Knight of the Swords

  Corum began to guess how he had come here. Evidently some citizens had found him unconscious and sent for the doctor, or brought Corum to the doctor. The doctor, obsessed with his study of artificial limbs, had been only too pleased to take Corum in, though what he had made of Corum's arms and armor the Prince in the Scarlet Robe did not know.

  But now Corum became filled with a sense of urgency, with fears for Rhalina and Jhary. If they were in this world he must find them. It was even possible that Jhary, who had traveled so often between the planes, could speak the language. He took up a piece of blank parchment and a quill, dipped the quill in ink (it was little different to the pens used by the Mabden) and drew a picture of a man and a woman. He held up two fingers and pointed outside, frowning and gesturing to show that he did not know where they were. The fat doctor nodded vigorously, understanding. But then he showed, almost comically, that he did not know where Jhary and Rhalina were, that he had not seen them, that Corum had been found alone.

  "I must look for them," Corum said urgently, pointing to himself and then pointing out of the house. The doctor understood and nodded. He thought for a moment and then signed for Corum to stay there. He left and returned wearing a jerkin. He gave Corum a plain cloak to wrap around his clothes, which were, for the place, outlandish.

  Together they left the house.

  Many glanced at Corum as he and the doctor walked through the streets. Obviously the news of the stranger had gone everywhere. The doctor led Corum through the crowds and beneath an arch through the wall. A white, dusty road led through fields. There were one or two farmhouses in the distance.

  They came eventually to a small wood and here the doctor stopped, showing Corum where he had been found.

  Corum looked about him and at last discovered the thing he sought. It was the twisted rail of the sky ship. He showed it to the doctor, who had certainly seen nothing like it, for he gasped in astonishment, turning it this way and that in his hands.

  It was proof to Corum that he had not gone mad, that he had but recently left the realm of Chaos.

  He looked around him at the peaceful scenery. Were there really such places where the eternal struggle was unknown? He began to feel jealous of the inhabitants of this plane. Doubtless they had their own sorrows and discomforts. Evidently there was war and pain, for why else would the doctor be so interested in making artificial limbs? And yet there was a sense of order here and he was sure that no gods—either of Law or of Chaos—existed here. But he knew that it would be stupid to entertain the idea of remaining here, for he was not like them, he hardly resembled them physically, even. He wondered what speculations the doctor had made to explain his coming here.

  He began to walk amongst the trees, calling out the names of Rhalina and Jhary.

  He heard a cry later and whirled round, hoping it was the woman he loved. But it was not. It was a tall, grim-faced man in a black gown, striding across the fields toward them, his gray hair blowing in the breeze. The doctor approached him and they began to converse, looking often at Corum, who stood watching them. There was a dispute between them and both became angrier. The newcomer pointed a long, accusing finger at Corum and waved his other hand.

  Corum felt trepidation, wishing he had brought his sword with him.

  Suddenly the man in the robe turned and marched back toward the town, leaving the doctor frowning and rubbing at his jowl.

  Corum became nervous, sensing that something was wrong, that the man in the robe objected to his presence in the town, was suspicious of his peculiar physical appearance. And the man in the robe also seemed to have more authority than the doctor. And far less sympathy for Corum.

  Head bowed, the doctor moved toward Corum. He raised his head, his lips pursed. He murmured something in his own language, speaking to Corum as a man might speak to a pet for which he had great affection—a pet which was about to be killed or sent away.

  Corum decided that he must have his armor and weapons at once. He pointed toward the town and began to walk back. The doctor followed, still deep in worried thought

  Back in the doctor's house Corum donned his silver byrnie, his silver greaves, and his silver helm. He buckled on his long strong sword and looped his bow, his arrows, and his lance upon his back. He realized that he looked more incongruous than ever, but he also felt more secure.

  He looked out of the window at the street. Night was falling. Only a few people walked in the town now. He left the room and went down the stairs to the main door of the house. The doctor shouted at him and tried to stop him from leaving, but Corum gently brushed him aside, opened the latch, and went out.

  The doctor called to him—a warning cry. But Corum ignored it, both because he did not need to be warned of potential danger and also because he did not see why the kindly man should share his danger. He strode into the night.

  Few saw him. None stopped him or even tried to do so, though they peered curiously at him and laughed among themselves, evidently taking him for an idiot. It was better that they laughed at him than feared him, or else the danger would have been much increased, thought Corum.

  He strode through the streets for some time until he came to a partially ruined house which had been deserted.

  He decided that he would make this his resting place for the night, hiding here until he could think of his next action.

  He stumbled through the broken door and rats fled as he entered. He climbed the swaying staircase until he came to a room with a window through which he could observe the street. He was hardly aware of his own reasons for leaving the doctor's house, save that he did not wish to become involved with the man in the robe. If they were seriously trying to find him, then, of course, they would discover him soon enough. But if they had a little superstition, they might think he had vanished as mysteriously as he had arrived.

  He settled down to sleep, ignoring the sound the rats made.

  He woke at dawn and peered down into the street. This seemed to be the main street of the city and it was already alive with tradesmen and others, some with donkeys or horses, others with handcarts, calling out greetings to each other.

  He smelled fresh bread and began to feel hungry, but curbed his impulse, when a baker's cart stopped immediately beneath nun, to sneak out and steal a loaf. He dozed again. When it was night, he would try to find a horse and leave the city behind him, seek other towns where there might be news of Rhalina or Jhary.

  Toward midday he heard a great deal of cheering in the street and he edged his way to the window.

  There were flags waving and a band of some sort was playing raucous music. A procession was marching through the streets—a martial procession by the look of it, for many of the riders were undoubtably warriors in their steel breastplates and with their swords and lances.

  In the middle of the procession, hardly acknowledging the crowd's cheers, was the man who was the object of their celebration. He rode a big yellow horse and he wore a high-collared red cloak which at first hid his face from Corum. There was a hat on his head, a sword at his side.

  He was frowning a little.

  Then Corum saw with mild surprise that the man's left hand was missing. He clutched his reins in a specially made hook device. The warrior turned his head and Corum was this time completely astonished. He gasped, for the man on the yellow horse had an eye patch over his right eye. And, though his face was of the Mabden cast, he bore a strong resemblance to Corum.

  Corum stood up, about to cry out to the man who was almost his double. But then he felt a hand close over his mouth and strong arms bear him down to the floor.

  He wrenched his head about to see who attacked him.

  His eyes widened.

  "Jhary!" he said. "So you are on this plane! And Rhalina? Have you see her?"

  The dandy, who was dressed in the clothes of the local inhabitants, shook his head. "I have not. I had hoped that you and she stayed together. You have made yourself conspicuous here, I gather."

  "Do y
ou know this plane?"

  "I know it vaguely. I can speak one or two of their languages."

  "And the man on the yellow horse—who is he?"

  "He is the reason why you should leave here as soon as possible. He is yourself, Corum. He is your incarnation on this plane in this age. And it goes against all the laws of the cosmos that you and he should occupy the same plane at the same time. We are in great danger, Corum, but these folk could also be in danger if we continue—however unwittingly—to disrupt the order, the very balance of the multiverse."

  The Fourth Chapter

  The Manor in the Forest

  "You know this world, Jhary?"

  The dandy put a finger to his lips and drew Corum into the shadows as the parade went by. "I know most worlds,"

  he murmured, "but this less well then many. The sky ship's destruction flung us through time as well as through the dimensions and we are marooned in a world whose logic is in most cases essentially different. Secondly our 'selves'

  exist here and we therefore threaten to upset the fine balance of this age and, doubtless, others, too. To create paradoxes in a world not used to them would be dangerous, you see ..."

  "Then let us leave this world with all speed! Let us find Rhalina and go!"

  Jhary smiled. "We cannot leave an age and a plane as we would leave a room, as you well know. Besides, I do not believe Rhalina to be here if she has not been seen. But that can be discovered. There used to be a lady not far from here who was something of a seeress. I am hoping that she will help us. The folk of this age have an uncommon respect for people like ourselves—though often that respect turns to hatred and they hound us. You know you are sought by a priest who wants to burn you at the stake?"

  "I knew a man disliked me."

  Jhary laughed. "Aye—disliked you enough to want to torture you to death. He is a dignitary of their religion. He has great power and has already called out warriors to search for you. We must get horses as soon as possible."

  Jhary paced the rickety floor, stroking his chin. "We must return to the Fifteen Planes with all speed. We have no right to be here . . ."

  "And no wish to be," Corum reminded him.

  Outside the sound of pipes and drums faded and the crowd began to disperse.

  "I remember her name now!" Jhary muttered. He snapped his fingers. "It is the Lady Jane Pentallyon and she dwells in a house close to a village called Warleggon."

  "These are strange names, Jhary-a-Conel!"

  "No stranger than ours are to them. We must make speed for Warleggon as soon as possible and we must pray that Lady Jane Pentallyon is in residence and has not, herself, been burned by now."

  Corum stepped closer to the window and glanced down.

  "The priest comes," he said, "with his men."

  "I thought it likely you would be seen entering here.

  They have waited until after the parade lest you escaped in the confusion. I like not the thought of killing them, when we have no business in their age at all. . ."

  "And I like not the thought of being killed," Corum pointed out. He drew his long, strong sword and made for the stairs.

  He was halfway down when the first of them burst in, the priest in the gown at their head. He called out to them and made a sign at Corum—doubtless some superstitious Mabden charm. Corum sprang forward and stabbed him in the throat, his single eye blazing fiercely. The warriors gasped at this. Evidently they had not expected their leader to die so soon. They hesitated in the doorway.

  Jhary said softly from behind Corum, "That was foolish.

  They take it ill when their holy men are slain. Now the whole town will be against us and our leavetaking will be the harder."

  Corum shrugged and began to advance toward the three warriors crowded in the doorway. "These men have horses.

  Let us take them and have done with it, Jhary. I am weary of hesitation. Defend yourselves, Mabden!"

  The Mabden parried his thrusts but, in so doing, became entangled with each other. Corum took one in the heart and wounded another in the hand. The pair fled into the street yelling.

  Corum and Jhary followed, though Jhary's face was set and disapproving. He preferred subtler plans than this. But his own sword whisked out to take the life of a mounted man who tried to ride him down and he pushed the body from the saddle, leaping upon the back of the horse. It reared and arched its neck but Jhary got it under control and defended himself against two more who came at him from the end of the street.

  Corum was still on his feet. He used his jeweled hand as a club, forcing his way through to where several horses stood without riders. The Mabden were terrified, it seemed, of the touch of his six-fingered, alien hand and dodged to avoid it. Two more died before Corum reached the horses and sprang into the saddle. He called out,

  "Which way, Jhary?"

  "This way!" Without looking behind him, Jhary galloped the horse down the street.

  Striking aside one who tried to grab at his reins, Corum followed the dandy. A great hubbub began to spread through the city as they raced toward the west wall.

  Tradesmen and peasants tried to block their path, they were forced to leap over carts and force a path through cattle or sheep. More warriors were coming, too, from two sides.

  And then they had ducked under the archway and were through the low wall and riding swiftly down the white, dusty road away from the city, a pack of warriors at their backs.

  Arrows began to whistle past their heads as archers came to the walls and shot at them. Corum was astonished at the range of the bowmen. "Are these sorcerous arrows, Jhary?"

  "No! It is a land of bow unknown in your age. These people are masters of it. We are lucky, however, that it is too bulky a bow to be shot from a horse. There, see, the arrows are beginning to fall short. But the horsemen stay with us. Into yonder wood, Corum. Swiftly!"

  They plunged off the road and into a deep, sweet-smelling forest, leaping a small stream, the horses' hooves slipping for a moment in damp moss.

  "How will the doctor fare?" Corum called. "The one who took me in."

  "He will die unless he is clever and denounces you,"

  Jhary told him.

  "But he was a man of great intelligence and humanity.

  A man of science, too—of learning."

  "All the more reason for killing him, if their priesthood has its way. Superstition, not learning, is respected here."

  "Yet it is such a pleasant land. The people seem well-meaning and kind!"

  "You can say that, with those warriors at our backs?"

  Jhary laughed as he slapped his horse's rump to make it gallop faster. "You have seen too much of Glandyth and his kind, of Chaos and the like, if this seems paradise to you!"

  "Compared with what we have left behind, it is paradise, Jhary."

  "Aye, perhaps you speak truth."

  By much backtracking and hiding they had managed to throw off their pursuers before sunset and they now walked along a narrow track, leading their tired horses.

  "It is a good many miles to Warleggon yet," Jhary said.

  "I would that I had a map, Prince Corum, to guide us, for it was in another body with different eyes that I last saw this land."

  "What is the land itself called?" asked the Prince in the Scarlet Robe.

  "It is, like Lywm-an-Esh, divided into a number of lands under the dominion of one monarch. This one is called Kernow—or Cornwall, depending whether you speak the language of the region or the language of the realm as a whole. It's a superstition-ridden land, though its traditions go back further than most other parts of the country of which it is part, and you will find much of it like your own Bro-an-Vadhagh. Its memories stretch back longer than do the memories of the rest of the realm. The memories have darkened, but they still have partial legends of a people like yourself who once lived here."

  "You mean this Kernow lies in my future?"

  "In one future, probably not yours. The future of a corresponding plane, perhaps
. There are doubtless other futures where the Vadhagh have proliferated and the Mabden died out. The multiverse contains, after all, an infinity of possibilities."

  "Your knowledge is great, Jhary-a-Conel."

  The dandy reached into his shirt and drew out his little black-and-white cat. It had been there all the time they had been fighting and escaping. It began to purr, stretching its limbs and its wings. It settled on Jhary's shoulder.

  "My knowledge is partial," said Jhary wearily. "It consists generally of half-memories."

  "But why do you know so much of this plane?"

  "Because I dwell here even now. There is really no such thing as time, you see. I remember what to you is the

  'future.' I remember one of my many incarnations. If you had watched the parade longer you would have seen not only yourself but myself. I am called by some grand title here, but I serve the one you saw on the yellow horse. He was born in that city we have left and he is reckoned a great soldier by these people, though, like you, I think he would prefer peace to war. That is the fate of the Champion Eternal."

  "I'll hear no more of that," Corum said quickly. "It disturbs me too much."

  "I cannot blame you."

  They stopped at last to water their horses and take turns to sleep. Sometimes in the distance groups of horsemen would ride by, their brands flaring in the night, but they never came close enough to be a great threat.

  In the morning they reached the edges of a wide expanse of heather. A light rain fell but it did not discomfort them, rather it refreshed them. Their surefooted horses began to canter over the moor and brought them soon to a valley and a forest.

  "We have skirted Warleggon now," said Jhary. "I thought it wise. But there is the forest I sought. See the smoke rising deep within. That, I hope, is the manor of the Lady Jane."

  Along a winding path protected on each side by high banks of rich-scented moss and wild flowers they rode and there at last were two posts of brown stone which were topped by two carvings of spread-winged hawks, mellowed by the weather. The gates of bent iron were open and they walked their horses along a gravel path until they turned a corner and saw the house. It was a large house of three stories, made of the same light brown stone, with a gray slate roof and five chimneys of a reddish tint. Lattice windows were set into the house and there was a low doorway in the center. Two old men came round the side of the house at the sound of their horses' hooves on the gravel. The men had dark features, heavy brows, and long, gray hair. They were dressed in leather and skins and, if they wore any expression at all, their eyes seemed to hold a look of grim satisfaction as they looked at Corum in his high helm and his silver byrnie.