The War Hound and the World's Pain

by Michael Moorcock

  I bowed to Lucifer. “Then I am ready to embark upon this Quest, Your Majesty, whenever you wish.”

  It was ironic, I thought, that Hope had been revived in me by the Fallen One and not, as should be traditional, by a vision of the Madonna or a meeting with some goodly priest.

  “I would like you to begin almost immediately,” said the Prince of Darkness.

  I looked outside. It was not yet noon.

  ‘Today?” I asked Him.

  “Tomorrow. Sabrina will spend some time with you.”

  At this hint of manipulation of my private emotions I bridled. “Perhaps I have no further desire to spend tune with her. Your Majesty.”

  Lucifer clapped his hands lightly and Sabrina entered the library and curtseyed.

  “Captain von Bek has agreed to my bargain,” Lucifer told her. “You must now do as I instructed you, Sabrina.” His voice had become gentle, almost kindly.

  She curtseyed again. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  I looked upon her beauty and I marveled all the more. My feelings for her had not changed. At once I became almost grateful to Lucifer for sending her to me.

  Lucifer returned to the central table, taking another book with Him, for all the world like a rural nobleman preparing himself for a little solitude before lunch.

  “And Captain von Bek has involved you in this bargain, my dear. He has news for you which you might find palatable.”

  She frowned as she rose. She looked enquiringly from her Master to myself. There was nothing I was prepared to say to her at that moment.

  He was plainly dismissing us both. Yet I hesitated.

  “I had expected a somewhat more dramatic symbol of our bargain, Your Majesty.”

  Lucifer smiled again. His wonderful eyes were, temporarily at least, free of pain.

  “I know few mortals who would feel that a visit to Hell was undramatic, captain.”

  I bowed again, accepting this.

  “Should you be successful in your Quest,” Lucifer added, “you will return to this castle with what I have asked you to find. Sabrina will await you.”

  I could not resist one last question: “And if Your Majesty is displeased with what I bring Him?” I said.

  Lucifer put down His book. The eyes had become hard again as they looked into mine. I knew, then, that He must surely own my soul, He understood it so well.

  “Then we shall all go back to Hell together,” He said.

  Sabrina touched my arm. I bowed to my Master for the third and last time. Lucifer returned to His reading.

  As she led me from the room, Sabrina said: “I already know the nature of your Quest. There are maps I must give you. And other things.”

  She curtseyed. She closed the library doors on the Prince of Darkness. Then she took my hand and led me through the castle to a small chamber in one of the northwestern towers. I could not remember having explored this particular region of the castle.

  Here, on a small desk, was a case of maps, two small leather-bound books, a ring of plain silver, a roll of parchment and a brass flask of the ordinary kind which soldiers often carried.

  These objects had been arranged, I thought, in some sort of pattern. Perhaps Sabrina’s habits of witchcraft, with their emphasis on shapes and symbols, influenced her without her being aware of it.

  By way of experiment, I stretched a hand towards the flask. I moved it slightly. She made no objection.

  That action of mine, however, gave me pause. I realized that I had already begun to think in terms which a day or two earlier would have been ridiculous. My world was no longer what it had seemed to be. It was not the world I had trained myself to see. It was a world, in some ways, which threatened action. Imposed upon my world was another, a world in which the smallest detail possessed an extra significance. I attempted to dismiss this unwelcome awareness, at least from my conscious mind. It would not do, I thought, to observe potential danger in the way a bird flew across the sky, or see importance in the manner in which two tree branches intersected. This was the madness of those who thought themselves seers or artists, and I should always remind myself that I was a soldier. My concerns were with the physical world, with the reading of another man’s eyes to see if he meant to kill me or not, with the signs of groups of infantry on the move, with the detection of a peasant’s secret storehouse.

  I turned to Sabrina. It was almost a plea for help.

  “I am afraid,” I said.

  She stroked my arm. “You regret your bargain with our Master?”

  I was unable to reply directly. “I regret the circumstances which have put us both in His power,” I said. “But if it is so, I have little choice but to do what He asks of me.”

  “He suggested that something you had agreed with Him would be of significance to me.” She spoke carelessly, but I think she was eager to hear what had been agreed. “The bargain you struck?”

  “I am attempting to regain your soul as well as my own,” I said. “If I find this—this Grail, we are both free.”

  At first she looked at me with hope and then, almost immediately, with despair. “My soul is sold, Ulrich.”

  “He has promised to restore it to you. If I am successful in my Quest.”

  “I am moved,” she said, “that you should think of me.”

  “I believe that I love you,” I said.

  She nodded. I understood from her expression that she also loved me. She said: “He has commissioned you, has He not, to seek the Cure for the World’s Pain?”

  “Just so.”

  “And the chances of your success are poor. Perhaps that Cure does not exist. Perhaps Lucifer is as desperate as we are.” She paused, almost whispering: “Could Lucifer be mad?”

  “Possibly,” I said. “But mad or not, He owns our souls. And if there is even a little hope, I must follow it.”

  “I shall forget hope, for my own part.” She came towards me. “I cannot afford to hope, Ulrich.”

  I took her in my arms. “I cannot afford not to hope,” I told her. “I must take action. It is in my nature.”

  She accepted this.

  I kissed her. My love for her was growing by the moment. I had become increasingly reluctant to leave. Yet Lucifer, sane or insane, had convinced me that our only chance to be truly together lay in my fulfilling the terms of our bargain.

  I drew away from her. I contained my emotions. I looked down at the desk.

  “Show me what these things are,” I said to her.

  She could hardly speak. Her hand trembled as she picked up the map-case and gave it to me.

  “The maps are of the world, both known and unknown. There are certain areas marked on them which are not marked on ordinary maps. These are the lands which exist between Earth and Heaven, between Heaven and Hell.

  “This”—she picked up a box from the desk—”is a compass, as you can see. It will lead you through the natural world as surely as any good compass can. And it will point towards the entrances and exits of those supernatural lands.”

  She put down the compass and pointed to the brass flask. “That contains a liquid which will restore you to energy and help heal any wounds you might sustain. The books are grimoires, so that you may summon aid if you need it. They are to be used judiciously.”

  “And the ring?” I asked.

  She took it from the desk and placed it carefully on the second finger of my right hand.

  “That is my gift to you,” she said. Then she kissed the hand.

  I was moved. “I have no gift for you, Sabrina.”

  “You must bring yourself safely back,” she said. “For surely if you are dutiful in your Quest, even if you fail, our Master will allow us some time together in Hell.”

  She was afraid of hope. I understood her.

  There were tears in her eyes. I realized that I, too, was weeping. I forced control on myself again and said unsteadily:

  “The parchment? You have not told me what it is.”

  “The parchment is to be
opened if you succeed.” Her voice, too, was trembling. “It informs you how you may return to the castle. But you must not open it before you find the Cure for the World’s Pain.”

  She leaned down and picked up a pouch from the floor. “There are provisions in this,” she said, “as well as money for your journey. Your horse will carry more provisions and will await you in the courtyard when you are ready to leave.”

  She began to pack the maps and the other objects into the pouch. She buckled it carefully and gave it into my hands.

  “What next?” I asked her.

  Her smile was no longer bold, no longer challenging. It was almost shy. I smelled roses again. I touched her hair, the soft skin of her cheek.

  “We have until the morning,” she said.

  Chapter IV

  MY MOOD, UPON awakening the next morning, was peculiar. All kinds of conflicting feelings stirred within me. My love for Sabrina was coloured by the knowledge that she had helped to trap me, though I knew, too, that I had not really been trapped. Lucifer had, after all, offered me the opportunity of redeeming my immortal soul. My impressions of my brief visit to Hell were if anything stronger, and I believed almost without question that I had indeed encountered the Prince of Darkness and had accompanied Him to His domain. I had always claimed to welcome the truth; yet now, in common with most of us, I was resentful of the truth because it called upon me to take an unwelcome course of action. I longed for the grim innocence I had so recently lost.

  Sabrina was still sleeping. Outside, a mist of light rain obscured the forest. I brooded upon the conversations which had taken place between myself and Sabrina, between myself and Lucifer. I sought for some saving logic, some means of questioning the import of what I had heard, and could find none. This castle, alone, convinced me. The previous night Sabrina had said: “You see the surface translated by your mortal eye. Your mortal mind could not, in normality, accept the truth. There is nothing to do in Hell: no fulfillment, no future, no hope at all. No faith in anything. Those souls who dwell there also had faith only in their own survival. And now they have lost that, also.”

  I had not answered her, after this. I had become absorbed in feelings which were impossible to put into thoughts, let alone words. At one time I had been flooded with anger and had said: “Sabrina, if all this is a deception, an enchantment in which you have conspired, I will surely return to kill you.”

  But my anger had disappeared even as I spoke. I knew that she did not wish me ill. My threat had been made from a habit of attitude and action which was virtually meaningless now.

  I knew for certain that she loved me. And I knew that I loved her. We were like-minded in so many ways; we were equals. I could not tolerate the notion that I might lose her.

  I returned to draw back the curtains and sit on the edge of the bed, looking down on Sabrina’s sleeping face. She started suddenly, crying out, reaching her hand to where I had lain. I touched her cheek. “I am here.”

  She turned and smiled at me. Then her eyes clouded. “You are leaving?”

  “I suppose that I must. Soon.”

  “Yes,” she said, “for it is morning.” She began to sit up. She sighed. “When I made my bargain with Lucifer I thought that I was resisting circumstance, taking my fate into my own hands. But circumstance continues to affect us. Can it even affect who we are? Is there any proof beyond ourselves that we are unique?”

  “We feel ourselves to be unique,” I said. “But a cynic sees only familiarity and similarity and would say that we are all pretty much the same.”

  “Is it because a cynic does not possess the imagination to distinguish those subtle differences in which you and I believe?”

  “I am a cynic,” I said to her. “A cynic refuses to allow distinctions of motive or of temperament.”

  “Oh, but you are not!” She came into my arms. “Or you would not be here.”

  I held her closely. “I am what I have to be at this moment,” I said. “For my own sake.”

  “And for mine,” she reminded me.

  I felt a terrible sadness well within me. I suppressed it. “And for yours,” I agreed.

  We kissed. The pain continued to grow. I pulled away from her. I went to the corner of the room and began to wash myself. I noticed that my hands were shaking and that my breathing had become unusually deep. I had a wish, at that moment, to return to Hell, to summon up an army of all those poor damned souls and set them in rebellion against Lucifer, as Lucifer had set Himself against God. I felt that we were in the hands of foolish, insane beings, whose motives were more petty even than Man’s. I wanted to be rid of all of them. It was unjust, I thought, that such creatures should have power over us. Even if they had created us, could they not, in turn, be destroyed?

  But these ideas were pointless. I had neither the means, the knowledge nor the power to challenge them. I could only accept that my destiny was, in part at least, in their charge. I would have to agree to play out my role in Lucifer’s terms, or play no role at all.

  I drew on fresh linen. Sabrina sat with the curtain drawn back, watching me. I put on my breastplate, my greaves, my spurs. I buckled my sword and daggers about me. I picked up my helmet. I was ready, once again, for War.

  “You say the horse will be ready?” I said.

  “In the courtyard.”

  I stooped to pick up the pouch she had given me the previous day. I had regulated my breathing and my hands did not shake as much.

  “I will stay here,” she said.

  I accepted this. I knew why she would not wish to accompany me to the courtyard.

  “I intend to do my best in this matter,” I said to her. “With you, I think that there is little chance of discovering any Grail, but I shall maintain my resolve if I know that you believe in me. Will you remember to trust me to return to you?”

  “I will remember,” she replied. “It is all that I will have to sustain me. Yes, Ulrich, I will trust you.”

  We were both desperate for certainty, and in that uncertain world we were attempting to make concrete that most amorphous and changeable of emotions, as people often will when they have no other sense of the future.

  “Then we are pledged,” I said. “And it is a more welcome bargain than any I have made in recent hours.” I moved towards her, touched her naked shoulder with the tips of my fingers, kissed her lightly upon the lips.

  “Farewell,” I said.

  “Farewell.” She spoke softly. And then: “You must travel first towards Ammendorf, where you will seek out the Wildgrave.”

  “What can he tell me?”

  She shook her head. “I know no more,”

  I left the room.

  Outside her door I found that my legs were weak and that I could hardly make my way down the spiraling nights of stone steps to the main hall. I had never experienced such emotion before. I had hardly any means of coping with it.

  In the main hall, upon the table, a breakfast had been prepared for me. I paused only to take a deep draught of wine, then continued to stride for the doors with long, faltering steps.

  The courtyard was silent, save for the sound of my horse’s breathing and the dripping of the drizzle upon the leafy trees. I sniffed the air. Apart from the warm smell of the horse there were no scents at all in it.

  My horse stood near the central wall. He looked freshly groomed. There were targe panniers on either side of his saddle. My pistols shone in their holsters. Every piece of harness had been polished, every piece of metal and leather was bright. There was a new cloth under the saddle. The horse turned his head to regard me with wide, impatient eyes. His bit clattered in his jaws.

  With an effort, I mounted. The wine gave me enough strength and enough resolve to touch my heels to the steed’s flanks. He moved smartly forward, glad to be on his way.

  The portcullis was up. There were no signs of Sabrina’s half-dead servants, no sign of our Master. The castle looked exactly as it had when I had first arrived.

  It mi
ght have been an elaborate illusion. With that thought in mind, I did not look back: partly from fear that I would see Sabrina herself at a window, partly because I thought I might see nothing at all.

  I rode out under the archway towards the path which wound down through ornamental gardens. The rain washed the statues and the bright, lifeless flowers; it obscured the outlines of the forest below. My horse began to gather speed. Soon we were cantering and I made no attempt to check him. Water poured from my helmet. As I rode I dragged my leather cloak from one of the panniers and wound it round me. The water washed from my face any trace of tears,

  I rode down through the cold rain and into that deep, barren forest. It was only a little later that I looked back, briefly, to see the tall stones, the towers and the battlements, to confirm that they were, indeed, realities.

  I did not look back again. The forest was dark and grey now and some part of me welcomed its embrace. We rode steadily until nightfall.

  My journey to the outskirts of the forest took the better part of two days, and it was not until the morning of the third day that I awoke to birdsong and faint sunshine, to the smells of damp earth and oak and pine. The sense of joyful relief I felt upon hearing the whistling of finches and thrushes reminded me of the strangeness I was leaving behind me, and I wondered again at the reality of it all.

  I never once believed that I had dreamed my experience, but it remained a very slight possibility that I had been victim to a sophisticated hallucination. Naturally, part of me desired that this be so. I could not, however, afford to indulge that hope.

  I breakfasted lightly of the food provided and drew the maps from my case. I had determined not to consult them until Lucifer’s wood was at my back. Ammendorf was not even a familiar name to me and it took me some while to discover it marked.

  I as yet had no bearings, but at least I was again in the lands of mortal creatures, and sooner or later I would discover a village, or a charcoal burner, or a woodsman—someone to tell me where I was. Once I knew, I could head for Ammendorf, which appeared to be a relatively small town about fifty miles from Nürnberg.