But it had been the hare they intended to destroy that morning, not us. Their horses’ hooves churned the ashy desert as from her huge pale throat, the white she-wolf voiced her angry frustration at losing her quarry. A chilling growl.
Again the horn sounded.
The mounted knights began to reorder themselves, turning and moving back towards the horizon.
Moonglum stepped up beside me. He had been commanding a group of fighters farther along the wall.
“What’s this?” He sniffed and rubbed at his sleeve, as if to remove a stain. “Were they simply out for a gallop? Did you see the quarry they followed, my lord? The little hare?”
I had seen her and I wondered why she was so important to a Duchess of Law. What had held them back from pursuing her into the city? Some understanding that by entering eternal Tanelorn they threatened the fundamental order of all our realms?
Madness is what I witnessed. I had seen it more than once when Law became corrupted and decadent. For that reason alone my people preferred the uncertainties and wildness of Chaos. Law gone rotten was a far more perilous prospect. Chaos did not pretend to logic, save the logic of temperament, of feeling.
The she-wolf had turned and was loping back towards us, bearing her arrogant rider, who now, apparently relaxed, held his lance easily in its stirrup.
I heard a noise from within the helm. I heard a voice. I heard my own name.
“Prince Elric, called Traitor. Is that you?”
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir.”
“Oh, you’ll soon be familiar enough with one or another of my names, sir.”
“Why,” I asked, “do you attack our Tanelorn? What do you want from it?”
“What, my lord, do you defend? Do you know? Have you never questioned your actions? You defend nothing. You defend an innocent idea. Not a reality.”
“I have seen many an idea made reality,” I replied. “I’ll defend Tanelorn or sack her, should I feel the urge. I have nothing better to do, sir. And I would like a chance to kill you.”
He laughed within his helm. An easy laugh. A familiar laugh. He ignored my taunt. “Prince Elric, I have a bargain to make with you. All in Tanelorn will be saved if you simply give me your sword. Upon my word, I will then leave you in peace. All of you. There’s enough physic in the city to keep you alive and well. It’s a fair bargain, Prince Elric. You save all your comrades and lose nothing but a useless blade.”
“I have more care for my sword than for most of my comrades, sir. So the offer has no attraction for me. You are welcome to the city. I shall enjoy killing a vast number of you before you take it. If you know me well, sir, you know that I am only replenished by the work of slaughter. Sir, if you’ll forgive me for repeating myself, have you the courage to accept a challenge? I would enjoy the pleasure of killing you. And the overlarge beast you ride.”
At this the beast turned her head and her red eyes met my own. There was a kind of threatening mockery in her expression.
“You will have considerable difficulty killing a Duchess of Law, Prince Elric,” she said. She grinned, her pale tongue lolling amongst her sharp, yellow teeth.
I returned her stare. I said, “But a wolf might kill a wolf.”
She made no answer, though it seemed she was off before her rider was ready. It amused me that she chose that particular form and pretended that the man on her back was her master. Another sign of her monstrous delusion. I had ventured into supernatural realms where logic of her sort ruled. Nothing was more hideous. Even a Melnibonéan could not take pleasure in the wretchedness which the likes of Miggea created. Her half-dreaming mind was scarcely aware of the consequences of her actions. She believed that she ordered and protected, that she sacrificed herself to the common good. Her knights, of course, would obey her without question. Duty and loyalty were all. Virtues unto themselves. They were as mad as she.
I began to wonder if, after all, the object of their assault was not the city? What if they only wanted my sword? What if they directed all this vast sorcery upon Tanelorn merely in order to strike a bargain with me? A bargain I had refused. And would continue to refuse.
They would never compromise me. I would hold firm against them. And ultimately I would overcome them.
For the next few days the whole besieging army withdrew to below the horizon. Life in Tanelorn returned to something approaching normal. Not a single citizen attempted to leave as there was nowhere to go. The armies of Law had retreated, but the surrounding landscape had not returned to its natural state. For as far as the eye could see were bleak ash flats relieved by grotesque columns of clinkered limestone. A landscape of petrified death. I grew increasingly miserable with just that glinting desert for a view. I began to consider taking a horse and riding out to explore this world.
At night I began to dream again of different worlds. Worlds hardly distinguishable from my own. Worlds hideously or beautifully or subtly different. I dreamed of Bek, though I did not recognize it. I dreamed of uniformed men who stole my sword and tortured me. I dreamed of battles won and lost loves, of loves won and battles lost. I dreamed of terrifying landscapes and breathtaking natural visions. I dreamed of impossible futures and possible pasts. I dreamed of Cymoril, my murdered betrothed, pleading with me as her soul-stuff poured into mine. I woke sobbing.
Moonglum, in the next room, took to wrapping his bedclothes around his ears.
I was dreaming, of course, of my past as well as my near future. I dreamed of the world I would find. The world of my nightmares made reality.
This strategy of Law’s was probably merely a pause while our enemies gathered strength to crush us. We discussed the nature of our predicament but had no precedents for it. I failed in my attempts to summon any further supernatural aid. Lady Miggea obviously controlled almost everything in this realm. We were dumbfounded. We hardly knew how to counter Law. Chaos had attempted to take Tanelorn more than once, but never, as far as we knew, the forces of Order.
For some reason not one of us believed we would all die. Perhaps Tanelorn had already demonstrated her invulnerability, when the White Hunt had divided around the city. Perhaps they could not enter. Some greater force prevented them. Or, perhaps like many gods and elementals, they needed to be invited by mortal agents into mortal realms? And, strictly, Tanelorn was not in this realm.
Our speculation was of little use to us. It was impossible to anticipate Law’s next move. Impossible to understand their intentions.
We made some attempt to discover the white hare, but clearly she had waited for the hullabaloo to die down and gone back to her own territory.
I confided to Moonglum that I was growing bored. If no attempt was made on the city soon, I had it in mind to ride on. He did not offer to join me. I think he had some notion that I planned to betray Tanelorn.
Then one afternoon when the sun stained the ash flats scarlet, an armored rider on a white wolf came down the hills towards Tanelorn and sat yelling before our causeway gates, demanding that I be summoned.
The swaggering silver knight had draped himself in even more gaudy silk, as if in defiance of Law’s cold taste. He sat arrogantly in his saddle. The water of the moat reflected his armor. He seemed made of mercury.
Still nameless.
He recognized me the moment I appeared on the eastern keep and stepped up to the battlements. He gestured elaborately. Some unknown form of greeting.
“Good morning, Prince Elric.”
“Good morning, Sir No Name.”
Easy laughter came out of that helm, as if I’d made a rich joke. This creature used every weapon in his arsenal, including subtle flattery and charm.
This morning he presented himself as being in a bluff, commonsensical kind of mood.
“I’ll not waste your time, my lord,” he said, “but as a Knight of the Balance and a servant of Law, I have come to take you up on a challenge. Hand-to-hand combat, as you said. And what’s more I offer you a bargain.” He had that half-belligerent
tone you often hear amongst merchants and office-seekers, forever trying to sell you something you don’t want or need.
“I understand those roles to be contradictory,” I said mildly. While I exulted at the chance to fight him, I had, of course, become immediately suspicious of his motives. “A Knight of the Balance serves only the Balance.”
“Aye,” says he, almost impatiently, “that’s the old thinking on it. But Chaos threatens and will engulf all unless we guard against her.”
“Well,” says I, “as one who serves Chaos, I can only speak for myself: I have no plans to engulf anything or anyone.”
“Then you’re a liar or a dupe, sir,” says he.
“I’ve often wondered the same,” I admitted easily. I knew he attempted to goad me, but there were few who could match the cruel wit of the average Melnibonéan aristocrat. “What would you sell me this morning, sir?”
“If you’ll grant me a little hospitality, I’ll tell you over breakfast. It’s not my way to speak of private matters so publicly.”
“We do not have private matters here in Tanelorn, sir. It’s a communal place. We bother neither with secrets nor post-mortems. It is part of our way of life.”
“I have no wish to disturb that way of life, sir.” The wolf moved suddenly as if not entirely in agreement with her rider. “And you can easily ensure your tranquillity. I came, after all, to accept your challenge. A duel. One to one. To decide the issue. Or, if you no longer feel you wish to settle this as a matter of honor, I’ll take token tribute. All I seek is that old sword you carry. Give me the runeblade and I’ll take my men away. You have seen the weight of armor we can bring against you. You know you would be crushed in an hour. Wiped out of existence. A few forgotten whispers on an ancient wind. Give me the sword and you’ll all be immortal. Tanelorn will remain something more than a memory.”
“Metaphysical threats,” I said. “I’ve heard them echoing out of steel helmets all my life, sir. They always have the same apocalyptic ring to them. And they’re exceedingly hard to prove . . .”
“There’s nothing vague about my threats, sir,” says the Knight of the Balance, shifting impatiently and pushing almost fussily at his errant silks. “Nothing insubstantial. They are backed by a hundred thousand lances.”
“Not one of which can enter this city, I’d guess.” I began to turn away. “Without being invited. You have nothing to offer me, sir, except the boredom I seek to escape. Even your unsavory, near-senile mistress Miggea cannot stride unasked into Tanelorn. Those mortal soldiers we fought were recruited here. Most are dead. Anything supernatural still must beg to be admitted. And you, sir, have already demonstrated your belligerence. I do not believe you have any intention of fighting me fairly.”
“My tone was a mistake, I’ll grant you, Prince Elric. But you will find me a more reasonable Champion of Law today. Willing to meet you man-to-man. Here’s what I offer: I’ll fight you fairly for the sword. Should you defeat me, all Law retreats from Tanelorn and you are returned to your natural condition, the city untouched. Should I defeat you, I take the sword. And leave you to defend yourselves as best you can.”
“My sword and I are bonded,” I said simply, “we are one. If you held the sword she could destroy you. And eventually she would return to me. Believe me, Sir Secret, I would not have it thus by choice. But it is so. And we are full of energy now. We have feasted well on your opposition. You have made us strong.”
“Then let’s test the strength. You have nothing to lose. Let me in and we’ll fight for all to see—in the public square.”
“Fighting is forbidden in Tanelorn.” I said only what he already knew.
His voice was all mellow mockery. “What forces threaten your right to fight?” The knight’s tone became openly challenging. “What power nursemaids an entire metropolis? Surely you are not going to let yourself be dictated to by meaningless custom? No free man should be forbidden the right to defend his life. To carry his weapons with pride and use them when he has to. That is how we of Law think now. We have rejected the great weight of ritual and look to a cleaner, fresher, more youthful future. Your rituals and customs are rules that have lost their meaning. They are no longer connected to the harsh realities of survival. Today the battle is to the strong. To the cunning. Those who do not resist Chaos are doomed to be destroyed by it.”
“But if you destroy Chaos?” I asked. “What then?”
“Then Law can control everything. The unpredictable will be banished. The numinous will no longer exist. We shall produce an ordered world, with everything in its place, and everyone in their place. We will know at last what the future brings. It is man’s destiny to finish the gods’ work and complete the divine symphony in which we shall all play an instrument.”
In my mind I was thinking I had rarely heard such pious lunacy expressed so perfectly. Perhaps my overfondness for reading, as a child, had made me too familiar with all the old arguments used to justify the mortal lust for power. The moment the moral authority of the supernatural was invoked, you knew you were in conflict with the monumentally self-deceiving, who should not be trusted at any level.
“Man’s destiny? Your destiny, I think you mean!” I leaned on the battlements like a householder enjoying a chat across the fence with his neighbor. “You have a strong sense of what is righteous, eh? You know there is only one path to virtue? One clean, straight path to infinity? We of Chaos have a less tidy vision of existence.”
“You mock me, sir. But I have the means of making my vision real. I suspect that you do not.”
“Neither the means nor the desire to do so, sir. I drift as the world drifts. We have no other choice. I don’t doubt your power, sir. Law has driven my own allies away from this realm. All that stands between us and your total conquest of us is my sword and this city. But somehow, I know, we can defeat you. It’s in the nature of those of us who serve Chaos to trust a little more to luck than you do. Luck can often be no more than the mood of a mob, running in your favor. Whatever it is, we trust to it. And in trusting to luck, we trust ourselves.”
“I’m not one to argue with Melnibonéan sophistry,” said the Silver Knight, fussing with his fluttering scarves and flags. “The ambitions of your own patron, Duke Arioch, are well known. He would gobble the worlds, if he could.” A cool, morning breeze stirred the surrounding desert. Our visitor seemed almost bound up by those long scarves. Hampered by them, yet unwilling to be rid of them. As if he could not bear the idea of wearing undecorated steel. As if he yearned for color. As if he had been denied it for an eternity. As if he clutched at it for his life. Sometimes when the sun caught his armor and the fluttering silk, he seemed to be on fire.
I knew I could defeat him in a level fight. But if the Lady Miggea helped him, it would be more difficult, perhaps impossible. She still had enormous powers, many of which I could not even predict.
There was no doubt, when I looked back on that morning, that my enemies knew me in some ways better than I knew myself. For they were playing on my impatience, on my natural boredom. I had very little to lose. Tanelorn was tired. I did not believe she could be defeated by this beribboned knight, nor even by Miggea of Law. I was anxious for the siege to end, so that I could continue about my restless and, admittedly, pointless business. I was constantly reminded of my beloved cousin Cymoril, who had died by accident as Yyrkoon and I fought. All I had wanted was Cymoril. The rest I was willing to give up to my cousin. But because Cymoril loved me, Yyrkoon needed also to possess her. And as a result of my own pride, my folly and passion, and of Yyrkoon’s overweening greed, she had died. Yyrkoon, too, had died, as he deserved. She had never deserved such awful violence. My instincts were to protect her. I had lost control of my sword.
I had sworn never to lose that control again. The sword’s will seemed as powerful as my own sometimes. Even now, I could not be entirely sure whether the energy I felt coursing through me was mine or the blade’s.
Grief, anger and desperate sadness
threatened to take hold of me. Every habit of self-discipline was strained. My will battled that of the sword and won. Yet I became determined to fight this stranger.
Perhaps my mood was encouraged by a clever enemy. But it seemed that I was offering to fight him on my terms.
“The she-wolf must leave,” I said. “The realm—”
“She cannot leave the realm.”
“She can have no hand in this. She must give me the word, the holy word of Law, that the wolf will not fight me.”
“Agreed,” he said. “The wolf shall have no part in our fight.”
I looked at the wolf. She lowered her eyes in reluctant compromise.
“What guarantee is there that you and she will keep your word?”
“The firm word of Law cannot be broken,” he said. “Our entire philosophy is based on that idea. I’ll not change the terms of the bargain. If you defeat me, we all leave this realm. If I defeat you, I get the sword.”
“You’re confident you can defeat me.”
“Stormbringer will be mine before sunset. Will you fight me here? Where I stand now?” He pointed back behind him. “Or there, on the other side?”
At this I began to laugh. The old blood-madness was gripping me again. Moonglum recognized it. He came running up the steps. “My lord—this has to be a trick. It stinks of a trap. Law grows untrustworthy. Everything decays. You are too wise to let them deceive you . . .”
I was grave when I put my hand on his shoulder. “Law is rigid and aggressive. Orthodoxy in its final stages of degeneration. She clings to her old ways, even as she rejects what is no longer useful to her. She’ll keep her word, I’m sure.”
“My lord, there is no point to this duel!”