The Champion of Garathorm

by Michael Moorcock

  Ilian shuddered. She had barely heard Jhary's words, but she was disturbed by their import.

  With a shrug, Katinka van Bak turned away. 'As you say, Jhary. You know more of such matters than do I. And there would be no Ilian at all to fight Ymryl if it were not for your knowledge.' She stalked off into the smoky shadows.

  Jhary stood beside Ilian for a while. Then he, too, left her alone, staring into the blazing ruins of her old home.

  The cries died and the stink of burning flesh faded until the sweeter odours of the wood became predominant. Ilian felt drained of life. And as the blaze subsided, she moved closer, as if seeking warmth, for there was an awful chill in her bones now, though the night was not cold.

  Still she saw Ymryl's sober features asking her that question. Still she heard her own voice replying.

  When Jhary found her it was close to dawn and she was trampling through the blackened bones, the cinders and the hot ash, kicking at a charred skull here and a broken rib cage there.

  'News,' said Jhary.

  She looked out at him through her bleak eyes.

  'News of Ymryl. He was successful in his war. He has slain Arnald and has heard what happened here last night. He's re­turning.'

  Ilian drew deeply of the acrid air. 'Then we must prepare,' she said.

  'With half our force remaining, we shall be hard-pressed to stand against Ymryl's army. He now has Arnald's strength, also - or what remains of it. At least two thousand warriors come against us! Perhaps it would be better tactics to return to the, trees, harry them from time to time...'

  'We shall continue with the plan we originally devised’ said Ilian.

  Jhary-a-Conel shrugged. 'Very well.'

  "Have Ymryl's flame-cannon been found?'

  'They have. Hidden in cellars in a wine-press west of here. And Katinka van Bak saw that they were set up in a defensive ring during the night. Others are mounted to cover each of the main thoroughfares into the centre of the city. It is as well we acted swiftly. I for one did not expect Ymryl to return so soon.'

  Ilian began to wade through the ashes. 'Katinka van Bak is an experienced general.'

  'We are lucky that she is,' said Jhary.

  Soon after midday the scouts came back with news that Ym­ryl was using similar tactics to Ilian's in approaching the city, closing in from all sides. Ilian prayed that Ymryl's scouts had not seen the hastily concealed flame-cannon. She had put about half her force to operating the power weapons. The others she had positioned in hiding elsewhere.

  About an hour later, the first wave of cavalry, all shining armour and fluttering pennants, came thundering down the four broad avenues which led to the city square.

  The square itself was apparently deserted, save for the corpses which had been left there.

  The cavalry's tempo began to slacken as the first riders saw what lay ahead and became confused.

  From somewhere high overhead there came the silvery note of a horn.

  And flame-cannon roared.

  And where the cavalry had been, in all four quarters, was burning dust, embers drifting in the air, ash settling on the streets.

  Ilian, hidden in the trees, smiled, remembering how those same flame-cannon had cut down her own folk.

  The odds against her had now been improved by a matter of some several hundred, but the flame-cannon could not be used again, for they had to be filled once more with the substance which fuelled them and that substance required delicate hand­ling and much time was involved in pouring it, drop by drop, into the chambers. Ilian saw those who had operated the cannon spring up and run back to the square, disappearing into build­ings.

  Silence fell again over Virinthorm.

  Then, from the west, came a clattering of hooves. The leaf-filtered sunlight flashed on jewelled masks, on bright horse-armour.

  From her own position in a tree some hundred yards away, Katinka van Bak called:

  'It is Kalan and a Dark Empire force. They have flame weapons, too."

  Baron Kalan's snake mask glittered as he rode at headlong speed down the broad avenue. From the houses came the thin, red beams of light, issuing from Ilian's remaining flame-lances. Several of the beams seemed to pass through Kalan's body with­out harming him and Ilian thought that her eyes deceived her. Even the sorcerer could not be impervious to those deadly beams.

  Others fell, however, before their comrades had time to return the fire, aiming their flame-lances at random in the general di­rection of the houses from which the attacks had come until the air was a lattice of ruby rays.

  And still Kalan rode straight for the square, his horse panting as he spurred it until its blood spurted from its flanks.

  Kalan was laughing. It was a laugh that was familiar to Ilian and she could not place it for a moment until she remembered that it was not unlike that laughter she had herself shouted dur­ing the previous day's battle.

  Kalan rode until he came to the square and then his laughter gave way to a wail of rage as he saw the remains of the great mansion.

  'My laboratories!'

  He dismounted from his horse and walked into the ruins, staring about him, oblivious to any danger which might threaten him, while behind him his men fought a fierce battle with Ilian's warriors who had emerged from the houses and were engaging them hand to hand.

  Ilian watched him. She was fascinated. What did he seek?

  Two of Ilian's warriors detached themselves from the main party and came running at Kalan. He turned when he heard them and again he laughed, drawing his sword. The laughter echoed eerily in his snake helm.

  'Leave me alone,' he called to the warriors. 'You cannot harm me.'

  And now Ilian gasped. She saw one of the warriors thrust his sword into Kalan. She saw the point emerge on the other side of the sorcerer's body. She saw Kalan back away, slashing at his attacker with his own sword, cutting a deep wound in the man's shoulder. But Kalan was unwounded. The warrior groaned. Impatiently, Kalan drove his sword into the warrior's throat so that he dropped into the ashes of the mansion. The other warrior hesitated before striking at Baron Kalan, driving at the Dark Empire Lord's unarmoured forearm. It was a blow which should have shorn the limb from Kalan, but again Kalan was completely unhurt. At this the warrior backed off. Ignoring him, Kalan continued his frantic search amongst the charred corpses and the embers, calling back to the warrior:

  'I cannot be slain. Do not waste my time and I shall not waste yours. There is something I seek here. What fool can have wrought such unnecessary destruction?' And when the warrior remained where he was, the serpent helm lifted and Kalan said, as if explaining to a stupid child: 'I cannot be slain. There is only one man who can slay me in all the infinite cosmos. And I do not see him here. Begone!'

  Ilian sympathised with her warrior as she watched him stum­ble away.

  And then Kalan chuckled. 'I have it!' He bent and picked something from the dust.

  Ilian swung down from the trees and dropped into the square, confronting Kalan across a sea of corpses.

  'Baron Kalan?'

  He looked up. 'I have it ..." He made to show it to her and then he hesitated. 'What? It cannot be! Have all my powers de­serted me, then?"

  'You thought you had slain me?' Ilian began to advance to­wards him. She had seen that he was invulnerable, yet she felt she had to confront him, for she was moved by another of those strange impulses she could not explain. 'Ilian of Garathorm?'

  'Slain? Nonsense. It was much subtler. The jewel ate your soul. It was my finest creation of that sort, more sophisticated than anything else I have invented. It was meant for someone much more important than you, but the situation demanded that I use it, if I was not to die by Ymryl's hand.'

  From the distance now came the sounds of battle. Ilian knew that her folk were engaging Ymryl's army. Her step did not fal­ter as she continued to walk towards Kalan.

  'I have much to avenge myself for on you, Baron Kalan,' she said.

  'You cannot kill me, madam, i
f that's what you mean,' he told her. 'You cannot do that.'

  'But I must try.'

  The Serpent Lord shrugged. 'If you must. But I would rather know how your soul escaped from my gem. I had every indica­tion that it was trapped there for eternity. And with such a gem I could have pursued still more complicated experiments. How did it escape?'

  Someone called across from the far side of the square. 'It did not, Baron Kalan. It did not escape!' It was Jhary-a-Conel's voice.

  The serpent mask turned. "What do you mean?'

  'Did you not understand the nature of the soul you sought to imprison in your gem?'

  'Nature? How-?'

  'Do you know the legend of the Champion Eternal?'

  'I have read something of it, aye ...' The serpent mask turned from Jhary to Ilian, from Ilian to Jhary. And still Ilian contin­ued to pace towards Baron Kalan.

  'Then recall what you read.'

  And Ilian stood before Baron Kalan of Vitall and with a movement of her sword she had swept the serpent helm from his shoulders to reveal his pale, middle-aged face with its whispy white beard, its thinning hair. Kalan blinked and made to cover his face, then he dropped his hands to his side, his sword hang­ing by its wrist-thong, one fist bunched around the thing he had sought among the ruins.

  Kalan said softly: 'You still cannot slay me, Ilian of Gara­thorm. And even if you could, it would result in terrible conse­quences. Let me go. Or hold me prisoner, if you like. I have matters to consider ...'

  'Put up your sword, Baron Kalan, and defend yourself.'

  'I would be reluctant to slay you,' said Kalan, his voice be­coming harsher, 'for you offer an intriguing mystery to a man of science, but I shall kill you, Ilian, if you continue to plague me.'

  'And I shall kill you, if I can.'

  'I told you,' said Kalan reasonably, 'that I can only be slain by one creature in the entire multiverse. And that creature is not yourself. Besides, more than you realise depends upon my remaining alive . ..'

  'Defend yourself!'

  Kalan shrugged and held up his sword.

  Ilian thrust. Kalan parried carelessly. Her blade continued on its course, deflected only a fraction, and her point entered his flesh. Kalan's eyes widened.

  'Pain!' he hissed in astonishment. 'It is pain!'

  Ilian was almost as surprised as Kalan to see the blood flow­ing. Kalan staggered back, looking down at his wound. 'It is not possible,' he said firmly. 'It is not.'

  And Ilian thrust again, this time striking directly at his heart as Kalan said: 'Only Hawkmoon can kill me. Only he. It is im­possible ...'

  And he fell backwards in the ashes, causing a small cloud of black dust to spurt up around him. The look of astonishment was still printed on his dead features.

  'Now we are both avenged, Baron Kalan,' said Ilian in a voice she did not recognise as her own.

  She bent to see what the baron had clutched in his hand, prising it from the fingers.

  It was something which gleamed like polished coal. An ir­regularly cut gem. She knew what it must be.

  As she straightened up she noticed that the quality of the light around her had altered subtly. It was as if clouds had pas­sed across the sun, yet the rains were not due yet for another two months.

  Jhary-a-Conel came running towards her. 'So you did slay him! But I fear that action will bring more trouble to us.' He glanced at the gem she held. 'Keep that safely. If we come through this together, I will show you what you must do with it.'

  Overhead, in the darkening sky, through the topmost bran­ches of Garathorm's massive trees, there came a sound. It was like the beating of the wings of a gigantic bird. And there was a stink, too, that made the smell of the corpses seem sweet in comparison.

  'What is it, Jhary?' Ilian felt fear filling her whole mind. She wanted to flee from the thing which was coming to Virinthorm.

  'Kalan warned you that there would be consequences if he was slain here. You see, his experiments created the disruptions in the whole balance of the multiverse. By slaying him you have enabled the multiverse to begin healing itself, though that will bring further disruptions of what some would call a minor na­ture.'

  'But what causes that sound, that smell?'

  'Listen,' said Jhary-a-Conel. 'Do you hear anything else."

  Ilian listened carefully. In the distance she could hear the barking note of a war-horn. Ymryl’s horn.

  'He has summoned Arioch, Lord of Chaos,' said Jhary. 'And Kalan's dying has enabled Arioch to break through at last. Ymryl has a new ally, Ilian.'

  3

  The Swaying Of The Balance

  Jhary was full of a wild, despairing mirth as he mounted his yellow horse, casting many glances at the sky. It was still dark, but the sound of that awful flapping had gone and the stink had faded.

  'Only you, Jhary, know what we fight now,' said Katinka van Bak soberly. She wiped sweat from her face with her sleeve, the sword still in her hand.

  Yisselda of Brass rode up. On her arm was a long, shallow cut. The blood had congealed in the wound.

  'Ymryl has withdrawn his attack,' she said. 'I cannot deter­mine what strategy he plans ...' Her voice tailed off as she saw Kalan's corpse still lying in the ashes. 'So,' she said, 'he is dead. Good. He had the superstition, you know, that he could only be slain by my husband, Hawkmoon.'

  Katinka van Bak almost smiled. 'Aye,' she said. 'I know.'

  'Have you any thought as to what Ymryl plans next?' Yis­selda asked Katinka van Bak.

  'He has little need of strategy now, according to what Jhary tells us,' the warrior woman replied wearily. 'He has demons aiding him now!'

  'You are choosing the terminology to suit your own preju­dices,' said Jhary-a-Conel. 'If I called Arioch a being of con­siderably advanced mental and physical powers, you would ac­cept his existence completely.'

  'I accept his existence, anyway!' snorted Katinka van Bak. 'I have heard him. I have sniffed him!'

  'Well,' said Ilian in a small voice, 'we must continue our fight with Ymryl, even if it is doomed. Shall we continue our defens­ive strategy or alter it to one of attack?'

  'It scarcely matters now,' said Jhary-a-Conel, "but it would be nobler to die in an attack, would it not?' He smiled to himself. 'Strange how death remains unwelcome, for all I understand my fate.'

  They moved through the trees, their mounts abandoned. They were stealthy and they carried the flame-lances they had taken from the dead Dark Empire warriors whom Kalan had led.

  Jhary led them and now he paused, raising his hand as he looked down through the leaves, wrinkling his nose.

  They saw Ymryl's camp. He had made it on the very edge of the city. They saw Ymryl, his yellow horn bouncing on his na­ked chest. He wore only a pair of silken breeks and his feet were unshod. His arms were bound about with bracelets of leather studded with jewels and he had a broad leather belt round his waist, which carried his heavy broadsword, his broad-bladed dirk and a weapon which could shoot tiny, squat arrows across long distances. His great untidy mop of yellow hair fell across his face and his uneven teeth gleamed as he grinned somewhat nervously at his new ally.

  His ally was about nine feet tall and about six feet broad with a dark, scaly skin. It was naked, hermaphrodite, and there was a pair of leathery wings folded on its back. It seemed to be in some pain as it moved about, gnawing hungrily at the remains of one of Ymryl's soldiers.

  But the unnerving thing about Ymryl's ally was its face. It was a face which kept changing. At one moment it would be repulsively bestial and ugly, at another it would become the face of a beautiful youth. Only the eyes, the pain-racked eyes, did not change. Occasionally, however, they flashed with intelligence, but for the most part were cruel, fierce, primitive.

  Ymryl's voice trembled, but it was triumphant. 'You will aid me now, will you not, Lord Arioch. It was the bargain we made...'

  'Aye, the bargain,' grunted the demon. 'I have made so many. And so many have reneged of late ...'

&n
bsp; 'I am still loyal to you, my lord.'

  'I am under attack myself. Huge forces come against me on many planes, in many times. Men disrupt the multiverse. The balance has gone! The balance has gone! Chaos crumbles and Law is no more ...'

  Arioch seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Ymryl.

  Ymryl said hesitantly: 'But your power? You still have your power?'

  'Aye, much of it. Oh, I can aid you in your business here, Ymryl, for as long as it should last.'

  'Last? What mean you, my Lord Arioch?'

  But Arioch chewed the meat from the last bone and threw it down, dragging himself across the ground to peer towards the centre of the city.

  Ilian shivered as she saw the face change to become fat, fleshy, jowelled, the teeth rotting. The lips moved as Arioch murmured to himself. 'It is a matter of perspective, Corum. We follow our whims ...' Arioch scowled. Ah, Elric, sweetest of my slaves .. . all turning - all turning. What means if' And the features changed again, to become the features of a handsome boy. 'The planes intersect, the balance tilts, the old battles become obscure, the old ways are no more. Do the gods truly die? Can the gods die?’

  And, for all she loathed the monster, Ilian felt a peculiar pang of sympathy for Arioch as she overheard his musings.

  'How shall we strike, great Arioch?' Ymryl stepped up to his supernatural master. 'Will you lead us?'

  'Lead you? It is not my way to lead mortals into battle. Ah!' Arioch let out a scream of agony. 'I cannot remain here!'

  'You must, Arioch! Our bargain!'

  'Yes, Ymryl, our bargain. I gave you the horn, that which is brother to the Horn of Fate. And there are so few still loyal to the Chaos Lords, so few worlds where we may still survive ...'