The Weird of the White Wolf

by Michael Moorcock

  He smiled back. It was a rare smile for him, a little grim, but without the usual bitterness. “I think so. You are an unusual woman, Queen Yishana. Indeed, I would suspect that you had Melnibonean blood if I did not know better.”

  “Not all your Young Kingdom "upstarts" are quite as unsophisticated as you believe, my lord.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Now that I see you at last, face to face, I find your dark legend a little hard to credit in parts—and yet, on the other hand,” she put her head on one side and regarded him frankly, “it would seem that the legends speak of a less subtle man than the one I see before me.”

  “That is the way with legends.”

  “Ah,” she half-whispered, “what a force we could be together, you and I...”

  “Speculation of that sort irritates me, Queen Yishana. What is your purpose in coming here?”

  “Very well, I did not expect you to listen, even.”

  “I'll listen—but expect nothing more.”

  “Then listen. I think the story will be appreciated, even by you.”

  Elric listened and, as Yishana had suspected, the tale she told began to catch his interest...

  Several months ago, Yishana told Elric, peasants in the Gharavian province of Jharkor began to talk of some mysterious riders who were carrying off young men and women from the villages.

  Suspecting bandits, Yishana had sent a detachment of her White Leopards, Jharkor's finest fighting men, to the province to put down the brigands.

  None of the White Leopards had returned. A sec­ond expedition had found no trace of them but, in a valley close to the town of Thokora, they had come upon a strange citadel. Descriptions of the citadel were confused. Suspecting that the White Leopards had attacked and been defeated, the officer in charge had used discretion, left a few men to watch the citadel and report anything they saw, and returned at once to Dhakos. One thing was certain—the citadel had not been in the valley a few months before.

  Yishana and Theleb K'aarna had led a large force to the valley. The men left behind had disappeared but, as soon as he saw the citadel, Theleb K'aarna had warned Yishana not to attack.

  “It was a marvellous sight, Lord Elric,” Yishana continued. “The citadel scintillated with shining, rainbow colours—colours that were constantly alter­ing, changing. The whole building looked unreal—sometimes it stood out sharply; sometimes it seemed misty, as if about to vanish. Theleb K'aarna said its nature was sorcerous, and we did not doubt him. Something from the Realm of Chaos, he said, and that seemed likely.” She got up.

  She spread her hands. “We are not used to large-scale manifestations of sorcery in these parts. Theleb K'aarna was familiar enough with sorcery—he comes from the City of Screaming Statues on Pan Tang, and such things are seen frequently—but even he was taken aback.”

  “So you withdrew,” Elric promoted impatiently.

  “We were about to—in fact Theleb K'aarna and myself were already riding back at the head of the army when the music came ... It was sweet, beauti­ful, unearthly, painful—Theleb K'aarna shouted to me to ride as swiftly as I could away from it. I dal­lied, attracted by the music, but he slapped the rump of my horse and we rode, fast as dragons in flight, away from there. Those nearest us also es­caped—but we saw the rest turn and move back towards the citadel, drawn by the music. Nearly two hundred men went back—and vanished.”

  “What did you do then?” Elric asked as Yishana crossed the floor and sat down beside him. He moved to give her more room.

  “Theleb K'aarna has been trying to investigate the nature of the citadel—its purpose and its controller. So far, his divinations have told him little more than he guessed: that the Realm of Chaos has sent the cit­adel to the Realm of Earth and is slowly extending its range. More and more of our young men and women are being abducted by the minions of Chaos.”

  “And these minions?” Yishana had moved a little closer, and this time Elric did not move away.

  “None who has sought to stop them has succeeded— few have lived.”

  “And what do you seek of me?”

  “Help.” She looked closely into his face and reached out a hand to touch him. “You have knowledge of both Chaos and Law—old knowledge, instinctive knowledge if Theleb K'aarna is right. Why, your very Gods are Lords of Chaos.”

  “That is exactly true, Yishana—and because our pa­tron Gods are of Chaos, it is not in my interest to fight against any one of them.”

  Now he moved towards her and he was smiling, looking into her eyes. Suddenly, he took her in his arms. “Perhaps you will be strong enough,” he said enigmatically, just before their lips met. “And as for the other matter—we can discuss that later.”

  In the deep greenness of a dark mirror, Theleb K'aarna saw something of the scene in Elric's room and he glowered impotently. He tugged at his beard as the scene faded for the tenth time in a minute.

  None of his mutterings could restore it. He sat back in his chair of serpent skulls and planned vengeance. That vengeance could take time maturing, he de­cided; for, if Elric could be useful in the matter of the citadel, there was no point in destroying him yet....

  Chapter Four

  Next afternoon, three riders set off for the town of Thokora. Elric and Yishana rode close together; but the third rider, Theleb K'aarna, kept a frowning dis­tance. If Elric was at all embarrassed by this display on the part of the man he had ousted in Yishana's af­fections, he did not show it.

  Elric, finding Yishana more than attractive in spite of himself, had agreed at least to inspect the citadel and suggest what it might be and how it might be fought. He had exchanged a few words with Moonglum before setting off.

  They rode across the beautiful grasslands of Jharkor, golden beneath a hot sun. It was two days' ride to Thokora, and Elric intended to enjoy it.

  Feeling less than miserable, he galloped along with Yishana, laughing with her in her enjoyment. Yet, buried deeper than it would normally have been, there was a deep forboding in his heart as they neared the mysterious citadel, and he noted that Theleb K'aarna occasionally looked satisfied when he should have looked disgruntled.

  Sometimes Elric would shout to the sorcerer. “Ho, old spell-maker, do you feel no joyful release from the cares of the court out here amidst the beauties of nature? Your face is long, Theleb K'aarna—breathe in the untainted air and laugh with us!” Then Theleb K'aarna would scowl and mutter, and Yishana would laugh at him and glance brightly at Elric.

  So they came to Thokora and found it a smoulder­ing pit that stank like a midden of hell.

  Elric sniffed. “This is Chaos work. You were right enough there, Theleb K'aarna. Whatever fire de­stroyed such a large town, it was not natural fire. Whoever is responsible for this is evidently increas­ing his power. As you know, sorcerer, the Lords of Law and Chaos are usually in perfect balance, nei­ther tampering directly with our Earth. Evidently the balance has tipped a little way to one side, as it sometimes does, favouring the Lords of Disorder—allowing them access to our realm. Normally it is pos­sible for an earthly sorcerer to summon aid from Chaos or Law for a short time, but it is rare for either side to establish itself so firmly as our friend in the citadel evidently has. What is more disturbing—for you of the Young Kingdoms, at least—is that, once such power is gained, it is possible to increase it, and the Lords of Chaos could in time conquer the Realm of Earth by gradual increase of their strength here.”

  “A terrible possibility,” muttered the sorcerer, gen­uinely afraid. Even though he could sometimes sum­mon help from Chaos, it was in no human being's interest to have Chaos ruling over him.

  Elric climbed back into his saddle. “We'd best make speed to the valley,” he said.

  “Are you sure it is wise, after witnessing this?” Theleb K'aarna was nervous.

  Elric laughed. “What? And you a sorcerer from Pan Tang—that isle that claims to know as much of sorcery as my ancestors, the Bright Emperors! No, no—besides, I'm not in
a cautious mood today!”

  “Nor am I,” cried Yishana, clapping her steed's sides. “Come, gentlemen—to the Citadel of Chaos!”

  By late afternoon, they had topped the range of hills surrounding the valley and looked down at the mysterious citadel.

  Yishana had described it well—but not perfectly. Elric's eyes ached as he looked at it, for it seemed to extend beyond the Realm of Earth into a different plane, perhaps several.

  It shimmered and glittered and all Earthly colours were there, as well as many which Elric recognised as belonging to other planes. Even the basic outline of the citadel was uncertain. In contrast, the sur­rounding valley was a sea of dark ash, which some­times seemed to eddy, to undulate and send up spurting geysers of dust, as if the basic elements of nature had been disturbed, and warped by the presence of the supernatural citadel.

  “Well?” Theleb K'aarna tried to calm his nervous horse as it backed away from the citadel. “Have you seen the like in the world before?”

  Elric shook his head. “Not in this world, certainly; but I've seen it before. During my final initiation into the arts of Melnibone, my father took me with him in astral form to the Realm of Chaos, there to receive the audience of my patron the Lord Arioch of the Seven Darks ...”

  Theleb K'aarna shuddered. “You have been to Chaos? It is Arioch's citadel, then?”

  Elric laughed in disdain. “That! No, it is a hovel compared to the palaces of the Lords of Chaos.”

  Impatiently, Yishana said; “Then who dwells there!”

  “As I remember, the one who dwelt in the citadel when I passed through the Chaos Realm in my youth—he was no Lord of Chaos, but a kind of ser­vant to the Lords. Yet,” he frowned, “not exactly a servant....”

  “Ach! You speak in riddles.” Theleb K'aarna turned his horse to ride down the hills, away from the citadel. “I know you Melniboneans! Starving, you'd rather have a paradox than food!”

  Elric and Yishana followed him some distance, then Elric stopped. Elric pointed behind him.

  “The one who dwells yonder is a paradoxical sort of fellow. He's a kind of Jester to the Court of Chaos. The Lords of Chaos respect him—perhaps fear him slightly—even though he entertains them. He delights them with cosmic riddles, with farcical satires purporting to explain the nature of the Cos­mic Hand that holds both Chaos and Law in bal­ance, he juggles enigmas like baubles, laughs at what Chaos holds dear, takes seriously that which they mock at . . .” He paused and shrugged. “So I have heard, at least.”

  “Why should he be here?”

  “Why should he be anywhere? I could guess at the motives of Chaos or Law and probably be right. But not even the Lords of the Higher Worlds can under­stand the motives of Balo the Jester. It is said that he is the only one allowed to move between the Realms of Chaos and Law at will, though I have never heard of him coming to the Realm of Earth before. Neither, for that matter, have I ever heard him credited with such acts of destruction as that which we've witnessed. It is a puzzle to me—one which would no doubt please him if he knew.”

  “There would be one way of discovering the pur­pose of his visit,” Theleb K'aarna said with a faint smile. “If someone entered the citadel...”

  “Come now, sorcerer,” Elric mocked. “I've little love for life, to be sure, but there are some things of value to me—my soul, for one!”

  Theleb K'aarna began to ride on down the hill, but Elric remained thoughtfully where he was, Yishana beside him.

  “You seem more troubled by this than you should be, Elric,” she said.

  “It is disturbing. There is a hint here that, if we investigate the citadel further, we should become embroiled in some dispute between Balo and his masters—perhaps even the Lords of Law, too. To be­come so involved could easily mean our destruction, since the forces at work are more dangerous and powerful than anything we are familiar with on Earth.”

  “But we cannot simply watch this Balo laying our cities waste, carrying off our fairest, threatening to rule Jharkor himself within a short time!”

  Elric sighed, but did not reply.

  “Have you no sorcery, Elric, to send Balo back to Chaos where he belongs, to seal the breach he has made in our Realm?”

  “Even Melniboneans cannot match the power of the Lords of the Higher Worlds—and my forefathers knew much more of sorcery than do I. My best allies serve neither Chaos nor Law, they are elementals: lords of fire, earth, air, and water, entities with affin­ities with beasts and plants. Good allies in an earthly battle—but of no great use when matched against one such as Balo. I must think. . . . At least, if I opposed Balo it would not necessarily incur the wrath of my patron Lords. Something, I suppose. . . .”

  The hills rolled green and lush to the grasslands at their feet, the sun beat down from a clear sky on the infinity of grass stretching to the horizon. Above them a large predatory bird wheeled; and Theleb K'aarna was a tiny figure, turning in the saddle to call to them in a thin voice, but his words could not be heard.

  Yishana seemed dispirited. Her shoulders slightly slumped, and she did not look at Elric as she began to guide her horse slowly down towards the sorcerer of Pan Tang. Elric followed, conscious of his own in­decision, yet half-careless of it. What did it matter to him if . . . ?

  The music began, faintly at first, but beginning to swell with an attractive, poignant sweetness, evoking nostalgic memories, offering peace and giving life a sharp meaning, all at once. If the music came from instruments, then they were not earthly. It produced in him a yearning to turn about and discover its source, but he resisted it. Yishana, on the other hand, was evidently not finding the music so easily resisted. She had wheeled completely round, her face radiant, her lips trembling and tears shining in her eyes.

  Elric, in his wanderings in unearthly realms, had heard music like it before—it echoed many of the bi­zarre symphonies of old Melnibone—and it did not draw him as it drew Yishana. He recognised swiftly that she was in danger, and as she came past him, spurring her horse, he reached out to grab her bridle.

  Her whip slashed at his hand and, cursing with unexpected pain, he dropped the bridle. She went past him, galloping up to the crest of the hill and vanishing over it in an instant.

  “Yishana!” He shouted at her desperately, but his voice would not carry over the pulsing music. He looked back, hoping that Theleb K'aarna would lend help, but the sorcerer was riding rapidly away. Evidently, on hearing the music, he had come to a swift decision.

  Elric raced after Yishana, screaming for her to turn back. His own horse reached the top of the hill and he saw her bent over her steed's neck as she goaded it towards the shining citadel.

  “Yishana! You go to your doom!”

  Now she had reached the outer limits of the citadel, and her horse's feet seemed to strike off shimmering waves of colour as they touched the Chaos-disturbed ground surrounding the place. Al­though he knew it was too late to stop her, Elric continued to speed after her, hoping to reach her before she entered the citadel itself.

  But, even as he entered the rainbow swirl, he saw what appeared to be a dozen Yishanas going through a dozen gateways into the citadel. Oddly refracted light created the illusion and made it impossible to tell which was the real Yishana.

  With Yishana's disappearance the music stopped and Elric thought he heard a faint whisper of laugh­ter following it. His horse was by this time becoming increasingly difficult to control, and he did not trust himself to it. He dismounted, his legs wreathed in ra­diant mist, and let the horse go. It galloped off, snorting its terror.

  Elric's left hand moved to the hilt of his rune sword, but he hesitated to draw it. Once pulled from its scabbard, the blade would demand souls before it allowed itself to be resheathed. Yet it was his only weapon. He withdrew his hand, and the blade seemed to quiver angrily at his side.

  “Not yet, Stormbringer. There may be forces within who are stronger even than you!”

  He began to wade through the faintly-resis
ting light swirls. He was half-blinded by the scintillating colours around him, which sometimes shone dark blue, silver, and red; sometimes gold, light green, amber. He also felt the sickening lack of any sort of orientation—distance, depth, breadth were mean­ingless. He recognised what he had only experienced in an astral form—the odd, timeless, spaceless quality that marked a Realm of the Higher Worlds.

  He drifted, pushing his body in the direction in which he guessed Yishana had gone, for by now he had lost sight of the gateway or any of its mirage images.

  He realised that, unless he was doomed to drift here until he starved, he must draw Stormbringer; for the runeblade could resist the influence of Chaos.

  This time, when he gripped the sword's hilt, he felt a shock run up his arm and infuse his body with vitality. The sword came free from the scabbard. From the huge blade, carved with strange old runes, a black radiance poured, meeting the shifting colours of Chaos and dispersing them.

  Now Elric shrieked the age-old battle-ululation of his folk and pressed on into the citadel, slashing at the intangible images that swirled on all sides. The gateway was ahead, and Elric knew it now, for his sword had shown him which were the mirages. It was open as Elric reached the portal. He paused for a moment, his lips moving as he remembered an invo­cation that he might need later. Arioch, Lord of Chaos, patron god-demon of his ancestors, was a negligent power and whimful—he could not rely on Arioch to aid him here, unless . . .

  In slow graceful strides, a golden beast with eyes of ruby-fire was loping down the passage that led from the portal. Bright though the eyes were, they seemed blind, and its huge, doglike muzzle was closed. Yet its path could only lead it to Elric and, as it neared him, the mouth suddenly gaped showing coral fangs. In silence it came to a halt, the blind eyes never once settling on the albino, and then sprang!

  Elric staggered back, raising the sword in defence. He was flung to the ground by the beast's weight and felt its body cover him. It was cold, cold, and it made no attempt to savage him—just lay on top of him and let the cold permeate his body.