Michael Moorcock - Corum 3 - The King of the Swords

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The Book of Corum, Volume 3

The King of The Swords

by Michael Moorcock

THE BOOKS OF CORUM

Being a History in Three Volumes Concerning

the Quests and Adventures of Corum Jhaelen

Irsei of the Vadhagh Folk, Who Is Also

Called the Prince in the Scarlet Robe

Volume the Third

THE KING OF THE SWORDS

by Michael Moorcock

INTRODUCTION

In those days there were oceans of light and cities in the

skies and wild flying beasts of bronze. There were herds of

crimson cattle that roared and were taller than castles.

There were shrill, viridian things that haunted bleak rivers.

It was a time of gods, manifesting themselves upon out

world in all her aspects; a time of giants who walked on

water; of mindless sprites and misshapen creatures who

could be summoned by an ill-considered thought but driven

away only on pain of some fearful sacrifice; of magics,

phantasms, unstable nature, impossible events, insane

paradoxes, dreams come true, dreams gone awry, of

nightmares assuming reality.

It was a rich time and a dark time. The time of the

Sword Rulers. The time when the Vadhagh and the

Nhadragh, age-old enemies, were dying. The time when

Man, the slave of fear, was emerging, unaware that much

of the terror he experienced was the result of nothing else

but the fact that he, himself, had come into existence. It

was one of many ironies connected with Man (who, in

those days, called his race Mabden).

The Mabden lived brief lives and bred prodigiously.

Within a few centuries they rose to dominate the westerly

continent on which they had evolved. Superstition stopped

them from sending many of their ships toward Vadhagh

and Nhadragh lands for another century or two, but

gradually they gained courage when no resistance was

offered. They began to feel jealous of the older races; they

began to feel malicious.

The Vadhagh and the Nhadragh were not aware of this.

They had dwelt a million or more years upon the planet,

which now, at last, seemed at rest. They knew of the

Mabden but considered them not greatly different from

other beasts. Though continuing to indulge their traditional

hatreds of one another, the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh

spent their long hours in considering abstractions, in the

creation of works of art and the like. Rational,

sophisticated, at one with themselves, these older races

were unable to believe in the changes that had come. Thus,

as it almost always is, they ignored the signs.

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There was no exchange of knowledge between the two

ancient enemies, even though they had fought their last

battle many centuries before.

The Vadhagh lived in family groups occupying isolated

castles scattered across a continent called by them Bro-an-

Vadhagh. There was scarcely any communication between

these families, for the Vadhagh had long since lost the

impulse to travel. The Nhadragh lived in their cities built

on the islands in the seas to the northwest of Bro-an-

Vadhagh. They, also, had little contact, even with their

closest kin. Both races reckoned themselves invulnerable.

Both were wrong.

Upstart Man was beginning to breed and spread like a

pestilence across the world. This pestilence struck down

the old races wherever it touched them. And it was not only

death that Man brought, but terror, too. Willfully, he made

of the older world nothing but ruins and bones.

Unwittingly, he brought psychic and supernatural

disruption of a magnitude which even the Great Old Gods

failed to comprehend.

And the Great Old Gods began to know Fear.

And Man, slave of fear, arrogant in his ignorance,

continued his stumbling progress. He was blind to the huge

disruptions aroused by his apparently petty ambitions. As

well, Man was deficient in sensitivity, had no awareness of

the multitude of dimensions that filled the universe, each

plane intersecting with several others. Not so the Vadhagh

or the Nhadragh, who had known what it was to move at

will between the dimensions they termed the Five Planes.

They had glimpsed and understood the nature of the many

planes, other than the five, through which the Earth

moved

Therefore it seemed a dreadful injustice that these wise

races should perish at the hands of creatures who were still

little more than animals. It was as if vultures feasted on

and squabbled over the paralyzed body of the youthful

poet who could only stare at them with puzzled eyes as they

slowly robbed him of an exquisite existence they would

never appreciate, never know they were taking.

"If they valued what they stole, if they knew what they

were destroying," says the old Vadhagh in the story, "The

Only Autumn Flower," "then I would be consoled."

It was unjust.

By creating Man, the universe had betrayed the old

races.

But it was a perpetual and familiar injustice. The

sentient may perceive and love the universe, but the

universe cannot perceive and love the sentient. The uni-

verse sees no distinction between the multitude of

creatures and elements which comprise it. All are equal.

None is favored. The universe, equipped with nothing but

the materials and the power of creation, continues to

create: something of this, something of that. It cannot

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control what it creates and it cannot, it seems, be

controlled by its creations (though a few might deceive

themselves otherwise). Those who curse the workings of

the universe curse that which is deaf. Those who strike

out at those workings fight that which is inviolate. Those

who shake their fists, shake their fists at blind stars.

But this does not mean that there are some who will not

try to do battle with and destroy the invulnerable.

There will always be such beings, sometimes beings of

great wisdom, who cannot bear to believe in an insouciant

universe.

Prince Corum Jhaelen Irsei was one of these. Perhaps

the last of the Vadhagh race, he was sometimes known as

the Prince in the Scarlet Robe.

This chronicle concerns him.

We have already learned how the Mabden followers of

Earl Glandyth-a-Krae (who called themselves the

Denledhyssi—or Murderers) killed Prince Corum's

relatives and his nearest kin and thus taught the Prince in

the Scarlet Robe how to hate, how to kill, and how to

desire vengeance. We have heard how Glandyth tortured

Corum and took away a hand and an eye and how Corum

way rescued by the Giant of Laahr and taken to the castle

of the Margravine Rhalina—a castle set upon a mount

surrounded by the sea. Though Rhalina was a Mabden

woman (of the gentler folk of Lywm-an-Esh), Corum and

she fell in love. When Glandyth roused the Pony Tribes,

the forest barbarians, to attack the Margravine's castle, she

and Corum sought supernatural aid and thus fell into the

hands of the sorcerer Shool, whose domain was the island

called Svi-an-Fanla-Brool—Home of the Gorged God.

And now Corum had direct experience of the morbid,

unfamiliar powers at work in the world. Shool spoke of

dreams and realities. ("I see you are beginning to argue in

Mabden terms," he told Corum. "It is just as well for you,

if you wish to survive in this Mabden dream." — "It is a

dream . . . ?" said Corum.—"Of sorts. Real enough. It

is what you might call the dream of a God. There again you

might say that it is a dream that a God has allowed to

become reality. I refer of course to the Knight of the

Swords, who rules the Five Planes.")

With Rhalina his prisoner Shool could make a bargain

with Corum. He gave him two gifts—the Hand of Kwll and

the Eye of Rhynn—to replace his own missing organs.

These jeweled and alien things were once the property of

two brother gods known as the Lost Gods since they

mysteriously vanished.

Now Shool told Corum what he must do if he wished to

see Rhalina saved. Corum must go to the realm of the

Knight of the Swords—Lord Arioch of Chaos, who ruled

the Five Planes since he had wrested them from the control

of Lord Arkyn of Law. There Corum must find the heart of

the Knight of the Swords—a thing which was kept in a

tower of his castle and which enabled him to take material

shape on Earth and thus wield power (without a material

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shape—or a number of them—the Lords of Chaos could

not rule mortals).

With little hope Corum set off in a boat for the domain

of Arioch but on his way was wrecked when a huge giant

passed by him, merely fishing. In the land of the strange

Ragha-da-Kheta he discovered that the Eye could summon

dreadful beings from those worlds to aid him—also the

Hand seemed to sense danger before it came and was

ruthless in slaying even when Corum did not desire to slay.

Then he realized that, by accepting Shoots gifts, he had

accepted the logic of Shool's world and could not escape

from it now.

During these adventures Corum learned of the eternal

struggle between Law and Chaos. A cheerful traveler from

Lywm-an-Esh enlightened him. It was, he said, "the Chaos

Lords' will that rules you. Arioch is one of them. Long

since there was a war between the forces of Order and the

forces of Chaos. The forces of Chaos won and came to

dominate the Fifteen Planes and, as I understand it, much

that lies beyond them. Some say that Order was defeated

completely and all her Gods vanished. They say the

Cosmic Balance tipped too far in one direction and that is

why there are so many arbitrary events taking place in the

world. They say that once the world was round instead of

dish-shaped ..." — "Some Vadhagh legends say it was

once round," Corum informed him. — "Aye. Well, the

Vadhagh began their rise before Order was banished. That

is why the Sword Rulers hate the old races so much. They

are not their creation at all. But the Great Gods are not

allowed to interfere too directly in mortal affairs, so they

have worked through the Mabden, chiefly ..." — Corum

said, "Is this the truth?"— Hanafax shrugged. "It is a

truth."

Later, in the Flamelands where the Blind Queen Oorese

lived, Corum saw a mysterious figure who almost

immediately vanished after he had slain poor Hanafax with

the Hand of Kwll (which knew Hanafax would betray

him). He learned that Arioch was the Knight of the Swords

and that Xiombarg was the Queen of the Swords ruling the

next group of Five Planes, while the most powerful Sword

Ruler of all ruled the last of the Five Planes—Mabelrode,

King of the Swords. Corum learned that all the hearts of

the Sword Rulers were hidden where even they could not

touch them. But after further adventures in Arioch's castle,

he at last succeeded in finding the heart of the Knight of the

Swords and, to save his life, destroyed it, thus banishing

Arioch to limbo and allowing Arkyn of Law to return to

occupy his old castle. But Corum had earned the Bane of

the Sword Rulers and by destroying Arioch's heart had set

a pattern of destiny for himself. A voice told him, "Neither

Law nor Chaos must dominate the destinies of the mortal

planes. There must be equilibrium." But it seemed to

Corum that there was no equilibrium, that Chaos ruled all.

"The balance sometimes tips," replied the voice. "It must

be righted. And that is the power of mortals, to adjust the

balance. You have begun the work already. Now you must

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continue until it is finished. You may perish before it is

complete, but some other will follow you."

Corum shouted, "I do not want this. I cannot bear such

a burden."

The voice replied, "YOU MUST!"

And then Corum returned to find Shool's power gone

and Rhalina free.

They returned to the lovely castle on Moidel's Mount,

knowing that they were no longer in any sense in control of

their own fates.

Soon the Wading God was seen again, fishing the seas

near Moidel's Mount, forever discarding his catch and

casting for a new one. An omen, they knew. And that night

there was a knocking on the door of Moidel's Castle and a

young stranger presented himself to them—a dandy who

had as a pet a little winged cat. This was Jhary-a-Conel,

who announced his profession as a "Companion to

Champions" and seemed to know a great deal of Corum's

destiny, not to mention his own. With the help of the little

cat they learned of the great Mabden massing at Kalenwyr,

of the intention of the Mabden to march against Lywm-an-

Esh and destroy that land because it had adopted Vadhagh

ways. The people of the castle knew that they would be

swept away by such a mighty advance and they abandoned

Moidel's Mount, going by ship to Lywm-an-Esh to

discover that the invasion was already taking place on

some coasts and that the followers of Law and of Chaos

were divided, fighting. In the capital, Halwyg-nan-Vake,

they saw the king and learned that Arkyn would speak with

them at his Temple. Here Arkyn told them to enter

Xiombarg's plane and seek out the City in the Pyramid,

that this city would aid them. On Xiombarg's plane they

encountered many strange marvels, horrible examples of

the power of Chaos—the Lake of Voices, the White River,

and many other things—until they found the City in the

Pyramid. This strange city of metal was peopled by

Vadhagh and Corum learned that they had left their own

plane centuries before but had been unable to return.

Xiombarg began to attack the City and Corum and his

companions fled through the planes to Halwyg to find it

under dire siege. At last the means to bring the City in the

Pyramid back to its own plane was found and they broke

through, bringing destruction to the Mabden and forever

wiping out the threat. Angered, Xiombarg followed

—breaking the paramount rule of the Cosmic Balance

—and was thus destroyed. It seemed that a wonderful new

era of peace had been granted to them all. But Earl

Glandyth-a-Krae, who hated Corum most fiercely, had

escaped the destruction of his folk. And he planned

revenge.

—The Book of Corum

BOOK ONE

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In which Prince Corum sees serenity

transformed into strife

The First Chapter

THE SHAPE ON THE HILL

Not long since men had died here and others had expected

to die. But now King Onold's palace was repaired,

repainted, and covered once more in flowers, and the

battlements had once again become balconies and bowers.

But King Onold of Lywm-an-Esh would not see his ruined

Halwyg-nan-Vake reborn, for he, too, had been slain in the

siege and his mother ruled as regent till his son should

come of age. Scaffolding lingered in some parts of the

Floral City, for King Lyr-a-Brode and his barbarians had

done much damage. New sculptures were being erected,

fresh fountains made, and it was now plain that Halwyg's

quiet magnificence would be yet finer than before. So it

was across all the land of Lywm-an-Esh.

And so it was beyond the sea, in Bro-an-Vadhagh. The

Mabden had been driven back to the land from which they

had first come, Bro-an-Mabden, grim continent to the

northeast. And their fear of the power of the Vadhagh was

strong again.

In the sweet land of gentle hills and deep, comforting

forests and placid rivers and soft valleys which was Bro-an-

Vadhagh only the ruins of gloomy Kalenwyr remained

—ruins avoided but remembered.

And off the coast, on the Nhadragh Isles, the few who

had survived the Mabden killings—frightened, degenerate

creatures—were allowed to live out their lives. Perhaps

these wretched Nhadragh would breed prouder children

and their race would flourish again, as it had in its

centuries of glory, before too many years passed.

The world returned to peace. The people who had come

back to this place in the magical Gwlas-cor-Gwrys, the City

in the Pryamid, set to work to restore the ravaged Vadhagh

castles and lands. They abandoned their strange city of

metal in favor of the traditional homes of their Vadhagh

ancestors. Presently Gwlas-cor-Gwrys was all but deserted,

standing amongst the pines of a remote forest, not far from

one of the broken Mabden fortresses.

It seemed that a wonderful new age of peace had

dawned both for the Mabden of Lywm-an-Esh and for the

Vadhagh who had been that land's saviors. The threat of

Chaos was forgotten. Now two out of three realms—ten

out of fifteen planes—were ruled by Law. Surely,

therefore, Law was stronger?

Most thought so. Queen Crief, the Regent of Lywm-an-

Esh thought so and told her grandson, King Analt, that it

was so, and the little long told his subjects that it was so.

Prince Yurette Hasdun Nury, ex-Commander of Gwlas-cor-

Gwrys, believed it pretty much. The rest of the Vadhagh

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believed it, too.

There was one Vadhagh, however, who was not sure. He

was unlike others of his race, though he had the same tall

beauty of form, the tapering head, the gold-flecked rose-

pink skin, fair hair, and almond-shaped yellow-and-purple

eyes. But instead of a right eye he had an object like the

jeweled eye of a fly and instead of a left hand he had what

appeared to be a six-fingered gauntlet of similar design,

encrusted with dark jewels. Upon his back he wore a

scarlet robe and he was Corum Jhaelen Irsei, who had slab

gods and been instrumental in banishing others, who

desired nothing but peace but could not trust the peace he

had, who hated his alien eye and his alien hand, though

they had saved his life many times and thus had saved both

Lywm-an-Esh and Bro-an-Vadhagh and furthered the

cause of Law.

Yet even Corum, burdened by his destiny, knew joy as

he saw his old home reborn, for they were building Castle

Erorn again on the headland where she had stood for

centuries before Glandyth-a-Krae had razed her. Corum re-

membered every detail of his ancient family home and his

pleasure grew as the castle grew. Slender, tinted towers

stood again against the sky and overlooked the sea, which

was all boisterous white and green and leaped about the

rocks below and in and out of the great sea caves as if it

danced with delight at Erorn's return to the eminence.

And inside, the ingenuity and skills of the craftsmen of

Gwlas-cor-Gwrys had wrought the sensitive walls which

would change shape and color with every change in the

elements, the musical instruments of crystal and water

which would play tunes according to the manner in which

they were arranged. But they could not replace the

paintings and the sculpture and the manuscripts which

Corum and Corum's ancestors had created in more

innocent times, for Glandyth-a-Krae had destroyed them

when he had destroyed Corum's father, Prince Khlonskey,

and his mother, Colatalarna, his twin sisters, his uncle, his

cousin, and their retainers.

When he thought of all that was lost Corum felt a return

of his old hatred of the Mabden earl. Glandyth's body had

not been found amongst those who had died at Halwyg,

neither had they found the bodies of his charioteers, his

Denledhyssi. Glandyth had vanished—or perhaps he and

his men had died in some remote battle. It required all

Corum's self-discipline not to let his mind dwell on

Glandyth and what Glandyth had done. He preferred to

think of ways of making Castle Erorn still more beautiful

so that his wife and his love, Rhalina, Margravine of

Allomglyl, would be even more enraptured and would

forget that when they had found her castle it had been torn

down by Glandyth so thoroughly that only a few stones of

it could be seen in the shallows at the bottom of Moidel's

Mount.

Jhary-a-Conel, who rarely admitted such a thing, was

impressed by Castle Erorn. It inspired him, he said, and he

took to writing sonnets, which, somewhat insistently, he

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would often read to them. And he painted passable

portraits of Corum in bis scarlet robe and of Rhalina in her

gown of blue brocade and he painted a fair quantity of self-

portraits, which they would come across in more than one

chamber of Castle Erorn. And Jhary would also pass his

time designing splendid clothes for himself, sometimes

making whole wardrobes, even trying new hats (though he

was much attached to his old one and always returned to

it). His little black-and-white cat with the black-and-white

wings would fly through the rooms sometimes, but most

often it would be discovered sleeping somewhere where it

was most inconvenient for it to sleep.

And so they passed their days.

The coastline on which Castle Erorn was built was well

known for the softness of its summers and the mildness of

its winters. Two, sometimes three, crops could be grown

the year round in normal times and there was usually little

frost and one snowfall in the coldest month. Often it did

not snow at all. But the winter after Erorn was completed

the snow began to fall early and did not stop until the oaks

and the pines and the birches bent beneath huge burdens of

glittering whiteness or were hidden altogether. The snow

was so deep that a mounted man could not see above it in

some places, and although the sun shone clear and red

through the day it did not melt the snow much and that

which did melt was soon replaced by another fall.

To Corum there was a hint of something ominous in this

unexpected weather. They were snug enough in their castle

and had no lack of provisions and sometimes a sky ship

would bring a visitor from one of the other newly rebuilt

castles. The recently settled Vadhagh had not given up

their ships of the air when they had left Gwlas-cor-Gwrys.

Thus there was no danger of losing contact with the outside

world. But still Corum fretted and Jhary watched him with

a certain amusement, while Rhalina took his state of mind

more seriously and was careful to soothe him whenever

possible, for she thought he brooded on Glandyth again.

One day Corum and Jhary stood on the balcony of a tall

tower and looked inland at the wide expanse of whiteness.

"Why should I be troubled by the weather?" Corum

asked Jhary. "I suspect the hand of gods in everything,

these days. Why should gods bother to make it snow?"

Jhary shrugged. "You'll remember that under Law the

world was said to be round. Perhaps it is round now, again,

and the result of this roundness is a change in the weather

you may expect in these parts."

Corum shook his head in puzzlement, hardly hearing

Jhary's words. He leaned on a snowy parapet, blinking in

the snow's glare. Far away there was a line of hills, as white

as everything else in that landscape. He looked toward the

hills. "When Bwydyth-a-Horn came visiting last week he

said that it was the same over the whole land of Bro-an-

Vadhagh. One cannot help but seek significance in so

strange an event." He sniffed the cold, clean air. "Yet why

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should Chaos send a little snow, since it inconveniences no

one."

"It might Inconvenience the fanners of Lywm-an-Esh,"

Jhary said.

"True—but Lywm-an-Esh has not had this especially

heavy snowfall. It was as if something sought to—to freeze

us—to paralyze us ..."

"Chaos would choose more spectacular displays than a

heavy fall of snow," Jhary pointed out.

"Unless it was the best they could do, now that Law

rules two of the realms."

"I am unconvinced. I think that, if anything, this is

Law's doing. The result of a few minor geographical

changes involved in ridding our Five Planes of the last

effects of Chaos."

"I agree that that is the most logical explanation,"

Corum nodded.

"If an explanation is needed at all."

"Aye. I'm oversuspicious. You are probably right." He

began to turn back to the entrance of the tower but then

felt Jhary's hand on his arm. "What is it?"

Jhary's voice was quiet. "Look at the hills."

"The hills?" Corum peered into the distance. And a

shock went through him. Something moved there. At first

he thought it must be a forest animal—a fox, perhaps,

hunting for food? But it was too large. It was too large to

be a man—even a large man mounted on a horse. The

shape was familiar, yet he could not remember where he

had seen it before. It flickered, as if only partly in this

plane and partly in another. It began to move away from

them, toward the north. It paused and perhaps it turned,

for Corum felt that something peered at him. Involuntarily

his jeweled hand went to his jeweled eye, fingering the

jeweled patch which covered it and stopped him from

seeing into that terrible netherworld from which he had, in

the past, summoned supernatural allies. With an effort he

lowered his hand. Did he associate that shape with

something he had seen in the netherworld? Or perhaps it

was some creature of Chaos, returned to make war on

Erorn?

"I cannot make anything of it," Jhary said. "Is it a beast

or a man?"

Corum found difficulty in replying. "Neither, I think,"

he said at last.

The shape resumed its original direction, crossing over

the brow of the hill and vanishing.

"We still have that sky ship below," Jhary said. "Shall

we follow the thing?"

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Corum's throat was dry. "No," he said.

"Did you know what it was, Corum? Did you recognize

it?"

"I have seen it before. But I do not remember where or

in what circumstances. Did it—did it look at me, Jhary, or

did I imagine that?"

"I understand you. A peculiar sensation—the sort of

sensation one has when one meets another's eyes by

accident."

"Aye—something of the sort."

"I wonder what it could want with us or if it is connected

with this snowfall in any way."

"I do not associate it with snow. I think rather of—fire!

I remember! I remember where I saw it—or something like

it—in the Flamelands, after I had strangled—after this

hand of mine had strangled—Hanafax. I told you of that!"

Shuddering, he remembered the scene. The Hand of

Kwll squeezing the life from the struggling, shrieking

Hanafax, who had done Corum no harm at all. The roaring

flames. The corpse. The Blind Queen Oorese with her

impassive face. The hill. The smoke. A figure standing on

the hill watching him. A figure obscured by a sudden drift

of smoke.

"Perhaps it is only madness," he murmured. "My

conscience reminding me of the innocent soul I took when

I slew Hanafax. Perhaps I am remembering my guilt and

see that guilt as an accusing figure on a hillside."

"A pretty theory," said Jhary almost grimly. "But I had

nothing to do with the slaying of Hanafax and neither do I

suffer from this guilt you people always speak of. I saw the

figure first, Corum."

"So you did. So you did." His head bowed, Corum

stumbled through the door of the tower. From his mortal

eye streamed tears.

As Jhary closed the door behind them, Corum turned on

the stairs and stared up at his friend.

"Then what was it, Jhary?"

"I know not, Corum."

"But you know so much."

"And I forget much. I am not a hero. I am a companion

to heroes. I admire. I marvel. I offer sage advice which is

rarely taken. I sympathize. I save lives. I express the fears

heroes cannot express. I council caution . . ."

"Enough, Jhary. Do you jest?"

"I suppose I jest. I, too, am tired, my friend. I am tired

of the company of gloomy heroes, of those who are

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Michael Moorcock - Corum 3 - The King of the Swords

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