The Queen of Swords (6 page)

I
T WAS A
still, warm afternoon in high summer and a few wisps of white cloud lay close to the horizon. Bright, gentle blossoms stretched across the sward for as far as the eye could see, growing right down to where the yellow sand divided the land from the flat, calm ocean. All the flowers were wild, but their profusion and variety gave the impression that they had once been planted as part of a vast garden which had been left untended for many years.

Just recently a small, trim schooner had beached on the sand and out of it had emerged a bright company, leading horses down makeshift gangplanks. Silks and steel flashed in the sunlight as the whole complement abandoned the craft, mounted its steeds and began to move inland.

The four leading riders reached the sward and their horses moved knee-deep through wild tulips as soft and richly coloured as velvet. The riders took deep breaths of the marvelously scented air.

All save one of the riders were armoured. One, tall and strange-featured, wore a jeweled patch over his right eye and a six-fingered jeweled gauntlet upon his left hand. He had a high, conical helm, apparently of silver, with an aventail of tiny silver links suspended from staples round the lower edge of the helm. His byrnie was also of silver, although its second layer was of brass, and his shirt, breeks and boots were of soft brushed leather. He had a long sword at his side, its pommel and guard decorated with delicate silverwork as well as red-and-black onyx. In a saddle sheath was a long-hafted war-axe with decorations matching those on the sword. On his back was a coat of a peculiar texture and of brilliant scarlet and on this were crossed a quiver of arrows and a long bow. This was Prince Corum Jhaelen Irsei in the Scarlet Robe, caparisoned for war.

Next to Prince Corum rode one who also wore mail, though with an elaborate helm fashioned from the shell of the giant murex and with a shield which was also made from shell. A slender sword and a lance were the weapons of this rider and she was the beautiful Margravine Rhalina of Allomglyl, caparisoned for war.

At Rhalina’s side rode a handsome young man with a helm and shield that matched hers, a tall lance and a short-hafted war-axe, a sword and a long, broad-bladed baselard. His long cloak was of orange samite and matched the sleek coat of his chestnut mare whose jeweled harness was probably worth more than the rider’s own gear. And this was Beldan-an-Allomglyl, caparisoned for war.

The fourth rider wore a broad-brimmed hat which was somewhat fastidiously tilted on his head and which now sported a long plume. His shirt was of bright blue silk and his pantaloons rivaled the scarlet of Corum’s cloak, there was a broad yellow sash about his waist with a well-worn leather sword belt supporting a sabre and a poignard. His boots reached to the knee and his long, dark blue cloak was so long that it stretched out to cover the whole of his horse’s rump. A small black-and-white cat was perched upon his shoulder, its wings folded. It was purring and seemed to be an animal of singularly pleasant disposition. The rider occasionally reached up to stroke its head and murmur to it. And this was the sometime traveler, sometime poet, sometime companion to champions Jhary-a-Conel and he was not seriously caparisoned for war.

Behind them came Rhalina’s men-at-arms and their women. The soldiers wore the uniform of Allomglyl, with helms, shields and breastplates made from the gigantic crustaceans that had once populated the sea.

It was a handsome company and it blended well with the landscape of the Duchy of Bedwilral-nan-Rywm, most easterly county in the land of Lywm-an-Esh.

They had left Castle Moidel behind them after a vain attempt had been made to awaken the huge bats that slept in the caves below the castle (“Chaos creatures,” Jhary-a-Conel had murmured, “they’ll be hard to press into our service now.”) and Lord Arkyn, doubtless concerned with more pressing matters, had failed to answer their call to him. It had become plain that Castle Moidel could no longer be defended, when the winged cat had brought back its news, and they had decided to ride all together to the capital of Lywm-an-Esh which was called Halwyg-nan-Vake and warn the king of the coming of the barbarians from the east and the south.

As he looked around him Corum was impressed by the beauty of the landscape and thought he could understand how such a lovely land had produced in a Mabden race so many characteristics he would normally call Vadhagh.

It was not cowardice which had made them abandon Moidel’s Mount but it was caution and the knowledge that Glandyth would waste many days—perhaps weeks—by planning and launching an attack on the castle they no longer occupied.

The main city of the Duchy was called Llarak-an-Fol and it would be a good two days’ ride before they reached it. Here they hoped to get fresh horses and some information concerning the present state of the country’s defenses. The duke himself lived in Llarak and had known Rhalina as a girl. She was certain he would help them and that he would believe the tale they brought. Halwyg-nan-Vake lay another week’s ride, at least, beyond Llarak.

Corum, although he had suggested much of their present plan, could not rid from his head some sense that he was retreating from the object of his hatred and part of him wanted to turn back to Moidel and wait for Glandyth’s coming. He fought the impulse but the conflict in him often made him gloomy and a poor companion.

The others were more cheerful, delighting in the fact that they were able to help Lywm-an-Esh prepare for an attack which King Lyr-a-Brode thought would be unexpected. With superior weapons, there was every chance of the invasion being completely thwarted.

Only Jhary-a-Conel sometimes had the task of reminding Rhalina and Beldan of the fact that the Dog and the Bear had promised aid to King Lyr, though none knew what form that aid would take and how powerful it would be.

They camped that night on the Plain of Blossoms and by the next morning had reached rolling downlands. Beyond the downs, sheltered by them, lay Llarak-an-Fol.

Then, in the afternoon, they came to a pleasant village built on both sides of a pretty stream and they saw that the village square was full of people who stood around a water trough upon which was balanced a man in dark robes who addressed them.

They reined in on the slope of the hill and watched from a distance, unable to make anything of the babble they heard.

Jhary-a-Conel frowned. “They seem rather agitated. Do you think we are late with our news?”

Corum fingered his eye-patch and considered the scene. “Doubtless nothing more than some local village affair, Jhary. Let’s you and I ride down there and ask them.”

Jhary nodded and, after a word with the others, they rode rapidly towards the village.

Now the dark-robed man had seen them and their company and he was pointing and shouting. The villagers were plainly disturbed.

As they entered the village street and drew close to the crowd, the dark-robed man, whose face was full of madness, screamed at them. “Who are you? On which side do you fight? Do you come to destroy us? We have nothing for your army.”

“Hardly an army,” murmured Jhary. Then more loudly he called, “We mean you no harm, friend. We are passing this way on our journey to Llarak.”

“To Llarak. So you are on the duke’s side! You will help bring disaster on us all!”

“By what means?” Corum called.

“By leaguing yourselves with the forces of weakness—with the soft, degenerate ones who speak of peace and who will bring terrible war to us.”

“You are still not especially specific,” Jhary said. “Who are you, sir?”

“I am Verenak and I am a priest of Urleh. Thus I serve this village and have its well-being at stake—not to say the well-being of our entire nation.”

Corum whispered to Jhary: “Urleh is a local godling of these parts—a sort of vassal deity to Arioch. I should have thought that his power would have disappeared when Arioch was banished.”

“Perhaps that is why this Verenak is so upset,” suggested Jhary with a wink.

“Perhaps.”

Verenak was now peering closely at Corum. “You are not human!”

“I am mortal,” Corum told him equably, “but I am not of the Mabden race, it is true.”

“You are Vadhagh!”

“That I am. The last.”

Verenak put a trembling hand to his face. He turned again to the villagers. “Drive these two out from here lest the Lords of Chaos take their vengeance upon us! Chaos will soon come and you must be loyal to Urleh if you would survive!”

“Urleh no longer exists,” said Corum. “He is banished from our planes with his master Arioch.”

“It is a lie!” screamed Verenak. “Urleh lives!”

“It is not likely,” Jhary told him.

Corum spoke to the villagers. “Lord Arkyn of Law rules the Five Planes now. He will bring peace to you and a greater security than you have ever previously known.”

“Nonsense!” Verenak shouted. “Arkyn was defeated by Arioch ages since.”

“And now Arioch is defeated,” Corum said. “We must defend this new peace we are offered. Chaos in all its power brings destruction and terror. Your land is threatened by invaders of your own race who serve Chaos and plan to slay you all!”

“I say that you lie—you seek to turn us against the Great Lord Arioch and the Lord Urleh. We are loyal to Chaos!”

The villagers did not seem to be as certain of that statement as Verenak.

“Then you will bring only disaster to yourselves,” Corum insisted. “I know that Arioch is banished—I am the one who sent him into limbo. I destroyed his heart.”

“Blasphemy!” shrieked Verenak. “Begone from here. I will not let you corrupt these innocent souls.”

The villagers glanced suspiciously at Corum and then bestowed the same suspicious looks upon Verenak. One of them stepped forward. “We have no particular interest in either Law or Chaos,” he said. “We wish only to live our lives as we have always lived them. Until recently, Verenak, you did not interfere with us, save to offer us a little magical advice from time to time and receive payment in return. Now you speak of great causes and of struggles and terror. You say that we must arm ourselves and march against our liege the duke. Now this stranger, this Vadhagh, says we must ally ourselves with Law—also to save ourselves. And yet there is no threat that we can see. There have been no portents, Verenak…”

Verenak raged. “There have been signs. They have come to me in dreams. We must become warriors on the side of Chaos, attack Llarak, show that we are loyal to Urleh!”

Corum shrugged. “You must not side with Chaos,” he said. “If you would side with no-one, then Chaos will devour you, however. You call our little band an army—and that means you have no conception of what an army can be. Unless we prepare against your enemies your flowery hills will one day be black with riders who will trample you as easily as they trample the blossoms. I have suffered at their hands and I know that they torture and they rape before slaying. Nothing will be left of your village unless you come with us to Llarak and learn how to defend your lovely land.”

“How came this dispute to begin?” Jhary asked, taking a different tack. “Why are you trying to arouse these people against the duke, Sir Verenak?”

Verenak glowered. “Because the duke has gone mad. Not a month since he banished all the priests of Urleh from his city but allowed the priests of that milk-and-water godling Ilah to remain. Thus he put himself upon the side of Law and ceased to tolerate the adherents of Chaos. He will therefore bring Urleh’s vengeance—aye, even Arioch’s vengeance—upon himself. And that is why I seek to warn these poor, simple people and get them to take action.”

“The people seem considerably more intelligent than you, my friend,” laughed Jhary.

Verenak raised his arms to the skies. “Oh, Urleh, destroy this grinning fool!”

He lost his footing on the water trough’s sides. His arms began to wave. He fell backwards into the water. The villagers laughed. The one who had spoken came up to Corum. “Worry not, my friend—we’ll do no marching here. We’ve our crops to harvest, for one thing.”

“You’ll harvest no crops if the Mabden of the east come this way,” Corum warned him. “But I’ll debate no longer with you save to warn you that we Vadhagh could not believe in the bloodlust of those Mabden and we ignored the warnings. That is why I saw my father and my mother and my sisters all slain. That is why I am the last of my race.”

The man drew his hand over his brow and scratched his head. “I will think on what you have said, friend Vadhagh.”

“And what of him?” Corum pointed at Verenak who was hauling himself from the trough.

“He’ll bother us no more. He has many villages to visit with his gloomy news. I doubt if many will even take the trouble to listen to him as we have done.”

Corum nodded. “Very well, but please remember that these minor disputes, these little arguments, these apparently meaningless decisions like that of the duke in banishing the priests of Urleh, they are all indications that a greater struggle is to come between Law and Chaos. Verenak senses it just as much as does the duke. Verenak seeks to gather strength for Chaos while the duke puts himself in the Camp of Law. Neither knows that a threat is coming, but both have sensed something. And I bring news to Lywm-an-Esh that a struggle is about to begin. Take heed of that warning, my friend. Think of what I have said, no matter how you choose to act upon it…”

The villager sucked at a tooth. “I will think on it,” he agreed at last.

The rest of the villagers were going about their business. Verenak was making for his tethered horse, casting many a glowering glance back at Corum.

“Would you and your company take the hospitality of our village?” the man asked Corum.

Corum shook his head. “I thank you, but what I have seen and heard here confirms that we must make speed to Llarak-an-Fol and release our news. Farewell!”

“Farewell, friend.” The villager still looked thoughtful.

As they rode back up the hill Jhary was laughing. “As good a comic scene as any I’ve written for the stage in my time,” he said.

“Yet it has tragedy beneath it,” Corum told him.