Sojan the Swordsman

by Michael Moorcock

  “Yes, yes, we’ll forget that for a moment. What does it involve?”

  “First a meeting of all the major disciples, myself, the General in Command (who will take orders from you while the conquest is in progress), my major-domo, the two priests who invent — hem — who spread the Truth of the Snake.”

  “But why this mumbo-jumbo — if you want to conquer your enemy, why not just do it? I can’t understand what you’re trying to do.”

  “Then briefly I will explain. The two cities have been at peace for hundreds of years. Men and women from the states have intermingled with each other, families have intermarried until we are virtually a single nation. Apart from the names and boundaries, we are practically the same people. We need an excuse, man, don’t you see? We can’t send a soldier to march against his brother or even his son unless he thinks that there is something worth fighting for. This, my dear Sojan, is a Holy War.” He raised a cynical eye to Heaven. “Quite legitimate. We are — how shall I put it? — spreading the Word of the Snake God with the Sword of Justice! Part of our indoctrination campaign, actually, that last bit.”

  “Religion might have been invented to justify war and for no other purpose,” mused the mercenary, his quick mind working. “All right! I’ll join.”

  Sojan had hit on a daring plan. “When do I become an initiate?”

  An hour later, Sojan stood in a darkened room. In front of him was a long table and at it sat men clad in robes decorated with serpents.

  “Let the ceremony begin,” he intoned.

  Now was the time to act. They had given Sojan back his sword along with his other equipment and he now drew it. With the blade humming he downed the two nearest fighters. Three left, three wary men and led by one who had been described as the finest swordsman in Shortani.

  Luckily only two of the men were swordsmen — the other was almost helpless. In the fore Kandoon, cowl flung back and his face a mask of hate.

  “Trick me, would you,” he hissed. “We’ll show you what we do to dogs who try to turn on Wise Kandoon!”

  Sojan felt a lancing pain go through him and he felt the warm blood as it trickled down his left arm. With renewed energy he launched himself at Kandoon who was taken off guard for a moment. Clean steel pierced a tainted heart and the man toppled backwards with a short death-scream.

  “Those who assume mercenaries long for war are, as ever, misguided. The best of us believe in peace above all else. Maybe I’ve taught a few greedy fools a valuable lesson.”

  And collecting his myat from where he had stabled it, Sojan Shieldbearer rode on.

  With the fake ‘Sons of the Snake God’ exposed for what they were, what amounted to civil war was averted and the two cities resumed their friendly relations. Once again Sojan had done a major service for the cause in which every honourable soldier believed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Devil Hunters of Norj

  THE LAST RAYS of Zylor’s second sun were just waning when Sojan reined his myat and stared down into the green valley below.

  He glanced at the crude map before him.

  “This must be the Valley of Norj. It seems to be unexplored according to the map. Strange that no-one has ventured into it.”

  Strange it was; for, even in the dusk, Sojan could see that the valley was lush and green. A river wound through it and brightly plumed birds sang from the branches of tall trees. A seeming paradise.

  “It will make an excellent place to camp,” thought the mercenary as he guided his mount downwards.

  Later that night, he set up his camp in a small natural clearing in the forest. His myat was tethered nearby and his campfire glowed cheerily. The night was warm and full of forest smells.

  After eating his meal, Sojan climbed between his blankets and was soon asleep.

  It was just after midnight when the strange noises awakened the warrior.

  There they were again — a peculiar hissing screech and the pounding of hoofs; the cries of — men, and vicious cracks of whips.

  Sojan raised himself on one elbow, hand reaching for his sword. The myat stirred uneasily and swished its great tail from side to side.

  The noises drew nearer and then subsided as they fell away towards the west of the valley.

  Sojan did not sleep any more that night but kept a watchful eye open. The rest of the night was uneventful and in the morning, Sojan cooked himself a big meal which was meant to last him the day, for he intended to investigate the noises he had heard, the night before.

  Riding slowly, with eyes always scanning the ground, Sojan soon found the tracks that the inhabitants of the valley had made. There were two distinct sets of tracks. One similar to those of a myat although with subtle differences, seemingly lighter. The others were entirely unfamiliar. Three-toed tracks like, and yet unlike, those of a bird — and considerably larger. The beast that had made them was obviously a quadruped of some kind, but other than that Sojan could not tell what kind of animal had made them — there were few four-legged birds he could think of — and none of the ones he had heard about was as large as this.

  There had been at least ten riders, and it seemed that they had been chasing one or perhaps two of these bird-beasts. Probably some kind of hunt, thought Sojan, yet what kind of men were they who hunted at the dead of night?

  Sojan rode on, following the tracks in the hope that he would find some clue to the mystery. He came across a steep inclination, the tracks ended here in a flurry of mud and blood. Then the tracks of the beasts the men had been riding continued. They had ridden for a short while parallel to the bluff and then forced their animals to ride up it.

  Sojan did the same. His heavier mount slipped occasionally and nearly slid back but eventually it had carried its rider to the top. From there Sojan saw a strange scene.

  A battle of some kind was going on between two groups of men. Near a squat black-stoned tower, five men, one mounted, were endeavouring to check a horde of armoured warriors who rushed from the tower. Beasts similar to Sojan’s myat but lighter, hornless and almost tailless stood waiting.

  The mounted man held the tethering reins of the other four animals while he cut at two of the armoured men with a battle-axe held in his right hand.

  Although the mounted man was clad in armour, the other four were dressed only in jerkins of coloured cloth and divided kilts of leather. They were unshod and carried no sheaths for the weapons, mainly swords, with which they defended themselves. It seemed to Sojan that they were attempting to escape from the armoured warriors, one of whom, dressed more richly, and darker than the others, stood in the rear and urged them on in a language which was at once unfamiliar yet strangely familiar to Sojan’s ears.

  But there was no time to ponder over this now; the men needed help and Sojan, in a more curious than chivalrous mood, intended to aid them and perhaps find some answer to the mystery.

  His long spear was out, his shield up and he forced the myat into a wild gallop down the hill, screaming to his gods in a barbarian war-shout.

  His savage thrust caught the first of the armoured warriors in the throat and stayed there, the spear jerking like a tufted reed in a storm. His sword screamed from its scabbard as he pushed deeper into the mêlée of cursing men.

  Taking his chance to escape while the enemy were still confused, the other men quickly mounted their beasts. Sojan was still in the thick of it, sword lashing everywhere and dealing death with every stroke. One of the riders looked back, saw the mercenary still engaged and spurred his own beast back to where Sojan fought.

  Grinning his thanks to Sojan he covered the mercenary’s retreat with his own slim blade then followed.

  Howling, the warriors attempted to pursue on foot. They were brought back by their leader’s frantic cries and scrambled round behind the building.

  The armoured rider called to Sojan in that familiar, yet unintelligible tongue, and pointed towards the east. Sojan understood and turned his myat in that direction. Behind them the pursuer
s were whipping their steeds in an effort to overtake them.

  Deep into the forest they rode, leaving their enemies far behind. For perhaps three hours they detoured until they reached the end of the valley where a sheer cliff rose. Brushing aside some shrubbery, the armoured man disclosed an opening in the base of the cliff.

  Ducking their heads, the six rode through, the last man carefully replacing the camouflage.

  The passage ended in several connecting caves and it was in one of these that they stabled their mounts and continued on foot to the cave at the far end. Here they slumped into chairs, grinning with relief at their escape.

  The leader, the man in armour, began to speak to Sojan who stood bewilderedly trying to understand the language in which they questioned him. Vaguely he began to realise what it was — it was his own tongue, yet so altered as to be scarcely recognisable. In an hour he could understand most of their speech and in two he was telling them how he had come to the Valley of Norj.

  “But I am curious to find out who you are — and why men hunt giant four-legged birds at midnight,” he said. “Who were the men from whom you escaped?”

  “It is a long story to explain in a few words,” said Jarg, the leader, “but I will first attempt to tell you a little of the political situation here, in Norj.

  “There are two distinct races living here — men like ourselves and another race whom I scarcely like to define as ‘men’. Ages ago our people reached this valley after a long sea voyage and trek across Shortani. We came to this valley and settled in it and it was not for some time that we learned that another people lived at the far end of the valley. A race of grim, black-haired and black-eyed men, who hunted at night with steel-tipped flails and who remained in their castles during the day. They did not trouble us at first and eventually we became used to the hunts, even though they sometimes passed through our fields and destroyed our crops. We were secure, we thought, in the valley and there was no man curious enough to venture too near the black-stoned castles of the Cergii.

  “But soon men and women — even children — of our people began to disappear and the hunts became more frequent for the Cergii had found a new sport. They had a different quarry to the Devil-birds which they breed and release at night to hunt with their whips. It was then that the mangled bodies of our tribesmen began to be found… Lashed to death.

  “They were capturing our people — and hunting them! So it was that we declared war upon these beasts, these whom we had never harmed nor attempted to harm.

  “Over the years traitors to our race went over to the enemy and became their warriors. You saw some of them today. Our once great race dwindled and became fugitives, living in caves and, if captured, the quarry of the Hunters of Norj. Still we carry on warfare with them — but it is hit-and-run fighting at best. The four you see here were captured recently and it was more by luck than anything that I managed to bribe a guard to release them. I came last night with weapons and myats — you see the breed has changed as has our speech. Unfortunately the timing was imperfect and the first sun arose before we could make good our escape. We were seen and would all be dead or captured had it not been for you.”

  “There must be some way to defeat them!” demanded Sojan. “And if there is a way — I swear that I will find it!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hounds of the Cergii

  SOJAN AND THE stern-faced fighting men of Norj, some sixty in all, stood in the main cave, waiting for nightfall.

  Plans of Sojan’s attempt to overcome the Cergii had been discussed and Sojan and Jarg, the leader, had reached a decision.

  The Cergii were few, it seemed. About ten in number. They were immortal, or at least their life-spans were incredibly long and the race had gradually dwindled to ten evil sorcerer-warriors whose only pleasures were their midnight hunts.

  At dusk, Sojan rose, went over the final plan with his friends and left, heading eastwards, towards the castles of the Cergii — some twenty in all, mostly in an advanced state of decay — only one of which housed the Cergii and their Norjian slaves and hirelings.

  The tiny Zylorian moons gave scant light and Sojan found it difficult picking his way through the rubble of the ruined outbuildings.

  There came a faint scuffling behind him; a sound which only a barbarian’s senses could have heard.

  Sojan ignored it and carried on.

  Even when the scuffling came nearer he ignored it. The sudden blow on the back of his head was impossible to ignore, however, and a blind sense of survival set him wheeling round, hand groping for his sword hilt before blackness, deeper than night, swam in front of his eyes and he lost consciousness.

  He awoke in a damp-smelling cell, lit only by torchlight which filtered through a tiny grille in the wall. The cell was obviously on a corner for the large barred door was not in the same wall as the grille.

  Peering through this door was an unkempt warrior clad in dirty armour and holding a spear.

  With half-mad eyes he glared short-sightedly at the mercenary. His mouth gaped open showing bad teeth and he chuckled loudly.

  “You’re the next game for the Hunters of Cergii,” he cackled. “Oh! What a feast the beasts will have tonight.”

  Sojan ignored these words, turned over and attempted to ease the pain in his aching head.

  After many hours in which he attempted to get some rest, Sojan was jabbed roughly awake by the guard’s spear butt.

  “What is it now?” he enquired as he raised himself to his feet and dusted off the straw in which he’d been sleeping.

  “Heh, heh!” cackled the man. “It’s almost midnight — time for one of our little hunts!”

  Sojan became tense. He had a plan based on the knowledge that if he was captured he would most certainly be forced to partake in one of the hunts of the Cergii as the quarry.

  “Very well,” he said, trying to sound as frightened as possible.

  The courtyard was dark and gloomy, one moon showing through a gap in the ruins. The strange smell of an unknown animal came to Sojan’s nostrils and he gathered that these were the ‘hounds’ of the Cergii that Jarg had told him about.

  He heard the stamping of the myat’s hoofs and the jingle of harness and, as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, made out the vague outlines of tall mounted men.

  “Is the quarry ready?” called out a voice as dead and cold as the ruins around them.

  “Yes, Master, he is here!”

  “Then tell him he will be given quarter of an hour’s start — then we will be upon his scent!” the voice went on.

  The guards stood aside and Sojan was off — along a route already planned nights ago. His plan was a daring one and one which called for a great deal of courage. He was acting as a human snare for the Hunters.

  Down a narrow forest trail he ran, the trees and grasses rustling in the cold night breeze, the sound of small animals calling to each other and the occasional scream as a larger animal made its kill.

  The air in his lungs seemed to force itself out as he ran faster and faster. The time was getting short and he had several more minutes yet until he could reach the planned spot.

  Sounds — not the sounds of the forest, but far more ominous — began to reach his ears. The snap of cracking whips and thundering hoofs as the Hunters and their silent hounds rode in pursuit.

  Faster and faster Sojan ran, keeping his eyes open for the landmark which would afford him comparative safety.

  At last, just as the cracking of whips and pounding hoofs seemed to be on top of him, it came into sight. Past the tall rock he ran, into a tiny gorge flanked on each side by towering rock walls.

  Up the side of the cliff he scrambled as the Hunters entered the gorge. Then:

  “Now!” roared Sojan, and as he did so sixty death-tipped arrows flew down and buried themselves in the bodies of Cergii riders.

  Their curses and frantic screams were music to Sojan and his friends as they fitted new arrows and let fly at the sou
nds.

  Yelling the great battle-shout of his ancestors Sojan leaped down the rocks again, a long sword in his right hand.

  A shadowy rider loomed out of the darkness and an evil face, white teeth flashing in a grin of triumph, aimed a blow at Sojan with his own blade.

  Sojan cut upwards, catching the rider in the leg. He screamed and tumbled off his steed, putting it between himself and Sojan.

  He came upright, limping rapidly in the mercenary’s direction. Sojan ducked another savage cut and parried it. Down lunged his opponent’s sword attempting to wound Sojan’s sword-arm. He again parried the stroke and counter-thrust at the man’s chest.

  Following up this move with a thrust to the heart, the mercenary ended the evil hunter’s life.

  Most of the Cergii were now either dead or mortally wounded and it did not take Sojan and his friends long to finish off the job they had started.

  “Now for the hirelings!” yelled Sojan, goading his myat in the direction from which they had come; his sword dripping red in the moonlight, his hair tousled and a wildness in his handsome eyes.

  The sixty riders thundered down the narrow forest trail towards the castles of the dead Cergii, Sojan at their head, shouting a battle-cry which had been voiced at a dozen great victories for the men whom Sojan had led.

  Straight into the courtyard they swarmed, catching the soldiers entirely unawares.

  Dismounting, they crashed open the doors of the castle and poured in.

  “Guard the doors!” yelled Sojan. “And all the other exits — we’ll finish off every traitor in the place!”

  His first call was in the dungeons — for there he knew he would find the man who had been his jailer during the previous day.

  The half-crazed warrior cringed when he saw Sojan enter sword in hand. But one look at the tall mercenary told him he could expect no mercy.

  Drooling with fear he yanked his own sword from its scabbard and swung a blow at Sojan which would have cut him in two had it not been deflected by Sojan’s blade.