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 reopen 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 travelers 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 asked 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 then 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 can 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 domain.”
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.
BOOK TWO
IN WHICH PRINCE CORUM AND HIS COMPANIONS GAIN THE FURTHER ENMITY OF CHAOS AND EXPERIENCE A STRANGE, NEW FORM OF SORCERY
1
THE LAKE OF VOICES
“WHICH WAY?” JHARY looked about him. “The sea or the mountains? Neither’s inviting…”
Corum sighed deeply. The morbid landscape had instantly depressed him. Rhalina touched his arm, her eyes full of sympathy.
Though she looked at Corum, she spoke to Jhary who was now adjusting his ever-present sack on his shoulder. “Inland would be best, surely, since we have no boat.”
“And no horses,” Jhary reminded her. “It will be a fearful long walk. And who’s to say those mountains are passable when we reach ’em?”
Corum gave Rhalina a quick, sad smile of gratitude. He straightened his shoulders. “Well, we made up our minds to enter this realm, now we must make up our minds which way to go.” His hand on the pommel of his sword, he stared towards the mountains. “I have seen something of the power of Chaos when I journeyed to Arioch’s Court, but it seems to me that that power extends further in this realm. We’ll head towards the mountains. There we may discover some inhabitants who may know where lies this City in the Pyramid Lord Arkyn mentioned.”
And they set off over the unpleasantly mottled rock.
A while later it became evident that the sun had not moved across the sky. The brooding silence continued, broken only by the ghastly screechings of the black birds which nested in the peaks of the mountains. It was a land which seemed to radiate despair. For a short time Jhary had attempted to whistle a bright little tune, but the sound had died, as if swallowed by the desolate land.
“I thought Chaos all howling, random creativity,” said Corum. “This is worse.”
“It is what becomes of a place when Chaos exhausts its invention,” Jhary told him. “Ultimately, Chaos brings a more profound stagnation than anything it despises in Law. It must forever seek more and more sensation, more and more empty marvels, until there is nothing left and it has forgotten what true invention is.”
* * *
And at length weariness overcame them and they lay down on the barren rock and slept. When they awoke it was to observe that only one thing had changed…
The great black birds were closer. They were wheeling overhead in the sky.
“What can they live on?” Rhalina wondered. “There is no game here, no vegetation. Where is their food?”
Jhary looked significantly at Corum who shrugged.
“Come,” said the Prince in the Scarlet Robe. “Let’s continue. Time may be relative, but I have a feeling that unless we accomplish our mission soon, Lywm-an-Esh will fall.”
And the birds circled lower so that they could see their leathery wings and bodies, their tiny, greedy eyes, their long vicious beaks.
A small, fierce sound escaped from the throat of Jhary’s cat. It arched its back slightly as it glared at the birds.
They trudged on until the ground began to rise more sharply and they had reached the nearer slopes of the mountains.
The mountains squatted over them like sleeping monsters that might at any moment awake and devour them. The rocks were glassy, slippery and they climbed them slowly.
Still the black birds wheeled among the crags and now they were certain that if they allowed themselves to sleep the birds would descend and attack. This knowledge alone kept them climbing.
The frightful screeching grew louder, more insistent, almost gleeful. They heard the flap of obscene wings over their heads, but they refused to look up, as this would have wasted a fraction of the energy they had left.
They were looking now for shelter, for a crack in the rock into which they might crawl and defend themselves against the birds when, finally, they attacked.
They could hear the sound of their own gasping breath, the scrape of their feet on the stone, mingling with the flappings and screechings of the black birds.
Corum spared a glance for Rhalina and saw that there was desperate fear in her eyes and that she was weeping as she climbed. He began to feel that he had been tricked by Arkyn, that they had been sent, cynically, to their doom in this wasteland.
Then the flapping filled his ears and he felt the slap of cold air against his face and a talon grazed his helmet. With a strangled cry he felt for his sword and tried to tug it from the scabbard. He looked up in terror and saw a mass of black, flapping, savage things with glaring eyes and snapping beaks. The sword came free and, wearily, he lunged out at the birds. They cackled sardonically as his sword failed to find flesh. Suddenly his six-fingered jeweled hand reached out instead, moving without his volition, and it clutched one of the birds by its scrawny throat and squeezed that throat as it had squeezed human throats before. The bird gave a single surprised squawk and died. The Hand of Kwll threw the corpse to the glassy rock. The birds flapped a little distance away in consternation and settled in the nearby crags watching Corum warily. It had been so long since the hand had acted in that way that Corum had almost forgotten its powers. For the first time since it had destroyed the Heart of Arioch he was grateful to it. He displayed it to the birds and they made disturbed sounds in their throats, eyeing the corpse of their dead companion.
Rhalina, who had not witnessed the power of the Hand of Kwll before, looked with relieved astonishment at Corum. But Jhary merely pursed his lips and took advantage of the pause to draw his sword and lay propped on his elbows against the hard rock, his cat still on his shoulder.
And thus they sat, the birds and the human beings, regarding each other beneath the silent, brooding sky on the slopes of the bleak mountains, until it occurred to Corum that if the Hand of Kwll had saved them from their immediate danger, the Eye of Rhynn might prove even more useful. But he was reluctant to raise the eye-patch and look with the eye’s full powers into that strange nether region from which he could sometimes summon ghostly allies—the dead men earlier slain at his command. And, particularly, he did not want to summon those last who had been slain at the command of the Hand and the Eye—Queen Ooresé�
�s subjects, the Vadhagh riders, his own race, who had been slain by accident. But something must be done to break this impasse, for none of them had the strength to resist a mass attack by the birds and even if the Hand of Kwll should slay one or two more it would not save Rhalina and Jhary-a-Conel. Reluctantly his hand began to rise towards the jeweled eye-patch.
And then the patch was off and the horrid, faceted, alien eye of the dead god Rhynn glared into a world even more dreadful than the one they presently inhabited.
Again Corum saw a cavern in which dim shapes moved hopelessly this way and that. And in the foreground were the beings he had least wished to see. Their dead eyes peered out at him and there was a frightening sadness about the set of their faces. They had wounds in their bodies, but the wounds did not bleed, for these were now the creatures of limbo, neither dead nor alive. Their mounts were with them, too—creatures with thick, scaly bodies, cloven feet and nests of horns jutting from their snouts. The last of the Vadhagh folk—a lost part of the race which had once inhabited the Flamelands created by Arioch for his amusement. They were dressed from head to foot in red, tight-fitting garments, with red hoods on their heads. In their hands were their long, barbed lances.
Corum could not bear to look upon them and he made to move the eye-patch back into place, but then the Hand of Kwll had reached out, reached into that frightful limbo, and was gesturing to the dead Vadhagh. Slowly the score of corpses moved forward in answer to the summons. Slowly they mounted their horned beasts. Slowly they rode out of that ghastly cavern in a nameless netherworld and stood, a company of death, upon the slippery slopes of the mountains.
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