Iolinda shuddered. “Then let us leave this gloomy place,” she murmured.
With one last look back at the dais on which the heap of dust still lay, I walked with the King and the Princess of Necranal out of my own tomb and into a calm day that, while warm, had a light breeze blowing. We were standing on a small hill. Behind us the tomb, apparently built of black quartz, looked time-worn and ancient, pitted by the passing of many storms and many winds. On its roof was the corroded statue of a warrior mounted on a great battle charger. The face had been smoothed by dust and rain, but I knew it. It was my face.
I looked away.
Below us a caravan was waiting. There were the richly caparisoned horses and a guard of men dressed in that same golden armour I had seen in my dreams. These warriors, however, were fresher-looking than the others. Their armour was fluted, embellished with raised designs, ornate and beautiful but, according to my sparse reading on the subject of armour, coupled with Erekosë’s stirring memory, totally unsuitable for war. The fluting and embossing acted as a trap to catch the point of a spear or sword, whereas armour should be made to turn a point. This armour, for all its beauty, acted more as an extra danger than a protection.
The guards were mounted on heavy warhorses, but the beasts that knelt awaiting us resembled a kind of camel from which all the camel’s lumpen ugliness had been bred. These beasts were beautiful. On their high backs were cabins of ebony, ivory and mother-of-pearl, curtained in scintillating silks.
We walked down the hill and, as we walked, I noticed that I still had on my finger the ring that I had worn as John Daker, a ring of woven silver that my wife had given me. My wife—I could not recall her face. I felt I should have left the ring behind me, on that other body. But perhaps there is no body left behind.
We reached the kneeling beasts and the guards stiffened their backs to acknowledge our arrival. I saw curiosity in many of the eyes that looked at me.
King Rigenos gestured towards one of the beasts. “Would you care to take your cabin, Champion?” Though he himself had summoned me, he seemed to be slightly wary of me.
“Thank you.” I climbed the little ladder of plaited silk and entered the cabin. It was completely lined with deep cushions of a variety of hues.
The camels climbed to their feet and we began to move swiftly through a narrow valley whose sides were lined with evergreen trees which I could not name—something like spreading monkey-puzzle trees, but with more branches and broader leaves.
I had laid my sword across my knees. I inspected it. It was a plain soldier’s sword, having no markings on the blade. The hilt fitted perfectly into my right hand as I gripped it. It was a good sword. But why it was poisonous to others I did not know. Presumably it was also lethal to those whom King Rigenos called the Hounds of Evil—the Eldren.
* * *
As we travelled through the soft day I drowsed on my cushions, feeling strangely weary, until I heard a cry and pushed back the curtains of my cabin to look ahead.
There was Necranal, the city which I had seen in my dreams.
Far away still, it towered upwards so that the entire mountain upon which it was built was hidden by its wondrous architecture. Minarets, steeples, domes and battlements shone in the sun and above them all loomed the huge palace of the warrior kings, a noble structure, many-towered, the Palace of Ten Thousand Windows. I remembered the name.
I saw King Rigenos peer from his own cabin and cry: “Katorn! Ride ahead and tell the people that Erekosë the Champion has come to drive the Evil Ones back to the Mountains of Sorrow!”
The man he addressed was a sullen-faced individual, doubtless the Captain of the Imperial Guard. “Aye, sire,” he growled.
He drew his horse out of line and galloped speedily along the road of white dust which wound now down an incline. I could see the road stretching for many miles into the distance towards Necranal. I watched the rider for a while but wearied of this eventually and instead strained my eyes to make out details in that great city structure.
The cities of London, New York or Tokyo were probably bigger in area, but not much. Necranal was spread around the base of the mountain for many miles. Surrounding the city was a high wall upon which turrets were mounted at intervals.
So, at last, we came to the great main gate of Necranal and our caravan halted.
A musical instrument sounded and the gates began to swing open. We passed through into streets packed with jostling, cheering people who shouted so loudly I was forced, at times, to cover my ears for fear they would rupture.
3
THE ELDREN THREAT
NOW THE CHEERING gradually fell away as the little caravan ascended the winding road to the Palace of Ten Thousand Windows. A silence settled and I heard only the creak of the howdah in which I sat, the occasional jingle of harness or the clatter of a horse’s hoof. I began to feel discomfited. There was something about the mood of the city that was not altogether sane and which could not be explained away in conventional terms. Certainly the people were afraid of enemy attack; certainly they were weary with fighting. But it seemed to me that this mood held something morbid—a mixture of hysterical elation and melancholic depression that I had sensed only once before in my previous life, during my single visit to a mental hospital.
Or perhaps I was merely imposing my own mood on my surroundings. After all, it could be argued that I was experiencing classic paranoid-schizophrenic symptoms! A man with two or more well-defined identities who also happened to be considered in this world the potential saviour of mankind! For a moment I wondered if in fact I had not gone completely insane, if this were not some monstrous delusion, if I were not actually at this moment in the very madhouse I had once visited!
I touched the draperies, my scabbarded sword; I peered out at the vast city now stretched out below me; I stared at the huge bulk of the Palace of Ten Thousand Windows above me. I attempted to see beyond them, deliberately assuming that they were an illusion, expecting to see the walls of a hospital room, or even the familiar walls of my own apartment. But the Palace of Ten Thousand Windows remained as solid as ever. The city of Necranal had none of the qualities of a mirage. I sank back in my cushions. I had to assume that this was real, that I had been transported somehow across the ages and through space to this Earth of which there were no records in any history book I had ever read (and I had read many) and of which there were only echoes in myths and legends.
I was no longer John Daker. I was Erekosë—the Eternal Champion.
A legend myself, come to life.
I laughed then. If I were mad, then it was a glorious madness, a madness which I would never have considered myself capable of inventing!
* * *
At length our caravan arrived at the summit of the mountain and the jewelled gates of the palace opened for us and we passed inside a splendid courtyard in which trees grew and fountains played, feeding little rivers spanned by ornamental bridges. Fish swam in the rivers and birds sang in the trees as pages came forward to make our beasts kneel down and we stepped out into the evening light.
King Rigenos smiled with pride as he gestured around the great courtyard. “You like this, Erekosë? I had it built myself, shortly after I came to the throne. The courtyard was a gloomy sort of place until then—it did not fit with the rest of the palace.”
“It is very beautiful,” I said. I turned to look at Iolinda, who had joined us. “And not the only beautiful thing you have helped create—for here is the most beautiful adornment to your palace!”
King Rigenos chuckled. “You are a courtier as well as a warrior, I see.” He took my arm and Iolinda’s and guided us across the courtyard. “Of course, I have little time these days to consider the creation of beauty. It is weapons we must create now. Instead of plans for gardens, I must concern myself with battle plans.” He sighed. “Perhaps you will drive the Eldren away for ever, Erekosë. Perhaps, when they are destroyed, we shall be able to enjoy the peaceful things of life again.”
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I felt sorry for him at that moment. He only wanted what every man wanted—freedom from fear, a chance to raise children with a reasonable certainty that they would be allowed to do the same, a chance to look forward to the future without the knowledge that any plans made might be wrecked for ever by some sudden act of violence. His world, after all, was not so different from the one I had so recently left.
I put my hand on the king’s shoulder. “Let us hope so, King Rigenos,” I said. “I will do what I can.”
He cleared his throat. “And that will be a great deal, Champion. I know it will be a great deal. We shall soon rid ourselves of the Eldren menace!”
We entered a cool hall whose walls were lined with beaten silver over which tapestries were draped. It was a pleasant hall, though very large. Off the hall led a wide staircase and down the staircase now descended a whole army of slaves, servants and retainers of all kinds. They drew themselves up in ranks at the bottom and knelt to greet the king.
“This is Lord Erekosë,” King Rigenos told them. “He is a great warrior and my honoured guest. Treat him as you would treat me—obey him as you would obey me. All that he wishes shall be his.”
To my embarrassment, the assemblage fell to its knees again and chorused: “Greetings, Lord Erekosë.”
I spread my hands. They rose. I was beginning to take this sort of behaviour for granted. There was no doubt that part of me was used to it.
“I shall not burden you with ceremony for tonight,” Rigenos said. “If you would like to refresh yourself in the apartments we have set aside for your use, we shall visit you later.”
“Very well,” I said. I turned to Iolinda and put out my hand to take hers. She extended it after a moment’s hesitation and I kissed it. “I look forward to seeing you both again in a little time,” I murmured, looking deep into her marvellous eyes. She dropped her gaze and withdrew her hand, and I allowed the servants to escort me upstairs to my apartments.
Twenty large rooms had been set aside for my use. These contained quarters for a staff of some ten personal slaves and servants and they were most of them extravagantly furnished with an eye to luxury that, it seemed to me, the people of the twentieth century had lost. “Opulent” was the word that sprang to mind. I could not move but a slave would come forward and take my surcoat or help me pour a glass of water or arrange the cushions of a divan. Yet I was still somewhat uneasy and it was a relief, on exploring the apartments, to come upon more austere rooms. These were weapon-lined warriors’ rooms, without cushions or silks or furs, but with solid benches and blades and maces of iron and steel, brass-shod lances and razor-sharp arrows.
I spent some time in the weapons rooms and then returned to eat. My slaves brought me food and wine and I ate and drank heartily.
When I had finished, I felt as if I had been asleep for a long time and had awakened invigorated. Again I paced the rooms, exploring them further, taking more interest in the weapons than in the furnishings, which would have delighted even the most jaded sybarite. I stepped out onto one of the several covered balconies and surveyed the great city of Necranal as the sun set over it and deep shadows began to flow through the streets.
The faraway sky was full of smoky colour. There were purples, oranges, yellows and blues and these colours were reflected in the domes and steeples of Necranal so that the entire city seemed to take on a softer texture, like a pastel drawing.
The shadows grew blacker. The sun set and stained the topmost domes scarlet and then night fell and fire flared suddenly all around the distant walls of Necranal, the yellow and red flames leaping upward at intervals of a few yards and illuminating much of the city within the walls. Lights appeared in windows and I heard the calls of nightbirds and insects. I turned to go in and saw that my servants had lit lamps for me. It had grown colder, but I hesitated on the balcony and decided to stay where I was, thinking deeply about my strange situation and trying to gauge the exact nature of the perils which Humanity faced.
There came a sound behind me. I looked back into the apartments and saw King Rigenos entering. Moody Katorn, Captain of the Imperial Guard, was with him. Instead of a helmet, he now wore a platinum circlet on his head and, instead of a breastplate, a leather jerkin stamped with a design in gold, but the absence of armour did not seem to soften his general demeanour. King Rigenos was wrapped in a white fur cloak and still wore his spiked crown of iron and diamonds. The two men joined me on the balcony.
“You feel rested, I hope, Erekosë?” King Rigenos enquired almost nervously, as if he had expected me to fade into air while he was away.
“I feel very well, thank you, King Rigenos.”
“Good.” He hesitated.
“Time is valuable,” Katorn grunted.
“Yes, Katorn. Yes, I know.” King Rigenos looked at me as if he hoped I already knew what he wished to say, but I did not and could only stare back, waiting for him to speak.
“You will forgive us, Erekosë,” said Katorn, “if we come immediately to the matter of the Human Kingdoms. The king would outline to you our position and what we require of you.”
“Of course,” I said. “I am ready.” I was in fact very anxious to learn the position.
“We have maps,” said King Rigenos. “Where are the maps, Katorn?”
“Within, sire.”
“Shall we…?”
I nodded and we entered my apartments. We passed through two chambers until we came to the main living room, in which was a large oak table. Here stood several of King Rigenos’s slaves with large rolls of parchment under their arms. Katorn selected several of the rolls and spread them, one on top of the other, on the table. He drew his heavy dagger to weight one side and picked up a metal vase studded with rubies and emeralds to hold the other side.
I looked at the maps with interest. I already recognised them. I had seen something similar in my dreams before I had been called here by King Rigenos’s incantations.
Now the king bent over the maps and his long, pale index finger traced over the territories shown.
“As I told you in your—your tomb, Erekosë, the Eldren now dominate the entire southern continent. They call this continent Mernadin. There.” His finger now hovered over a coastal region of the continent. “Five years ago they recaptured the only real outpost we had on Mernadin. Here. Their ancient sea-port of Paphanaal. There was little fighting.”
“Your forces fled?” I asked.
Katorn came in again. “I admit that we had grown complacent. When they suddenly swept out of the Mountains of Sorrow, we were unprepared. They must have been building their damned armies for years and we were unaware of it. We could not be expected to know their plans—they’re aided by sorcery and we are not!”
“You were able to evacuate most of your colonies, I take it?” I put in.
Katorn shrugged. “There was little evacuation necessary. Mernadin was virtually uninhabited since human beings would not live in a land which had been polluted by the presence of the Hounds of Evil. The continent is cursed. Inhabited by fiends from Hell.”
I rubbed my chin and asked innocently: “Then why did you drive the Eldren back to the mountains in the first place if you had no need of their territories?”
“Because, while they had the land under their control, they were a constant threat to Humanity!”
“I see.” I made a tiny gesture with my right hand. “Forgive me for interrupting you. Please continue.”
“A constant threat—” began Katorn.
“That threat is once again imminent,” the king’s voice broke in. It was thick and trembling. His eyes were suddenly full of fear and hatred. “We expect them at any moment to launch an attack upon the Two Continents—upon Zavara and Necralala!”
“Do you know when they plan this invasion?” I asked. “How long have we to ready ourselves?”
“They’ll attack!” Katorn’s bleak eyes came to life. The thin beard framing his pale face seemed to bristle.
“They’
ll attack,” agreed King Rigenos. “They would have overrun us now if we did not constantly war against them.”
“We have to keep them back,” added Katorn. “Once a breach is made, they will engulf us!”
King Rigenos sighed. “Humanity, though, is battle-weary. We needed one of two things—though ideally both—fresh warriors to drive the Eldren back or a leader to give the warriors we have new hope.”
“And you can train no fresh warriors?” I asked.
Katorn made a short, guttural sound in his throat. I took this to be a laugh. “Impossible! All mankind fights the Eldren menace!”
The king nodded. “So I called you, Erekosë—though believing myself to be a desperate fool willing to think a mirage reality.”
Katorn turned away at this. It seemed to me that this had been his private theory—that the king had gone mad in his desperation. My materialization seemed to have destroyed this theory and made him in some way resentful of me, though I did not think I could be blamed for the king’s decision.
The king straightened his shoulders. “I called you. And I hold you to your vow.”
I knew of no vow. I was surprised. “What vow?” I said.
Now the king looked astonished. “Why, the vow that, if ever the Eldren dominated Mernadin again, you would come to decide the struggle between them and Humanity.”
“I see.” I signed to a slave to bring me a cup of wine and I sipped it and stared at the map. As John Daker, I saw a meaningless war between two ferocious, blindly hating factions, both of whom seemed to be conducting a racial jihad, one against the other. Yet my loyalties were clear. I belonged to the human race and should use all my powers to help defend my kind. Humanity had to be saved.
“The Eldren?” I looked up at King Rigenos. “What do they say?”
“What do you mean?” Katorn growled. “Say? You speak as if you do not believe our king.”
“I am not questioning the truth of your statements,” I told him. “I wish to know the exact terms in which the Eldren justify their war against us. It would help if I had a clearer idea of their ambitions.”