Heavily bearded, wearing peculiar costumes—a kind of fine silk stretched on wide frames so that their skin was touched hardly at all, large gauntlets, helmets of some light wood supported on a kind of yoke across the shoulders, they stopped a few yards from us, raising both arms in greeting.
I was half-expecting another attack, but the men spoke with sonorous gravity. “You have come to the Realm of the Red Weepers. Do you cross the threshold by accident or by design? We are the hereditary guardians of the threshold and must ask these questions before we allow you to proceed.”
Alisaard stepped forward. She introduced us by our false names. “We come by design, noble masters. But we are not traders. We humbly ask permission to pass through your realm to the next threshold.”
I could now more clearly see the men’s faces. Their eyes were wide and staring, rimmed entirely in red. Their helmets shaded their faces but I could now see that under each eye on a kind of wire frame was suspended a small cup. With a frisson of nausea I realised that the eyes were constantly exuding a viscous red fluid, a kind of mucus, and that the men themselves stared blindly at us.
“What business, then, are you upon, noble mistress?” one of the Red Weepers asked her.
“We seek knowledge.”
“For what purpose shall that knowledge be used?”
“We are charting the pathways between the realms. The knowledge will be for the good of all six realms, I swear.”
“You will do us no harm? You will take nothing from this realm that is not willingly offered?”
“We swear.” She signalled to us to echo her words.
“Your heartbeats suggest fear,” said one of the other Weepers. “Of what are you afraid?”
“We have but lately escaped Maaschanheemer pirates,” Alisaard told them. “There is great danger everywhere these days.”
“What danger threatens?”
“Civil war and the conquest of our realms by Chaos,” she told them.
“Ah, now,” said another speaker. “Then you must go quickly about your business. We have no such fears in the Rootsenheem, for we have our goddess to protect us, may she bless you all.”
“Let the goddess bless you all,” they chorused piously.
I was struck by an instinctive suspicion. “Pray, noble masters, whom do you call your goddess?” I asked.
“She is called Sharadim the Wise.”
Now we knew why war and disaster had failed to touch Rootsenheem. Sharadim had no need to promote either here. The realm was already conquered and had doubtless been hers for many years. It was easy to imagine how easily she had deceived this ancient, near-senile people. When she offered the Realm of the Red Weepers up to Chaos, few, I guessed, would protest or even know what was happening to them.
This knowledge, however, gave our mission additional urgency. Alisaard said: “We seek the place you call Tortacanuzoo. Where shall we find it, noble masters?”
“You must cross the desert, travelling due west. But you will need a beast. We will have one brought to you. When the beast is no longer needed, it will return to us at its own volition.”
And thus, on a huge wooden platform fixed to the back of an animal roughly the size and shape of a rhinoceros, we began our crossing of the great desert.
“Soon Sharadim must control all the realms save Gheestenheem,” said Alisaard soberly. “And even Gheestenheem could fall, her power increases so. She commands millions of warriors by now. And it seems she has revived the corpse of her murdered brother so as to impress the people of Fluugensheem.”
“That I could not understand,” I said with a shudder. “Do you know what she plans?”
“I think so. Fluugensheem’s legends and myths have much to do with themes of duality. They look back to a Golden Age when a Queen and a King ruled over them and all their cities flew. Now only one has that power and it grows old, for they have lost the knowledge of building new ships. They, too, it seems, came originally from another realm. If Sharadim has been able to force an imitation of life into the body of Flamadin then this also means her Chaos-borrowed power is greater than it has ever been before. She has doubtless, through her skill at politics, convinced the Fluugensheemers that the stories they heard of Prince Flamadin’s being outlawed were false. She is skilled at answering the needs of all she seeks to manipulate. She presents an entirely different face to each of the Six Realms—whatever they would most wish to see in their idealism and their secret yearnings for order and peace…”
“She is in other words a classic demagogue,” said von Bek, clinging to the side of the platform as the beast lurched for a moment before correcting itself with a great blustering exhalation of ill-smelling breath. “It was Hitler’s secret that he could seem one thing to one group and an entirely different thing to another. That is how they rise so swiftly to power. These creatures are bizarre. They can virtually change shape and colour. They have an amorphous quality and yet at the same time they have a will to dominate others which is unrelenting, almost their only consistent trait, their only reality.”
Alisaard was impressed by this. “You have studied your histories?” she asked. “You know much of tyrants?”
“I am the victim of one,” said von Bek. “I am to be the victim of another, too, it seems, if we are unsuccessful!”
She reached out to take his hand. “You must keep your courage, Count von Bek. It is considerable and has stood you in good stead already. I have known few as brave as you.”
I watched as his hand folded hers in turn.
And again I knew that terrible, unjustified, unwanted pang of jealousy, as if my Ermizhad showed affection to a rival. As if that rival courted the only woman I had ever really loved!
They saw that I was disturbed and became concerned about me. But I dismissed their questions. I claimed that I was affected by the heat of the old, red sun overhead. I pretended to be tired and, putting my face in my arms, tried to sleep, to dismiss the appalling thoughts and emotions surging through me.
Towards evening I heard von Bek shout. I uncovered my eyes to see that his arm was now around Alisaard’s shoulders. He was pointing to the horizon, where the sun had now dropped so that it seemed to be sinking into the sands of the desert, to be absorbed like blood. Against this scarlet half-globe was the black outline of a single mountain.
“It can only be Tortacanuzoo,” said Alisaard. Her voice was trembling, but I could not tell whether it was from the proximity of von Bek’s presence or from anticipation of what we were about to encounter.
Lost in private speculation the three of us stared in silence at the gateway to the realm of the Archduke Balarizaaf. We were about to enter the Realm of Chaos and at last were struck by the immensity of our adventure, of how little chance we had of surviving it.
The beast continued to plod on towards Tortacanuzoo. Then, as if in greeting, the ancient mountain gave voice to an almost human roar. The beast stopped, lifting its head to answer. The sound was virtually identical. It was uncanny.
A flicker of flame rose suddenly from the summit, a few strands of grey smoke sailed lazily over the setting sun.
I felt a terrible sensation of terror in the pit of my stomach and I wished with all my heart that we had been captured by Prince Pharl at the gateway into Rootsenheem, or been killed in our fight with the smoke snake.
The others had no direct experience of Chaos. Indeed, as far as I could recall, I had never encountered Chaos as directly as we now intended. They, however, were innocents compared to myself. I at least had some knowledge of the warping, mutating power of the Lords of Disorder, the supernatural entities who on John Daker’s Earth would be called Arch-Demons, the Dukes of Hell. I knew that they made use of our most treasured virtues and most honoured emotions. That they were capable of almost any illusion. And that all that was keeping them from pouring forth from their stronghold to engulf so many other realms of the multiverse was their caution, their unreadiness or unwillingness to war against the rival powers o
f Law. But if we humans invited them to our realms, they would come.
They would come when they had been offered proof of human loyalty to their cause. Proof which Sharadim was even now presenting with every victory she made.
I shivered as the old volcano muttered and fumed. It was not hard to see the mountain as an entrance into the bowels of Hell.
Then I had forced myself to action. I clambered off the platform and began to wade through ankle-deep sand towards Tortacanuzoo.
I called back to the lovers, who hesitated behind me.
“Come, my friends! We have an appointment with the Archduke Balarizaaf. I see no advantage to keeping him waiting.”
It was von Bek who answered me, his voice puzzled. “Herr Daker! Herr Daker! Can you not see them? Look, man! It is the Empress Sharadim herself!”
10
IT WAS SHARADIM.
She was on horseback, surrounded by a group of brightly dressed courtiers. They looked for all the world like a party of aristocrats on a picnic or a hunting spree. They were riding up the mountain ahead of us. Now, above the voice of the volcano, I could hear snatches of conversation, laughter.
“They have not seen us!” Alisaard called softly, beckoning me back towards the animal. She and von Bek crouched beside one of its massive thighs. Understanding their caution, I rejoined them.
“They are euphoric in their power and cannot believe themselves under threat in a realm where Sharadim is worshipped as a goddess,” said Alisaard. “When they round that bend and are lost from sight again, we must make haste to reach those steps you see, cut into the foot of the mountain.”
It was growing darker. I saw the sense of her strategy and nodded agreement. A short while later the last of Sharadim’s gaily clad party turned the corner and was gone. Following Alisaard we dashed for the steps and had reached the protection of the mountain long before Sharadim emerged on the other side. Cautiously, we began to mount the steps, following in the wake of our most dangerous enemy.
As we came round to the other side I saw some costly tents pitched below. A servant was feeding pack animals. It was almost a village in its own right. This was Sharadim’s camp. But surely she did not intend to go directly into Hell! Even in her pride and her conquests she could not believe herself so invulnerable as yet!
The pace of the horses grew slower as they approached the summit, while we, creeping on the stairs above the trail, were able to move with relative swiftness until we were slightly ahead of Sharadim and her party, but virtually within hearing distance.
Their voices were louder now. I recognised Baron Captain Armiad of the Maaschanheem, Duke Perichost of the Draachenheem, a couple of courtiers from the palace. Also among the group were thin-faced Mabden with the wolfish look of barbarian raiders, men in outlandishly padded black livery. There seemed to be representatives of all the cultures of the Six Realms, save for the Eldren and the Ursine Princes.
I began to guess at Sharadim’s intent. This was to be a demonstration of her power. A means of ensuring that her allies were convinced by her threats and promises.
One I did not recognise rode beside her, in a cowled cape. He had the look of a priest. She was in holiday spirit, laughing and joking with all around her. I was impressed again by her unlikely beauty. It was not difficult to see how she was able to convince so many of her angelic disposition. Indeed, she had even convinced the blind Weepers that she was a goddess, and they had never looked on her face.
We emerged now into a kind of wide amphitheatre which was the top of the volcano. Out in the very centre of the crust was a red, glowing, unstable substance which from time to time gave off a thin shoot of flame and some smoke. The volcano seemed to be at its cooling stage rather than about to erupt, so I felt no danger in this. I was fascinated, however, to see that a great tier of stone seats had been erected on one side. This was reached by a causeway, also of geometrically cut stone. Along the causeway, almost like voyagers about to take ship, Sharadim and her party rode.
With a wave of her hand, Sharadim ordered her courtiers to dismount and take seats in the tier. She remained mounted and, leaning over, put a restraining hand on her cowled companion, making him draw up his horse beside hers.
Above the grumbling of the volcano, Sharadim now began to speak.
“Some of you have expressed doubts that Chaos can aid us in the final stages of our conquests. You have required proof that your rewards will be almost limitless. Well, soon I shall summon one of the most powerful nobles in all Chaos, the Archduke Balarizaaf himself! You will hear from his lips what you refused to believe from mine. Those loyal to Chaos now, who do not flinch from deeds which lesser creatures deem vile and cruel, shall be raised above all others, save myself. You shall know the expression of every whim, every secret dream, every dark desire. You shall know a complete fulfillment which the weak can never begin to taste. Shortly you shall look upon the face of Balarizaaf, Archduke of Chaos, and you shall know what it means to be strong. I speak of strength capable of reshaping reality to the individual will. Strength which can destroy whole universes if it so desires. Strength which brings with it immortality. And with immortality shall come the realisation of even the most fleeting of whims. We shall be gods! Chaos promises an infinity of possibilities free from the petty constraints of Law!”
Now she turned with upraised arms towards the volcano. Her voice sang out, sweet and perfect in the still evening air:
“LORD BALARIZAAF, ARCHDUKE OF CHAOS, MASTER OF HELL, YOUR SERVANTS CALL YOU! WE BRING YOU THE GIFT OF WORLDS. WE BRING YOU OUR TRIBUTE. WE BRING YOU MILLIONS OF SOULS! WE BRING YOU BLOOD AND HORROR! WE BRING YOU THE SACRIFICE OF ALL WEAKNESS! WE BRING YOU OUR STRENGTH! AID US, LORD BALARIZAAF. COME TO US, LORD BALARIZAAF. LEAD CHAOS THROUGH AND LET LAW BE FOREVER IN DEFEAT!”
A flicker of scarlet light at the centre of the volcano seemed to respond. She continued to chant in this manner and soon her courtiers were joining in with her. The entire night was infected by their voices as the sun finally set and the only light came from the volcano itself.
“Aid us, Lord Balarizaaf!”
Then, as if bursting through an unseen ceiling, came first one beam of light and then another. These were not white as the gateways we had used hitherto. These seemed to reflect the scarlet of the flame. They glowed. They resembled pillars composed of living, bloody flesh.
One by one these pillars grew in width and intensity until at last thirteen of them were poised between the sky and the volcano and it was impossible to see where they began and ended.
Her face and hands scarlet in the light from the pillars, Sharadim crooned and sang. She called out obscenities and imploring promises. She offered her god anything he might desire.
“Balarizaaf. Lord Balarizaaf! We invite you into our realm!”
Now the volcano shook.
I felt the ground shifting under my feet. Alisaard, von Bek and I looked at one another in uncertainty. The gateway was open. It led to Chaos, without question. But what would happen to us if we tried to enter it now?
“BALARIZAAF! LORD OF ALL! COME TO US!”
All around us there was a wind whistling. Lightning began to crackle upon the brink of the crater. Again the mountain trembled and we were almost thrown off our staircase to the causeway below.
The columns of scarlet light pounded as if they were living organs. An unholy yelling began to sound, far away, and I knew it came from the pillars.
“BALARIZAAF! AID US!”
The yelling became a scream, the scream turned into chilling laughter, and then, blazing with black and orange fire, his unstable features writhing, changing shape with every second, stood a creature no taller than a man but from whose lips there now escaped a deafening voice: “IS IT YOU, LITTLE SHARADIM, WHO CALLS BALARIZAAF FROM PLAY? IS THE TIME COME? SHALL I LEAD YOU TO THE SWORD?”
“The time is almost here, Lord Balarizaaf. Soon we shall have conquered the entire Six Realms. This whole realm shall then become one. A realm of Chaos.
And my reward shall be the Sword and the Sword shall give me—”
“Infinite power. The right to be one of the Sword Rulers themselves. A Lord of Chaos! For only you or the one called the Champion may wield that blade and live! What more must I repeat, little Sharadim?”
“No more, lord.”
“Good, because it is painful for me to stay in this realm until it is truly mine. The Sword shall make it truly mine. Come to me soon, little Sharadim!”
It seemed to me that Lord Balarizaaf gave poor guarantees. But so blinded by the prospect of unchecked power were these people that they were prepared to believe anything they were told.
Balarizaaf was suddenly gone.
Below us, Sharadim’s courtiers murmured amongst themselves. There was no doubt of their complete loyalty to her now. One or two were already on their knees.
Sharadim reached towards her cowled companion, beside her on his horse, and she pushed back his cape. She revealed a face which was all too familiar to me!
It was a grey face, a lifeless face, with eyes the colour of pewter staring directly ahead of it. It was my face. I was looking at my doppelgänger.
And even as I stared at it, its dead eyes met mine. They began slowly to fill with something approximating energy. The lips moved. A hollow voice said:
“He is here, mistress. What you promised me is here. Give him to me. Give me his soul. Give me his life…”
Alisaard was howling at me. Von Bek was tugging at me. They were pulling me with them down towards the causeway. At the far end of this, by the tiers of seats, heads were beginning to turn.
We dashed over the causeway, down smooth rocks, onto the crust of the volcano itself. And then we were running towards the pillars of blood.
“Flamadin!” I heard my pseudo-sister cry.
They were howling like jackals as they came in pursuit of us. Yet they were reluctant to approach too close to the gateway, for they knew it led directly into Hell.
The three of us reached the scarlet pillars and hesitated. Sharadim and her courtiers were still behind us. I saw the puppetlike motions of her creature. “Its life is mine, mistress!”