“Who are you?” I shouted again.
Bishop Belphig’s unhealthy face was wreathed in light. It writhed in terror.
“I AM THE VOICE OF THE CHALICE. YOU MUST TAKE UP THE BLACK SWORD.”
“I will not!”
“BECAUSE YOU WOULD NOT LISTEN FROM WITHIN, I HAVE COME TO YOU IN THIS FORM TO IMPRESS UPON YOU THAT YOU MUST TAKE UP THE BLACK SWORD—”
“I will not! I swore I would not!”
“—AND WHEN YOU HAVE TAKEN UP THE SWORD, THEN YOU MAY FILL THE CHALICE! ANOTHER CHANCE WILL NOT COME, ETERNAL CHAMPION.”
I clapped my hands to my ears, closing my eyes tight shut.
I felt the light fade.
I opened my eyes.
The screaming chalice had disappeared. There was only gloom again.
Belphig was shaking with fear. It was plain, when he looked at me, that he associated me with the source of his terror.
I said grimly: “That was no doing of mine, I assure you.”
Belphig cleared his throat several times before he spoke. “I have heard of men able to create illusions, Count Urlik, but never illusions so powerful. I am impressed, but I hope you will not see fit to use your power again on this voyage. Merely because I could not answer your questions concerning that bell does not mean that you can—”
“If that were an illusion, Bishop Belphig, it was no creation of mine.”
Belphig began to speak, then changed his mind. Shuddering, he went below.
8
THE SEA-STAG’S LAIR
I STAYED ON the deck for a long time, peering into the twilight, wondering if I would see something that would give me a clue as to the origin of that strange visitation. Save for the experience in my bedroom on the Eldren Earth, when I had seen myself as I now was, this was the first time that my dreams had come in waking hours.
And it had been no dream, of course, because Bishop Belphig had witnessed it—as had many members of his crew and entourage. On the lower terraces they were murmuring among themselves, looking up at me in some trepidation, doubtless hoping I would bring no further manifestations of that sort upon them.
But if the screaming chalice had been connected with me, the unseen bell had been connected in some way with Bishop Belphig.
And why was Belphig continuing with the hunt, when any sensible person would have returned to the safety of the Obsidian City? Perhaps he had arranged a rendezvous with someone in these waters? But with whom? One of the pirates he had mentioned? Perhaps even the Silver Warriors?
But these were minor matters of speculation compared with the latest event. What was the Black Sword? Why did something within me refuse it, even though I did not know what it was? Certainly the name had a peculiar sort of familiarity and it was also plain that I did not wish to think about it—that was why I had taken the girl that night. It seemed I was ready to do anything to forget the sword, to escape from it.
* * *
At length, weary and full of confusion, I returned to my quarters and fell into my hammock.
But I could not sleep. I did not want to sleep, for fear the dreams would return.
I remembered the words: If you would rid this world of its troubles and find a solution to your own, you must take up the Black Sword again.
And the monotonous chant came back to me: Black Sword. Black Sword. Black Sword. The Black Sword is the Champion’s Sword—the Word of the Sword is the Champion’s Law…
In some previous incarnation—whether in the past or the future, for Time in my own context was a meaningless word—I must have rid myself of the Black Sword. And in parting with it I had, say, committed a crime (or at least had offended someone or something which desired that I retain the sword) for which I was now being punished by being moved hither and yon through Time and Space. Or perhaps, as my dream had suggested, the punishment was that I be aware of my incarnations and thus know my true tragedy. A subtle punishment if that were so.
Although I desired nothing more than rest and a chance to be reunited with Ermizhad, something in me still refused to pay the price, which was my agreement that I would take up the Black Sword again.
The Blade of the Sword has the Blood of the Sun—The Hilt of the Sword and the Hand are as One…
A rather more cryptic statement. I had no idea what the first part meant. Presumably the second part simply meant that my own fate and that of the sword were intertwined.
The Runes on the Sword are the Worms that are wise—The Name of the Sword is the same as the Scythe.
Here the first part was easier to understand than the second. It merely meant that some kind of wisdom was written on the blade. And it was just possible that the Scythe referred to was nothing more than the same scythe that Death was said to wield.
But I still knew no more than I had known before. It seemed that I must decide to take up the sword again without being told why I had originally decided to put it down…
There was a knock on the cabin door. Thinking it was the girl again, I cried out: “I do not wish to be disturbed.”
“It is Morgeg,” replied the one who had knocked. “Bishop Belphig instructed me to tell you that the sea-stag has been sighted. The hunt is about to begin.”
“I will come in a moment.”
I heard Morgeg’s footfalls fade. I put my helm on my head, took up my axe and my spear and went to the door.
Perhaps the excitement of the hunt would drive some of my confusion away.
* * *
Belphig seemed to have regained all his old bland confidence. He was in full armour, his visor raised, and Morgeg now wore armour, too.
“Well, Count Urlik, we shall soon have the diversion we actually sought when we originally set out, eh?” He slapped the rail with his gauntleted hand.
The wheels of the ship were moving comparatively slowly over the viscous ocean and the sea-beasts pulling the gigantic sea-chariot were swimming at an almost leisurely rate.
“The sea-stag’s horns broke the surface a while ago,” Morgeg said. “The beast must be quite near. It has no gills and must eventually surface again. That is when we must be ready to strike.” He indicated the warriors lining the rails above the ship’s hull. They all held long, heavy harpoons, each with up to ten cruel barbs.
“Is the beast likely to attack?” I asked.
“Have no fear,” Bishop Belphig said. “We are safe enough up here.
“I came for the excitement,” I told him. “I would experience it.”
He shrugged. “Very well. Morgeg, will you escort Count Urlik to the lower deck.”
Spear and axe in hand I followed Morgeg down the several companionways to the lower deck and emerged to discover that the sea-chariot’s wheels had stopped almost completely.
Morgeg craned his neck and peered into the gloom. “Ah,” he said. And he pointed.
I had the impression of antlers very much like those of the stags I had seen on John Daker’s world. I had no means, however, of judging their size.
I wondered if this were some land beast that had taken to the sea just as the seals had returned to the land. Or perhaps it was another hybrid, bred centuries before by Rowernarc’s scientists.
The atmosphere on the great chariot was tense. The antlers seemed to be coming closer, as if to inspect the strangers who had intruded into its province.
I moved nearer to the rail, a warrior making room for me.
Morgeg murmured, “I will return to my master’s side.” And he left me.
I heard a snort—a gigantic snort. This beast was plainly larger than an ordinary stag!
Now I could see red eyes glaring at us. A huge, bovine face emerged from the twilight, its nostrils dilating and contracting. It snorted again and this time I felt its breath strike my face.
In silence, the harpooners prepared for its charge.
I looked up at the prow, noticing that the slevahs had submerged, as if they wanted no part of this madness…
* * *
The sea-stag be
llowed, raising its massive body from the viscous waters. The thick, saline liquid ran in streamers down its coarse, oily pelt and I saw that its muscular forelegs were, in fact, flippers terminating in a clublike appendage that only barely recalled the hoof of a true stag. These flippers it now thrashed in the air, then sank down into the sea again, re-emerging a moment later with lowered head to charge our chariot.
From the top deck Morgeg’s voice came:
“Let fly with the first harpoons!”
A third of the warriors flung back their arms and hurled their heavy lances at the advancing beast. The horns were almost fifteen feet long, with an even longer span.
Some of the harpoons flew past the sea-stag and lay for a moment on the surface of the water before sinking, others buried themselves in the body of the stag. But none struck the head and while it screamed with pain, it paused only for a moment before continuing its charge.
“Let fly with the second harpoons!”
The second wave of lances flew out. Two struck the horns and clattered harmlessly off them. Two struck the body but were shaken out by a twist of the animal’s shoulders. The horns struck the chariot and sharp bone met metal with an awful clangour.
The ship rocked, threatened to topple, righted itself on its flat, lower hull. One of the horns swept along the rail and, shrieking, several harpooners were hurled overboard, their armour gashed. I leaned over to see if they could be helped, but they were already sinking, as a man sinks in quicksand, some holding up their arms pleadingly, though their eyes spoke of the hopelessness of help.
This was a brutal, disgusting business, particularly since the instigator of the hunt was at the top of the ship in a relatively safe position.
Now the dripping head loomed over us and we staggered back as it opened its mouth to show teeth half the size of a large man’s height, a red, curling tongue.
Dwarfed by the monster, I took up my stance on the swaying deck, drew back the arm holding my own spear and flung it into that open mouth. Its point entered the flesh of the gullet and the mouth instantly closed as, in agony, the beast backed off, moving its jaw from side to side as it tried to rid itself of the thing inside it.
One of the harpooners clapped me on the back as we saw dark blood begin to run from the sea-stag’s snout.
From far above came the bland voice of Bishop Belphig. “Well done, Sir Champion!”
At that moment I would rather the spear had entered Belphig’s heart than the gullet of the monster whose territory we had invaded.
I grabbed up a harpoon from where it had been dropped by one of the men who had been swept overboard. I aimed again for the head, but the point struck the base of the left horn and dropped harmlessly into the sea.
The monster coughed and bits of the shaft of my spear were spewed out, some of them striking the ship’s superstructure.
Then it charged again.
This time, as if encouraged by my partial success, one of the harpooners managed to drive his weapon into the sea-stag’s flesh just below the right eye. A terrible scream came from the injured throat and, admitting defeat, the beast turned and began to swim away.
I drew a sigh of relief, but I had not reckoned with Bishop Belphig’s bloodlust.
“Pursue it—quickly. It is making for its lair!” he cried.
The drivers lashed the sea-beasts to the surface, jerked on the ropes that were their reins and, using the whips, turned them in pursuit of the disappearing stag.
“This is insanity! Let the thing go!” I shouted.
“What—and return to Rowernarc without a trophy!” screamed back the bishop. “Give chase, whipmen. Give chase!”
The wheels began to whirl over the water again as we pursued our wounded quarry.
One of the harpooners gave me a sardonic look. “They say our Lord Spiritual prefers slaughter to fornication.” He rubbed at his face. Blood spat by the stag had covered him.
“I do not know if he understands the difference any longer,” I said. “Where is the monster heading?”
“Sea-stags make their lairs in caves. There is probably a small island nearby. Our friend will head for that.”
“Have they no herds?”
“At certain times. But this is not their herding season. That is why it is relatively safe to hunt them. A herd, even mainly of cows, would quickly finish us.”
Two of the wheels on our side of the ship had been badly battered and the sea-chariot lurched unevenly as it sped over the ocean. The slevahs must have been even more powerful than the sea-stag to be able to cut through those thick waters and draw the heavy craft behind them.
The horns of the stag were still in sight through the gloom and, just ahead of that, the outline of a spike of obsidian rock, doubtless of the same range as the mountain from which Rowernarc had been carved.
“There!” The harpooner pointed. Grimly he hefted his barbed lance.
I bent and took the remaining harpoon off the deck.
Morgeg’s distant voice shouted: “Prepare!”
The stag had disappeared, but the tiny island of glassy rock could clearly be seen. The sea-chariot slewed round as the sea-beasts avoided dashing themselves onto the rock. We saw the black mouth of a cave.
We had found the monster’s lair.
From within the cave came an almost pathetic snort of pain.
And then came the astonishing order from above.
“Prepare to disembark!”
Belphig meant his men to enter the cave armed only with their harpoons!
9
THE SLAUGHTERING IN THE CAVE
AND SO WE disembarked.
All save Belphig, his entourage and the whipmen in the prow, began to wade through the clinging shallows and gain a slippery foothold on the rock. I had my battle-axe crooked in one arm¸ the barbed harpoon held at my side in the other hand. Belphig watched and waved from the top deck.
“Good luck, Count Urlik. If you kill the stag it will be another great deed to add to your long list…”
I thought the whole nature of the hunt was useless and cruel, but I felt I must go with the others to finish what we had begun—either to kill the monster or be killed by it.
With some difficulty we clambered around the rock until we had reached the mouth of the cave. A terrible stench was issuing from it, as if the beast had already begun to rot.
The man who had spoken earlier now said: “That’s the stink of its dung. The sea-stag is not a clean beast.”
Now I felt even more reluctant to enter the cave.
Another bellow came, as the stag scented us.
The harpooners hung back nervously. No man wished to be the first into the lair.
At last, dry-mouthed but desperate, I elbowed my way forward, took a good grip on my harpoon and stepped into the black maw.
The stench was nauseating and I felt I would choke on it. There was a heavy movement and I thought I saw the outline of one of the stag’s great antlers. A rapid snorting came from the thing’s nostrils then. I heard its gigantic flippers thud on the floor. I had the impression of a long, sinuous body ending in a wide, flat tail.
The rest of the men were following me. From one of them I took a brand and touched the stud in its handle. Faint light illuminated the cavern.
The shadow of the sea-stag was what I saw first and then I saw the beast itself, on my right, pressed against the wall, blood pouring from its wounds, its massive body looking even larger on land than it had in the sea.
It hauled itself about on its giant flippers. It lowered its head menacingly but it did not charge. It was warning us away. It was giving us the chance to leave without a fight.
I was tempted to recall the men—lead them from the cave—but I had no authority over them. Bishop Belphig was their master and he would punish them if they did not obey him.
So, knowing that this would incense the beast, I hurled my harpoon at its left eye.
It turned its head just as the lance left my hand and the weapon graz
ed its snout.
It charged.
There was confusion then. Men screamed, tried to dodge, tried to get a clear cast at it, backed away, were impaled on its antlers.
When it raised its head three men hung on its horns, their bodies completely pierced. Two were dead. One was dying. Small moans came from his lips.
There was nothing I could do to save him. The stag shook its great head, trying to dislodge the corpses, but they remained where they were.
An idea began to form in my mind.
But then the stag lowered its head and charged again. I jumped aside, striking out with my long-hafted battle-axe and cutting a deep groove in its left shoulder. It turned towards me, its teeth snapping, its red eyes glaring in a mixture of anguish and surprise. I struck it another blow and it withdrew its bleeding snout. Again it shook its horns and now one of the torn bodies fell limply to the filthy floor of the cave. The stag nudged at it awkwardly with a flipper.
I looked for the remaining harpooners. They were huddled near the cave entrance.
The stag was now between me and the others. The cave was lit still by two brands which had fallen to the floor. I retreated into the shadows. The stag saw the others, lowered its head again and charged.
I was knocked flat by its huge fish tail as it moved past.
The beast bellowed as the harpooners scattered. I heard their cries as they were caught on its horns, as they plunged into the thick waters, seeking to escape.
And now I was alone in the cave.
The sea-stag began to scrape its horns on the edges of the cave mouth, scraping off human flesh.
I decided that I was as good as dead. How could I defeat such a monster alone? Its body blocked the entrance—my only chance of escape. Sooner or later it would remember I was there, or possibly scent me.
I kept as still as possible. The stink of ordure clogged my mouth and nostrils. I had no harpoon with which to defend myself, only the axe—an unsuitable weapon for dealing with a giant sea-stag…
Phoenix in Obsidian Page 7
