Page 4 of The Quest for Tanelorn

  And Hawkmoon found himself saying. 'You were slain on the South Ice. The Lady of the Chalice. The Silver Queen: Slain by .. .’

  'By the Black Sword? Count Urlik, I would not have known you.' Her voice was sad and it was sweet and suddenly Hawkmoon saw himself, clad all in furs and armour, standing on a plain of glinting ice, a huge and horrible sword in his hand, and he shut his eyes tight and groaned. "No...'

  'It is over,' she said. 'It is over. I did you a great disservice, Sir Champion. Now I would help you further.'

  The seven riders dismounted as one and moved closer to the small sphere.

  'What is that globe?' asked Jhary-a-Conel nervously. 'It is magical, is it not?’

  'It is what allows all seven of us to remain upon this plane,' said Sepiriz. 'We are, as you know, considered wise in our own worlds. This gathering was called so that we could debate events, for all of us has had the same experience. Our wisdom came from beings greater than ourselves. They gave us their knowledge when we called upon them for it. But, of late, it has been impossible to seek that knowledge. They are all engaged in matters of such moment that they have no time for us. To some of us these beings are known as the Lords of Law and we serve them as their messengers - in return they illuminate our minds. But we have had no word from those great Lords and we fear that they are under attack from a force greater than any they have previously encountered,'

  'From Chaos?' Jhary asked.

  'Possibly. But we have learned, too, that Chaos is under attack also, and not from Law. The Cosmic Balance itself, it seems, is threatened.'

  'And that is why the Runestaflf has been called from my world,' said Hawkmoon.

  ‘That is why,' agreed the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

  'And do you have any inkling of the nature of this threat?' Jhary asked.

  'None, save that it seems to have something to do with the Conjunction of the Million Spheres. But you know of that, Sir Champion.' Sepiriz was about to continue when Jhary raised a hand to stop him.

  'I know the phrase, but no more. My bad memory - which saves me from so much grief - tricks me again .. .'

  'Ah,' said Sepiriz, frowning. Then perhaps we should not speak of it...'

  'Speak of it, I beg you,' said Hawkmoon, 'for the phrase means much to me.'

  'Law and Chaos are engaged in a great war - a war fought on all the planes of the Earth - a war in which humanity is com­pletely, unwittingly, involved. You, as humanity's Champion, fight in each of your manifestations - ostensibly on the side of Law (though even that is disputed).' Sepiriz sighed. 'But Law and Chaos exhaust themselves. Some think they lose the power to maintain the Cosmic Balance and that when the Balance fades, then all existence ends. Others believe the Balance and the Gods all doomed, that the time of the Conjunction of the Million Spheres has come to us. I have said nothing of this to Elric, in my native world, for he is already greatly confused. I do not know how much to tell you, Hawkmoon. The morality of guessing at such monumental problems disturbs me. Yet if Elric is to blow the Horn of Fate -'

  'And Corum to release Kwll,' added Aleryon.

  'And Erekose to come to Tanelorn,' said the Lady of the Chalice.

  ' - then it can only result in a cosmic disruption of unimaginable magnitude. Our wisdom fails us. We are almost afraid to act; there is nothing to advise us. No one to tell us what the best course may be…’

  'No one, save the Captain,' said Abaris of the Magi.

  'And how do we know that he does not work for his own ends? How do we know if he is as altruistic as he makes out?' Lamsar the Hermit spoke in a tone of worried bewilderment.

  ‘We know nothing of him. He has only recently appeared in the Fifteen Planes.’

  ‘The Captain?' Hawkmoon said eagerly. 'Is he a being who radiates darkness?' He described the creature he had seen on the bridge and, earlier, in this world.

  Sepiriz shook his head. "That being some of us have seen briefly - but he, too, is mysterious. That is why we are so uncer­tain - these different creatures come to the multiverse and we know nothing of them. Our wisdom fails us...'

  'Only the Captain has confidence,' said Amergin. 'He must go to him. We cannot help.' He looked intently at the shining globe in their midst. The little sphere - is the light fading?'

  Hawkmoon looked at the sphere and saw that Amergin was right. 'Is that significant?' he asked.

  'It means that we have little time left here,' said Sepiriz. "We are to be recalled to our own worlds, our own times. We shall never be able to meet again in this way.'

  Tell me more of the Conjunction of the Million Spheres,’ said Hawkmoon.

  'Seek Tanelorn,' said the Lady of the Chalice.

  'Avoid the Black Sword,' said Lamsar the Hermit.

  'Go back to the ocean,' said the Warrior in Jet and Gold. ‘Take passage on the Dark Ship.'

  'And what of the Runestaflf?' Hawkmoon said. 'Must I con­tinue to serve that?'

  'Only if it will serve you,' said the Warrior in Jet and Gold.

  Now the light from the sphere was very dim and the seven were mounting their horses; they had become shadows.

  'And my children,' Hawkmoon called. 'Where are they?'

  ‘In Tanelorn,' said the Lady of the Chalice. They wait to be reborn.'

  'Explain!' Hawkmoon pleaded. 'Lady - explain!'

  But her shadow was the first to fade with the last of the light from the sphere. Soon only the Mack giant Sepiriz remained and his voice was very faint.

  ‘I envy you your greatness, Champion Eternal, but I do not envy you your struggle.'

  And into the blackness Hawkmoon shouted:

  'It is not enough! It is not enough! I must know more!'

  Jhary placed a sympathetic hand upon his arm. 'Come, Duke Dorian, we shall only learn more by doing as they instructed, Come, let us go back to the ocean.'

  But then Jhary was gone and Hawkmoon was alone, 'Jhary-a-Conel? Jhary?'

  Hawkmoon began to run through the night, to run through the silence, his mouth gaping to emit a scream which would not come, his eyes stinging with tears which would not flow, and in his ears he could hear nothing but his own heart beating like a funeral drum.

  Chapter Five

  On The Shore

  And now it was dawn and the mist was on the sea, spilling aboard the stony land; and there were lights, silver-grey, drifting in the mist, and the cliffs behind Hawkmoon were ghastly. He had not slept He felt a ghost in a ghost's world. He was abandoned, and still he had not wept. His eyes stared into the mist, his cold hand gripped the cold pommel of his sword, his white breath streamed from lips and nostrils, and he waited as a morning hunter awaits his prey, making no sound himself lest he fail to hear that betraying small noise which will reveal the object of his watch. Having no other possible action but to obey the advice of the seven wise ones who had spoken to him in the previous night, he waited for the ship which they had told him would come. He waited, uncaring if it came or not, but he knew that it would come.

  Now a spot of red gleamed above his head and he thought at first it was the sun, but the tint was too deep, it was ruby coloured. Some star gleaming from an alien firmament, he thought. The red light tinged the mist, turning it pink. At the same time he heard a rhythmical creaking from the water and he knew that a ship was heaving-to. He heard an anchor fall, heard the murmur of voices, heard the rattle of a pulley and a bumping as of a small boat being lowered. He returned his attention to the red star, but it was gone, only its light was left. The mist parted. He saw a high ship in outline, its fore and aft decks considerably taller than the main deck; a lantern shone at prow and stern, rising and falling with the waves. The sails were furled, mast and rails were carved intricately, the style of the workmanship wholly unfamiliar.

  'Please ...'

  Hawkmoon looked to his left and there stood the creature, its black aura dancing about it, its burning eyes entreating him.

  'You irritate me, sir,' said Hawkmoon. 'I have no time for you.'

 
'Sword...'

  ‘Find yourself a sword - then I'll be happy to fight you, if that is what you desire.’ He spoke with a confidence of tone not matched by the fear which steadily grew in him. He refused to look at the figure.

  ‘The ship.. -.' said the creature. 'Me...'

  'What?' Hawkmoon turned and saw that the eyes were leer­ing at him now with full awareness of his state of mind.

  'Let me come with you,' said the creature. 'I can help you there. You will need help.'

  'Not yours,' said Hawkmoon, glancing at the water and seeing the boat which had been sent for him.

  An armoured man stood upright in the boat. His armour had been fashioned to follow certain rules of geometry, rather than to serve in the practical business of protection against an enemy's weapons. His great, beaked helmet hid much of his face, but bright, blue eyes were evident, and a curling, golden beard.

  'Sir Hawkmoon?' The armoured man's voice was light, friendly. 'I am Brut, a knight of Lashmar. I believe we are engaged upon a common quest.'

  'A quest?' Hawkmoon noticed that the dark figure had disap­peared. ‘For Tanelorn?'

  "Aye. I seek Tanelorn. You will find allies aboard the ship.'

  ‘What is the ship? Where is it bound?'

  'Only those who sail with her know that.’

  ‘Is there one called "Captain" aboard?'

  "Aye, our Captain. He is aboard.' Brut climbed from the boat and held it against the movement of the waves. Those who rowed turned their heads to look at Hawkmoon. They were all experienced faces, the faces of men who had fought in more than a single battle. Warrior Hawkmoon knew other warriors when he saw them.

  'And who are these?'

  'Comrades of ours.'

  'What makes us comrades?'

  'Why?' Brut smiled with good humour belying the import of his words. 'We are all damned, sir.'

  For some reason this statement relieved rather than disturbed Hawkmoon. He laughed, striding forward, letting Brut help him into the boat. 'Do any but the damned seek for Tanelorn?'

  'I have never heard of any others.' Brut clapped a hand on Hawkmoon's shoulder as he joined him. The boat was seized by the waves and the warriors bent their backs again, turning round and rowing for where the ship awaited them, its dark, polished timbers still catching a little of the ruby coloured light from above. Hawkmoon admired its lines, admired its high, curved prow.

  'It is a ship belonging to no fleet I've ever seen,' he said.

  ‘It belongs to no fleet at all, Sir Hawkmoon.'

  Hawkmoon looked back, but the land had vanished. Only familiar mist was there.

  'How came you to that shore?' Brut asked him.

  ‘You know not? I thought you would. I had hoped for answers to my questions. I was told to wait for the ship there. I became lost - thrown from my own world and the ones I love by a creature which hates me and professes to love me.'

  'A god?'

  'A god without the usual qualities, if he be a god,' Hawkmoon said dryly.

  ‘I have heard that the gods are losing their most impressive qualities,' said Brut of Lashmar. ‘Their powers are stretched so thin.'

  'In this world?'

  ‘This is no "world",' said Brut, almost in surprise.

  The boat reached the ship and Hawkmoon saw that a stout ladder had been uncurled in readiness for them. Brut held the bottom for him, signing for him to climb. Quelling his caution, which desired him to consider his actions before going aboard the ship, Hawkmoon began to ascend.

  There came a cry from above. Davits were swung out to take the boat up. A wave caught the ship and it swayed, moaning, Hawkmoon climbed slowly. He heard the crack of an unfurling sail, he heard a creak as a capstan turned. He raised his eyes, but they were blinded by a sudden beam from the red star overhead, which was again revealed by a rent in the clouds.

  ‘That star,' he called. 'What is it, Brut of Lashmar? Do you follow it?'

  'No,' said the blond soldier. His voice was suddenly bleak 'It follows us.'

  Book Two

  Sailing Between The Worlds:

  3 Sailing For Tanelorn...

  Chapter One

  The Waiting Warriors

  Hawkmoon looked about him while Brut of Lashmar joined him on deck. Already a wind had sprung up and was filling the great, black sail. It was a familiar wind. Hawkmoon had experienced it at least once before, when he and Count Brass had fought Kalan, Taragorm and their minions in the caverns below Londra, when the very essence of Time and Space had been disrupted thanks to the efforts of the Dark Empire's two greatest sorcerer scientists. But, for all that it was a familiar wind, Hawkmoon did not care to feel its breath upon his flesh and he was grateful when Brut escorted him along the deck and flung open the door of the stern cabin. Heat poured out, welcoming him. A big lantern swayed here, hanging from four silver chains, its light spreading through the relatively large space, diffused by red-grey glass. In the centre of the cabin stood a heavy sea-table, its legs firmly clamped to the boards. A number of big, carved chairs were fixed around this table and some of the chairs were occupied, while elsewhere men stood up. All looked curiously at Hawkmoon as he entered.

  ‘This is Dorian Hawkmoon, Duke of Koln,' said Brut. 'Ill rejoin my fellows in my own cabin. I’ll call for you again soon, Sir Hawkmoon, for we'll need to pay our respects to the Captain.'

  'Does he know who I am? Does he know I'm aboard?'

  ‘Of course. He selects a crew carefully, does the Captain.' Brut laughed and his laughter was echoed by the grim, hard men in the cabin.

  Hawkmoon's attention was drawn to one of the standing men - a warrior with unusual features, wearing armour of such delicate workmanship that it had an almost ethereal quality to it. Over his right eye was a brocaded patch and on his left hand a glove of what Hawkmoon guessed to be silvered steel (except he knew in his heart that it was not). The warrior's pointed face and slanting, slender brows, his eye which was purple, with a pupil of soft yellow and his filmy, pale hair, all spoke of his membership of a race only slightly related to Hawkmoon's. Yet Hawkmoon felt a kinship with him that was strong, that was magnetic (and that was frightening, too).

  ‘I am Prince Corum of the Scarlet Robe,' said the warrior, striding forward. 'You are Hawkmoon, are you not, of the Runestaff?'

  'You know of me?'

  ‘I have seen you, often. In visions, sir - in dreams. Do you not know me?'

  'No ...' But Hawkmoon did know Prince Corum. He had seen him, too, in visions. 'I admit that - yes, I do know you...'

  Prince Corum smiled a sad, grim smile.

  ‘How long have you been aboard this ship?' Hawkmoon asked him, sitting down in one of the chairs and accepting a goblet of wine offered him by one of the other warriors.

  'Who knows?' said Corum. 'A day or a century. It is a dream ship. I boarded it thinking I would reach the past. The last I remember of any event before boarding was being slain - be­trayed by one I thought I loved. Then I was on a misty shore, convinced that my soul had gone to Limbo, and this ship hailed me. Having nought else to do, I joined it. Since then others have filled the berths here. There is one left, I am told, then we have a full complement. I gather we sail now to pick up this last passenger.'

  "And our destination?’

  Corum took a draught from his own wine cup. 'I have heard the name Tanelorn spoken, but the Captain told me nothing of that. Perhaps the name is spoken in hope. I have received no evidence of any specific destination.'

  ‘Then Brut of Lashmar was deceiving me.'

  'Deceiving himself, more like,' said Corum. 'But perhaps Tanelorn is where we are bound. I have been there once, I seem to remember.'

  'And did you find peace there?'

  'Briefly, sir, I think.'

  'Your memory, then, is poor?'

  'It is no worse than the memories of most of us who sail on the "Dark Ship,' said Corum.

  'Have you heard of the Conjunction of the Million Spheres?'

  "Yes, it strikes a chord
. A time of great changes, is it not, on all the planes? When the planes intersect at specific points in their histories. When our normal perception of Time and of Space becomes meaningless and when it is possible for radical alterations to be made in the nature of reality itself. When old gods die..."

  'And new ones are born?’

  'Perhaps. If they are needed.'

  'You can amplify, sir?'

  'If my memory were jogged, Dorian Hawkmoon, I am sure that I could. There is much in my head which will not, as it were, come forward. Knowledge is there, but also pain - and perhaps the pain and the knowledge are too closely linked, so that one is buried with the other. I believe I have been mad.'

  'I, too,' said Hawkmoon. 'But I have been sane, also. Now I'm neither. It is an odd feeling.'

  'I know it well, sir.' Corum turned, indicating the other occupants of the cabin with his cup. 'You must meet your comrades. This is Emshon of Ariso’ A fierce-faced little man with heavy moustaches and a glowering manner looked up from the table, grunting at Hawkmoon. He had a thin tube in his hand, which he lifted frequently to his lips. Within the tube were herbs of some kind, smouldering, and it was their smoke which the dwarfish warrior inhaled. 'Greetings, Hawkmoon,' he said. 'I hope you're a better sailor than myself, for this damned ship's inclined to pitch like an unwilling virgin at times,"

  ‘Emshon has a gloomy disposition,' said Corum, smiling, 'and something of a coarse manner of speech, but he's agreeable enough company most of the time. And this is Keeth Woecarrier, who is convinced he brings doom to all he rides with ...'

  Keeth looked shyly away, muttering something which none could hear. From beneath his bearskin cloak he raised a huge hand in greeting, and all that Hawkmoon heard of his words was: 'It's true. It's true.' He was a big, lumbering soldier dressed in patched leather and wool, with a skin cap upon his head.

  'John ap-Rhyss.' This was a tall, thin man with hair falling well below his shoulders and a drooping moustache adding to his melancholy look, clad all in faded black, save for a bright insignia stitched to his shirt above his heart. He wore a dark wide-brimmed hat and his grin of greeting was sardonic. 'Hail to you, Duke Dorian. We have heard of your exploits in the land of Yel. You fight the Dark Empire, do you not?'