The Queen of Swords (16 page)

When, finally, they came to the River Ogyn itself it was clogged with death. Corpses of whole families rotted in the river, along with cattle, dogs and horses. The barbarians were ranging widely, following the main army, making sure that nothing lived where it had passed. And now Rhalina was weeping openly and Corum and Jhary were grim-faced as they strove to keep the stink of death from their nostrils and fretted that the sky ship, moving faster than any horse could, did not move more swiftly.

And then they saw the farmhouse.

Children were running inside the house, shepherded by their father who was armed with an old, rusty broadsword. The mother was putting up crude barricades.

Corum saw the source of their fear. A party of barbarians, about a dozen strong, was riding down the valley towards the farm. They had brands in their hands and were riding rapidly, whooping and roaring.

Corum had seen Mabden like these. He had been captured by them, tortured by them. They were no different from Glandyth-a-Krae’s Denledhyssi, save that they rode ponies instead of chariots. They wore filthy furs and bore captured bracelets and necklaces all over them, their braids laced with ribbons of jewels.

He got up and went into the wheelhouse. “We must go down,” he said harshly to Bwydyth-a-Horn. “There is a family—it is about to be attacked…”

Bwydyth looked at him sadly. “But there is so little time, Prince Corum.” He tapped his jerkin. “We have to get this list of substances to Halwyg-nan-Vake if we are to rescue the city and, in turn, save Lywm-an-Esh…”

“Go down,” Corum ordered.

Bwydyth said softly, “Very well.” And he made adjustments to the controls, looking through a viewer which showed him the country below. “That farm?”

“Aye—that farm.”

The sky ship began to descend. Corum went out on deck to watch. The barbarians had seen the ship and were pointing upwards in consternation, reining in their ponies. The ship began to circle towards the farmyard where there was barely space for it to land. Chickens ran squawking as its shadow fell on them. A pig scampered into its sty.

The ship’s moaning dropped in pitch as it descended.

“Have your sword ready, Master Jhary,” Corum said.

Jhary’s sword was already in his hand. “There are ten or more of them,” he cautioned. “Two of us. Will you use your powers?”

“I hope not. I am disgusted by all that is of Chaos.”

“But, two against ten…”

“There is the steersman. And the farmer.”

Jhary pursed his lips but said no more. The ship bumped to the ground. The steersman emerged holding a long pole-axe.

“Who are you?” came a nervous voice from within the low wooden house.

“Friends,” Corum called. He said to the steersman, “Get the woman and children on board the craft.” He vaulted over the rail. “We’ll try to hold them off while you do that.”

Jhary followed him and stood unsteadily on the ground. He was not used to a surface which did not move beneath him.

The barbarians were approaching cautiously. The leader laughed when he saw how many there were to deal with. He gave a bloodthirsty yell, cast aside his brand, drew a huge mace from his belt and spurred his pony forward, leaping the wicker barricade the farmer had erected. Corum danced aside as the mace whizzed past his helmet. He lunged. The sword caught the man in the knee and he shouted in rage. Jhary jumped through the barricade and ran to pick up the discarded brand, the other horsemen on his heels. He dashed back into the farmyard and fired the wickerwork. It began to splutter as another rider leapt his horse over it. Jhary flung his poignard and it went true to the barbarian’s eye. The man screamed and fell backwards off his pony. Jhary grabbed the reins and mounted the unruly creature, yanking savagely at the bit to turn it. Meanwhile the barricade was beginning to burn and Corum dodged the mace which was studded with the fangs of animals. He saw an opening, lunged again and caught the barbarian in the side. The man went forward over his pony’s neck, clutching at his wound, and was borne away across the farmyard. Corum saw others trying to force their horses to brave the smoky blaze.

Now Bwydyth was helping the farmer’s young wife carry a cot to the sky ship. Two boys and an older girl came with them. The farmer, still a little dazed by what was happening, came last, holding the rusty broadsword in both hands.

Three riders leapt suddenly through the barricade and bore down on the group.

But Jhary was there. He had recovered his poignard and he flung it again. Again it went straight into the eye of the nearest rider, again the rider fell backwards, his feet easily coming free from the leather loops he used as stirrups. Corum dashed for the pony and leapt into the saddle, flinging up his sword to protect himself from a heavy war-axe aimed at him. He slid his sword down the haft of the axe and forced the man to shorten his grip on it so that it was hard to bring back. While the man struggled to raise the axe Jhary took him from the rear, stabbing him through the heart so that his sabre-point appeared on the other side of the barbarian’s body. There were more barbarians now. The farmer had hacked the legs of a pony from under one and before the warrior could disentangle himself had split him from shoulder to breastbone, using the sword rather like a woodman would use an axe.

The children and the woman were on board the ship. Corum took another barbarian in the throat and leaned down to pull at the farmer who was hacking blindly at the corpse. He pointed at the ship. The farmer did not seem to understand at first, but then dropped his bloody broadsword and ran to the ship. Corum slashed at his last opponent and Jhary dismounted to recover his poignard. Corum turned the horse, extended an arm to Jhary who sheathed his weapons and took the arm, riding in the stirrup until they reached the sky ship. They both hauled themselves aboard. The ship was already rising through the smoky air. Two riders were left staring up at the disappearing ship. They did not look happy, for they had expected an easy slaying and now most of their number were dead and their prey was escaping.

“My stock,” said the farmer, looking down.

“You are alive,” Jhary pointed out.

Rhalina was comforting the woman. The Margravine had drawn her sword, ready to join the men if they were too hard-pressed. It lay on the seat nearby. Now she held the smallest boy in her arms and stroked his hair.

Jhary’s cat peered out from a locker under the seat, was assured that the danger was over and fluttered up to settle again on its master’s shoulder.

“Do you know anything of their main army?” Corum asked the farmer. The Prince in the Scarlet Robe dabbed at a minor wound he had received on his mortal hand.

“I have heard—heard things. I have heard that it is not a human army at all.”

“That may be true,” Corum agreed, “but do you know its whereabouts?”

“It is almost upon Halwyg—if not there already. Pray, sir, where do you take us?”

“I fear it is to Halwyg,” Corum told him.

* * *

The sky ship sailed on over the desolated land. And now they could see that the bands of outriders were larger—plainly part of the main army. Many noticed the ship’s passage over their heads and a few cast their lances at it or shot an arrow or two before returning to their burning, their rapine and their murder.

It was not these that Corum feared but the sorcery which Lyr-a-Brode might now command.

The farmer was peering earthwards. “Is it all like this?” he asked grimly.

“As far as we know. Two forces march on Halwyg—one from the east and one from the south-west. I doubt if the barbarians of Bro-an-Mabden are any more merciful than their comrades.” Corum turned away from the rail.

“I wonder how Llarak-an-Fol fared,” said Rhalina as she cradled a sleeping child. “And did Beldan stay there or was he able to continue with our men to Halwyg? And what of the duke?”

“We shall know all this soon, I hope.” Jhary allowed a little dark-haired boy to stroke his cat. The cat bore the assault with gravity.

Corum moved nervously about the deck, peering ahead to seek Halwyg’s beflowered towers.

Then, “There they are,” said Jhary softly. “There’s your host from hell.”

Corum looked down and saw the tide of flesh and steel that swept across the land. Mabden horsemen in their thousands. Mabden charioteers. Mabden infantry. And things which were not Mabden—things summoned by sorcery and recruited from the Realm of Chaos. There was the Army of the Dog—huge, loping beasts the size of horses, more vulpine than canine. There was the Army of the Bear—each massive Bear walking upright and carrying a shield and a club. And there was the Army of Chaos itself—misshapen warriors like those they had met earlier in the yellow abyss, led by a tall horseman in dazzling plate armour which clothed him from head to foot—doubtless the messenger of Queen Xiombarg of whom they had heard.

And just ahead of the host’s leaders were the walls of Halwyg-nan-Vake, looking from this distance like a huge, complicated floral model.

Drums sounded from the ranks of the host of hell. Harsh trumpets cried out the Mabden bloodlust. Horrid laughter rose towards the sky ship and howls escaped the throats of the Army of the Dog—mocking howls that anticipated victory.

Corum spat down on the horde, the stench of Chaos now strong again in his nostrils. His mortal eye changed to burning black with an iris of flaming gold as his anger seized him and he spat a second time upon the flowing vileness below. He made a noise in his throat and his hand went to the hilt of his sword as he remembered all his hatred of the Mabden who had slain his family and maimed him. He saw the banner of King Lyr-a-Brode—a crude, tattered thing bearing the Sign of the Dog and the Sign of the Bear. He sought to find his great enemy, Earl Glandyth-a-Krae, amongst the ranks.

Rhalina called, “Corum—do not waste your strength now. Calm yourself and save your energy for the fight which must yet come!”

He sank down upon the seat, his mortal eye slowly fading back to its original colour. He panted like one of the Dogs that marched below and the jewels covering his faceted, alien eye seemed to shift and glitter with a different rage from his own…

Rhalina shivered when she saw him thus, with hardly any trace of the mortal about him. He was like some possessed demigod of the darkest legends of her people and her love of him turned to terror.

Corum buried his ruined head in his grafted, six-fingered hand and whimpered until the mood was driven out of him and he could look up and seem sane again. His rage and his fight to vanquish it had exhausted him. Pale and limp he lay back in the seat, one hand on the brass rail of the sky ship as it began to circle down over Halwyg.

“Not much more than a mile away,” Jhary murmured. “They’ll have surrounded the walls by the morning, if not stopped.”

“What army of ours could stop them?” Rhalina asked him hopelessly. “Lord Arkyn’s reign is to be short-lived I fear.”

The drums continued to rattle out their jubilation. The trumpets continued to blare their triumph. The howls of the Army of the Dog, the grunts of the Army of the Bear, the cacklings and shriekings of the Army of Chaos, the ground-shaking thunder of the ponies’ hoofs, the rumble of the iron-bound chariot wheels, the clatter of the war-gear, the creak of harness, the bellowing laughter of the barbarians, all seemed to come closer with each heartbeat as the horde of hell swept inevitably towards the City of the Flowers.

2

T
HE SKY SHIP
circled lower and lower over the tense and silent city as the sun began to set and the towers echoed the sounds of the satanic horde still marching relentlessly towards it.

The streets and parks of Halwyg were packed with weary soldiers, camped wherever they could find an open space. Flowers had been trampled underfoot and edible shrubs had been stripped to feed the red-eyed warriors who had been driven back to Halwyg by the barbarian force. They were so tired that only a few looked up when the sky ship passed over their heads on its way to the roof of King Onald’s palace. It landed on deserted battlements but almost immediately guards, in the murex helms and the mother-o’-pearl breastplates, bearing the round shell shields of Lywm-an-Esh, with spears and swords, rushed up to apprehend them, doubtless thinking they were enemies. But when they saw Rhalina and Corum they lowered their weapons in relief. Several of them were wounded from previous encounters with the barbarian host and all looked as if they would be improved by more than a night’s sleep.