The Queen of Swords Read online

  Jhary answered him. “No. Xiombarg’s realm extends for five planes and we are merely going from one of those into a different one. Or so I would think.”

  The quality of the light changed and they looked over the side of the ship. A multicoloured gas swirled below them.

  “The raw stuff of Chaos,” said Jhary. “Queen Xiombarg has, as yet, made nothing with it.”

  They crossed the great gas and flew over a range of mountains, each more than a thousand feet high, but each one a perfect cube. Beyond the mountains was a dark jungle and beyond that a crystalline desert. The crystals of the desert moved constantly, their motion creating a tinkling music which was not pleasant. Among these crystals moved ochre beasts of enormous proportions but of primitive development. They were feeding off the crystals.

  Then the crystal desert gave way to a flat, black plain and they saw ahead of them the City in the Pyramid.

  The city was, in fact, a many-sided ziggurat. On each terrace were a large number of houses. Flowers, shrubs and trees grew along the terraces and the streets teemed with people. Over the whole city a greenish light flickered and the light took the form of a pyramid, enclosing the ziggurat. As the ship of the air flew towards it, a darker oval of green appeared in the flickering light and through this the ship passed. It circled the topmost building—a many-towered castle built all of metal—and then began to descend until it landed on a raised platform on the castle’s battlements. Corum shouted with pleasure as he saw the gathering which welcomed him.

  “They are my people!” he exclaimed to his companions. “They are all my people!”

  The steersman left the wheelhouse and put his hand on Corum’s shoulder. He signed to the men and women below and suddenly they were no longer on the ship of the air but were standing with the group, beneath the platform, looking up at the faces of Rhalina, Jhary and the King Without a Country as they peered over the rail of the ship in astonishment.

  Corum was equally astonished to see the three suddenly vanish and appear beside him. One of the group then stepped forward. He was a thin, ancient man with a straight bearing, dressed in a thick robe and holding a staff.

  “Welcome,” he said, “to Law’s last bastion.”

  * * *

  Later they sat around a table of beautifully fashioned ruby-metal and listened to the old man who had introduced himself as Prince Yurette Hasdun Nury, Commander of Gwlās-cor-Gwrys, the City in the Pyramid. He had explained how Corum’s speculations were substantially correct.

  As they had eaten he had explained how Corum’s people had chosen to remain in their castles after the Battle of Broggfythus and devote themselves to learning while his people had decided to take their Sky City and try to fly it beyond the Five Planes, through the Wall Between the Realms. They had succeeded, but had failed to return due to some power loss which they could not then restore. Since then they had managed only to explore these five planes and then, when the struggle between Law and Chaos had begun to build, they had remained neutral.

  “We were fools to do so. We thought we were above such disputes. And slowly we saw Law conquered and Chaos emerge in all its grisly triumph to create its travesties of beauty. But by that time, though we did take our city against Xiombarg’s creatures, we were too late. Chaos had gained all power and we could not fight it. Xiombarg sent—and still sends—armies against us. These we resisted, not without danger. And now it is stalemate. Every so often Xiombarg will send another army—some frightful, monstrous army—and we are forced to fight it. But we can do no more than that. I fear we are all that is left of Law, save you.”

  “Law has regained its power in our Five Planes,” Corum told him. He described his adventures, his battle with Arioch and the final result which was to restore Lord Arkyn to his realm. “But that, too, is threatened for Law has still only a slender hold on the realm and all the forces of Chaos are being brought to bear on it.”

  “But Law still has some power!” Prince Yurette said. “We did not know that. We learned that the Sword Rulers controlled all the realms. If only we could return—take our city back through the Wall Between the Realms—and give you our aid. But we cannot. We have tried so often. The materials are not available on these planes for building up the massive power it needs.”

  “And if you had these materials?” Corum asked. “How long would it be before you could return to our realm?”

  “Not long. But we are weakening already. A few more of Xiombarg’s attacks—perhaps just one massive one—and we shall be destroyed.”

  Corum stared bitterly at the table. Was he to find Vadhagh folk still living only to see them die—crushed, as his family was crushed by the forces of Chaos?

  “We had hoped to take you back with us, to relieve Lywm-an-Esh,” he said. “But now we learn that is impossible and, it seems, we, too, are stranded in this realm, unable to go to the aid of our friends.”

  “If we had those rare minerals…” Prince Yurette paused. “But you could get them for us.”

  “We cannot return,” Jhary-a-Conel pointed out. “We cannot get back to our realm. If it were possible, of course we could find the materials you need—or at least try to do so—but even then we could not be sure of being able to return here…”

  Prince Yurette frowned. “It would be possible for us to send just one sky ship through the Wall Between the Realms. We have the power to do that, though it would dangerously weaken our defenses here. Yet it is worth the risk, I think.”

  Corum’s spirits lifted. “Aye, Prince Yurette—anything is worth the risk if the cause of Law is to be saved.”

  * * *

  While Prince Yurette conferred with his scientists, the four companions wandered through the marvelous city of Gwlās-cor-Gwrys. It was all made of metal—but metals so magnificent, so strange in texture and so rich in colour that even Corum could not guess at how they had been manufactured. Towers, domes, trellises, arches and pathways were of these metals, as were the ramps and stairways between the terraces. Everything in the city functioned independently of the outside world. Even the air was created within the confines of the shimmering pyramid of green light which cast its glow on all the outer flanks of Gwlās-cor-Gwrys.

  And everywhere did the folk of the City in the Pyramid go about their day-to-day business. Some tended gardens and others saw to the distribution of food. There were many artists at work, performing musical compositions or displaying the pictures they had made—pictures on silk and marble and glass very similar in technique to those produced by Corum’s own Vadhagh folk, but often with different styles and subjects, some of which Corum could not find it in him to like, perhaps because they were so strange.

  They were shown the huge, beautiful machines which kept the city alive. They were shown its armaments, which protected it from the attacks of Chaos, the bays where its ships of the air were kept. They saw its schools and its restaurants and its theatres, its museums and its art galleries. And here was everything which Corum thought destroyed for ever by Glandyth-a-Krae and his barbarians. But now all this, too, was threatened with destruction—and destruction from the same source, ultimately.

  They slept, they ate and their tattered, battered clothes were copied by the tailors and arms-smiths of Gwlās-cor-Gwrys so that when they awoke they found themselves with fresh raiment identical to that which they had worn upon starting out on their quest for the city.

  Jhary-a-Conel was particularly pleased by this example of the city’s hospitality and when, at last, they were invited to attend upon Prince Yurette, he expressed that gratitude roundly.

  “The sky ship is ready,” said Prince Yurette gravely. “You must go quickly now, for Queen Xiombarg, I learn, mounts a great attack upon us.”

  “Will you be able to withstand it with your power weakened?” Jhary asked.

  “I hope so.”

  The King Without a Country stepped forward. “Forgive me, Prince Yurette, but I would stay here with you. If Law is to battle Chaos in my own realm, t
hen I would battle with it.”

  Yurette inclined his head. “It shall be as you wish. But now hurry, Prince Corum. The sky ship awaits you on the roof. Stand on that mosaic circle there and you will be transported to the ship. Farewell!”

  They stood within the mosaic circle on the prince’s floor and, a heartbeat later, were once again upon the deck of the ornate flying craft.

  The steersman was the same who had first greeted them.

  “I am Bwydyth-a-Horn,” he said. “Please sit where you sat before and cling tightly to the rail.”

  “Look!” Corum pointed beyond the green pyramid, out across the black plain. The huge shape of Queen Xiombarg could be seen again, her face alive with fury. And beneath her there marched a vast army, a foul army of fiends.

  Then the sky ship had entered the air and sailed through the dark green oval into a world which rang with the voices of the fiends.

  And over all these voices sounded the hideous, vengeful laughter of Queen Xiombarg of Chaos.

  “BEFORE I MERELY TOYED WITH THEM BECAUSE I ENJOYED THE GAME! BUT NOW THAT THEY HARBOUR THE DESTROYER OF MY BROTHER, THEY WILL PERISH IN BLACK AGONY!”

  The air began to vibrate, a green globe of light now encircled the ship. The City in the Pyramid, the army of hell, Queen Xiombarg, all faded. The ship rocked crazily up and down, the moaning increased in pitch until it became a painful whine.

  And then they had left the Realm of Queen Xiombarg and came again to the Realm of Arkyn of Law.

  They sailed over the land of Lywm-an-Esh and it was not very different from the world they had just left. Chaos, here too, was on the march.

  BOOK THREE

  IN WHICH PRINCE CORUM AND HIS COMPANIONS WAGE WAR, WIN A VICTORY AND WONDER AT THE WAYS OF LAW

  1

  THE HORDE FROM HELL

  THICK SMOKE COILED from blazing villages, towns and cities. They were to the south-east of the River Ogyn in the Duchy of Kernow-a-Laun and it was plain that one of King Lyr-a-Brode’s armies had landed on the coast, well south of Moidel’s Mount.

  “I wonder if Glandyth has yet discovered our leaving,” Corum said as he stared miserably from the sky ship at the burning land. Crops had been destroyed, corpses lay rotting in the summer sun, even animals had been needlessly slaughtered. Rhalina was sickened by what had happened to her country and she could not look at it for long.

  “Doubtless he has,” she said quietly. “Their army has plainly been on the march for some time.”

  From time to time they saw small parties of barbarians in chariots or riding shaggy ponies, looting what was left of the settlements, though there was none left for them to slay or torture. Sometimes, too, they saw the refugees streaming southwards towards the mountains where doubtless they hoped to find a hiding place.

  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.