The Knight of Swords

by Michael Moorcock

  And Corum began to spend more and more time in the room where hung the tapestry concerning Mag-an-Mag and the wonderful sorcerer. Corum began to realize that it was the text that chiefly interested him. It seemed to speak with an authority that was elsewhere lacking in the others he had seen.

  But he still could not bring himself to tax Rhalina with questions concerning it.

  Then, on one of the first days of winter, she sought for him, and found him in the room and she did not seem surprised. However, she did show a certain concern, as if she had feared that he would find the tapestry sooner or later.

  "You seem absorbed by the amusing adventures of Mag-an-Mag," she said. "They are only tales. Something to entertain us."

  "But this one seems different," Corum said.

  He turned to look at her. She was biting her lip.

  "So it is different, Rhalina," Corum murmured. "You do know something about it!"

  She began to shake her head, then changed her mind. "I know only what the old tales say. And the old tales are lies, are they not? Pleasing lies."

  "Truth is somewhere in this tale, I feel. You must tell me what you know, Rhalina."

  "I know more than is on this tapestry," she said quietly. "I have been lately reading a book that relates to it. I knew I had seen the book some years ago and I sought it out. I find quite recent reports concerning an island of the kind described. And there is, according to this book, an old castle there. The last person to see that island was an emissary of the Duchy, sailing here with supplies and greetings. And that was the last emissary to visit us . . ."

  "How long ago? How long ago?”

  "Thirty years."

  And then Rhalina began to weep and shake her head and cough and try to control her tears.

  He embraced her.

  "Why do you weep, Rhalina?"

  "I weep, Comm, because this means you will leave me. You will go away from Moidel's Castle in the wintertime and you will seek that island and perhaps you, too, will be wrecked. I weep because nothing I love stays with me."

  Corum took a step back. "Has this thought been long in your mind?"

  "It has been long in my mind."

  "And you have not spoken it."

  "Because I love you so much, Corum."

  "You should not love me, Rhalina, And I should not have allowed myself to love you. Though this island offers me the faintest of hopes, I must seek it out."

  "I know."

  "And if I find the sorcerer and he gives me back my hand and my eye—"

  "Madness, Corum! He cannot exist!"

  "But if he does and if he can do what I ask, then I will go to find Glandyth-a-Krae and I will kill him. Then, if I live, I will return. But Glandyth must die before I can know complete peace of mind, Rhalina."

  She said softly, "There is no boat that is seaworthy."

  "But there are boats in the harbor caves that can be made seaworthy."

  "It will take several months to make one so."

  "Will you lend me your servants to work on the boat?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I will speak to them at once."

  And Corum left her, hardening his heart to the sight of her grief, blaming himself for letting himself fall in love with the woman.

  With all the men he could muster who had some knowledge of shipcraft, Corum descended the steps that led from below the castle floor down through the rock to the sea caves where the ships lay. He found one skiff that was in better repair than the others and he had it hauled upright and inspected.

  Rhalina had been right. There was a great deal of work to be done before the skiff would safely ride the waters.

  He would wait impatiently, though now that he had a goal—no matter how wild—he began to feel a lessening of the weight that had been upon him.

  He knew that he would never tire of loving Rhalina, but that he could never love her completely until his self-appointed task had been accomplished.

  He rushed back to the library to consult the book she had mentioned. He found it and discovered the name of the island.

  Svi-an-Fanla-Brool. Not a pleasant name. As far as Corum could make out it meant "Home of the Gorged God." What could that mean? He inspected the text for an answer, but found none.

  The hours passed as he copied out the charts and reference points given by the captain of the ship that had visited Moidel's Mount thirty years before. And it was very late when he sought his bed and found Rhalina there.

  He looked down at her face. She had plainly wept herself to sleep.

  He knew that it was his turn to offer her comfort.

  But he had no time . . .

  He undressed. He eased himself into the bed, between the silks and the furs, trying not to disturb her. But she stirred.

  "Corum?"

  He did not reply.

  He felt her body tremble for a moment, but she did not speak again.

  He sat up in bed, his mind full of conflict. He loved her. He should not love her. He tried to settle back, to go to sleep, but he could not.

  He reached out and stroked her shoulder.

  "Rhalina?"

  "Yes, Corum?"

  He took a deep breath, meaning to explain to her how strongly he needed to see Glandyth dead, to repeat that he would return when his vengeance was taken.

  Instead he said, "Storms blow strongly now around Moidel's Castle. I will set aside ray plans until the spring. I will stay until the spring."

  She turned in the bed and peered through the darkness at his face. "You must do as you desire. Pity destroys true love, Corum."

  "It is not pity that moves me."

  "Is it your sense of justice? That, too, is . . ."

  "I tell myself that it is my sense of justice that makes me stay, but I know otherwise."

  "Then why would you stay?"

  "My resolve to go has weakened."

  "What has weakened it, Corum?"

  "Something quieter in me, yet something, perhaps, that is stronger. It is my love for you, Rhalina, that has conquered my desire to have immediate revenge on Glandyth. It is love. That is all I can tell you."

  And she began to weep again, but it was not from sorrow.

  The Tenth Chapter

  A Thousand Swords

  Winter reached its fiercest. The towers seemed to shake with the force of the gales that raged around them. The seas smashed against the rocks of Moidel's Mount and sometimes the waves seemed to rise higher than the castle itself.

  Days became almost as dark as night. Huge fires were lit in the castle, but they could not keep out the chill that was everywhere. Wool and leather and fur had to be worn at all times and the inhabitants of the castle lumbered about like bears in their thick garments.

  Yet Corum and Rhalina, a man and a woman of alien species, hardly noticed the winter's brawling. They sang songs to each other and wrote simple sonnets concerning the depth and passion of their love. It was a madness that was upon them (if madness is that which denies certain fundamental realities) but it was a pleasant madness, a sweet madness.

  Yet madness it was.

  When the worst of the whiter had gone, but before spring elected to show herself; when there was still snow on the rocks below the castle and few birds sang in the gray skies above the bare and distant forests of the mainland; when the sea had exhausted itself and now washed sullen and dark around the cliffs; that was when the strange Mabden were seen riding out of the black trees in the late morning, their breath steaming and their horses stumbling on the icy ground, their harness and their arms rattling.

  It was Beldan who saw them first as he went onto the battlements to stretch his legs.

  Beldan, the youth who had rescued Corum from the sea, turned and went hastily back into the tower and began to run down the steps until a figure blocked his way, laughing at him.

  "The privy is above, Beldan, not below!"

  Beldan drew a breath and spoke slowly. "I was on the way to your apartments, Prince Corum. I have see
n them from the battlements. There is a large force."

  Corum's face clouded and he seemed to be thinking a dozen thoughts at once. "Do you recognize the force? Who are they? Mabden?"

  "Mabden, without doubt. I think they might be warriors of the Pony Tribes."

  "The folk against whom this Margravate was built?"

  "Aye. But they have not bothered us for a hundred years."

  Corum smiled grimly. "Perhaps we all, in time, succumb to the ignorance that killed the Vadhagh. Can we defend the castle, Beldan?"

  "If it is a small force, Prince Corum. The Pony Tribes are normally disunited and their warriors rarely move in bands of more than twenty or thirty."

  "And do you think it is a small force?"

  Beldan shook his head. "No, Prince Corum, I fear it is a large one."

  "You had best alert the warriors. What about the bat creatures?"

  "They sleep in winter. Nothing wilt wake them."

  "What are your normal methods of defense?"

  Beldan bit his lip.

  "Well?"

  "We have none to speak of. It has been so long since we needed to consider such things. The Pony Tribes still fear the power of Lywm-an-Esh—their fear is even superstitious since the land retreated beyond the horizon. We relied on that fear."

  "Then do your best, Beldan, and I'll join you shortly, when I've taken a look at these warriors first. They may not come in war, for all we know."

  Beldan raced away down the steps and Corum climbed the tower and opened the door and went out onto the battlements.

  He saw that the tide was beginning to go out and that when it did the natural causeway between the mainland and the castle would be exposed. The sea was gray and chill, the shore was bleak. And the warriors were there.

  They were shaggy men on shaggy ponies and they had helmets of iron with visors of brass beaten into the form of savage and evil faces. They had cloaks of wolfskin or wool, byrnies of iron, jackets of leather, trews of blue, red, or yellow cloth bound around the feet and up to the knees with thongs. They were armed with spears, bows, axes, clubs. And each man had a sword strapped to the saddle of his pony. They were all new swords, Corum judged, for they glinted as if freshly forged, even in the dull light of that winter's day.

  There were several ranks of them already on the beach and more were trotting from the forest.

  Corum drew his sheepskin coat about him with his good hand and he kicked thoughtfully at one of the battlement stones, as if to reassure himself that the castle was solid. He looked at the warriors on the beach again. He counted a thousand.

  A thousand riders with a thousand new-forged swords. He frowned.

  A thousand helmets of iron were turned toward Moidel's Castle. A thousand brass masks glared at Corum across the water as the tide slowly receded and the causeway began to appear below the surface.

  Corum shivered. A gannet flew low over the silent throng and it shrieked as if in startled terror and climbed high into the clouds.

  A deep drum began to sound from the forest. The metallic note was measured and slow and it echoed across the water.

  It seemed that the thousand riders did not come in peace.

  Beldan came out and joined Corum.

  Beldan looked pale. "I have spoken to the Margravine and I have alerted our warriors. We have a hundred and fifty able men. The Margravine is consulting her husband's notes. He wrote a treatise on the best way to defend the castle in case of an attack of this kind. He knew that the Pony Tribes would unite one day, it seems."

  "I wish I had read that treatise," said Corum. He swallowed a deep breath of the freezing air. "Are there none here with actual experience of war?"

  "None, Prince."

  "Then we must learn rapidly."

  "Aye."

  There was a noise on the steps within the tower and brightly armored men came out. Each was armed with a bow and many arrows. Each had a helmet on his head that was made from the curly-spined pink shell of a giant murex. Each controlled his fear.

  "We will try to parley with them," murmured Corum, "when the causeway is clear. We will attempt to continue the conversation until the tide comes in again. This will give us a few more hours in which to prepare ourselves."

  "They will suspect such a ruse, surely," Beldan said.

  Corum nodded and rubbed at his cheek with his stump. "True. But if we—if we lie to them, regarding our strength, perhaps we shall be able to disconcert them a little."

  Beldan gave a wry smile, but he said nothing. His eyes began to shine with an odd light. Corum thought he recognized it as battle fever.

  "I'll see what the Margravine has learned from her husband's texts," Corum said. "Stay here and watch, Beldan. Let me know if they begin to move."

  "That damned drum!" Beldan pressed his hand to his temple. "It makes my brains shiver."

  "Try to ignore it. It is meant to weaken our resolve."

  Corum entered the tower and ran down the steps until he came to the floor where he and Rhalina had their apartments.

  She was seated at a table with manuscripts spread out before her. She looked up as he entered and she tried to smile. "We are paying a price for the gift of love, it seems."

  He looked at her in surprise. "That's a Mabden conception, I think. I do not understand it. . ."

  "And I am a fool to make so shallow a statement. But I wish they had not chosen this time to come against us. They have had a hundred years to choose from ..."

  "What have you learned from your husband's notes?"

  "Where our weakest positions are. Where our ramparts are best defended. I have already stationed men there. Cauldrons of lead are being heated."

  "For what purpose?"

  "You really do know little of war!" she said. "Less than do I, The molten lead will be poured on the heads of the invaders when they try to storm our walls."

  Corum shuddered. "Must we be so crude?"

  "We are not Vadhagh. We are not fighting Nhadragh. I believe you can expect these Mabden to have certain crude battle practices of their own . . ."

  "Of course. I had best cast an eye over the Margrave's manuscripts. He was evidently a man who understood the realities."

  "Aye," she said softly, handing him a sheet, "certain kinds of reality, at any rate."

  It was the first time he had heard her offer an opinion of her husband. He stared at her, wanting to ask more, but she waved a delicate hand. "You had best read swiftly. You will understand the writing easily enough. My husband chose to write in the old High Speech we learned from the Vadhagh."

  Corum looked at the writing. It was well formed but without any individual character. It seemed to him that it was a somewhat soulless imitation of Vadhagh writing, but it was, as she had said, easy enough to understand.

  There was a knock on the main door to their apartments. While Corum read, Rhalina went to answer it. A soldier stood there.

  "Beldan sent me, Lady Margravine. He asked Prince Corum to join him on the battlements."

  Corum put down the sheets of manuscript. "I will come immediately. Rhalina, will you see that my arms and armor are prepared?"

  She nodded. He left.

  The causeway was almost clear of water now. Beldan was yelling something across to the warriors on the bank, speaking of a parley.

  The drum continued its slow but steady beat.

  The warriors did not reply.

  Beldan turned to Corum. "They might be dead men for all they'll respond. They seem singularly well ordered for barbarians. I think there is some extra element to this situation that has not revealed itself as yet."

  Corum had the same feeling. "Why did you send for me, Beldan?"

  "I saw something in the trees. A flash of gold. I am not sure. Vadhagh eyes are said to be sharper than Mabden eyes. Tell me, Prince, if you can make anything out. Over there." He pointed.

  Corum's smile was bitter. "Two Mabden eyes are better than one Vadhagh . . ." But nonetheless he peered in the direction Beldan
indicated. Sure enough there was something hidden by the trees. He altered the angle of his vision to see if he could make it out more clearly.

  And then he realized what it was. It was a gold-decorated chariot wheel.

  As he watched, the wheel began to turn. Horses emerged from the forest. Four shaggy horses, slightly larger than those ridden by the Pony Tribes, drawing a huge chariot ia which stood a tall warrior.

  Corum recognized the driver of the chariot. The Mabden was dressed in fur and leather and iron and had a winged helmet and a great beard and held himself proudly.

  "It is Earl Glandyth-a-Krae, my enemy," said Corum softly.

  Beldan said, "Is that the one who took off your hand and put out your eye?"

  Corum nodded.

  "Then perhaps it is he who has united the Pony Tribes and given them those bright, new swords they carry, and drilled them to the order they now hold."

  "I think it likely. I have brought this upon Mould's Castle, Beldan."

  Beldan shrugged. "It would have come. You made our Margravine happy. I have never known her happy, before, Prince."

  "You Mabden seem to think that happiness must be bought with misery."

  "I suppose we do."

  "It is not easy for a Vadhagh to understand that. We believe—believed—that happiness was a natural condition of reasoning beings."

  Now from the forest emerged another twenty chariots. They arranged themselves behind Glandyth so that the Earl of Krae was between the silent, masked warriors and his own followers, the Denledhyssi.

  The drum stopped its beating.

  Corum listened to the tide drawing back. Now the causeway was completely exposed.

  "He must have followed me, learned where I was, and spent the winter recruiting and training those warriors," Corum said.

  "But how did he discover your hiding place?" Beldan said.

  For answer, the ranks of the Pony Tribes opened and Glandyth drove his chariot down toward the causeway. He bent and picked something from the floor of his chariot, raised it above his head, and Bung it over the backs of his horses to fall upon the causeway.

  Corum shuddered when he recognized it.

  Beldan stiffened and stretched out his hand to grasp the stone of the battlement, lowering his head.