'I remember no such experience,' said Hawkmoon sharply. 'I wish I could understand your motives in continuing this pretence.'
'Ah, well,' replied Jhary philosophically, 'perhaps you will understand later."
Prince Karl of Pesht bid them farewell personally, waving to them from Pesht's impressive walls until they were out of sight.
The great sleigh moved swiftly and Hawkmoon wondered why the speed of its travelling filled him with a mixture of exhilaration and misgivings. Again Jhary had mentioned something which roused an echo of memory. And yet it was obvious to him that he could never have been this 'Urlik' - for all he seemed to remember dreaming once of such a name.
And now the going was speedy, for the weather had been turned to their advantage. The eight black geldings seemed tireless as they strained in their harness, dragging the sleigh closer and closer to the Bulgar Mountains.
But still Hawkmoon had a terrifying sense of familiarity. The image of a silver chariot, its four wheels fixed to skis, moving implacably over a great ice plain. Another image of a ship - but a ship which travelled upon another ice plain. And they were not the same worlds - of that he was sure. Neither was either one this world, his world. He drove the thoughts away as best he could, but they were persistent.
Perhaps he should put all his questions to Katinka van Bak and to Jhary-a-Conel, but he could not bring himself to ask them. He felt that the answers might not be to his taste.
So they drove on through the swirling snow and the ground rose steeply and the speed of their travelling decreased a little, but not very much.
From what he could see of the surrounding landscape, there was no evidence at all of recent raids. Sitting with his hands on the reins of the eight black geldings, Hawkmoon put this to Katinka van Bak.
Her answer was brief:
'Why should there be such signs? I told you that they raided only on the other side of the mountains.'
'Then there must be an explanation for that,' Hawkmoon said. 'And if we find the explanation we might also find their weakness.'
Finally the roads became too steep and the geldings' hooves slipped on the ice as they strove to haul the sleigh behind them. The snow had abated and it was late in the afternoon. Hawkmoon pointed to a mountain meadow below them. 'The horses may be pastured there. The grazing is reasonable and - look - a cave where they might stable themselves. It is the most we can do for them, I fear.'
'Very well,' agreed Katinka van Bak. With great difficulty they managed to turn the horses and lead them back down the path until they reached the snow-covered meadow. Hawkmoon cleared snow with his boot to indicate the grass below, but the geldings needed no help from him. They were used to such conditions and were soon using their hooves to clear the snow so that they might graze. And since it was almost sunset, the three decided to spend the night in the cave with the horses before continuing into the mountains.
'These conditions are an advantage,' said Hawkmoon. 'For our enemies have little chance of seeing us.'
'True enough,' said Katinka van Bak.
'And similarly,' Hawkmoon went on, "we must be wary. For we shall not see them until they are upon us. Do you know this area, Katinka van Bak?'
'I know it fairly well,' she told him. She was lighting a fire inside the cave for their cooking stoves, provided by the prince, did not give out enough heat to warm the cave.
'This is snug,' said Jhary-a-Conel. 'I would not mind spending the rest of the winter here. Then we could travel on when spring comes.'
Katinka offered him a glance of contempt. He grinned and kept silence for a while.
They led their horses now, beneath a cold, hard sky. Save for a little withered moss and some stunted grey and brown birches, nothing grew in these mountains. A sharp wind blew. A few carrion birds wheeled away amongst the jagged peaks. The sounds of their breathing, of their horses' hooves clicking on the rocks, of their own slippery progress, were the only sounds. The scenery viewed from these high mountain paths was beautiful in the extreme, yet it was also deadly. It was dead. It was cold. It was cruel. Many travellers must have died in these parts during the season of winter.
Hawkmoon wore a thick fur robe over his leather coat. Though he sweated, he did not dare take any of his clothing off for fear he would freeze to the spot when he stopped. The others, too, wore heavy furs - hoods, gloves and boots as well as coats. And the climbing was almost always upward. Only occasionally might a path take a downward turn, only to soar again around the next bend.
Yet the mountains, for all their deadly beauty, seemed peaceful. An immense sense of peace filled the valleys, and Hawkmoon could barely believe that a great force of bandits hid here. There was no atmosphere to indicate that the mountains had been invaded. He felt as if he were one of the first human beings ever to come this way. Although the going was difficult and very wearying, he felt more relaxed here than he had felt since he had been a child in Koln, when the old Duke, his father, had ruled. His responsibilities had become simple. To stay alive.
And at last they reached a slightly wider path where there was room enough for Hawkmoon to stretch to his full length had he so desired. And this path ended suddenly at a big, black cave entrance.
'What's this?' Hawkmoon asked Katinka. 'It seems a dead end. Is it a tunnel?'
'Aye,' replied Katinka van Bak. "It's a tunnel.'
'And how much further do we journey when we reach the other end of the tunnel?'
Hawkmoon leaned against the rock wall, just at the entrance to the tunnel.
'That depends,' said Katinka van Bak mysteriously. And she would not say more.
Hawkmoon was too weary to ask her what she meant. Jerking his body forward, he plunged into the tunnel, leading his horse behind him, glad that snow no longer dragged at his boots once he had gone a few yards into the great cavern. Inside it was quite warm and there was a smell. It was almost like the smell of spring. Hawkmoon remarked on it, but neither of the others could smell the odour so that he wondered if perhaps some perfume clung to his big fur cloak. The floor of the cavern levelled out now and it became much easier to walk. 'It is hard to believe," said Hawkmoon, 'that this place is natural. It is a wonder of the world.'
They had been walking for an hour, with no sight of the other end of the tunnel, when Hawkmoon began to feel nervous.
'It cannot be natural,' he repeated. He ran his gloved hands along the walls, but there were no signs of tools having been used to create them. He turned back to the others and thought, in the gloom, that he noticed peculiar expressions on both their faces. 'What do you think? You know this place, Katinka van Bak. Are there any mentions of it in the histories? In legends?'
'Some,' she admitted. 'Go on, Hawkmoon. We shall soon be at the other side."
'But where does it lead?' He brought his body fully round to confront them. The fireglobe in his hand burned dully and turned his face to a demonic red. 'Directly to the Dark Empire camp? Do you two work for my old enemies? Is this a ruse? You have neither of you told me enough!'
We are not in the pay of your enemies,' said Katinka van Bak. 'Continue, Hawkmoon, please. Or shall I lead?' She stepped forward.
Hawkmoon involuntarily put a hand to the hilt of his sword, pushing back his great fur cloak to do so. 'No. I trust you, Katinka van Bak, yet everything in me warns me of a trap. How can this be?'
'You must go on, Sir Champion!' said Jhary-a-Conel quietly, stroking the fur of his small black and white cat, which had emerged from his jerkin. 'You must.'
'Champion? Champion of what?' Still Hawkmoon's hand gripped the sword hilt. 'Of what?'
'Champion Eternal," said Jhary-a-Conel, softly still. 'Fate's soldier...'
'No!' Though the words were all but meaningless, Hawkmoon could not bear to hear them. 'No!!'
His gloved hands flew to his ears.
And that was when his two friends rushed at him.
He was still not as strong as he had been before his madness. He was weary from the climb. He
struggled against them until he felt Katinka van Bak's dagger pricking his eye and he heard her urgent voice in his ear:
'Killing you is the easiest way to achieve our purpose, Hawkmoon,' she said. 'But it would not be the kindest. Besides, I am reluctant to cut you off from this body, should you desire to return to it. Thus I shall only kill you if you make it impossible for me to do ought else. Do you understand ?'
'I undersand treachery,' he said savagely, still testing his strength against their clutches, 'and I thought I smelled the spring. I smelled traitors, instead. Traitors who posed as friends.'
One of them extinguished the fireglobe. The three stood in blackness and Hawkmoon heard the echoes of his words.
'Where is this place?' He felt the dagger point prick his eye again. 'What are you doing to me?'
'It was the only way,' said Katinka van Bak. 'It was the only way, Champion.'
It was the first time she had called him that, though Jhary had used the term frequently.
'Where is this place?' he said again. 'Where?'
'I wish that I knew,' said Katinka van Bak. And her voice was almost sad.
Then she evidently struck him on the back of the head with her armoured gauntlet. He felt the blow and guessed what caused it. For a moment he thought that it had not succeeded in its intention of driving consciousness from him. Then he realised that he had sunk to his knees.
Then he realised that his body seemed to be falling away from him in the blackness of the cave.
And then he knew that her blow had done what it had intended, after all.
Book Two
A Homecoming
Chapter One
Ilian Of Garathorm
Hawkmoon listened to ghosts.
Each ghost spoke to him in his own voice.
In Hawkmoon's voice...
... then I was Erekos and I slew the human race. And Urlik Skarsol, Prince of the Southern Ice, who slew the Silver Queen from Moon. Who bore the Black Sword. Now I hang in limbo and await my next task. Perhaps through this I shall find a means of returning to my lost love Ermizhad. Perhaps I shall find Tanelorn.
(I have been Elric)
Fate's soldier ... Time's tool ... Champion Eternal .., Doomed to perpetual strife.
(I have been Corum. In more than one life I have been Corum)
I know not how it began. Perhaps it will end in Tanelorn.
Rhalina, Yisselda, Cymoril, Zarozinia ...
So many women.
(I have been Arflane. Asquiol. Aubec.")
All die, save me.
(I have been Hawkmoon ...)
'No! I am Hawkmoon!'
(We are all Hawkmoon. Hawkmoon is all of us")
All live, save me.
John Daker? Was he the first?
Or the last?
I have betrayed so many and been betrayed so much.
Faces floated before him. Each face was different. Each face was his own face. He shouted and tried to push them away.
But he had no hands.
He tried to revive himself. Better to die under Katinka van Bak's knife than suffer this torment. It was what he had feared. It was what he had tried to avoid. It was the reason he had not pursued his argument with Jhary-a-Conel. But he was alone against a thousand - a thousand manifestations of himself.
The struggle is eternal. The fight is endless.
And now we must become Ilian. Ilian, whose soul was driven out. Is this not a strange task?
'I am Hawkmoon. Only Hawkmoon.'
And I am Hawkmoon. And I am Urlik Skarsol. And I am Ilian of Garathorm. Perhaps here I shall find Tanelorn. Farewell to the South Ice and the dying sun. Farewell to the Silver Queen and the Screaming Chalice. Farewell Count Brass. Farewell Urlik. Farewell Hawkmoon ...
And Hawkmoon began to feel his memories fading from him. In their place came crowding a million other memories. Memories of bizarre worlds and exotic landscapes, of creatures both human and inhuman. Memories that could not possibly belong to a single man, and yet they were like those dreams he had had at Castle Brass. Or had he experienced them at Castle Brass? Perhaps it had been elsewhere? In Melnibone? In Loos Ptokai? In Castle Erorn by the sea? Aboard that strange ship which travelled beyond the Earth? Where? Where had he dreamed those dreams?
And he knew that he had dreamed them in all of those places and that he would dream them again in all those places.
He knew that there was no such thing as Time.
Past, present and future were all the same. They existed all at the same moment - and they did not exist at any moment.
He was Urlik Skarsol, Prince of the Southern Ice, and his chariot was drawn by bears, moving across the ice beneath a dying sun. Moving towards a goal. Searching, as Hawkmoon searched for Yisselda, for a woman whom he could not reach. Ermizhad. And Ermizhad had not loved Urlik Skarsol. She had loved Erekose. Yet Erekose was Urlik Skarsol, too.
Tanelorn. That was Urlik's goal.
Tanelorn. Should it be Hawkmoon's?
The name was so familiar. Yet he had found Tanelorn many times. He had dwelled there once and each time Tanelorn had been different.
Which Tanelorn must he seek?
And there was a sword. A sword which had many manifestations. A black sword. Yet it was often disguised. A sword ...
Ilian of Garathorm bore a good sword. Ilian felt for it, but it was not there. Ilian's hands ran over chain mail, over silk, over flesh. Ilian's hands touched cool turf and Ilian's nose smelled the richness of spring. Ilian's eyes opened. Two strangers stood there, a young man and a middle-aged woman. Yet their faces were familiar.
Hawkmoon said: 'Katinka van ...' and then Ilian forgot the rest of the name. Hawkmoon felt his body and was astonished. "What have you made me into...?' And Ilian wondered at those words, even though they came from Ilian's mouth.
'Greetings, Ilian of Garathorm, Champion Eternal,' said the young man with a smile. He had a small black and white cat on his shoulder. The cat had a pair of wings folded on its back.
'And Hawkmoon, farewell - for the moment, at least,' said the middle-aged woman who was dressed all in battered plate armour.
Ilian said Vaguely: 'Hawkmoon? The name is familiar. Yet I thought for an instant I was called Urlik Skarsol, also. Who are you?'
The young man bowed, showing none of the patronising mockery or condescension with which Ilian had become familiar, even when at court.
'I am Jhary-a-Conel. And this lady is Katinka van Bak, whom you may remember.'
Ilian frowned. 'Yes ... Katinka van Bak. You are the one who saved me when Ymryl's pack pursued me ...'
And then, for a moment, Ilian's memory faded.
Hawkmoon said, through Ilian's lips: 'What have you done to me, Katinka van Bak?' He felt at his body in horror. His skin was softer. His form was different. He had become shorter. 'You have made me into ... into a woman!'
Jhary-a-Conel leaned forward, his eyes full of an abnormal intensity. 'It had to be done. You are Ilian of Garathorm. This world needs Ilian. Trust us. It will benefit Hawkmoon, too.'
'You plotted this together. There was no army in the Bulgar Mountains! That tunnel...'
'It led here. To Garathorm,' Katinka van Bak said. 'I discovered this passage between the dimensions when I hid from the Dark Empire. I was here when Ymryl and the others arrived. I saved your life, Ilian, but they were able, with their sorcery, to drive your spirit from you. I was in despair for Garathorm. Then I met Jhary here. He conceived a solution. Hawkmoon was close to the point of death. As a manifestation of the eternal Champion his spirit could substitute for Ilian's — for she is another manifestation of that Champion, you see. That story I told you. I knew it might bring you here - through the tunnel. The army I described does raid beyond the Bulgar Mountains. It raids Garathorm.'
Hawkmoon's brain was whirling. 'I don't understand. I occupy another's body? Is that what you are saying? This can only be Dark Empire work!'
'Believe us that it is not!' said Katinka van Bak seriousl
y.
'Though the Dark Empire has played some part, I feel, in bringing this disaster about," said Jhary-a-Conel. 'The exact part is yet to be discovered. But only as Ilian can you hope to oppose those who now rule this world. It is Ilian's fate, you see. Only Ilian's. Hawkmoon could not have succeeded ...'
'So you have imprisoned me in this woman's body ... But how? What sorcery accomplished it?'
Jhary looked at the grassy ground. 'I have some skill in this particular area. But you must forget that you are Hawkmoon. Hawkmoon has no place in Garathorm. You must be Ilian, or our work is wasted. Ilian - whom Ymryl desired. And because he could not possess her, he drove her spirit from her. Even Ymryl did not realise what he was doing - that Ilian's destiny is to wage war against him. Ymryl merely sees you, Ilian, as a desirable woman, albeit a fierce foe who led the remnants of her father's army against him.'
'Ymryl ...' Hawkmoon strove to hang on to his own identity, but it was slipping away from him again. 'Ymryl, who serves Chaos. Ymryl, the Yellow Horn. They came from nowhere and Garathorm fell to them. Ah, I remember the fires. I remember my father, kindly Pyran. With all his reluctance to fight, he battled Ymryl long ...'
'And then you took up Pyran's flaming banner. Remember, Ilian? You took up that burning flag, the fame of all Garathorm, and you rode against Ymryl's force ...' Katinka van Bak said softly. 'I had taught you the use of sword, shield and axe, while I guested at Pyran's court, after I fled the Dark Empire. And you put all my learning to splendid use until only you and I remained alive upon the field.'
'I remember,' said Ilian. 'And we were only spared because they were amused to discover our feminine sex. Ah, the humiliation I felt when Ymryl tugged the helm from my head! "You shall rule beside me," he said. And he reached out a hand still covered in the blood of my people, and he touched my body! Oh, I remember.' Ilian's voice became hard and fierce. 'And I remember that it was then I swore to slay him. Yet there was only one way and I was unable to follow it. I could not. And, because I resisted him, he imprisoned me...'
The Chronicles of Castle Brass Page 18
