To Rescue Tanelorn (7 page)

“It is true,” he said. “I am an immortal and my grandfather was an immortal. He was slain during the first wars between the Eldren and Humanity. When the humans came to Earth, they had incredible weapons of terrible destructive potential. In those days we also used such weapons. The wars created such destruction that the Earth seemed like a blackened ball of mud when the wars were ended and the Eldren defeated. Such was the destruction that we swore never again to use our weapons, whether we were threatened with extermination or not. We could not assume the responsibility for destroying an entire planet.”

“You mean you still have these weapons?”

“They are locked away, yes.”

“And you have the knowledge to use them?”

“Of course—we are immortal, we have many people who fought in those ancient wars, some even built new weapons before our decision was made.”

“Then why…?”

“I have told you—we swore not to.”

“What happened to the humans’ weapons—and their knowledge of them? Did they make the same decision?”

“No. The human race degenerated for a while—wars between themselves occurred, at one time they almost wiped themselves out, at another they were barbarians, and at another they seemed to have matured at last, to be at peace with themselves and one another. At one stage they lost the knowledge and the remaining weapons. In the last million years they have climbed back from absolute savagery—the peaceful years were short, a false lull—and I’d predict they’ll sink back soon enough. They seem bent on self-destruction as well as ours. We have wondered if the humans who must surely exist on other planets than this are the same. Perhaps not.”

“I hope not,” I said. “How do you think the Eldren will fare against the humans?”

“Badly,” he said. “Particularly since they are inspired by your leadership and the gateway to the Ghost Worlds is due soon to close again. Previously Humanity was split by quarrels. King Rigenos could never get his marshals to agree and he was too uncertain of himself to make decisions. But you have made decisions for him and the marshals. You shall win.”

“You are a fatalist,” I said.

“I am a realist,” he said.

“Could not peace terms be arranged?”

He shook his head. “What use is it to talk?” he asked me bitterly. “You humans, I pity you. Why will you always identify our motives with your own? We do not seek power—only peace—peace. But that, I suppose, this planet shall never have until Humanity dies of old age.”

I stayed with Arjavh for another day before he released me, on trust, and I rode back expecting, when I arrived, to find Ermizhad gone. But she was not. She was still in captivity. On learning this I visited her in her chambers.

“Ermizhad—you were to be traded for me, those were the terms. Where is the king? Why has he not kept his word?”

“I knew nothing of this,” she said. “I did not know Arjavh was so close, otherwise…”

I interrupted her. “Come with me. We’ll see the king and get you on your journey home.”

I found the king and Katorn in the king’s private chambers. I burst in upon them. “King Rigenos, what is the meaning of this? My word was given to Arjavh that Ermizhad was to leave here freely upon my release. He allowed me to leave his camp on trust and now I return to find the Lady Ermizhad still in captivity. I demand that she be released immediately.”

The king and Katorn laughed at me. “Fool,” said Katorn. “Who needs to keep his word to an Eldren jackal? Now we have our War Champion back and still retain our chief hostage. Forget it, Erekosë, my friend, there is no need to regard the Eldren as humans.”

“You refuse to release her, then?” I said grimly.

Ermizhad smiled. “Do not worry, Erekosë. I have other friends.” She closed her eyes and began to croon. At first the words came softly, but their volume rose until she was giving voice to a weird series of verbal harmonies.

Katorn jumped forward, dragging out his sword. “Sorcery! The bitch invokes her demon kind.” I drew my own sword and held it warningly in front of me, protecting Ermizhad. I had no idea what she was doing, but I was going to give her the chance, now, to do whatever she wanted.

Her voice stopped abruptly. Then she cried: “Brethren! Brethren of the Ghost Worlds—aid me!”

Quite suddenly there materialized in the chamber some dozen or so Eldren, their faces but slightly different from others I had seen. I recognized them as halflings.

“There!” shouted Rigenos. “Evil sorcery. She is a witch—I told you.”

“If that is the extent of her sorcery,” I said, “then her brethren shall, indeed, aid her to return.”

The halflings were silent. They surrounded Ermizhad until all their bodies touched hers and one another’s. Then Ermizhad shouted: “Away, brethren—back to the camps of the Eldren!”

Their forms began to flicker so that they seemed half in our dimension, half in some other. “Goodbye, Erekosë,” she cried. “I hope we shall meet in happier circumstances.”

“I hope so,” I shouted back—and then she vanished.

“Traitor,” cursed King Rigenos. “You aided her escape!”

“You should die by torture,” added Katorn, thwarted.

“I’m no traitor, as well you know,” I said evenly. “You are traitors—traitors to your words. You have no case against me.”

They could not answer. I turned and left the chamber, seeking out Iolinda.

I found her in our apartments and I kissed her, needing at that moment a woman’s friendly sympathy, but I seemed to meet a block. She was not, it seemed, prepared to give me help, although she kissed me. At length, I ceased to embrace her and stood back a little, looking into her eyes.

“Is anything wrong?” I asked her.

“No—why should there be? You are safe. I had feared you dead.”

Was it me, then? Was it…? I pushed the thought from me. But can a man force himself to love a woman? Can he love two women at the same time? I was desperately clinging to the strands of the love I had felt for her when we first met.

“Ermizhad is safe,” I blurted. “She called her halfling brothers to aid her and, when she returns to the Eldren camp, Arjavh will take his forces back to Mernadin. The threat of attack on Necranal has been averted. You should be pleased.”

“I am,” she said, and then: “And you are pleased, no doubt, that our hostage escaped!”

“What do you mean?”

“My father told me how you’d been enchanted by her wanton sorcery. You seemed to be more anxious for her safety than ours.”

“That is foolish talk!”

“Is it? I think he spoke true, Erekosë,” she said, her voice subdued now. She turned from me.

“Iolinda. I will prove how I love you—I swear I shall kill all the Eldren.”

“Including Prince Arjavh—and his sister?”

“Including them,” I said after a moment.

“I will see you later,” she said as she glided swiftly from the room. I unstrapped my sword and flung it savagely on to the floor. I spent the next few hours fighting my own agony of spirit.

In the month we spent preparing for the great war against the Eldren, I saw little of my betrothed and, finally, ceased to seek her out but concentrated on the plans for the campaigns we intended to fight.

I developed the strictly controlled mind of the soldier, allowing no emotion, whether it was love or hate, to dominate me. I became strong—and in my strength, virtually inhuman. I knew people remarked upon it—but they saw in me the qualities of a great battle leader and although all avoided my company, socially, they were glad that Erekosë led them.

We sailed, eventually, for the Outer Islands at World’s Edge—the gateway to the Ghost Worlds.

It was a long and arduous sailing, that one, before we sighted the bleak cliffs of the Islands and prepared ourselves for the invasion.

We found naught but a few handfuls of Eldren whom we slew. Their towns were all but deserted and of the halflings there was none. We ripped the towns apart, burning and pillaging, torturing Eldren to elicit the meaning of this, though secretly I knew it. We were possessed of a dampening sense of anticlimax and although we left no building standing, no Eldren alive, we could not rid ourselves of the idea that we had been thwarted in some way. The Eldren had said that the Gateway was closed. I did not want to believe them, but they would not say otherwise.

When our work was done in the Outer Islands, we sailed abruptly for the continent of Mernadin, put into Paphanaal which was still held by our forces, landed our troops and pushed outwards in victorious conquest.

It seemed that no Eldren fortress could withstand our grim thrustings into their territory.

It was a year of fire and steel and Mernadin seemed at times to be a sea of smoke and blood. We were all incredibly tired, but the spirit of slaughter was in us, giving us a terrible vitality and everywhere that the banners of Humanity met the standards of the Eldren, the basilisk standards were torn down and trampled.

We put all we found to the sword. We punished deserters in our own ranks mercilessly, we flogged our troops to greater endurance.

Towns burned behind us, cities fell and were torn, stone by stone, to the ground. Eldren corpses littered the countryside and our camp-followers were carrion birds and jackals.

A year of bloodshed. A year of hate. If I could not force myself to love, then I could force myself to hate, and this I did. All feared me, humans and Eldren alike as I turned beautiful Mernadin into a funeral pyre for my own terrible bewilderment and grief.

The king was slain that year and Iolinda was declared queen. But the king had become a puppet of authority—for Humanity followed a grimmer conqueror whom they regarded with awe. Dead Erekosë, they called me, the vengeful sword of Humanity.

I did not care what they called me—Reaver, Blood-letter, Berserker—for my goal came closer until it was the last fortress of the Eldren undefeated. I dragged my armies behind me as if by a rope. I dragged them towards the principal city of Mernadin, by the Plains of Melting Ice. Arjavh’s capital—Loos Ptokai.

At last we saw its looming towers silhouetted against a red evening sky. Of marble and black granite, it rose mighty and seemingly invulnerable above us. But I knew we should take it. I had Arjavh’s word for it, after all—he had told me we should win.

At dawn the next day, my features cold as stone, I rode beneath my banner as I had ridden, a year before, into the camp of the Eldren, with my herald at my side. He raised his golden trumpet to his lips and blew an eerie blast upon it which echoed among the black-and-white towers of Loos Ptokai.

“Eldren prince!” I yelled. “Arjavh of Mernadin, we are here to slay thee!”

On the battlements over the main gate, I saw Arjavh appear. He looked down at me, sadness in his eyes.

“Greetings, old enemy,” he called. “You will have a long siege before you break this, the last of our strength.”

“So be it,” I said, “but break it we shall.”

“Before the battle commences,” he said, “I invite you to enter Loos Ptokai as my guest and refresh yourself. You seem in need of refreshment.”