The Queen of Swords (7 page)

“As does all good comedy.”

* * *

And now the company galloped where before it had trotted, riding across the Duchy of Bedwilral-nan-Rywm as if the warriors of Lyr-a-Brode were already pursuing them.

And there was tension in the air. In every village they passed through there were apparently meaningless disputes between neighbours as one side supported Urleh and the other Ilah, but both refused to listen to what Corum told them—that the instruments of Chaos would soon be upon their land and they would cease to exist unless they prepared to resist King Lyr and his armies.

And when they came at last to Llarak-an-Fol, they found that there was fighting in the streets.

Very few of the cities of Lywm-an-Esh were walled and Llarak was no exception. She had long, low houses of stone and carved timber, all brightly painted. The house of the Duke of Bedwilral was not immediately evident for it was little different from the other larger houses in the city, but Rhalina pointed it out. The fighting was quite close to the duke’s residence and near it a building was burning.

The company of Allomglyl began to ride down towards the city, leaving the women in the hills.

“It seems some of those Chaos priests were more persuasive than Verenak,” Prince Corum shouted to Rhalina as she prepared her spear.

They galloped into the outskirts of the town. The streets were empty and silent. From the centre came a great noise of battle.

“You had best lead us,” he said to her, “for you’ll know who are the duke’s men and who are not.”

She increased her speed without a word and they followed her into the middle of Llarak-an-Fol.

There they were. Men in blue livery with helmets and shields similar to those borne by Rhalina’s men were fighting a mixed force of peasants and what were evidently professional soldiers.

“The men in blue are the duke’s,” she called. “Those in brown and purple are the city guard. There was always, I gather, a certain rivalry between the two.”

Corum felt reluctance to engage them, not because he was afraid but because he bore no malice towards them.

The peasants, in particular, hardly knew why they fought and doubtless the city guard was barely conscious of the fact that Chaos was working through them to create conflict. They had been filled with a vague sense of unrest and, with the pushing of the priests of Urleh, had resorted to anger and to arms.

But Rhalina was already leading her horsemen through in a lance charge. The spears dipped and the cavalry drove into the mass of men, cutting a wide path through their ranks. Most of the enemy was unmounted and Corum’s axe flew up and down as he chopped at the heads of those who, still with astonishment on their faces, sought to stop his advance. His horse reared and whinnied and its hoofs flailed and at least a dozen peasants and guards had died before they had joined with the duke’s men and had turned to drive back the way they had come.

Already, to Corum’s relief, many of the peasants had dropped their weapons and were running. The few guards fought on and now Corum could see armed priests fighting with them. A small man—almost a dwarf—on a big yellow charger, a massive broadsword in his left hand, was shouting encouragement to the newcomers. By his dress Corum decided that this must be the duke himself.

“Lay down your arms!” the small man yelled to the guards. “You will have mercy! You will be spared!”

Corum saw a guard look about him and then drop his sword. Instantly the man was cut down by the Chaos priest nearest to him.

“Fight to the death!” screamed the priest. “If you betray Chaos now your souls will suffer more than your bodies could!”

But the surviving guards had plainly lost heart and one of them turned with resentment on the priest who had slain his comrade. His sword slashed at the man who went down trying to staunch the blood that suddenly erupted from his severed jugular.

Corum sheathed his war-axe. The pathetic little battle was virtually over. Rhalina’s men and the warriors in blue livery closed on the few who still fought and disarmed them.

The small man on the large horse rode up to where Rhalina had joined Corum and Jhary-a-Conel. The little black-and-white cat still clung to Jhary’s shoulder and it looked more puzzled than frightened by what it had witnessed.

“I am Duke Gwelhen of Bedwilral,” announced the small man. “I thank thee mightily for thine aid. But I recognize thee not. Thou art not from Nyvish or Adwyn and, if ye be from farther afield, then ye could not have heard of my plight in time to save me!”

Rhalina removed her helm. She spoke as formally as the duke. “Dost thou not recognize me, Duke Gwelhen?”

“I fear not. My memory for faces…”

She laughed. “It was many years past. I am Rhalina who married your cousin’s son…”

“Whose responsibility was the Margravate of Allomglyl. But I learned that he died in a shipwreck.”

“It is so,” she said gravely.

“But I thought Castle Moidel taken by the sea these many years. Where have you been in the meantime, my child?”

“Until recently I ruled at Moidel, but now the barbarians of the east have driven us out and we ride to warn you that what you have experienced here today is only a trifle of what Chaos will do if unchecked.”

Duke Gwelhen rubbed at his beard. He returned his attention to the prisoners for a moment and issued some orders, then he smiled slowly. “Well, well. And who is this brave fellow with the eye-patch—and this one, who has a pretty cat on his shoulder, and…”

She laughed. “I will explain, Duke Gwelhen, if we may guest in your hall.”

“I would hope that you would! Come. This sad business is done. We’ll to the hall now.”

* * *

In Gwelhen’s simple hall they ate a meal of cheese and cold meats washed down by locally brewed beer.

“We are not used to fighting these days,” Gwelhen said after introductions had been made and they had explained how they came to Llarak. “In some ways today’s skirmish was a bloodier business than it might have been. If my men had more experience, they might have contained the thing and taken most of them prisoner, but they panicked. And it’s likely that I’d have been dead by now if your company had not arrived. But all you tell me of this war between Law and Chaos makes sense of various moods I have had of late. You heard how I banished the Temple of Urleh? Its adherents had taken to morbid, unhealthy pursuits. There were some murders—other things… I could not explain them. We are content here. None starves or goes in need of anything. There was no reason for the unrest. So we are victims of powers beyond our control, are we? I like not that—whether it be Law or Chaos. I would prefer to remain neutral…”

“Aye,” said Jhary-a-Conel. “Any thinking man does in these conflicts. Yet there are times when sides must be taken lest all that one loves is destroyed. I have never known another answer to the problem, though the taking of an extreme position will always make a man lose something of his humanity.”

“My feelings,” murmured Gwelhen, motioning with his beer mug at Jhary.

“And all of ours,” Rhalina agreed. “Yet unless we are ready for King Lyr’s attack, Lywm-an-Esh will be brutally destroyed.”

“She is dying, for the sea takes more land every year,” said Gwelhen thoughtfully. “Yet she should die at her own speed. We must convince the king, however…”

“Who rules now in Halwyg-nan-Vake?” Rhalina asked.

He looked at her in surprise. “The Margravate was indeed remote! Onald-an-Gyss is our king. He is old Onald’s nephew—his uncle died without issue…”

“And what of his temperament—for these things are decided on temperament—does he favour Law or Chaos?”

“Law, I would think, but I cannot say the same for his captains. Military men being what they are…”

“Perhaps they have already decided,” Jhary murmured. “If the whole land is seized by the strife we have witnessed thus far, then a strong man supporting Chaos might have deposed the king, just as an attempt was made to depose you, Duke Gwelhen.”

“We must ride at once to Halwyg,” Corum said.

The duke nodded. “Aye—at once. Yet a largish company rides with you. It would be a week at least before you reached the capital.”

“The company must follow us,” Rhalina decided. “Beldan, will you command it and bring it to Halwyg?”

Beldan grimaced. “Aye, though I wish I could ride with you.”

Corum got up from the table. “Then we three will set off for Halwyg tonight. If we may rest an hour or two, Duke Gwelhen, we should be grateful.”

Gwelhen’s face was grave. “I would advise it. For all we know, you’ll have little chance for much rest in the days to come.”

4

T
HEIR RIDING WAS
swift and it was across a land growing increasingly disturbed, with a people becoming more and more distressed without understanding why these moods descended on them or why they suddenly thought in terms of violence when a short time before they had thought only in terms of love.

And the priests of Chaos, many of them believing themselves to be acting from benevolent motives, continued to encourage strife and uncertainty.

They heard many rumours when they stopped to refresh themselves briefly or to change horses, but none of the rumours came close to the much more terrifying truth and soon they gave up their warnings until they should speak with the king himself so that he might then issue a decree which would carry his authority.

But would they convince the king? What evidence was there that they spoke the truth?

This was the great doubt in their minds as they rode for Halwyg-nan-Vake, across a beautiful landscape of soft hills and quiet farms which might soon be all destroyed.

Halwyg-nan-Vake was an old city of spires and pale stones. From all directions across the plain came white roads, leading to Halwyg. Along these roads travelled merchants and soldiers, peasants and priests, as well as the players and musicians in which Lywm-an-Esh was so rich. Down the Great East Way galloped Corum and Rhalina and Jhary, their armour and their clothes covered in dust, their eyes heavy with weariness.

Halwyg was a walled city, but the walls seemed more decorative than functional, their stonework carved with fanciful motifs, mythical beasts and complicated scenes of the city’s past glories. None of the gates was closed as they came near and there were only a few sleepy guards who did not bother to hail them when they passed through and found themselves in streets filled with flowers. Every building had a garden surrounding it and every window had boxes in which more plants grew. The city was filled with the rich scents of the flowers and it seemed to Corum, remembering the Plain of Blossoms, that the main business of these people seemed to lie in the nurturing of lovely growing things.

And when they came to the palace of the king, they saw that every tower and battlement, every wall was covered in vines and flowers so that it seemed from a distance to be a castle built entirely of flowers. Even Corum smiled with pleasure when he saw it.

“It is magnificent,” he said. “How could anyone wish to destroy all this?”

Jhary looked dubiously at the palace. “But they will,” he said. “The barbarians will.”

Rhalina addressed herself to a guard at the low wall.

“We come with news for King Onald,” she said. “We have travelled far and swiftly and the news is urgent.”

The guard, dressed in a handsome, but most unwarlike, fashion, saluted her. “I will see that the king is informed if you will kindly wait here.”

* * *

And then, at last, they were escorted into the presence of the king.

He sat in a sunlit room which had a view over most of the southern part of the city. There were maps of his country upon a marble table and these had recently been consulted. He was young, with small features and a small frame which made him look almost like a boy. As they entered he rose gracefully to welcome them. He was dressed in a simple robe of pale yellow samite and there was a circlet upon his auburn hair which was the only indication of his station.

“You are tired,” he said when he saw them. He signed to a servant. “Bring comfortable chairs and refreshment.” He remained standing until the chairs had been brought and they were all seated near the window with a small table nearby on which food and wine were placed.