The Knight of Swords

by Michael Moorcock

  Unable to decide if this were fantasy or reality, Corum gave up his efforts to remain on the other plane and merged back into the one he had left. But still the dark-faced creature carried him, the brown beast at its side, deep into the forest, moving at great speed until they were far away from the Mabden camp.

  Corum fainted once again.

  He awoke in daylight and he saw the board lying some distance away. He lay on the green grass of a valley and there was a spring nearby and, close to that, a little pile of nuts and fruit. Not far from the pile of food sat the brown beast. It was watching him.

  Corum looked at his left arm. Something had been smeared on the stump and there was no pain there anymore. He put his right hand to his right eye and touched a sticky stuff that must have been the same salve as that which was on his stump.

  Birds sang in the nearby woods. The sky was clear and blue. If it were not for his injuries, Corum might have thought the events of the last few weeks a black dream.

  Now the brown, furry creature got up and shambled toward him. It cleared its throat. Its expression was still one of sympathy. It touched its own right eye, its own left wrist.

  "How—pain?" it said in a slurred tone, obviously voicing the words with difficulty.

  "Gone," Corum said. "I thank you, Brown Man, for your help in rescuing me."

  The brown man frowned at him, evidently not understanding all the words. Then it smiled and nodded its head and said, "Good."

  "Who are you?" Corum said. "Who was it you brought last night?"

  The creature tapped its chest. "Me Serwde. Me friend of you."

  "Serwde," said Corum, pronouncing the name poorly. "I am Corum. And who was the other being?"

  Serwde spoke a name that was far more difficult to pronounce than his own. It seemed a complicated name.

  "Who was he? I have never seen a being like him. I have never seen a being like yourself, for that matter. Where do you come from?"

  Serwde gestured about him. "Me live here. In forest. Forest called Laahr. My master live here. We live here many, many, many days—since before Vadhagh, you folk."

  "And where is your master now?" Corum asked again.

  "He gone. Not want be seen folk."

  And now Corum dimly recalled a legend. It was a legend of a creature that lived even further to the west than the people of Castle Erorn. It was called by the legend the Brown Man of Laahr. And this was the legend come to life. But he remembered no legend concerning the other being whose name he could not pronounce.

  "Master say place nearby will tend you good," said the Brown Man.

  "What sort of place, Serwde?"

  "Mabden place."

  Corum smiled crookedly. "No, Serwde. The Mabden will not be kind to me."

  "This different Mabden."

  "All Mabden are my enemies. They hate me." Corum looked at his stump. "And I hate them."

  "These old Mabden. Good Mabden."

  Corum got up and staggered. Pain began to nag in his head, his left wrist began to ache. He was still completely naked and his body bore many bruises and small cuts, but it had been washed.

  Slowly it began to dawn on him that he was a cripple. He had been saved from the worst of what Glandyth had planned for him, but he was now less of a being than he had been. His face was no longer pleasing for others to look at. His body had become ugly.

  And the wretch that he had become was all that was left of the noble Vadhagh race. He sat down again and he began to weep.

  Serwde grunted and shuffled about. He touched Coram's shoulder with one of his handlike paws. He patted Corum's head, trying to comfort him.

  Corum wiped his face with his good hand. "Do not worry, Serwde. I must weep, for if I did not I should almost certainly die. I weep for my kin. I am the last of my line. There are no more Vadhagh but me . . ."

  "Serwde too. Master too," said the Brown Man of Laahr. "We have no more people like us."

  "Is that why you saved me?"

  "No. We helped you because Mabden were hurting you."

  "Have the Mabden ever hurt you?"

  "No. We hide from them. Their eyes bad. Never see us. We hide from Vadhagh, the same."

  "Why do you hide?"

  "My master know. We stay safe."

  "It would have been well for the Vadhagh if they had hidden. But the Mabden came so suddenly. We were not warned. We left our castles so rarely, we communicated amongst ourselves so little, we were not prepared."

  Serwde only half understood what Corum was saying, but he listened politely until Corum stopped, then he said, "You eat. Fruit good. You sleep. Then we go to Mabden place."

  "I want to find arms and armor, Serwde. I want clothes. I want a horse. I want to go back to Glandyth and follow him until I see him alone. Then I want to kill him. After that, I will wish only to die."

  Serwde looked sadly at Corum. "You kill?"

  "Only Glandyth. He killed my people."

  Serwde shook his head. "Vadhagh not kill like that."

  "I do, Serwde. I am the last Vadhagh. And I am the first to learn what it is to kill in malice. I will be avenged on those who maimed me, on those who took away my family."

  Serwde grunted miserably.

  "Eat. Sleep."

  Corum stood up again and realized he was very weak. "Perhaps you are right there. Perhaps I should try to restore my strength before I carry on." He went to the pile of nuts and fruits and began to eat. He could not eat much at first and lay down again to sleep, confident that Serwde would rouse him if danger threatened.

  For five days Corum stayed in the valley with the Brown Man of Laahr. He hoped that the dark-faced creature would come back and tell him more of his and Serwde's origin, but this did not happen.

  At last his wounds had healed completely and he felt well enough to set off on a journey. On that morning, he addressed Serwde.

  "Farewell, Brown Man of Laahr. I thank you for saving me. And I thank your master. Now I go."

  Corum saluted Serwde and began to walk up the valley, heading toward the east. Serwde came shambling after him. "Corum! Coruml You go wrong way."

  "I go back to where I shall find my enemies," Corum said. "That is not the wrong way."

  "My master say, me take you that way . . ." Serwde pointed toward the west.

  "There is only sea that way, Serwde. It is the far tip of Bro-an-Vadhagh."

  "My master say that way," insisted Serwde.

  "I am grateful for your concern, Serwde. But I go this way—to find the Mabden and take my revenge."

  "You go that way." Serwde pointed again and put his paw on Corum's arm. "That way."

  Corum shook the paw off. "No. This way." He continued to walk up the valley toward the west.

  Then, suddenly, something struck him on the back of the head. He reeled and turned to see what had struck him. Serwde stood there, holding another stone ready.

  Corum cursed and was about to berate Serwde when his senses left him once again and he fell full length on the grass.

  He was awakened by the sound of the sea.

  At first he could not decide what was happening to him and then he realized that he was being carried, face down, over Serwde's shoulder. He struggled, but the Brown Man of Laahr was much stronger than he appeared to be. He held Corum firmly.

  Corum looked to one side. There was the sea, green and foaming against the shingle. He looked to the other side, his blind side, and managed to strain his head round to see what lay there.

  It was the sea again. He was being carried along a narrow piece of land that rose out of the water. Eventually, though his head was bumping up and down as Serwde jogged along, he saw that they had left the mainland and were moving along some kind of natural causeway that stretched out into the ocean.

  Seabirds called. Corum shouted and struggled, but Serwde remained deaf to his curses and entreaties, until the Brown Man stopped at last and dumped him to the ground.

  Corum got up.

  "Serwde, I ..."
<
br />   He paused, looking about him.

  They had come to the end of the causeway and were on an island that rose steeply from the sea. At the peak of the island was a castle of a kind of architecture Corum had never seen before.

  Was this the Mabden place Serwde had spoken of?

  But Serwde was already trotting back down the causeway. Corum called to him. The Brown Man only increased his pace. Corum began to follow, but he could not match the creature's speed. Serwde had reached the land long before Corum had crossed halfway—and now his path was blocked, for the tide was rising to cover the causeway.

  Corum paused in indecision, looking back at the castle. Serwde's misguided help had placed him, once again, in danger.

  Now he saw mounted figures coming down the steep path from the castle. They were warriors. He saw the sun flash on their lances and on their breastplates. Unlike other Mabden, these did know how to ride horses, and there was something in their bearing that made them look more like Vadhagh than Mabden.

  But, nonetheless, they were enemies and Conun's choice was to face them naked or try to swim back to the mainland with only one hand.

  He made up his mind and waded into the brine, the cold water making him gasp, heedless of the shouts of the riders behind him.

  He managed to swim a little way until he was in deeper water, and then the current seized him. He fought to swim free of it, but it was useless.

  Rapidly, he was borne out to sea.

  The Eighth Chapter

  The Margravine Of Allomglyl

  Corum had lost much blood during the Mabden torturings and had by no means recovered his original strength. It was not long before he could fight the current no more and the cramps began to set in his limbs.

  He began to drown.

  Destiny seemed determined that he should not live to take his vengeance on Glandyth-a-Krae.

  Water filled his mouth and he fought to keep it from entering his lungs as he twisted and thrashed in the water. Then he heard a shout from above and tried to peer upward through his good eye to locate the source of the voice.

  "Stay still, Vadhagh. You'll frighten my beasts. They're nervous monsters at the best of times."

  Now Corum saw a dark shape hovering over him. It had great wings that spread four times the length of the largest eagle's. But it was not a bird and, though its wings had a reptilian appearance, it was not a reptile. Corum recognized it for what it was. The ugly, apelike face with its white, thin fangs was the face of a gigantic bat. And the bat had a rider on it.

  The rider was a lithe, young Mabden who appeared to have little in common with the Mabden warriors of Glandyth-a-Krae. He was actually climbing down the side of the creature and making it flap lower so that he could extend a hand to Corum.

  Corum automatically stretched out his nearest arm and realized that it was the one without a hand. The Mabden was unconcerned. He grabbed the limb near the elbow and hauled Corum up so that Corum could use his single hand to grasp a tethering strap which secured a high saddle on the back of the great bat.

  Unceremoniously, Corum's dripping body was hauled up and draped in front of the rider, who called something in a shrill voice and made the bat climb high above the waves and turn back in the direction of the island castle.

  The beast was evidently hard to control, for the rider constantly corrected course and continued to speak to it in the high-pitched language to which it responded. But at length they had reached the island and were hovering over the castle.

  Corum could hardly believe that this was Mabden architecture. There were turrets and parapets of delicate workmanship, roof walks and balconies covered in ivy and flowers, all fashioned from a fine, white stone that shone in the sunshine.

  The bat landed clumsily and the rider got off quickly, pulling Corum with him. Almost instantly, the bat was up again, wheeling in the sky and then diving toward a destination on the other side of the island.

  "They sleep in caves," the rider exclaimed. "We use them as little as possible. They're hard things to control, as you saw."

  Corum said nothing.

  For all that the Mabden had saved his life and seemed both cheerful and courteous, Corum had learned, as an animal learns, that the Mabden were his enemies. He glowered at the Mabden.

  "What have you saved me for, Mabden?"

  The man looked surprised. He dusted down his tunic of scarlet velvet and adjusted his swordbelt on his hips. "You were drowning," he said. "Why did you run away from our men when they came to greet you?"

  "How did you know I was coming?"

  "We were told by our Margravine to expect you."

  "And who told your Margravine?"

  "I know not. You are somewhat ungracious, sir. I thought the Vadhagh a courteous folk."

  "And I thought the Mabden vicious and mad," Corum replied. "But you . . ."

  "Ah, you speak of the folk of the South and the East, eh? You have met them then?"

  With his stump, Corum tapped his ruined eye. "They did this."

  The young man nodded his head sympathetically. "I suppose I would have guessed. Mutilation is one of their favorite sports. I am surprised you escaped."

  "I, too."

  "Well, sir," said the youth, spreading his hand in an elaborate gesture toward a doorway in a tower, "would you go in?"

  Corum hesitated.

  "We are not your Mabden of the East, sir, I assure you."

  "Possibly," Corum said harshly, "but Mabden you are. There are so many of you. And now, I find, there are even varieties. I suspect you share common traits, however . . ."

  The young man showed signs of impatience. "As you like, Sir Vadhagh. I, for one, will go in. I trust you will follow me at your leisure."

  Coruni watched him enter the doorway and disappear. He remained on the roof, watching the sea birds drift, dive, and climb. With his good hand, he stroked the stump of his left hand and shivered. A strong wind was beginning to blow and it was cold and he was naked. He glanced toward the doorway.

  A woman stood there. She seemed quiet and self-contained and had a gentleness about her. Her long black hair was soft and fell below her shoulders. She was wearing a gown of embroidered samite containing a multitude of rich colors. She smiled at him.

  "Greetings," she said. "I am Rhalina. Who are you, sir?"

  "I am Corum Jhaelen Irsei," he replied. Her beauty was not that of a Vadhagh, but it affected him nonetheless. "The Prince in the—"

  "—Scarlet Robe?" She was plainly amused. "I speak the old Vadhagh tongue as well as the common speech. You are misnamed, Prince Corum. I see no robe. In fact, I see no ..."

  Corum turned away. "Do not mock me, Mabden. I am resolved to suffer no further at the hands of your kind."

  She moved nearer. "Forgive me. Those who did this to you are not our kind, though they be of the same race. Have you never heard of Lywm-an-Esh?"

  His brow furrowed. The name of the land was familiar, but meant nothing.

  "Lywm-an-Esh," she continued, "is the name of the country whence my people come. That people is an ancient one and has lived in Lywm-an-Esh since well before the Great Battles of the Vadhagh and the Khadragh shook the Five Planes . . ."

  "You know of the Five Planes?"

  "We once had seers who could look into them. Though their skills never matched those of the Old Folk—your folk."

  "How do you know so much of the Vadhagh?”

  "Though the sense of curiosity atrophied in the Vadhagh many centuries ago, ours did not," she said. "From time to time Nhadragh ships were wrecked on our shores and, though the Nhadragh themselves vanished away, books and tapestries and other artifacts were left behind. We learned to read those books and interpret those tapestries. In those days, we had many scholars.”

  "And now?"

  "Now, I do not know. We receive little news from the mainland."

  "What? And it so close?"

  "Not that mainland, Prince Corum," said she with a nod in the direction of the shore. She p
ointed out to sea. "That mainland—Lywm-an-Esh—or, more specifically, the Duchy of Bedwilral-nan-Rywm, on whose borders this Margravate once lay."

  Prince Corum watched the sea as it foamed on the rocks at the base of the island. "What ignorance was ours," he mused, "when we thought we had so much wisdom."

  "Why should such a race as the Vadhagh be interested in the affairs of a Mabden land?" she said. "Our history was brief and without color compared with yours."

  "But why a Margrave here?" he continued. "What do you defend your land against?"

  "Other Mabden, Prince Corum."

  "Glandyth and his kind?"

  "I know of no Glandyth. I speak of the Pony Tribes. They occupy the forests of yonder coast. Barbarians, they have ever represented a threat to Lywm-an-Esh. The Margravate was made as a bastion between those tribes and our land."

  "Is the sea not a sufficient bastion?"

  "The sea was not here when the Margravate was established. Once this castle stood in a forest and the sea lay miles away to the north and the south. But then the sea began to eat our land away. Every year it devours more of our cliffs. Towns, villages, and castles have vanished in the space of weeks. The people of the mainland retreat ever further back into the interior.”

  "And you are left behind? Has not this castle ceased to fulfill its function? Why do you not leave and join your folk?"

  She smiled and shrugged, walking to the battlements and leaning out to watch the seabirds gather on the rocks. "This is my home," she said. "This is where my memories are. The Margrave left so many mementos. I could not leave."

  "The Margrave?"

  "Earl Moidel of Allomglyl. My husband."

  "Ah." Corum felt a strange twinge of disappointment.

  The Margravine Rhalina continued to stare out to sea. "He is dead," she said. "Killed in a shipwreck. He took our last ship and set off for the mainland seeking news of the fate of our folk. A storm blew up shortly after he had gone. The ship was barely seaworthy. It sank."

  Corum said nothing.

  As if the Margravine's words had reminded it of its temper, the wind suddenly blew stronger, pluckiag at her gown and making it swirl about her body. She turned to look at him. It was a long, thoughtful stare.