“Security!” She laughed bitterly. “Security, while such weapons as these exist!”
“You must believe me, Iolinda!”
“No,” she said. “Humanity will fight to the end and, because the Good One favours us, doubtless we will win. We are pledged to wage war on sorcery and there was never greater sorcery than what we have seen today.”
“It is not sorcery. It is science. It is only like your cannon, but more powerful.”
“Sorcery!” Everyone was murmuring it now. They were like savages, these fools.
“If we continue to fight,” I said, “it will be a fight to the finish. The Eldren would prefer to let you go, once this battle is won. But if we win, I intend to clean the planet of your kind, just as you swore you would do to the Eldren. Take the chance. A peace! Be sane.”
“We will die by sorcery,” she said, “if we have to. But we will die fighting it.”
I was too weary to continue. “Then let us finish this business,” I told her.
Iolinda wheeled her horse away and, with her marshals in her wake, galloped back to order the attack.
I did not see Iolinda perish. There were so many that perished that day.
They came and we met them. They were helpless against our weapons. Energy spouted from the guns and seared into their ranks. How quickly they fell and how tragically they died. We all felt sorrow as we let loose the howling waves of force which swept across them and destroyed them, turning proud men and beasts to blackened rubble.
We did as they had predicted we would do. We destroyed them all.
I pitied them as they came on, the cream of Humanity’s menfolk. Each wave was burned down as soon as it came within two hundred yards of our walls. We begged them to retreat. They came again. I began to guess that they wished to die. They sought rest in death.
It took two hours to destroy a million warriors.
* * *
When the extermination was over, I was filled with a strange emotion which I could not then and cannot now define. It was a mixture of grief, relief and triumph. I mourned for Iolinda. She was somewhere there in the heap of blackened bone and smouldering flesh—one piece of ruined meat amongst many, her beauty gone in the same instant as her life.
And it was then that I made my final decision. Or did I, indeed, make it at all? Was it not what I had been brought here to do?
Or was it the crime I had mentioned earlier? Was this the crime I committed that doomed me to be what I was?
Was I right?
In spite of Arjavh’s constant antagonism to my plan, I ordered the machines out of Loos Ptokai and, mounted in one of them, led them overland.
This is what I did:
* * *
Two months before, I had been responsible for winning the cities of Mernadin for Humanity. Now I reclaimed them in the name of the Eldren.
I reclaimed them in a terrible way. I destroyed every human being occupying them.
A week and we were at Paphanaal, where the fleets of mankind lay at anchor in the great harbour.
I destroyed those fleets as I destroyed the garrison—men, women and children perished. None was spared.
And then, for many of the machines were amphibious, I led the Eldren across the sea to the Two Continents, though Arjavh and Ermizhad were not with me.
These cities fell: Noonos of the jewel-studded towers fell. Tarkar fell. The wondrous cities of the wheatlands, Stalaco, Calodemia, Mooros and Ninadoon, all fell. Wedmah, Shilaal, Sinaan and others fell, crumbling in an inferno of gouting energy. They fell in a few moments.
In Necranal, the pastel-coloured city of the mountain, five million citizens died and all that was left of Necranal was the scorched, smoking mountain itself.
But I was thorough. Not merely the great cities were destroyed. Villages were destroyed. Hamlets were destroyed. Towns and farms were destroyed.
I found some people hiding in caves. The caves were destroyed.
I destroyed forests where they might flee. I destroyed the very stones they might creep under.
I would doubtless have destroyed every blade of grass if Arjavh had not come hurrying over the ocean to stop me.
He was horrified at what I had done. He begged me to stop.
I stopped.
There was no more killing to do.
We made our way back to the coast and we paused to look at the smouldering mountainside that had been Necranal.
“For one woman’s wrath,” said Prince Arjavh, “and another’s love, you did this?”
I shrugged. “I do not know. I think I did it for the only kind of peace that will last. I know my race too well. This Earth would have been for ever rent by strife of some kind. I had to decide who best deserved to live. If they had destroyed the Eldren, they would have soon turned on each other, as you know. And they fight for such empty things, too. For power over their fellows, for a bauble, for an extra acre of land that they will not till, for possession of a woman who doesn’t want them.”
“You decided that! You took this vast responsibility onto your own shoulders? You judged them and executed them according to your own interpretation of justice?” Arjavh said quietly. “Really, Erekosë, I do not think you know yet what you have done.”
I sighed. “But it is done,” I said.
“Yes.” His eyes were full of a profound pity for me. He gripped my arm. “Come, friend. Back to Mernadin. Leave this stink behind. Ermizhad awaits you.”
I was an empty man, then, bereft of emotion. I followed him towards the river. It moved sluggishly now. It was choked with black dust, with burned flesh.
“I think I did right,” I said. “It was not my will, you know, but something else. I think it might have been my fate from the beginning. I think it was another will than mine which dragged me here—not Rigenos. Rigenos, like me, was a puppet—a tool used, as I was used. It was preordained that Humanity should die on this planet.”
“It is better that you think that,” he said. “Come now. Let us go home.”
EPILOGUE
THE SCARS OF that destruction have healed now, as I end my chronicle.
I returned to Loos Ptokai to wed Ermizhad, to have the Eldren secret of immortality conferred upon me, to brood for a year or two until my brain cleared.
It is clear now. I feel no guilt for what I did. I feel more certain than ever that it was not my decision.
Perhaps that is madness? Perhaps I have rationalised my guilt? If so, I am at one with my madness, it does not tear me in two as my dreams used to. I have those dreams rarely these days.
So we are here, the three of us—Ermizhad, Arjavh and I. Arjavh is undisputed ruler of the Earth, an Eldren Earth, and we rule with him.
We cleansed this Earth of humankind. I am its last representative. And in so doing I feel that we knitted this planet back into the pattern, allowed it to drift, at last, harmoniously with a harmonious universe. For the universe is old, perhaps even older than I, and it could not tolerate the humans who broke its peace.
Did I do right?
You must judge for yourself, wherever you are.
For me, it is too late to ask that question. I have sufficient control nowadays never to ask it. The only way in which I could answer it would involve destroying my own sanity.
One thing puzzles me. If, indeed, Time is cyclic, in some manner, and the universe we know will be born again to turn another long cycle, then Humanity will one day arise again, somehow, on this Earth and my adopted people will disappear from the Earth, or seem to.
And if you are human who reads this, perhaps you know. Perhaps my question seems naïve and you are at this moment laughing at me. But I have no answer. I can imagine none.
I am not to be the father of your race, human, for Ermizhad and I cannot produce children.
Then how shall you come again to disrupt the harmony of the universe?
And will I be here to receive you? Will I become your hero again or will I die with the Eldren fighting you?
&
nbsp; Or will I die before then and be the leader who brings disrupting Humanity to Earth? I cannot say.
Which of the names will I have next time you call?
Now Earth is peaceful. The silent air carries only the sounds of quiet laughter, the murmur of conversation, the small noises of small animals. We and Earth are at peace.
But how long can it last?
Oh, how long can it last?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BORN IN LONDON in 1939, Michael Moorcock now lives in Texas. A prolific and award-winning writer with more than eighty works of fiction and non-fiction to his name, he is the creator of Elric, Jerry Cornelius and Colonel Pyat, amongst many other memorable characters. In 2008, The Times named Moorcock in their list of “The 50 greatest British writers since 1945”.
COMING SOON FROM TITAN BOOKS
THE ETERNAL CHAMPION SERIES
BY MICHAEL MOORCOCK
Phoenix in Obsidian (December 2014)
The Dragon in the Sword (January 2015)
THE CORUM SERIES
BY MICHAEL MOORCOCK
The Knight of the Swords (May 2015)
The Queen of the Swords (June 2015)
The King of the Swords (July 2015)
The Bull and the Spear (August 2015)
The Oak and the Ram (September 2015)
The Sword and the Stallion (October 2015)
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PRAISE FOR MICHAEL MOORCOCK
“The most important successor to Mervyn Peake
and Wyndham Lewis” — JG Ballard
“Michael Moorcock transcends cool. He is beyond
any need for cool.” — Neil Gaiman
“His imagination sweeps the reader along.
Amongst the best Moorcock has written.”
— Sunday Telegraph
“…a Moorcock novel through and through: exhilarating, funny and deeply peculiar. It’s been years since the Who range put out anything as smart and engaging as this.” — SFX
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Michael Moorcock, The Eternal Champion
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