. 'What drove it off?'

'Nothing,' she said, dismounting, 'It was the Wading God. He was merely going about his business.'

Beldan looked relieved. As with all the inhabitants of Castle Moidel, he ever expected a new attack. And he was right in his expectations. Sooner or later Glandyth would march again against the castle, bringing more powerful allies than the superstitious and easily frightened warriors of the Pony Tribes. They had heard that Glandyth, after his failure to take Castle Moidel, had returned in a rage to the Court at Kalenwyr to ask King Lyr-a-Brode for an army. Perhaps next time he came he would also bring ships which could attack from the seaward while he attacked from the land. Such an assault would be successful, for Moidel's garrison was small.

The sun was setting as they made for the main hall of the castle to take their evening meal. Corum, Rhalina and Beldan sat together to eat and Corum's mortal hand went often to the wine-jug and far less frequently to the food. He was pensive, full of a sense of profound gloom which infected the others so that they did not even attempt to make conversation.

Two hours passed in this way and still Corum swallowed wine.

And then Beldan raised his head, listening. Rhalina, too, heard the sound and frowned. Only Corum appeared not to hear it.

It was a rapping noise - an insistent noise. Then there were voices and the rapping stopped for a moment. When the voices subsided the rapping began again.

Beldan got up. 'I'll investigate…'

Rhalina glanced at Corum. 'I'll stay.'

Corum's head was lowered as he stared into his cup, sometimes fingering the patch covering his alien eye, sometimes raising the Hand of Kwll and stretching the six fingers, flexing them, inspecting them, puzzling over the implications of his situation.

Rhalina listened. She heard Beldan's voice. Again the rapping died. There was a further exchange. Silence.

Beldan came back into the hall.

'We have a visitor at our gates,' he informed her.

'Where is he from?'

'He says he is a traveller who has suffered some hardship and seeks sanctuary.'

'A trick?'

'I know not.'

Corum. looked up. 'A stranger?'

'Aye,' Beldan said. 'Some spy of Glandyth's possibly.'

Corum rose unsteadily. 'I'll come to the gate.'

Rhalina touched his arm. 'Are you sure…?'

'Of course,' He passed his hand over his face and drew a deep breath. He began to stride from the hall, Rhalina and Beldan following.

He came to the gates and as he did so the knocking started up once more.

'Who are you?' Corum called. 'What business have you with the folk of Moidel's Castle?'

'I am Jhary-a-Conel, a traveller. I am here through no particular wish of my own, but I would be grateful for a meal and somewhere to sleep.'

'Are you of Lywm-an-Esh?' Rhalina asked.

'I am of everywhere and nowhere. I am all men and no man. But one thing I am not - and that is your enemy. I am wet and I am shivering with cold.'

'How came you to Moidel when the causeway is covered?' Beldan asked. He turned to Corum. 'I have already asked him this once. He did not answer me.'

The unseen stranger mumbled something in reply.

'What was that?' Corum. said.

'Damn you! It's not a thing a man likes to admit. I was part of a catch of fish! I was brought here in a net and I was dumped offshore and I swam to this damned castle and I climbed your damned rocks and I knocked on your damned door and now I stand making conversation with damned fools. Have you no charity at Moidel?'

The three of them were astonished then - and they were convinced that the stranger was not in league with Glandyth.

Rhalina signed to the warriors to open the great gates. They creaked back a fraction and a slim, bedraggled fellow entered. He was dressed in unfamiliar garb and had a sack over his back, a hat on his head whose wide brim was weighed down by water and hung about his face. His long hair was as wet as the rest of him. He was relatively young, relatively good looking and, in spite of his sodden appearance, there was just a trace of amused disdain in his intelligent eyes. He bowed to Rhalina.

'Jhary-a-Conel at your service, ma'am.'

'How came you to keep your hat while swimming so far through the sea?' Beldan asked. 'And your sack, for that matter?'

Jhary-a-Conel acknowledged the question with a wink. 'I never lose my hat and I rarely lose my sack. A traveller of my sort learns to hold on to his few possessions - no matter what circumstances he finds himself in.'

'You are just that?' Corum asked. 'A traveller?'

Jhary-a-Conel showed some impatience. 'Your hospitality reminds me somewhat of that I experienced some time since at a place called Kalenwyr.

'You have come from Kalenwyr?'

'I have been to Kalenwyr. But I see I cannot shame you, even by that comparison…'

'I am sorry,' said Rhalina. 'Come. There is food already on the table. I'll have servants bring you a change of clothing and towels and so forth.'

They returned to the main hall. Jhary-a-Conel looked about him. 'Comfortable,' he said.

They sat in their chairs and watched him as he casually stripped off his wet clothes and stood at last naked before them. He scratched his nose. A servant brought him towels and he began busily to dry himself. But the new clothes he refused. Instead he wrapped himself in another towel and seated himself at the table, helping himself to food and wine. 'I'll take my own clothes when they're dry,' he informed the servants. 'I have a stupid habit concerning clothes not of my particular choosing. Take care when you dry the hat. The brim must be tilted just so.'

These instructions done, he turned to Corum with a bright smile. 'And what name is it in this particular time and place, my friend?'

Corum frowned. 'I fail to understand you.'

'Your name is all I asked. Yours changes as does mine. The difference is sometimes that you do not know that and I do - or vice versa. And sometimes we are the same creature - or, at least, aspects of the same creature.'

Corum. shook his head. The man sounded mad.

'For instance,' continued Jhary as he ate heartily through a piled plate of seafood, 'I have been called Timeras and Shalenak. Sometimes I am the hero, but more often than not I am the companion to a hero.'

'Your words make little sense, sir,' Rhalina said gently. 'I do not think Prince Corum understands them. Neither do we.'

Jhary grinned. 'Ah, then this is one of those times when the hero is aware of only one existence. For the best, I suppose, for it is often unpleasant to remember too many incarnations - particularly when they coexist. I recognize Prince Corum for an old friend, but he does not recognize. me. It matters not.' He finished his food, readjusted the towel about his waist and leaned back.

'So you'd offer us a riddle and then will not give us the answer,' Beldan said.

'I will explain,' Jhary told him, 'for I do not deliberately jest with you. I am a traveller of an unusual kind. It seems to be my destiny to move through all times and all planes. I do not remember being born and I do not expect to die - in the accepted sense. I am sometimes called Timeras and, if I am "of" anywhere, then I suppose I am of Tanelorn.'

'But Tanelorn is a myth,' said Beldan.

'All places are a myth somewhere else - but Tanelorn is more constant than most. She can be found, if sought, from anywhere in the multiverse.'

'Have you no profession?' Corum asked him.

'Well, I have made some poetry and plays in my time, but my main profession could be that I am a friend of heroes. I have travelled - under several names, of course, and in several guises - with Rackhir the Red Archer to Xerlerenes where the ships of the Boatman sail the skies as your ships sail the sea - with Elric of Melnibone to the Court of the Dead God - with Asquiol of Pompeii into the deeper reaches of the multiverse where space is measured not in terms of miles but in terms of galaxies - with Hawkmoon of Kцln to Londra where the folk wear jewelled masks fashioned into the faces of beasts. I have seen the future and the past. I have seen a variety of planetary systems and I have learned that time does not exist and that space is an illusion.'

'And the gods?' Corum asked him eagerly.

'I think we create them, but I am not sure. Where primitives invent crude gods to explain the thunder, more sophisticated peoples create more elaborate gods to explain the abstractions which puzzle them. It has often been noted that gods could not exist without mortals and mortals could not exist without gods.'

'Yet gods, it appears,' said Corum, 'can affect our destinies.'

'And we can affect theirs, can we not?'

Beldan murmured to Corum: 'Your own experiences are proof of that, Prince Corum.'

'So you can wander at will amongst the Fifteen Planes,' Corum said softly. 'As some Vadhagh once could.'

Jhary smiled. 'I can wander nowhere "at will" - or to very few places. I can sometimes return to Tanelorn, if I wish, but normally I am hurled from one existence to another without, apparently, rhyme or reason. I usually find that I am made to fulfil my role wherever I land up - which is to be a companion to champions, the friend of heroes. That is why I recognized you at once for what you are - the Champion Eternal. I have known him in many forms, but he has not always known me. Perhaps, in my own periods of amnesia, I have not always known him.'

'And are you never a hero yourself'?'

'I have been heroic, I suppose, as some would see it. Perhaps I have even been a hero of sorts. And, there again, it in sometimes my fate to be one aspect of a particular hero - a part of another man or group of other men who together make up a single great hero. The stuff of our identities is blown by a variety of winds - all of them whimsical - about the multiverse. There is even a theory I have heard that all mortals are aspects of one single cosmic identity and some believe that even the gods are part of that identity, that all the planes of existence, all the ages which come and go, all the manifestations of space which emerge and vanish, are merely ideas in this cosmic mind, different fragments of its personality. Such speculation leads us nowhere and everywhere, but it makes no difference to our understanding of our immediate problems.'

'I'd agree with that,' Corum told him feelingly. 'And now, will you explain in more detail how you came to Moidel?'

'I will explain what I can, friend Corum. It happened that I found myself at a grim place called Kalenwyr. How I came there I do not quite remember, but then I am used to that. This Kalenwyr - all granite and gloom - was not to my taste. I was there but a few hours before I came under suspicion of the inhabitants and, by means of a certain amount of climbing about on roofs, the theft of a chariot, the purloining of a boat on a near-by river, escaped them and reached the sea. Feeling it unsafe to land, I sailed along the coast. A mist closed in, the sea acted as if a storm had blown up and suddenly my boat and myself were mixed up with a motley mixture of fish, snapping monsters, men and creatures I would be hard put to describe. I managed to cling to the strands of the gigantic net which had trapped me and the rest as we were dragged along at great speed. How I found breath sometimes I do not remember. Then, at last, the net was upended and we were all released. My companions went their different ways and I was left alone in the water. I saw this island and your castle and I found a piece of driftwood which aided me to swim here…'

'Kalenwyr!' Baldan said. 'In Kalenwyr did you hear of a man called Glandyth-a-Krae?'

Jhary frowned. 'An Earl Glandyth was mentioned in a tavern, I think - with some admiration. A mighty warrior, I gathered. The whole city seemed preparing for war, but I did not understand the issues or what they considered their enemies. I think they spoke of the land of Lywm-an-Esh with a certain amount of loathing. And they were expecting allies from across the sea.'

'Allies? From the Nhadragh Isles, perhaps?' Corum asked him.

'No. I think they spoke of Bro-an-Mabden.'

'The continent in the west!' Rhalina gasped. 'I did not know many Mabden still inhabited it. But what moves them to plan war against Lywm-an-Esh?'

'Perhaps the same spirit which led them to destroy my race,' Corum suggested. 'Envy - and a hatred of peace. Your people, you told me, adopted many Vadhagh customs. That would be enough to win them the enmity of Glandyth and his kind.'

'It is true,' Rhalina said. 'Then this means that we are not the only ones who are in danger. Lywm-an-Esh has not fought a war for a hundred years or more. She will be unprepared for this invasion.'

A servant brought in Jhary's clothes. They were clean and dry. Jhary thanked him and began to don them, as unselfconsciously as he had taken them off. His shirt was of bright blue silk, his flared panteloons were as bright a scarlet as Corum's robe. He tied a big yellow sash about his waist, and over this buckled a sword from which hung a scabbarded sabre and a long poignard. He pulled on soft boots which reached the knee and tied a scarf about his throat. His dark blue cloak he placed on the bench beside him, together with his hat (which he carefully creased to suit his taste) and his bundle. He seemed satisfied. 'You had best tell me all you think I need to know,' he suggested. 'Then I may be able to help you. I have gathered a great deal of information in my travels - most of it useless…'

Corum told him of the Sword Rulers and the Fifteen Planes, of the struggle between Law and Chaos and the attempts to bring equilibrium to the Cosmic Balance. Jhary-a-Conel listened to all of this and seemed familiar with many of the things of which Corum spoke.

When Corum had finished, Jhary said: 'It is plain that attempts to contact Lord Arkyn for help would, at this moment, be unsuccessful. Arioch's logic still prevails on these five planes and must be completely demolished before Arkyn and Law can know real power. It is ever the lot of mortals to symbolize these struggles between the gods and doubtless this war which seems likely between King Lyr-a-Brode and Lywm-an-Esh will mirror the war between Law and Chaos on other planes. If those who serve Chaos win - if King Lyr-a-Brode's army wins, in fact - then Lord Arkyn may yet again lose his power and Chaos will triumph. Arioch is not the most powerful of the Sword Rulers - Xiombarg has greater power on the planes she rules and Mabelode has even more power than Xiombarg. I would say that you have hardly experienced the real manifestations of Chaos's rule here.'

'You do not comfort me,' said Corum.

'It is perhaps better, however, to understand these things,' Rhalina said.

'Can the other Sword Rulers send aid to King Lyr?' Corum asked.

'Not directly. But there are ways of manipulating these things through messengers and agents. Would you know more of Lyr's plans?'

'Of course,' Corum told him. 'But that is impossible.'

Jhary smiled. 'I think you will discover that it is useful to have a companion to champions as experienced as myself in your employ.' And he stopped and reached into his bag.

He brought something out of the sack which, to their astonishment, was alive. It seemed unruffled by the fact that it had spent a day at least inside the sack. It opened its large, calm eyes and it purred.

It was a cat. Or, at least, it was a kind of cat, for this cat had resting on its back a pair of beautiful black wings tipped with white. Its other markings were black and white, like those of an ordinary cat, with white paws and a white muzzle and a white front. It seemed friendly and self-possessed. Jhary offered it food from the table and the cat ruffled its wings and began to cat hungrily.

Rhalina sent a servant for milk and when the little animal had finished drinking it sat beside Jhary on the bench and began to clean itself, first its face, paws and body and then its wings.

'I have never seen such an animal!' Beldan muttered.

'And I have never seen another like it in all my travels,' Jhary agreed. 'It is a friendly creature and has often aided me. Sometimes our ways part and I do not see it for an age or two, but we are often together and he always remembers me. I call him Whiskers. Not an original name, I fear, but he seems to like it well enough. I think he will help us now.'

'How can he help us?' Corum stared at the winged cat.

'Why, my friends, he can fly to Lyr's Court and witness what takes place there. Then he can return with his news to us!'

'He can speak?'

'Only to me - and even that is not speaking as such. Would you have me send him there?'

Corum was completely taken aback. He was forced to smile. 'Why not?'

'Then Whiskers and I will go up to your battlements, with your permission, and I will instruct him what to do.'

In silence the three watched Jhary adjust his hat on his head, pick up his cat, bow to them and mount the stairs that would take him to the battlements.

'I feel as if I dream,' said Beldan when Jhary had disappeared.

'You do,' said Corum. 'A fresh dream is just beginning. Let us hope we survive it.

CHAPTER TWO The Gathering at Kalenwyr

The little winged cat flew swiftly Eastward through the night and came at last to gloomy Kalenwyr.

The smoke of a thousand guttering brands rose up from Kalenwyr and seemed to smear out the light of the moon. Square blocks of dark granite made up the houses and the castles and nowhere was there a curve or a soft line. Dominating the rest of the city was the brooding pile of King Lyr-a-Brode and around its black battlements flickered oddly coloured lights and there was a rumbling like thunder, though no clouds filled the night sky.

Towards this pile now flew the little cat, alighting on a tower of harsh angles and folding its wings. It turned its large, yellow eyes this way and that, as if deciding which way it would enter the castle.

The cat's fur prickled, the long whiskers for which it had been named twitched, the tail went stiff. The cat had become aware not only of sorcery and the presence of supernatural creatures in the castle, but of a particular creature which it hated more than all the rest. Its progress down the side of the tower became even more cautious. It reached a slotted window and squeezed in. It was in a darkened, circular room. An open door revealed steps winding down the inside of the tower. Tensely the cat made its way down the steps. There were plenty of shadows in which to hide, for Castle Kalenwyr was a shadowy place.

At last the cat saw brand-light burning ahead and it paused, looking warily around the door frame. The brands illuminated a long, narrow passage and at the end of the passage were the sounds of many voices, the clatter of arms and of wine-cups. The cat spread its wings and flew into the shadows of the roof, finding a long, blackened beam down which it could walk. The beam passed through the wall with a little room to spare and the cat squeezed through to find itself looking down at a huge gathering of Mabden. It walked further along the beam and then settled itself to watch the proceedings.

In the centre of Castle Kalenwyr's Great Hall was a dais carved from a single block of unpolished obsidian and upon this dais was a throne of granite studded with quartz. Some attempt had been made to carve gargoyles upon the stone, but the workmanship was crude and unfinished. Nonetheless, the half-shapes carved there were more sinister than if they had been fully realized.

Seated upon this throne were three people. On each asymmetrical arm sat a naked girl, with flesh tattooed in obscene designs. Each girl held a jug with which she replenished the wine cup of the man who sat on the throne itself. This man was big - more than seven feet tall - and a crown of pale iron was upon his matted hair. The hair was long, with short plaits clustered over the forehead. It had been yellow but was now streaked with white and it seemed that some attempt had been made to dye these streaks back to their original colour. The beard, too, was yellow and flecked with areas of stained grey. The face was haggard, covered in broken veins, and from the deep eye sockets peered eyes that were bloodshot, faded blue, full of hatred, cunning and suspicion. Robes clothed the body from neck to foot. These were plainly of Vadhagh origin - brocades and samite now covered in the marks of food and wine. Over them was thrown a dirty coat of tawny wolfskin - just as plainly made by the Mabden of the East, whom the man ruled. The hands were encrusted with stolen rings torn from the fingers of slain Vadhagh and Nhadragh. One of the hands rested upon the pommel of a great, battered iron sword. The other clutched a bronze, diamond-studded goblet from which slopped thick wine. Surrounding the dais, their backs to their master, was a guard of warriors each as tall or taller than the man on the throne. They stood rigidly shoulder to shoulder, swords drawn and placed across the rims of their great oval shields of leather and iron sheathed in brass. Their brass helms covered most of their faces and from the sides escaped the hair of their heads and beards. Their eyes seemed to contain a perpetual and controlled fury and they looked steadily into the middle distance. This was the Asper guard - the Grim Guard which was unthinkingly loyal to the man who sat upon the throne.

King Lyr-a-Brode turned his massive head and surveyed his court.

Warriors filled it.

The only women were the tattooed, naked wenches who served the wine. Their hair was dirty, their bodies bruised and they moved like dead things with their heavy wine jugs balanced on their hips, squeezing themselves in and out of the ranks of the big, brutal Mabden men in their barbaric war gear, with their braided hair and beards.

These men stank of sweat and of the blood they had spilled. Their leather clothes creaked as they raised winecups to their hard mouths, their harness rattled.

A feast had recently taken place here, but now the tables and the benches had been cleared away and, save for the few who had collapsed and been dragged into corners, all the warriors were standing, watching their king and waiting for him to speak.

The light from iron braziers suspended from the roofbeams flung their huge shadows on the dark stone and made their eyes shine red like the eyes of beasts.

Each warrior in the hall was a commander of other warriors. Here were Earls and Dukes and Counts and Captains who had ridden from all parts of Lyr's kingdom to attend this Gathering. And some, dressed a little differently from the others, favouring fur to the stolen Vadhagh and Nhadragh samite - had come from across the sea as emissaries from Bron-an-Mabden, the rocky land of the North-West from which the whole Mabden race had originated long ago.

Now King Lyr-a-Brode placed his hands on the arms of his throne and levered himself slowly to his feet. Instantly five hundred arms raised goblets in a toast.

'LYR OF THE LAND!'

Automatically he returned the toast, mumbling, 'And the Land is Lyr…' He looked around him, almost disbelievingly, staring for a long second at one of the girls as if he recognized her for something other than she was. He frowned.

A burly noble with grey, unhealthy eyes, a red, shiny face, his thick black hair and beard curled and braided, a cruel mouth which was partly closed over yellow fangs, stepped from the throng and positioned himself just the other side of the Grim Guard. This noble wore a tall, winged helmet of iron, brass and gold, a huge bearskin cloak on his shoulders. There was a sense of authority about him and, in many ways, he had more presence than did the tall king who looked down on him.

The king's lips moved. 'Earl Glandyth-a-Krae?'

'My liege, I hight Glandyth, Earl over the estates of Krae,' the man assured him formally. 'Captain of the Denledhyssi who have scoured your land free of the Vadhagh vermin and all who allied themselves with them, who helped conquer the Nhadragh Isles. And I am a Brother of the Dog, a Son of the Horned Bear, a servant of the Lords of Chaos!'

King Lyr nodded. 'I know thee, Glandyth. A loyal sword.'

Glandyth bowed.

There was a pause.

Then, 'Speak,' said the king.

'There is one of the Shefanhow creatures who escapes your justice, my king. Just one Vadhagh who still lives.' Glandyth tugged the thong of his jerkin which showed over the top of his breastplate. He reached inside and brought out two things which hung by a string around his neck. One of the things was a withered, mummified hand. The other was a small leather pouch. He displayed them. 'This is the hand I took from the Vadhagh and here, in this sack, is his eye. He took refuge in the castle which lies at the far Western shore of your land - the castle called Moidel. A Mabden woman possessed that castle - she is the Margravine Rhalina-a-Allomglyl and she serves that land of traitors, Lywm-an-Esh - that land which you now plan to crush because it refuses to support our cause.'

'All this you have told me,' King Lyr replied. 'And you have told me of the monstrous sorcery used to thwart your attack upon that castle. Speak on.'

'I would march again to Castle Moidel, for I have learnt that the Shefanhow Corum and the traitress Rhalina have returned there, thinking themselves safe from your Justice.'

'All our armies go Westward,' Lyr told him. 'All our strength is aimed at the destruction of Lywm-an-Esh. Castle Moidel will fall in our passing.'

'The boon I beg is that I be the instrument of that fall, my liege.'

'You are one of our greatest captains, Earl Glandyth, we would use you and your Denledhyssi in a main engagement.'

'While Corum lives, commanding sorcery, our cause is much threatened. I speak truly, great king. He is a powerful enemy - perhaps more powerful than the whole land of Lywm-an-Esh. It will take much to destroy him.'

'One maimed Shefanhow? How is this so?'

'He has made an alliance with Law. I have proof. One of my Nhadragh lackeys has used its second sight and seen clear.

'Where is the Nhadragh.'

'He is without, my liege. I would not bring the vile creature into your hall without your permission.'

'Bring him now.'

All the bearded warriors stared towards the door with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. Only the Grim Guard did not turn its gaze. King Lyr reseated himself on his throne and gestured with his cup for more wine.

The doors were opened and a dim shape was revealed. Though it had the outline of a man it was not a man. The ranks broke as it began to shuffle forward.

It had dark, flat features and the hair of its head grew down its forehead to meet at a peak just below the eyebrows. It was dressed in a jacket and breeks of sealskin. Its stance was servile, nervous and it bowed frequently as it moved towards the waiting Glandyth.

King Lyr-a-Brode's lips curled in nausea. He gestured at Glandyth. 'Make this thing speak and then make it leave.'

Glandyth reached out and seized the Nhadragh by his coarse hair. 'Now, filth, tell my king what you saw with your degenerate senses!'

The Nhadragh opened its mouth and stuttered.

'Speak! Quickly!'

'I - I saw into other planes than this.

'You saw into Yffarn - into hell?' King Lyr murmured in horror.

'Into other planes…' The Nhadragh looked shiftily about him and agreed hastily. 'Aye, then - into Yffarn. I saw a creature there which I cannot describe, but I spoke with it for a brief time. It - told me that Lord Arioch of Chaos…'

'He means the Sword Ruler,' Glandyth explained. 'He means Arag the Great Old God.'

'It told me that Arioch - Arag - had been slain by Corum Jhaelen-Irsei of the Vadhagh and that Lord Arkyn of Law now ruled these five planes again…' The Nhadragh's voice trailed off.

'Tell my king the rest,' Glandyth said fiercely, tugging again on the wretch's hair. 'Tell him what you learned relating to we Mabden!'

'I was told that now Lord Arkyn has returned he will attempt to regain all the power he once had over the world. But he needs mortals as his agents and of these agents Corum is the most important - but it is certain that most of the folk of Lywm-an-Esh will serve Arkyn, too, for they learned the ways of the - the Shefanhow - long since…'

'So all our suspicions were correct,' King Lyr said in quiet triumph. 'We do well to ready for war against Lywm-an-Esh. We fight against that soft degeneration misnamed as Law!'

'And you would agree that it is my duty to destroy this Corum?' Glandyth asked.

The king frowned. Then he raised his head and looked directly at Glandyth. 'Aye.' He waved his hand. 'Now take that stinking Shefanhow from this hall. It is time to summon The Dog and The Bear!'

High on the central roof beam the little cat felt its fur stiffen. It was inclined to leave the hall there and then, but made itself stay. It was loyal to its master and Jhary-a-Conel had told it to witness all that passed during Lyr's Gathering.

Now the warriors had packed themselves around the walls. The women had been dismissed. Lyr himself left his throne and the whole centre of the hall was now barren of men.

A silence fell.

Lyr clapped his hands from where he stood, still surrounded by his Grim Guard.

The doors of the hall opened and prisoners were brought in. There were young children and women and some men of the peasant class. All were comely and all were terrified. They were wheeled into the hall in a great wicker cage and some of the children were wailing. The imprisoned adults made no attempt to comfort the children any longer, but clutched at the wicker bars and stared hopelessly out into the hall.

'Aha!' King Lyr cried. 'Here is the Food of the Dog and the Bear. Tender food! Tasty food!' He relished their misery. He stepped forward and the Grim Guard stepped forward too. He licked his lips as he inspected the prisoners. 'Let the food be cooked,' he commanded, 'so that the smell will reach into Yffarn and whet the appetites of the gods and draw them to us.'

One of the women began to scream and some of them fainted. Two of the young men bowed their heads and wept and the children looked out of their cage uncomprehendingly, merely frightened by the fact of their imprisonment, not of the fate which was to come.

Ropes were passed through loops at the top of the cage and men hauled on the ropes so that the entire contraption was raised towards the roof beams.

The little cat shifted its position, but continued to observe.

A huge brazier was wheeled in next and placed directly below the cage. The cage rocked and swayed as the prisoners struggled. The eyes of the watching warriors glowed in anticipation. The brazier was full of white hot coals and now servants came with jars of oil and flung it upon the coals so that flames suddenly roared high into the air and licked around the wicker cage. A horrid ululation came from the cage then, - a dreadful, incoherent noise which filled the hall.

And King Lyr-a-Brode began to laugh.

Glandyth-a-Krae began to laugh.

The Earls and the Counts and the Dukes and the Captains of his Court all began to laugh.

And soon the screams subsided and were replaced by the crackling of the fire, the smell of roasting human flesh.

Then the laughter died and silence came again to the hall as the warriors waited tensely to see what would happen next.

Somewhere beyond the walls of Castle Kalenwyr - somewhere out beyond the town - beyond the darkness of the night - there came a howling.

The little cat drew itself further back along the beam, close to the opening which led into the passage beyond the hall.

The howling grew louder and the flames of the great brazier seemed to be chilled by it and went out.

Now there was pitch darkness in the hall.

The howling echoed everywhere, rising and falling, sometimes seeming to die and then rising to an even louder pitch.

And then it was joined by a peculiar roaring sound.

These were the sounds of The Dog and The Bear - the dark and dreadful gods of the Mabden.

The hall shuddered. A peculiar light began to manifest itself over the vacant throne.

And then, wreathed in radiance of unpleasant and unnameable colours, a being stood on the granite dais and it turned its muzzle this way and that, sniffing for the feast. It was huge and it stank and it stood upon its hindlegs like a parody of those who, quaking, observed it.

The Dog sniffed again. Noises came from its throat. It shook its hairy head.

Still from somewhere came the other sound - the sound of grunting and roaring. This now grew louder and louder and, hearing it, The Dog cocked its head on one side and paused in its sniffing.

A dark blue light appeared on the dais on the opposite side of the throne. It took a form and The Bear stood there - a great, black Bear with long, black horns curling from its head. It opened its snout and grimaced, displaying its pointed fangs. It reached out towards the charred wicker cage and it ripped it down from where it hung.

The Dog and The Bear fell upon the contents of the cage, stuffing the roasted human flesh into their mouths, growling and snuffling and choking, crunching the bones with the bloody juices running down their snouts.

And then they were finished and they lounged on the dais and glared around them at the silent, fearful mortals.

Primitive gods for a primitive people.

For the first time King Lyr-a-Brode left his circle of guards and walked towards the throne. He lowered himself to his knees and raised his arms in supplication to The Dog and The Bear.

'Great Lords, hear usl' he moaned. 'We have learned that Lord Arag has been slain by our enemy the Shefanhow who is in league with our enemies of Lywm-an-Esh, the Sinking Land. Our cause is threatened and thus is your own rule in danger. Will you aid us, lords?'

The Dog growled. The Bear snuffled.

'Will you aid us, lords?'

The Dog cast its fierce eyes about the hall and it seemed that the same feral glint was in every other eye there. It was pleased. It spoke.

'We know of the danger. It is greater than you think.' The voice was clipped, harsh and it did not come easily to the caninoid throat. 'You will have to marshal your strength quickly and march swiftly upon our enemies if Those We serve are to retain their power and make you, in turn, stronger.'

'Our Captains are already gathered, my lord The Dog, and their armies come to join them at Kalenwyr.'

'That is good. Then we shall send you the aid we can send.' The Dog turned its huge head and regarded its brother The Bear.

The Bear's voice was high-pitched but easier to understand.

'Our enemies will also seek aid, but they will have greater difficulty in finding it, for Arkyn of Law is still weak. Arioch - whom you call Arag - must be brought back to his rightful place to rule these planes again. But if he is to do this a new heart must be found for him and a new fleshly form. There is only one heart and one form which will serve - the heart and form of his banisher, Corum in the Scarlet Robe. Complicated sorcery will be required to prepare Corum once he is captured - but captured he must be.'

'Not slain?'

It was Glandyth's disappointed tones.

'Why spare him?' said The Bear.

And even Glandyth shuddered.

'We leave now,' said The Dog. 'Our aid will arrive soon. It will be led by one who is a messenger to the Great Old Gods themselves - to the Sword Ruler of the next plane, Queen Xiombarg. He will tell you more than can we.'

And then The Dog and The Bear were gone and the stink of the cooked human flesh hung in the black hall and King Lyr's quaking voice called through the darkness. 'Bring brands! Bring brands!'

The doors were opened and a dim, reddish light fell down the middle of the hall. It showed the dais, the throne, the torn wicker cage, the extinguished brazier, and the kneeling, shuddering king.

Lyr-a-Brode's eyes rolled as he was helped to his feet by two of his Grim Guards. He did not seem to relish the responsibility which his gods had implied was his. He looked almost pleadingly at Glandyth.

And Glandyth was grinning and Glandyth was panting like a dog about to feast on fresh-caught prey.

The little cat crept down the beam, along the passage, up the stairs to the tower. And it went away on weary wings, back to Castle Moidel.

CHAPTER THREE Lywm-an-Esh

It was a still, warm afternoon in high summer and a few wisps of white cloud lay close to the horizon. Bright, gentle blossoms stretched across the sward for as far as the eye could see, growing right down to where the yellow sand divided the land from the flat, calm ocean. All the flowers were wild, but their profusion and variety gave the impression that they had once been planted as part of a vast garden which had been left untended for many years.

Just recently a small, trim schooner had beached on the sand and out of it had emerged a bright company, leading horses down makeshift gangplanks. Silks and steel flashed in the sunlight as the whole complement abandoned the craft, mounted its steeds and began to move inland.

The four leading riders reached the sward and their horses moved knee-deep through wild tulips as soft and richly coloured as velvet. The riders took deep breaths of the marvellously scented air.

All save one of the riders were armoured. One, tall and strange-featured, wore a jewelled patch over his right eye and a six-fingered jewelled gauntlet upon his left hand. He had a high, conical helm, apparently of silver, with an aventail of tiny silver links suspended from staples round the lower edge of the helm. His byrnie was also of silver, although its second layer was of brass, and his shirt, breeks and boots were of soft brushed leather. He had a long sword at his side and its pommel and guard decorated with delicate silver-work as well as red and black onyx. In a saddle sheath was a long-hafted war-axe with decorations matching those on the sword. On his back was a coat of a peculiar texture and of brilliant scarlet and on this were crossed a quiver of arrows and a long bow. This was Prince Corum Jhaelen Irsei in the Scarlet Robe, caparisoned for war.

Next to Prince Corum rode one who also wore mail, though with an elaborate helm fashioned from the shell of the giant murex and with a shield which was also made from shell. A slender sword and a lance were the weapons of this rider and she was the beautiful Margravine Rhalina of Allomglyl, caparisoned for war.

At Rhalina's side rode a handsome young man with a helm and shield that matched hers, a tall lance and a short-hafted war-axe, a sword and a long, broad-bladed baselard. His long cloak was of orange samite and matched the sleek coat of his chestnut mare whose jewelled harness was probably worth more than the rider's own gear. And this was Beldan-an-Allomglyl, caparisoned for war.

The fourth rider wore a broad-brimmed hat which was somewhat fastidiously tilted on his head and which now sported a long plume. His shirt was of bright blue silk and his pantaloons rivalled the scarlet of Corum's cloak, there was a broad yellow sash about his waist with a well-worn leather sword-belt supporting a sabre and a poignard. His boots reached to the knee and his long, dark blue cloak was so long that it stretched out to cover the whole of his horse's rump. A small, black and white cat was perched upon his shoulder, its wings folded. It was purring and seemed to be an animal of singularly pleasant disposition. The rider occasionally reached up to stroke its head and murmur to it. And this was the sometime traveller, sometime poet, sometime companion to champions Jhary-a-Conel and he was not seriously caparisoned for war.

Behind them came Rhalina's men-at-arms and their women. The soldiers wore the uniform of Allomglyl, with helms, shields and breastplates made from the gigantic crustaceans that had once populated the sea.

It was a handsome company and it blended well with the landscape of the Duchy of Bedwilral-nan-Rywm, most Easterly county in the land of Lywm-an-Esh.

They had left Castle Moidel behind them after a vain attempt had been made to awaken the huge bats that slept in the caves below the castle ('Chaos creatures,' Jhary-a-Conel had murmured. 'They'll be hard to press into our Service now.') and Lord Arkyn, doubtless concerned with More pressing matters, had failed to answer their call to him. It had become plain that Castle Moidel could no longer be defended, when the winged cat had brought back its news, and they had decided to ride all together to the capital of Lywm-an-Esh which was called Halwyg-nan-Vake and warn the king of the coming of the barbarians from the East and the South.

As he looked around him Corum was impressed by the beauty of the landscape and thought he could understand how such a lovely land had produced in a Mabden race so many characteristics he would normally call Vadhagh.

It was not cowardice which had made them abandon Moidel's Mount but it was caution and the knowledge that Glandyth would waste many days - perhaps weeks - by planning and launching an attack on the castle they no longer occupied.

The main city of the Duchy was called Llarak-an-Fol and it would be a good two days' ride before they reached it. Here they hoped to get fresh horses and some information concerning the present state of the country's defences. The Duke himself lived in Llarak and had known Rhalina as a girl. She was certain he would help them and that he would believe the tale they brought. Halwyg-nan-Vake lay another week's ride, at least, beyond Llarak.

Corum, although he had suggested much of their present plan, could not rid from his head some sense that he was retreating from the object of his hatred and part of him wanted to turn back to Moidel and wait for Glandyth's coming. He fought the impulse but the conflict in him often made him gloomy and a poor companion.

The others were more cheerful, delighting in the fact that they were able to help Lywm-an-Esh prepare for an attack which King Lyr-a-Brode thought would be unexpected. With superior weapons, there was every chance of the invasion being completely thwarted.

Only Jhary-a-Conel sometimes had the task of reminding Rhalina and Beldan of the fact that The Dog and The Bear had promised aid to King Lyr, though none knew what form that aid would take and how powerful it would be.

They camped that night on the Plain of Blossoms and by the next morning had reached rolling downlands. Beyond the downs, sheltered by them, lay Llarak-an-Fol.

Then, in the afternoon, they came to a pleasant village built on both sides of a pretty stream and they saw that the village square was full of people who stood around a water-trough upon which was balanced a man in dark robes who addressed them.

They reined in on the slope of the hill and watched from a distance, unable to make anything of the babble they heard.

Jhary-a-Conel frowned. 'They seem rather agitated. Do you think we are late with our news?'

Corum fingered his eye-patch and considered the scene. 'Doubtless nothing more than some local village affair, Jhary. Let's you and I ride down there and ask them.'

Jhary nodded and, after a word with the others, they rode rapidly towards the village.

Now the dark-robed man had seen them and their company and he was pointing and shouting. The villagers were plainly disturbed.

As they entered the village street and drew close to the crowd, the dark-robed man, whose face was full of madness screamed at them. 'Who are you? On which side do you fight? Do you come to destroy us? We have nothing for your army.'

'Hardly an army,' murmured Jhary. Then more loudly he called: 'We mean you no harm, friend. We are passing this way on our journey to Llarak.'

'To Llarak. So you are on the Duke's side! You will help bring disaster on us all!'

'By what means?' Corum called.

'By leaguing yourselves with the forces of weakness - with the soft, degenerate ones who speak of peace and who will bring terrible war to us.'

'You are still not especially specific,' Jhary said. 'Who are you, sir?'

'I am Verenak and I am a priest of Urleh. Thus I serve this village and have its well-being at stake - not to say the well-being of our entire nation.'

Corum whispered to Jhary: 'Urleh is a local godling of these parts - a sort of vassal deity to Arioch. I should have thought that his power would have disappeared when Arioch was banished.'

'Perhaps that is why this Verenak is so upset,' suggested Jhary with a wink.

'Perhaps.'

Verenak was now peering closely at Corum. 'You are not human!'

'I am mortal,' Corum told him equably, 'but I am not of the Mabden race, it is true.'

'You are Vadhagh!'

'That I am. The last.'

Verenak put a trembling hand to his face. He turned again to the villagers. 'Drive these two out from here lest the Lords of Chaos take their vengeance upon us! Chaos will soon come and you must be loyal to Urleh if you would survive!'

'Urleh no longer exists,' said Corum. 'He is banished from our planes with his master Arioch.'

'It is a lie!' screamed Verenak. 'Urleh lives!'

'It is not likely,' Jhary told him.

Corum spoke to the villagers. 'Lord Arkyn of Law rules the Five Planes now. He will bring peace to you and a greater security than you have ever previously known.'

'Nonsense!' Verenak shouted. 'Arkyn was defeated by Arioch ages since.'

'And now Arioch is defeated,' Corum said. 'We must defend this new peace we are offered. Chaos in all its power brings destruction and terror. Your land is threatened by invaders of your own race who serve Chaos and plan to slay you all!'

'I say that you lie - you seek to turn us against the Great Lord Arioch and the Lord Urleh. We are loyal to Chaos!'

The villagers did not seem to be as certain of that statement as Verenak.

'Then you will bring only disaster to yourselves,' Corum insisted. 'I know that Arioch is banished - I am the one who sent him into limbo. I destroyed his heart.'

'Blasphemy!' shrieked Verenak. 'Begone from here. I will not let you corrupt these innocent souls.'

The villagers glanced suspiciously at Corum and then bestowed the same suspicious looks upon Verenak. One of them stepped forward. 'We have no particular interest in either Law or Chaos,' he said. 'We wish only to live our lives as we have always lived them. Until recently, Verenak, you did not interfere with us, save to offer us a little magical advice from time to time and receive payment in return. Now you speak of great causes and of struggles and terror. You say that we must arm ourselves and march against our liege the Duke. Now this stranger, this Vadhagh, says we must ally ourselves with Law - also to save ourselves. And yet there is no threat that we can see. There have been no portents, Verenak…'

Verenak raged. 'There have been signs. They have come to me in dreams. We must become warriors on the side of Chaos, attack Llarak, show that we are loyal to Urleh!'

Corum shrugged. 'You must not side with Chaos,' he said. 'If you would side with no one, then Chaos will devour you, however. You call our little band an army - and that means you have no conception of what an army can be. Unless we prepare against your enemies your flowery hills will one day be black with riders who will trample you as easily as they trample the blossoms. I have suffered at their hands and I know that they torture and they rape before slaying. Nothing will be left of your village unless you come with us to Llarak and learn how to defend your lovely land.'

'How came this dispute to begin?' Jhary asked, taking a different tack. 'Why are you trying to arouse these people against the Duke, Sir Verenak?'

Verenak glowered. 'Because the Duke has gone mad. Not a month since he banished all the priests of Urleh from his city but allowed the priests of that milk-and-water godling Ilah to remain. Thus he put himself upon the side of Law and ceased to tolerate the adherents of Chaos. He will therefore bring Urleh's vengeance - aye, even Arioch's vengeance - upon himself. And that is why I seek to warn these poor, simple people and get them to take action.'

'The people seem considerably more intelligent than you, my friend,' laughed Jhary.

Verenak raised his arms to the skies. 'Oh, Urleh, destroy this grinning fool!'

He lost his footing on the water trough's sides. His arms began to wave. He fell backwards into the water. The villagers laughed. The one who had spoken came up to Corum. 'Worry not, my friend - we'll do no marching here. We've our crops to harvest, for one thing.'

'You'll harvest no crops if the Mabden of the East come this way,' Corum warned him. 'But I'll debate no longer with you save to warn you that we Vadhagh could not believe in the bloodlust of those Mabden and we ignored the warnings. That is why I saw my father and my mother and my sisters all slain. That is why I am the last of my race.'

The man drew his hand over his brow and scratched his head. 'I will think on what you have said, friend Vadhagh.'

'And what of him?' Corum pointed at Verenak who was hauling himself from the trough.

'He'll bother us no more. He has many villages to visit with his gloomy news. I doubt if many will even take the trouble to listen to him as we have done.'

Corum nodded. 'Very well, but please remember that these minor disputes, these little arguments, these apparently meaningless decisions like that of the Duke in banishing the priests of Urleh, they are all indications that a greater struggle is to come between Law and Chaos. Verenak senses it just as much as does the Duke. Verenak seeks to gather strength for Chaos while the Duke puts himself in the camp of Law. Neither knows that a threat is coming, but both have sensed something. And I bring news to Lywm-an-Esh that a struggle is about to begin. Take heed of that warning, my friend. Think of what I have said, no matter how you choose to act upon it…'

The villager sucked at a tooth. 'I will think on it,' he agreed at last.

The rest of the villagers were going about their business. Verenak was making for his tethered horse, casting many a glowering glance back at Corum.

'Would you and your company take the hospitality of our village?' the man asked Corum.

Corum shook his head. 'I thank you, but what I have seen and heard here confirms that we must make speed to Llarak-an-Fol and release our news. Farewell!'

'Farewell, friend.' The villager still looked thoughtful.

As they rode back up the hill Jhary was laughing. 'As good a comic scene as any I've written for the stage in my time,' he said.

'Yet it has tragedy beneath it,' Corum told him.

'As does all good comedy.'

And now the company galloped where before it had trotted, riding across the Duchy of Bedwilral-nan-Rywm as if the warriors of Lyr-a-Brode were already pursuing them.

And there was tension in the air. In every village they passed through there were apparently meaningless disputes between neighbours as one side supported Urleh and the other Ilah, but both refusing to listen to what Corum told them - that the instruments of Chaos would soon be upon their land and they would cease to exist unless they prepared to resist King Lyr and his armies.

And when they came at last to Llarak-an-Fol, they found that there was fighting in the streets.

Very few of the cities of Lywm-an-Esh were walled and Llarak was no exception. She had long, low houses of stone and carved timber, all brightly painted. The house of the Duke of Bedwilral was not immediately evident for it was little different from the other larger houses in the city, but Rhalina pointed it out. The fighting was quite close to the Duke's residence and near it a building was burning.

The Company of Allomglyl began to ride down towards the city, leaving the women in the hills.

'It seems some of those Chaos priests were more persuasive than Verenak,' Prince Corum shouted to Rhalina as she prepared her spear.

They galloped into the outskirts of the town. The streets were empty and silent. From the centre came a great noise of battle.

'You had best lead us,' he said to her, 'for you'll know who are the Duke's men and who are not.'

She increased her speed without a word and they followed her into the middle of Llarak-an-Fol.

There they were. Men in blue livery with helmets and shields similar to those borne by Rhalina's men were fighting a mixed force of peasants and what were evidently professional soldiers.

'The men in blue are the Duke's,' she called. 'Those in brown and purple are the city guard. There was always, I gather, a certain rivalry between the two.'

Corum felt reluctance to engage them, not because he was afraid but because he bore no malice towards them.

The peasants, in particular, hardly knew why they fought and doubtless the city guard was barely conscious of the fact that Chaos was working through them to create conflict. They had been filled with a vague sense of unrest and, with the pushing of the priests of Urleh, had resorted to anger and to arms.

But Rhalina was already leading her horsemen through in a lance charge. The spears dipped and the cavalry drove into the mass of men, cutting a wide path through their ranks. Most of the enemy was unmounted and Corum's axe flew up and down as he chopped at the heads of those who, still with astonishment on their faces, sought to stop his advance. His horse reared and whinnied and its hooves flailed and at least a dozen peasants and guards had died before they had joined with the Duke's men and had turned to drive back the way they had come.

Already, to Corum's relief, many of the peasants had dropped their weapons and were running. The few guards fought on and now Corum could see armed priests fighting with them. A small man - almost a dwarf - on a big, yellow charger, a massive broadsword in his left hand, was shouting encouragement to the newcomers. By his dress Corum decided that this must. be the Duke himself.

'Lay down your arms!' the small man yelled to the guards. 'You will have mercy! You will be spared!'

Corum saw a guard look about him and then drop his sword. Instantly the man was cut down by the Chaos priest nearest to him.

'Fight to the death!' screamed the priest. 'If you betray Chaos now your souls will suffer more than your bodies could!'

But the surviving guards had plainly lost heart and one of them turned with resentment on the priest who had slain his comrade. His sword slashed at the man who went down trying to staunch the blood that suddenly erupted from his severed jugular.

Corum sheathed his war-axe. The pathetic little battle was virtually over. Rhalina's men and the warriors in blue livery closed on the few who still fought and disarmed them.

The small man on the large horse rode up to where Rhalina had joined Corum and Jhary-a-Conel. The little black and white cat still clung to Jhary's shoulder and it looked more puzzled than frightened by what it had witnessed.

'I am Duke Gwelhen of Bedwilral,' announced the small man. 'I thank thee mightily for thine aid. But I recognize thee not. Thou art not from Nyvish or Adwyn and, if ye be from farther afield, then ye could not have heard of my plight in time to save me!'

Rhalina removed her helm. She spoke as formally as the Duke. 'Dost thou not recognize me, Duke Gwelhen?'

'I fear not. My memory for faces…'

She laughed. 'It was many years past. I am Rhalina who married your cousin's son…'

'Whose responsibility was the Margravate of Allomglyl. But I learned that he died in a shipwreck.'

'It is so,' she said gravely.

'But I thought Castle Moidel taken by the sea these many years. Where have you been in the meantime, my child?'

'Until recently I ruled at Moidel, but now the barbarians of the East have driven us out and we ride to warn you that what you have experienced here today is only a trifle of what Chaos will do if unchecked.'

Duke Gwelhen rubbed at his beard. He returned his attention to the prisoners for a moment and issued some orders, then he smiled slowly. 'Well, well. And who is this brave fellow with the eye-patch - and this one, who has a pretty cat on his shoulder, and…'

She laughed. 'I will explain, Duke Gwelhen, if we may guest in your hall.'

'I would hope that you would! Come. This sad business is done. We'll to the hall now.'

In Gwelhen's simple hall they ate a simple meal of cheese and cold meats washed down by locally brewed beer.

'We are not used to fighting these days,' Gwelhen said after introductions had been made and they had explained how they came to Llarak. 'In some ways today's skirmish was a bloodier business than it might have been. If my men had more experience, they might have contained the thing and taken most of them prisoner, but they panicked. And it's likely that I'd have been dead by now if your Company had not arrived. But all you tell me of this war between Law and Chaos makes much sense of various moods I have had of late. You heard how I banished the Temple of Urleh? Its adherents had taken to morbid, unhealthy pursuits. There were some murders - other things… I could not explain them. We are content here. None starves or goes in need of anything. There was no reason for the unrest. So we are victims of powers beyond our control, are we? I like not that - whether it be Law or Chaos. I would prefer to remain neutral…'

'Aye,' said Jhary-a-Conel. 'Any thinking man does in these conflicts. Yet there are times when sides must be taken lest all that one loves is destroyed. I have never known another answer to the problem, though the taking of an extreme position will always make a man lose something of his humanity.'

'My feelings,' murmured Gwelhen, motioning with his beer mug at Jhary.

'And all of ours,' Rhalina agreed. 'Yet unless we are ready for King Lyr's attack, Lywm-an-Esh will be brutally destroyed.

'She is dying, for the sea takes more land every year,' said Gwelhen thoughtfully. 'Yet she should die at her own speed. We must convince the king, however…'

'Who rules now in Halwyg-nan-Vake?' Rhalina asked.

He looked at her in surprise. 'The Margravate was indeed remote! Onald-an-Gyss is our king. He is old Onald's nephew - his uncle died without issue…'

'And what of his temperament - for these things are decided on temperament - does he favour Law or Chaos?'

'Law, I would think, but I cannot say the same for his captains. Military men being what they are…'

'Perhaps they have already decided,' Jhary murmured. 'If the whole land is seized by the strife we have witnessed thus far, then a strong man supporting Chaos might have deposed the king, just as an attempt was made to depose you, Duke Gwelhen.'

'We must ride at once to Halwyg,' Corum. said.

The Duke nodded. 'Aye - at once. Yet a largish company rides with you. It would be a week at least before you reached the capital.'

'The company must follow us,' Rhalina decided. 'Beldan, will you command it and bring it to Halwyg?'

Beldan grimaced. 'Aye, though I wish I could ride with you.'

Corum got up from the table. 'Then we three will set off for Halwyg tonight. If we may rest an hour or two, Duke Gwelhen, we should be grateful.'

Gwelhen's face was grave. 'I would advise it. For all we know, you'll have little chance for much rest in the days to come.'

CHAPTER FOUR The Wall Between the Realms

Their riding was swift and it was across a land growing increasingly disturbed, with a people becoming more and more distressed without understanding why these moods descended on them or why they suddenly thought in terms of violence when a short time before they had thought only in terms of love.

And the priests of Chaos, many of them believing themselves to be acting from benevolent motives, continued to encourage strife and uncertainty.

They heard many rumours when they stopped to refresh themselves briefly or to change horses, but none of the rumours came close to the much more terrifying truth and soon they gave up their warnings until they should speak with the king himself so that he might then issue a decree which would carry his authority.

But would they convince the king? What evidence was there that they spoke the truth?

This was the great doubt in their minds as they rode for Halwyg-nan-Vake, across a beautiful landscape of soft hills and quiet farms which might soon be all destroyed.

Halwyg-nan-Vake was an old city of spires and pale stones. From all directions across the plain came white roads, leading to Halwyg. Along these roads travelled merchants and soldiers, peasants and priests, as well as the players and musicians in which Lywm-an-Esh was so rich. Down the Great East Way galloped Corum and Rhalina and Jhary, their armour and their clothes covered in dust, their eyes heavy with weariness.

Halwyg was a walled city, but the walls seemed more decorative than functional, their stonework carved with fanciful motifs, mythical beasts and complicated scenes of the city's past glories. None of the gates were closed as they came near and there were only a few sleepy guards who did not bother to hail them when they passed through and found themselves in streets filled with flowers. Every building had a garden surrounding it and every window had boxes in which more plants grew. The city was filled with the rich scents of the flowers and it seemed to Corum, remembering the Plain of Blossoms, that the main business of these people seemed to lie in the nurturing of lovely growing things.

And when they came to the palace of the king, they saw that every tower and battlement, every wall was covered in vines and flowers so that it seemed from a distance to be a castle built entirely of flowers. Even Corum smiled with pleasure when he saw it.

'It is magnificent,' he said. 'How could anyone wish to destroy all this?'

Jhary looked dubiously at the palace. 'But they will,' he said. 'The barbarians will.'

Rhalina addressed herself to a guard at the low wall.

'We come with news for King Onald,' she said. 'We have travelled far and swiftly and the news is urgent.'

The guard, dressed in a handsome, but most unwarlike, fashion, saluted her. 'I will see that the king is informed if you will kindly wait here.'

And then, at last, they were escorted into the presence of the king.

He sat in a sunlit room which had a view over most of the Southern part of the city. There were maps of his country upon a marble table and these had recently been consulted. He was young, with small features and a small frame which made him look almost like a boy. As they entered he rose gracefully to welcome them. He was dressed in a simple robe of pale yellow samite and there was a circlet upon his auburn hair which was the only indication of his station.

'You are tired,' he said when he saw them. He signed to a servant. 'Bring comfortable chairs and refreshment.' He remained standing until the chairs had been brought and they were all seated near the window with a small table near-by on which food and wine were placed.

'I am told you come with urgent news,' said King Onald. 'Have you travelled from our Eastern coasts?'

'From the West,' said Corum.

'The West? Is trouble beginning there, also?'

'Excuse me, King Onald,' Rhalina said, removing her helmet and shaking out her long hair, 'but we were not aware that there was any strife in the East.'

'Raiders,' he said. 'Barbarian pirates. Not long since they took the port of Dowish-an-Wod and razed it, slaying all. Several fleets, as far as we can gather, striking at different points along the coast. In most parts the citizens were unprepared and fell before they could begin to fight, but in one or two small towns the garrisons were able to resist the raiders and, in one case, took prisoners. One of those prisoners has recently been brought here. He is mad.'

'Mad?' Jhary said.

'Aye - he believes himself to be some kind of crusader, destined to destroy the whole land of Lywm-an-Esh. He speaks of supernatural help, of an enormous army which marches against us…'

'He is not mad,' Corum told him quietly. 'At least, not in that respect. That is why we are here - to warn you of a huge invasion. The barbarians of Bro-an-Mabden - doubtless your coastal attackers - and the barbarians of the land you know as Bro-an-Vadhagh have united, called on the aid of Chaos and those creatures which serve Chaos, and are pledged to destroy all who side, knowingly or unknowingly, with the Lords of Law. For Lord Arioch of Chaos has been but lately banished from this particular Domain of Five Planes and can only return if all who support Law are vanquished. His sister Queen Xiombarg cannot give aid directly, but she encourages all her servitors to throw their weight behind the barbarians.'

King Onald stroked his lips with a thin finger. 'It is graver than I had imagined. I was hard put to think of effective ways of stopping the coastal attacks, but now I can think of nothing which will enable us to resist such a force.'

'Your people must be warned of their peril,' said Rhalina urgently.

'Of course,' replied the king. 'We will re-open the arsenals and arm every man that we can. But even then…'

'You have forgotten how to fight?' suggested Jhary.

The king nodded. 'You have read my thoughts, sir.'

'If only Lord Arkyn had consolidated his power over this Domain!' Corum said. 'He could aid us. But now there is too little time. Lyr's army marches from the East and his allies sail from the North…'

'And doubtless this city is their ultimate destination,' murmured Onald. 'We cannot possibly withstand the might which you say they command.'

'And we do not know what supernatural allies they have,' Rhalina reminded him. 'We could not remain any longer at Moidel to discover that.' She explained how they had learned of Lyr's ambitions and Jhary smiled.

'I regret,' he said, 'that my little cat cannot fly over great stretches of water. The idea distresses him too much.'

'Perhaps the priests of Law can help us…' Onald said thoughtfully.

'Perhaps,' agreed Corum, 'but I fear they have little power at this moment.'

'And there are no allies we can call upon,' Onald sighed. 'Well, we must prepare to die.'

The three fell silent.

A little later a servant entered and whispered something to the king. He looked surprised and turned to his guests.

'We are all four summoned to the Temple of Law,' he said. 'Perhaps the powers of the priests are greater than we know, for they seem aware of your presence in the city.' To the servant he said, 'Have a carriage prepared to take us there please.'

While they waited for the carriage, they bathed quickly and cleaned their clothes as best they could and then the little party left the palace and entered the simple, open carriage which bore them through the streets until it came to a low, pleasant building on the Western side of the city. A man stood at the entrance. He looked agitated. He was dressed in a long, white robe on which was embroidered the single straight arrow which was the Symbol of Law. He had a short grey beard, long grey hair and his skin was also almost grey. In all this, his large brown eyes seemed to belong to another.

He bowed as the king approached.

'Greetings, my lord king. Greetings Lady Rhalina, Prince Corum. and Sir Jhary-a-Conel. Forgive me for the sudden nature of my summons but - but…' He made a vague gesture and then led them into the cool temple which was almost entirely undecorated.

'I am Aleryon-a-Nyvish,' said the priest. I was awakened early this morning by - by - my master's master. He told me many things, but ended by naming the names of you three travellers and saying that you would soon be at the court of the king. He said I must bring you here…'

'Your master's master?' Corum said.

'The Lord Arkyn himself. The Lord Arkyn, Prince Corum. None other.'

And then, from the shadows at the far end of the hall a tall man walked. He was a comely man, dressed like a nobleman of Lywm-an-Esh. There was a gentle smile upon his face and his eyes seemed full of a sad wisdom.

The form had changed, but Corum immediately recognized the presence as that of Arkyn of Law.

'My lord Arkyn,' he said.

'Good Corum, how dost thou fare?'

'My mind is full of fear,' Corum replied. 'For Chaos comes against us all.'

'I know, but it will be long before I can rid my domain of Arioch's entire influence - just as it took him a great long time to rid the domain of mine. There is little material aid I can offer thee as yet, for I am still gathering my strength. However, there are other ways in which I can help. I can tell you that Lyr's allies have now joined him and that they are dreadful things from the nether-regions. I can tell you that Lyr has another ally - an unhuman sorcerer who is the personal messenger of Queen Xiombarg and is capable of summoning further aid from her plane, though she would destroy herself if she attempted to come into this Realm in person.

'But where might we find allies, Lord Arkyn', Jhary said reasonably.

'Do you not know, you of many names?' smiled Lord Arkyn. He had recognized Jhary-a-Conel for what he was.

'I know that if there be an answer then it may well be some form of paradox,' Jhary replied. 'That is one thing I have learned in my profession as Companion to Champions.'

Again Arkyn smiled. 'Existence is a paradox, friend Jhary. Everything that is Good is also Evil. You know that, I am sure.'

'Aye. That is what makes me so insouciant.'

'And it is what makes you so concerned?'

'Aye.' Jhary laughed. 'Then is there an answer, my Lord of Law?'

'That is why I am here, to tell you that unless you find aid for yourselves then Lywm-an-Esh will of a certainty perish and with it the Cause of Law. You know that you have not the strength, ferocity or experience to withstand Lyr, Glandyth and the rest - particularly since they may now call upon the Power of the Dog and the Bear. There is one people of whom I know who may be willing to ally themselves with your cause. But they do not exist in this plane - or in any of the planes I rule. Save for yourself, Corum, Arioch had succeeded in destroying all with the power to resist Chaos.'

'Where do they exist, my lord?' Corum asked.

'In the Realm of Queen Xiombarg of Chaos.'

'She must be our bitterest enemy!' Rhalina gasped. 'If we could enter her Realm - and I do not see how that is possible - she would welcome the chance to slay us!'

'I know that she would - once she found you,' Lord Arkyn agreed. 'But if you went to her Realm you would have to hope that her attention would be so focused on the events in this Realm that she would not realize you had entered her own.

'And what is there that might help us?' Jhary said. 'Surely nothing of Law! Queen Xiombarg was more powerful than her brother Arioch. Chaos must hold full sway in her Realm.'

'Not quite -and not so much as in her brother Mabelode's Realm… There is a city in her Realm which has resisted all she could have brought against it. It is called the City in the Pyramid and the people who dwell in it are of a highly sophisticated civilization. If you can reach the City in the Pyramid, you may find the allies you need.'

'But how could we travel to Xiombarg's Realm?' Corum said reasonably. 'We have no such powers.'

'I can make it possible for you to do that.'

'And how, in Five Planes, shall we find a single city?' Jhary asked.

'You must ask,' said Arkyn simply. 'Ask for the City in the Pyramid. The city which has resisted Xiombarg's attacks. Will you go? It is all that I can suggest if you would be saved…'

'And if you, too, are to be saved,' Jhary pointed out with a smile. 'I know you gods and I know that you manipulate mortals only to achieve those things you cannot yourselves achieve, for mortals may scurry where gods may not go. Have you other motives in encouraging this course of action, Lord Arkyn?'

Lord Arkyn looked humorously at Jhary. 'You know the ways of gods, as you say. But I can tell you no more save that I gamble with your lives as freely as I gamble with my own destiny. What you risk, I risk. If you do not succeed in all I hope, then I will perish, all that is gentle and good in this Realm will perish. And you need not go to Xiombarg's Realm…'

'If there are potential allies there, then we will go,' Corum said firmly.

'Then I will open the Wall Between the Realms', said Arkyn quietly.

He turned and walked back into the shadows.

'Ready yourselves,' he said. He was now invisible.

Corum heard a sound in his head - a sound that was soundless, but which blocked out all other sounds. He looked at the others. They were evidently experiencing the same thing. Something moved in front of his eyes - a dim pattern superimposed on the more solid scene which showed his companions and the simple walls of the temple. Something vibrated.

And then it was there.

A cruciform shape stood in the middle of the temple. They moved around it in wonder but, from whatever angle they regarded it, it retained the same perspective. It was a shimmering silver in the cool darkness of the temple and through it, as through a window, they could see part of a landscape.

Arkyn's voice came from behind them.

'There is the entrance to Xiombarg's plane.'

Strange, black birds flew across the section of sky they could observe through the peculiar window. A distant sound of cackling.

Corum shivered. Rhalina moved closer to him.

Now King Onald's voice: 'If you would stay here, I will think no less of you…'

'We must go,' Corum said almost dreamily. 'We must.'

But Jhary, with a suggestion of defiant jauntiness, was the first to step through and stand there, looking up at the unpleasant birds, stroking his cat.

'How shall we return?' Corum said.

'If you are successful, then you will find the means to return,' said Arkyn. His voice was growing weaker. 'Hurry. It takes much from me to hold the gateway open.'

Hand in hand with Rhalina, Corum stepped through and looked back.

The cruciform shape of shimmering silver was fading. They saw Onald's concerned face for an instant and then it was gone.

'So this is Xiombarg's Realm,' said Jhary with a sniff. 'It has a brooding air about it.'

Black mountains lay on two sides and the sky was bleak. The horrid birds flew into the mountains, still screaming. Ahead, a foul sea washed a rocky shore.