THE ETERNAL CHAMPION

(1962)

They called for me, that is all I really know. They called for me and I went to them, for I could not do otherwise. The will of the whole of Humanity was a strong thing and it smashed through the ties of Time, the chains of Space and dragged me to it. Why me? I still do not know, though they thought they had told me. But I am here, shall always be here and if, as wise men tell me, time is cyclic, then I shall one day return to the Twentieth Century A.D.—for (it was no doing of mine) I am immortal.

CHAPTER ONE

BETWEEN WAKEFULNESS AND sleeping, we have most of us had the illusion of hearing voices, scraps of conversation, phrases spoken in unfamiliar tones. Sometimes we attempt to attune our minds so that we can hear more, but we are rarely successful. Between wakefulness and sleeping, I began, every night, to hear voices…

         

Had I hung, for an eternity in limbo? Was I alive—dead? Was there a memory of a world which lay in the far past or the distant future? Of another world which seemed closer? And the names? Was I John Daker or Erekosë? Was I either of these? Many other names, Shaleen, Artos, Brian, Umpata, Roland, Ilanth, Ulysses, Alric, fled away down the ghostly rivers of my memory. I hung in darkness, bodiless. A man spoke. Where was he? I tried to look but had no eyes to see.

“Erekosë the Champion, where are you?”

Another voice, then: “Father…it is only a legend…”

“No, Iolinda. I feel he is listening. Erekosë…”

I tried to answer, but had no voice. Swirling half-dreams of a house in a great city of miracles, a swollen, grimy city of miracles, crammed with dull-coloured machines, many of which bore human passengers. Of buildings, beautiful beneath their coatings of dust and of other, brighter buildings not so beautiful, with austere lines and many glass windows. Of a troop of riders galloping over an undulating countryside, flamboyant in armour of lacquered gold, coloured pennants draped around their blood-encrusted lances. Their faces were heavy with weariness. Of more faces, many faces, some of which I half recognized, others which were unfamiliar, people clad in strange clothes. A picture of a white haired, middle-aged man who had a tall, spiked crown upon his head. His mouth moved, he was speaking…

“Erekosë, it is I, King Rigenos, Defender of Humanity. You are needed again, Erekosë. The Hounds of Evil rule a third of the world and humankind is weary of the war against them. Come to us, Erekosë and lead us to victory. From the Plains of Melting Ice to the Mountains of Sorrow they have set up their corrupt standard and I fear they will advance yet further into our territories.”

The woman’s voice: “Father, this is only an empty tomb. Not even the mummy of Erekosë remains—it became drifting dust long ago. Let us leave and return to Necranal to marshal the living peers.”

         

I felt like a fainting man who strives to fight against dizzy oblivion but, however much he tries, cannot take control of his own brain. Again I tried to answer, but could not.

It was as if I wavered backwards through time, while every atom of me wanted to go forwards. I had the sensation of vast size as if I were made of stone with eyelids of granite, measuring miles across—eyelids which I could not open. And then I was tiny—the most minute grain in the universe, and yet I felt I belonged to the whole far more than the stone giant.

Memories came and went. The whole panorama of the twentieth century, its beauties and its bitternesses, its satisfactions, its strifing, rushed into my mind like air into a vacuum. But it was only momentary, for the next second my entire being was flung elsewhere—to a world which was Earth, but not the Earth of John Daker, not quite the world of dead Erekosë, either.

There were three great continents, two close together, divided from the other by a vast sea containing many islands, large and small.

I saw an ocean of ice which I knew to be slowly shrinking—the Plains of Melting Ice. I saw the third continent which bore lush flora, mighty forests, blue lakes and was bound along its northern coasts by a towering chain of mountains—the Mountains of Sorrow. This I knew to be the domain of the Eldren, whom King Rigenos had called the Hounds of Evil.

Now, on the other two continents, I saw the wheatlands of the West on the continent of Zavara, with their tall cities of multicoloured rock, the rich cities of the wheatlands—Stalaco, Calodemia, Mooros and Ninadoon.

There were the great seaports—Shilaal, Wedmah, Sinana, Tarkar, and Noonos of towers cobbled with precious stones.

         

Then I saw the fortress cities of the Continent of Necralala, with the capital city Necranal chief among them, built on, into and about a mighty mountain, peaked by the spreading palace of its warrior kings.

Now a little more came clear as, in the background of my awareness, I heard a voice calling Erekosë, Erekosë, Erekosë…

The warrior kings of Necranal, kings for two thousand years of Humanity united, at war, and united again. The warrior kings of whom King Rigenos was the last living and aging now, with only a daughter, Iolinda, to carry on his line. Old and weary with hate—but still hating. Hating the unhuman folk whom he called the Hounds of Evil, mankind’s age-old enemies, reckless and wild, linked, it was said, by a thin line of blood to the human race—an outcome of a union between an ancient queen and the Evil One, Azmobaana. Hated by King Rigenos as soulless immortals, slaves of Azmobaana’s machinations.

And, hating, he called upon John Daker, whom he called Erekosë, to aid him with his war against them.

“Erekosë, I beg thee answer me. Are you ready to come?” His voice was loud and echoing and when, after a struggle, I could reply, my own voice seemed to echo also.

“I am ready,” I replied, “but appear to be chained.”

“Chained?” There was consternation in his voice. “Are you, then, a prisoner of Azmobaana’s frightful minions? Are you trapped upon the Ghost Worlds?”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But I do not think so. It is space and time which chain me. I am separated from you by a gulf.”

“Already we pray that you may come to us.”

“Then continue,” I said.

         

I was falling away again. I thought I remembered laughter, sadness, pride. Then, suddenly, more faces, I felt as if I witnessed the passing of everyone I had known, down the ages, and then one face superimposed itself over the others—the head and shoulders of an amazingly beautiful woman, with blonde hair piled beneath a diadem of precious stones which seemed to light the sweetness of her oval face. “Iolinda,” I said. I saw her more solidly now. She was clinging to the arm of the tall, gaunt man who wore a crown—King Rigenos.

They stood before an empty platform of quartz and gold, and resting on a cushion of dust was a straight sword which they dared not touch. Neither did they dare step too close to it for it gave off a radiation which might slay them.

It was a tomb in which they stood. The Tomb of Erekosë—my tomb. I moved towards the platform, hanging over it. Ages before, my body had been placed there. I stared at the sword which held no dangers for me but was unable, in my captivity, to pick it up. It was my spirit only which inhabited the dark place—but the whole of my spirit now, not the fragment which had inhabited the tomb for thousands of years. The fragment which had heard King Rigenos and had enabled John Daker to hear it, to come to it and be united with it.

“Erekosë!” called the king, straining his eyes through the gloom as if he had seen me. “Erekosë—we pray.”

Then I experienced the dreadful pain which I suppose a woman to go through when bearing a child. A pain that seemed eternal and yet was intrinsically its own vanquisher. I was screaming, writhing in the air above them. Great spasms of agony—but an agony complete with purpose—the purpose of creation.

At last I was standing, materially, before them.

“I have come,” I said. “I am here, King Rigenos. I have left nothing worthwhile behind me—but do not let me regret that leaving.”

“You will not regret it, Champion.” He was pale, exhilarated, smiling. I looked at Iolinda who dropped her eyes modestly and then, as if against her will, raised them again to regard me. I turned to the dais on my right.

“My sword,” I said reaching for it.

I heard King Rigenos sigh with satisfaction.

“They are doomed, now, the dogs,” he said.

         

They had a sheath for the sword. It had been made days before. King Rigenos left to get it, leaving me alone with Iolinda. I did not question my being there and neither, it seemed, did she. We regarded one another silently until the king returned with the scabbard.

“This will protect us against your sword’s poison,” he said.

I took it, slid the sword into it. The scabbard was opaque, like glass. The metal was unfamiliar to me, as John Daker, light, sharp, dull as lead. Yet the feel of it awaked dim remembrance which I did not bother to arouse. Why was I the only one who could wear the sword without being affected by its radiation?

Was it because I was constitutionally different in some way to the rest of these people? Was it that the ancient Erekosë and the unborn John Daker (or was that vice versa?) had metabolisms which had become adapted in some way against the power which flowed from the sword?

I had become, in that transition from my own age to this, unconcerned. It was as if I was aware that my fate had been taken out of my own hands to a large extent. I had become a tool. If only I had known for what I should be used, then I might have fought against the pull and remained harmless, ineffectual John Daker. But perhaps I could not have fought.

At any rate, I was prepared from the moment I materialized in the Tomb of Erekosë to do whatever Fate demanded of me. Later, things were to change.

         

I walked out of the tomb into a calm day, warm with a light breeze blowing. We stood on a small hill.

Below us a caravan awaited—there were richly caparisoned horses and a guard of men dressed in that same golden armour I had seen in my dreams, but these warriors were fresher-looking.

The 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 war horses but the beasts that knelt awaiting us resembled a kind of camel out of 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-o’-pearl, curtained in scintillating silks.

We walked down the hill and, as we walked, I noticed that I was dressed in the pyjamas I had worn when first I went to bed. I was surprised, although they were not wholly incongruous, since the king’s garments were flowing and loose, but they seemed wrong. I felt that I should have left these, also, behind me—on another body. But perhaps there is no body left behind.

At the request of the king, who seemed to be slightly wary of me, though he himself had summoned me, I entered the cabin he indicated and found it completely lined with deep cushions.

The camels climbed to their feet and we began to move swiftly through a narrow valley, its sides lined with evergreen trees which I could not place, something like spreading monkey-puzzle trees, but with more branches and broader leaves. The sword was across my knees. I inspected it. It was a plain soldier’s sword, having no markings, a hilt of iron which fitted perfectly into my right hand as I gripped it. It was a good sword, but why it was poisonous to other humans I did not know. Presumably it was also lethal to those whom King Rigenos called the Hounds of Evil—the Eldren.

         

On we traveled, through the soft day, until I saw a city I recognized as Necranal, the city I had seen in my dreams. Far away, it towered upwards so that the entire mountain upon which it was built was hidden by buildings of wondrous architecture. Minarets, steeples and battlements shone in the sun and, above them all, many-towered, the Palace of Ten Thousand Windows as it was called.

I heard the king cry from his cabin:

“Katorn! Ride ahead and tell the people that Erekosë the Champion has come to drive the Evil Ones back to the Mountains of Sorrow.”

“Aye, sire,” said the man addressed, a sullen-faced individual, the Captain of the Imperial Guard I presumed.

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 eventually wearying of this, strained my eyes to make out details in the great city structure.

The cities of London, New York and 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 which swung open to admit us and 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 burst.

CHAPTER TWO

At length our little caravan arrived at the summit of the mountain and the Palace of Ten Thousand Windows.

Here, I was shown the apartments prepared for me, some twenty rooms, most of them luxuriously furnished, but a few austere, weapon-lined. I was left alone and slaves brought me refreshment.

I felt as if I had been asleep for a long time and had awakened invigorated. I paced the rooms, exploring them, 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 several covered balconies and surveyed the great city of Necranal as the sun set over it. The faraway sky was full of smoky colour, purples and oranges, yellows and blues, these colours reflected in the domes and steeples of Necranal so that the entire city seemed to take on a softer texture, like a pastel drawing. As night came, slaves entered with lamps and placed them about the rooms.

When they were gone, the king and Katorn, Captain of the Imperial Guard, came and joined me as I stood on the balcony.

“Forgive us,” said King Rigenos, “if we come immediately to the Matter of the Human Kingdoms.”

“Certainly,” I said. “I am ready.” I was in fact very curious to learn the position.

“As I told you in the tomb, the Eldren now dominate the entire Southern Continent which they call Mernadin. Five years ago they recaptured the only real outpost we had on Mernadin—their ancient seaport of Paphanaal. There was little fighting. I admit that we had grown complacent and when they suddenly swept out of the Mountains of Sorrow we were unprepared.”

“You were able to evacuate most of your colonies, I take it?” I put in.

“There was little evacuation necessary—Mernadin was virtually uninhabited since human beings would not live in that land where the Hounds of Evil once ruled—and rule now. They believe the continent to be cursed, inhabited by the spirits of Hell.”

“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. Continue.”

“That threat is once again imminent,” the king’s voice was thick and trembling. His eyes were full of fear and hatred. “We expect them, at any moment, to launch an attack upon the Two Continents—upon Zavara and Necralala.”

“Have you had any indication, as yet, that they plan invasion?” I asked. “And if so, how long we have to get 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—once a breach is made, they will engulf us. Humanity, though, is battle-weary. We needed one of two things—fresh warriors or a leader to give the warriors we have new hope. The former was impossible—all Mankind fights the Eldren menace. So I called you, Erekosë, and held you to your vow.”

“What vow?” I said.

“That if ever the Eldren dominated Mernadin again you would come to decide the struggle between them and Humanity.”

I sighed. As John Daker I saw a meaningless war between two ferocious, blindly hating factions both of whom seemed to be conducting racial jehads, but the danger was patent. Humanity had to be saved.

“The Eldren,” I continued. “What do they say?”

“Under torture they die, but they will not speak their true plans. They are cunning—talk of peace, of mutual help. You cannot trust an Eldren wolf—they are treacherous, immoral and evil. We shall not be safe until their whole race is destroyed utterly. You must lead us to victory, Erekosë.”

“I will lead you,” I said as Iolinda joined us.

         

So I talked with generals and admirals. We pored over maps and discussed tactics, logistics, available men, animals and ships, while the fleets massed and the Two Continents were scoured for warriors, from boys of fifteen to men of fifty, all were marshaled beneath the double banner of Humanity which bore the arms of Zavara and Necralala and the standards of their King, Rigenos, their War Champion Erekosë. We planned a great land-sea invasion of Mernadin’s chief harbour and the surrounding province—Paphanaal.

Once Paphanaal, province and city, was taken we should have a beachhead from which other attacks inland could be made. When not conferring with the generals, I practised weaponry, riding, until I was skilled in those arts. It was more a case of remembering old skills than learning new ones.

The night before we were due to leave, to sail down the River Droonaa to the port of Noonos and join the fleets, I walked with Iolinda, of whom I had seen much, her arm in mine, along the closed balconies of the Palace of Ten Thousand Windows.

With such speed had matters passed that I still retained my earlier insouciant demeanour. It also seemed natural that after we had conversed a little I should take her face between my hands and raise it up so that I could look down at its beauty. And also, naturally, we kissed.

Her breathing was less regular and she smiled with a mixture of pride and tenderness.

“When I return,” I spoke softly, “we shall be married.”

She nodded her head, drawing off her hand a wonderfully worked ring of gold, pearls and rose-coloured diamonds. This she placed on my little finger—“A token of my love,” she said. “To bring you luck in your battles, to remind you of me.”

I had no ring to give her. I said as much, feeling embarrassed, inadequate.

“Your word is enough,” she said. “Swear that you will return to me.”

“That I’ll swear,” I said feelingly. We looked around as guilty lovers do, for we had heard the approach of footsteps.

         

Into my apartments came slaves, preceded by King Rigenos. He was excited. The slaves were bearing pieces of black armour of marvelous workmanship.

“This,” said the king, “is the armour of Erekosë, broken from its tomb of rock for Erekosë to wear again.”

The amour was, unlike that worn by the Imperial Guard, smooth without embellishment. The shoulder pieces were grooved fanning high and away from the head to channel a blow of sword, axe or lance away from the wearer. The helmet, breastplates and the rest were all grooved in the same manner. The metal was light but very strong, like that of the sword, but the black lacquer shone. In its simplicity the armour was beautiful. The only ornament, a thick plume of scarlet horse-hair, sprang from the top of the helm and cascaded down the smooth sides. I touched the armour with the reverence one has for fine art—for fine art designed to protect one’s life.

“Thank you, King Rigenos,” I said. “I will wear it tomorrow when we set sail for Noonos.”

Overlaying my excitement for the coming war was my love for Iolinda which seemed to be a calmer, purer love, so much higher than carnal love that it was a thing apart. Perhaps this was the chivalrous love which the Peers of Christendom had held above all other?

         

That night, I lay at peace, thinking of Iolinda, and in the morning slaves brought my armour to me and helped me don it. It fitted perfectly, comfortably and was no weight at all. With my poisonous sword in its protecting scabbard, I strode to the Great Hall where the Peers of Humanity had been summoned.

There, in the Great Hall hung with hundreds of bright banners which descended from the high, domed roof, the Marshals, the Captains and the Knights were gathered in splendid array.

A little group of marshals kneeled before me as I kneeled before the king. Behind them were a hundred captains, behind them five thousand knights, all kneeling. And surrounding us, along the walls, were the old nobles, the Ladies of the Court, Men-at-arms at attention, slaves and squires. I, Erekosë, Champion of Humanity, was to be their saviour. They knew it.

In my confidence, I knew it, also.

The king spoke:

“Erekosë the Champion, Marshals, Captains and Knights of Humanity—we go to wage war against unhuman evil, to save our fair continents from the Eldren menace. This expedition will be decisive. With Erekosë to lead us we shall win the port and province of Paphanaal, but that will be the first stage in our campaigns.”

He paused and then spoke again into the silence:

“More battles must follow fast upon the first so that the hated Hounds of Evil will, once and for all, be destroyed, men and women—even children must perish. We drove them to their holes in the Mountains of Sorrow once, but this time we must not let their race survive. Let only their memory remain to remind us of what evil is!”

“We will destroy the Eldren!” we roared, intoxicated by the tense atmosphere of the Great Hall.

“Swear it!” shouted the king and the hatred boiled from his eyes, seared from his voice.

“We so swear! We will destroy the Eldren!”

“Go now, Paladins of Mankind—go—destroy the Eldren filth!”

We rose to our feet, turned in precision, and marched from the Great Hall into a day noisy with the swelling roars of the people.

Down the winding streets of Necranal we marched, myself in the lead, my sword raised as if already victorious, down towards the waiting ships which were ready on the river.

Oars were slipped through the ports and dipped into the placid river waters, strong men, three to a sweep, sat upon the rowing benches. Fifty ships stretched along the river banks, bearing the standards of fifty proud Paladins.

The people of Necranal lined the banks, cheering, cheering so that we became used to their voices, as men become used to the sounds of the sea, scarcely hearing them. Richly decorated cabins were built on the decks and the ships of the Paladins had several masts bearing furled sails of painted canvas.

I went aboard the king’s great man-o’-war, a ship with fifty pairs of oars and eight tall masts. Alone for a while in the sumptuous cabin assigned me I parted from Iolinda with a tender kiss.

She went ashore. The king and the captain, his dark eyes veiled, joined me. Katorn seemed to dislike me. For my part I was not attracted to his sullen personality, but he was a good soldier and I allowed no emotion to guide my decisions in the Matter of the Human Kingdoms.

We hauled in our anchors and the drums pounded out the slow rowing rhythm. We beat down the Droonaa River, with the current, moving fast towards Noonos of the Jeweled Towers and the fleets.

“Goodbye, Iolinda,” I said softly, waving from the stern of the swaying vessel, and then we had rounded a bend in the river and saw only the rearing city of Necranal above and behind us.

Goodbye, Iolinda.

I was sweating in my war gear for the day was oppressed by a great flaming sun, blazing in a cloudless sky.

The drums beat on. The rowers pulled. Speedily we sailed to Noonos and the Fleets of Humanity.

Excited, tense, alert and confident of victory, we sailed for Paphanaal, gateway to Mernadin and conquest.

I knew little of the Eldren for they were constantly described in terms of hatred and fear. They were inhumanly beautiful, it seemed, inhumanly merciless, amoral and evil. They were slightly taller than the average man, had long heads with slanting cheekbones—devilish, Rigenos had said—and had no orbs to their eyes. Terrible reckless fighters, they were, cunning and ruthless.

But I felt the need to know more of them. My cloudy memory, as Erekosë, could only conjure an impression of confused battles against them and, also, somewhere a feeling of emotional pain. That was all.

The sea was a good one for the whole month of our sailing and, one day, we came close to Mernadin and lookouts shouted that ships approached. We saw them, at last—a fleet of scarcely half our number. I smiled without humour because I knew we should be victorious.

The Eldren ships came close! I gasped at their rare grace as they leapt lightly over the water like dolphins.

They were not galleons, but ships of sail only and the sails were diaphanous on slim masts. White hulls broke the darker white of the surf as they surged wildly, without faltering, towards us. They mounted a few cannon, but not so many as ours. Their cannon, however, were slender and silver and when I saw them I feared their power.

I saw glimpses of eldritch faces, but could not, at that distance, make out special characteristics.

We gave the orders to heave to, rocked in the sea awaiting the Eldren shark-ships speeding towards us. We manoeuvred, as planned, to form a square with one end opened.

         

Some eighty ships were at the far end of the square, set stem to stern with cannon bristling while the two other sides were leveled at a safe distance across so that their cannon were out of range of each other. We placed a thinner wall of ships, about twelve, at the open end to give the impression of a closed square.

The Eldren craft, cannon roaring, smashed into the twelve ‘bait’ ships and, under their own impetus, sailed on to find themselves surrounded on three sides. As they came through, the far ships slowly closed in to form a triangle, trapping the Eldren vessels.

I had never seen such highly manoeuvrable sailing craft as those used by the Eldren. Slightly smaller than our men-o’-war, they darted about and their cannon bellowed roaring balls of flame—fire-bombs, not solid shot. Many of our ships were fired and blazed, crackling and groaning as the flames consumed them. Our ranks began to break and we sailed implacably in to crush the Eldren ships.

So far there had been no hand-to-hand fighting. The battle had depended upon tactics, but now as we closed, grapples were hurled towards the shark-ships of the Eldren and their barbs cut into the white rails, pulling the sailing craft towards them.

In the fore of the battle, our cannon gouting and the whole ship reverberating with the mighty roar, we smashed full with our rams into a slender Eldren craft and broke it completely in two. I saw figures throw up their arms and I heard King Rigenos laughing behind me as the Eldren drowned, with few cries, in silence.

         

Our ship moved through the wreckage it had created, surrounded by orange tongues of flame, shrieks and yells, thick smoke which obscured vision in all directions so that it was impossible to tell how the Fleets of Humanity fared.

Rigenos pointed through the smoke, his eyes screwed up against its acrid blossomings: “There! The Eldren flagship. With luck that cursed servant of Azmobaana may be aboard. Pray that the Eldren Prince rides her, Erekosë, for if he does our cause is truly won.”

I paid him little heed but shouted the order for grappling irons to be readied. Our vessel reared up on a surging wave and then rode it down towards the Eldren flagship. Our grapples were flung, we locked.

King Rigenos bellowed across the narrow drop between our craft and that of the Eldren: “This is King Rigenos and his champion Erekosë. I’d speak with your commander for a moment, in the usual truce. If your master Arjavh of Mernadin is there let him come and do battle with the king’s champion!”

Through the shifting smoke I saw, dimly, a pointed golden face with milky blue-flecked eyes staring strangely from the sockets of the slanting head. An eldritch voice, like music, sang across the sea: “I am Duke Baynahn, Commander of the Eldren fleet. I have to tell thee that our Prince Arjavh is not aboard. He is in the West, in Loos Ptokai, and could not get to Paphanaal for the battle.”

Rigenos turned to his captain, Katorn, who bore a heavy crossbow. “Kill that one, Katorn,” he said quietly.

Duke Baynahn continued: “However, I am prepared to fight your champion if…”

“No!” I cried to Katorn. “Stop! King Rigenos, that is dishonourable—you speak during a truce.”

“There is no question of honour, Erekosë, when exterminating vermin. That you will soon learn. Kill him, Katorn!”

The bolt whirred from the bow and I heard a soft gasp as it penetrated the Eldren speaker’s throat. He fell. I was in a rage at the treachery shown by one who spoke so often of treachery in his enemies, but there was no time to remonstrate for I had to lead a boarding party and swiftly while we retained the advantage.

I took a trailing rope, unsheathed my glowing sword and cried: “For Humanity! Death to the Hounds of Evil!”

I swung down, the heated air slashing against my face in that swift passage, and dropped, with howling warriors behind me, among the Eldren ranks.

Then we were fighting.

My followers took care to stay away from me as the sword opened pale wounds in the Eldren foes, destroying all whom it lightly touched. There was no battle-joy in me as I fought, for no skill was needed for such slaying.

The slender shark-ships seemed to hold more men than I had estimated. The long-skulled Eldren, well aware that my sword touch was lethal, flung themselves at me with ferocious courage.

Many of them wielded long-hafted axes, swinging at me out of reach of my sword. The sword was not sharper than most and although I hacked at the shafts I succeeded only in splintering them slightly. I had constantly to duck, stab beneath the whirling axes.

A golden-haired Eldren leapt at me, swung his axe and it smashed against my shoulder plate knocking me off balance. I rolled, trying desperately to regain my footing on the blood-smeared deck. The axe smashed down again, on to my breastplate, winding me. I struggled to a crouching position, plunged forward beneath the axe and slashed at the Eldren’s wrist. He moaned and died. The poison had done its work again.

         

Now I saw we had the advantage. The last pocket of fiercely fighting Eldren were on the main deck, back to back around their banner—a scarlet field bearing the Silver Basilisk of Mernadin. They were engulfed by our forces and, although all were badly wounded, fought until slain. They knew we should give them no mercy.

Katorn who had led the attack on the main deck snatched down the banner and flung it in the flowing blood of the Eldren, trampling it. “Thus will all the Eldren perish!” he shouted in triumph.

Now a kind of silence drifted over the scene as the smoke dissipated, hanging in the air high above us. The day was won. Not one prisoner had been taken. The human warriors were busy firing the remaining Eldren vessels.

“Surely,” said I to Katorn, “that is a waste—we could use these ships to replace those lost.”

“Use these cursed craft—never,” he said with a twist of his mouth and strode to the rail of the Eldren flagship, shouting to his men to follow him back to our own vessel.

We clambered aboard our ship. The grapples were removed and the Eldren ship yawed away.

“Fire it,” cried King Rigenos who had taken no part in the actual fighting, though I knew it was said he was a brave man. “Fire the thing.”

Blazing arrows were accurately shot into bales of combustible materials which had been placed in specific parts of the Eldren ship. The slender vessel caught and drifted, blazing away, from us.

The fleets reassembled. We had lost fourteen men-o’-war and a hundred smaller craft—but nothing remained of the Eldren fleet save burning hulks which we left, sinking, behind us as we sailed on, gleeful, to Paphanaal.

CHAPTER THREE

Night came before we reached the harbour city, so we lay at anchor a league or so offshore.

In the shifting dawn of the morrow we upped anchors and rowed in towards Paphanaal, for there was no wind to fill our sails.

Nearer we came to land.

I saw cliffs and black mountains rising.

Nearer and I saw a flash of brighter colour to the east of us. “Paphanaal!” shouted the lookout from his precarious perch on the highest mast.

Nearer and there was Paphanaal, undefended as far as we could make out. We had left her fleet on the bottom of the ocean, far behind.

There were no domes on this city, no minarets. There were steeples and buttresses and battlements, all close together making the city seem like one great palace. The materials of their construction were breathtaking—white marble veined with pink, blue, green and yellow, faced with gold, basalt and quartz and bluestone in abundance. It was a shining city, of marvels.

We saw no-one as we came close and I guessed that the city had been deserted. But I was wrong.

We put in to the great harbour and disembarked. I formed our armies into disciplined ranks and warned them of a possible trap, although I didn’t really believe there could be one.

They stood before King Rigenos, Katorn and I, rank upon rank upon rank of them, armour bright, banners moving sluggishly in the breeze. There were seven hundred divisions, each hundred commanded by a marshal in command of captains and knights. The Paladins and Armies of Humanity stood before me and I was proud. I addressed them:

“Marshals, Captains, Knights and Warriors of Humanity, you have seen me to be a victorious War Leader.”

“Aye!” they roared, jubilant.

“We shall be victorious here and elsewhere in the land of Mernadin. Go now, with caution, and search these houses and buildings for Eldren jackals. Take what booty you desire, but be careful. This city could hide an army, remember.”

The divisions marched past us, each taking a different direction. The city received them in its streets, but it did not welcome them.

We found a city of women. Not one Eldren man had remained. We had slain them all at sea.

         

We took over the palace which had belonged to the dead Warden of Paphanaal.

They brought a girl to us. Black-haired, elfin-faced, her alien features composed against the fear she felt. She had shifting beauty which was always there, but seemed to change with every breath she took. They had torn her garments and bruised her arms and face.

“Erekosë!” Katorn was drunk. He led the party in to the Central Chamber of the Warden’s palace where I and the king discussed further campaigns. “Erekosë—Rigenos, my lord king—look!”

The king looked at the girl with distaste. “Why should we take interest in an Eldren wanton? Get hence, Katorn and use her as you will—but be sure to slay her before we leave Paphanaal.”

“Why have you brought her, Katorn?” said I.

Katorn laughed. His thick lips opened wide and he laughed in our faces. “You know not who she is, that’s plain.”

“Take the Eldren wench away, Katorn,” said the king, his voice rising.

“My lord king—this is Ermizhad!”

“What?” The king leaned forward and stared at the girl. “Ermizhad, the Wanton of the Ghost Worlds. She’s lured many a mortal to his death so I’ve heard. She shall die by torture for her lustful crimes. The stake shall have her.”

“No, King Rigenos—forget you not that she’s Prince Arjavh’s sister?”

“Of course. You did right Katorn. Keep her prisoner, keep her safe.” He looked at the swaying captain, noting his drunkenness. “No—enjoy yourself, Katorn. She shall be put in Erekosë’s charge.”

“I accept the charge,” I said, taking my chance. I had pity for the girl, whatever terrible crimes she had committed.

“Keep her from harm, Erekosë,” said the king cynically, eyeing the girl. “Keep her from harm—she’ll be a useful piece in our game with Arjavh.”

“Take her to my apartments in the east wing,” I told the guards, “and make sure she is kept there, unmolested.” They took her away.

         

I understood her usefulness as a hostage, but had not understood the king’s reference to the Ghost Worlds. I remembered, then, that once before he had mentioned them.

“The Ghost Worlds?” he said when I questioned him. “Know you not of them, Erekosë? Why humankind fear Arjavh’s allies so much that they will rarely mention them, in terror of conjuring them up by their words.”

“But what are they?”

Rigenos looked around him nervously. “I’ll tell you,” he said, “but I’m uncomfortable about doing so in this cursed place. The Eldren know better than we what the Ghost Worlds are—we had thought, at first, that you yourself were a prisoner there. They lie beyond Time, beyond Space, linked to this Earth by tenuous bonds.” His voice dropped, but he whispered on and I shuddered at what he told me.

“There, on the torn Ghost Worlds, dwell the many-coiled serpents which are the terror and the scourge of the eight dimensions. Here, also, live ghosts and men, those who are manlike and those who are unlike men, those who know their fate which is to live without time, and those who are unaware of their doom. And there, also, do kinfolk to the Eldren dwell—the halflings.”

“But what are these worlds?” I asked impatiently.

“They are the worlds to which human sorcerers go in search of alien wisdom, and from which they draw helpers of horrible powers and disgusting deeds. It is said that within those worlds an initiate may meet his long-slain comrades who may sometimes help him, his dead loves and kin, and particularly his enemies—those whom he has caused to die. Malevolent enemies with great powers—or wretches who are half-souled and incomplete.”

I was moved to horror by his whispered words, but still curious to know more. “What are they? Where are they?”

“We have no answer to either question. They are worlds full of shadow and gloomy shores upon which drab seas beat. The populace can sometimes be summoned by powerful sorcery to visit this Earth, to haunt, to help or to terrorize. We think that the Eldren came, originally, from these half-worlds if they were not, as our legends say, spawned from the womb of a wicked queen who gave her hand to Azmobaana in return for immortality—the immortality which her offspring inherited. But the Eldren are material enough, for all their lack of souls, whereas the Ghost Armies are rarely of solid flesh.”

“And why is that girl known as the Wanton of the Ghost Worlds?” I asked.

“It is said that she mates with ghouls,” answered the king, “and in return has special powers over the halflings who are friends with the ghouls. The halflings love her, as far as it is possible for such degenerate creatures to love.”

I could not believe the first part. The girl seemed young, innocent. I said as much.

“How do you tell the age of an immortal?” Rigenos replied. I could not, of course, answer. But I thought much of Ermizhad as we went on to talk of the immediate considerations of war against the Eldren.

         

We had little clear idea where the rest of the Eldren forces were marshaled. There were four other major cities on the continent of Mernadin. The chief of these was Loos Ptokai which lay near to the Plains of Melting Ice. This was Arjavh’s headquarters and, from what the Eldren on the flagship had said, he was either there now or marching to recapture Paphanaal.

“We must not forget the sorcerous fortresses of the Outer Islands,” Rigenos told me, “at World’s Edge. The Outer Islands lie in the Gateway to the Ghost Worlds and from there they can summon their ghoulish allies. Perhaps, now Paphanaal is taken, we should concentrate on smashing their strength in the West, at World’s Edge.”

I wondered if he over-estimated the power of the Ghost World denizens. “Have you ever seen these halflings?” I asked him.

“Oh, yes, my friend,” he replied. “I’ve seen them. You are wrong if you believe them legendary things. They are, in one sense at least, real enough.”

He had convinced me. “Very well,” I said. “We’ll leave a force here strong enough to defend the city, return to Necranal, re-equip the fleets and make war on the Outer Islands. But how do you plan to use Ermizhad? Will you leave her here or take her back to Necranal?”

“Necranal, I think,” he said. “We shall keep her in our principal city until such time as we need to use her, if ever we have to bargain with Arjavh.”

“A sensible plan,” I agreed.

“We’ll settle our position here,” he said, “and set sail back to Necranal within a week. We should waste no time—now that we have gained Paphanaal, we must fear an attack from Prince Arjavh’s frightful Ghost Armies.”

There were minor details of the plan to discuss and, while the victorious warriors pleasured themselves on Eldren bounty, we talked of urgent matters.

         

It was slower going back to the Two Continents, for our mighty vessels groaned with captured Eldren treasure.

Ermizhad had been grudgingly given decent quarters next to mine. This was at my request. Although he hated the Eldren still, King Rigenos had exhausted some of the earlier ferocity he had felt in the heat of war. However, he would have nothing to do with her and when he got the opportunity he spoke of Ermizhad in her presence as if she was not there; spoke disdainfully of her and his disgust for all her kind.

I saw a little of her and, in spite of the king’s warnings, came to like her. She was certainly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her beauty was different from the cool beauty of Iolinda, my betrothed.

What is love? Even now, now that the whole pattern of my destiny has been fulfilled, I do not know. Oh, yes, I still loved Iolinda, but I think while I did not know it I was falling in love with Ermizhad. I refused to believe in the stories told about her and held affection for her though, at the time, had no thought of pursuing it, remaining loyal to Iolinda. But there must be countless forms of love. Which is the form which conquers the rest? I cannot define it. I shall not try.

Ermizhad’s beauty had the fascination for being an unhuman beauty, but close enough to my race’s ideal to attract me.

She had the long pointed Eldren face, slanting eyes that seemed blind in their strange milkiness, slightly pointed ears, high slanting cheekbones and a slender body that was almost boyish. All the Eldren women were slender, like this, small-breasted and narrow-waisted. Her red lips were fairly wide, curving naturally upwards so that she always seemed to be on the point of smiling while her face was in repose.

         

For the first week out she would not speak. I saw that she had everything for her comfort and she thanked me through her guards, that was all. But one day I stood outside the set of cabins where she, the king and I had our apartments, leaning over the rail looking at a grey sea and an overcast sky.

She took the initiative.

“Greetings, Sir Champion,” she said half-mockingly as she came out of her cabin.

I turned, surprised.

“Greetings—Lady Ermizhad,” said I. She was dressed in a cloak of midnight blue flung around a simple smock of pale blue wool.

“A day of omens, I think,” she said looking at the gloomy sky which boiled darkly above us, full of heavy greys and dusty yellows.

“Why think you?” said I.

She laughed. It was lovely to hear—crystal and gold-strung harps, the music of heaven, not hell.

“Forgive me, I sought to trouble you, but I see you are not so prone to suggestion as others of your race. In fact,” she frowned, “there is an air about you which makes me think you are not wholly of that race.”

“I am of it,” I told her, “but not from this period of time. I have been many heroes—but always human. How I got here, I do not know. I am not sure where I am, in the far future or the far past.”

“That would depend on what period of time you came from,” she said. “For we believe that time moves in a circle, so that the past is the future and the future is the past.”

“An interesting theory,” I said.

“More than a theory, Lord Erekosë.” She came and stood by the ship’s rail, one hand resting upon it.

At that time, I felt the affection that I supposed a father might have for a daughter—a father who delights in his offspring’s assured innocence. She could not have been, I felt sure, more than nineteen. Yet her voice had a confidence that comes with knowledge of the world, her carriage was proud, also confident. I realized that King Rigenos might well have spoken truly. How, indeed, could you gauge the age of an immortal?

“I have the feeling,” I said, “that I come from your past—that this, in relation to what I call the twentieth century—is the far future.”

“This world is very ancient,” she agreed.

“Is there a record of a time when only human beings occupied the Earth?”

“No,” she smiled, “there is an echo of a myth, the thread of a legend, which says that there was a time when only the Eldren occupied the Earth. My brother has studied this—I believe he knows more.”

I shivered. I did not know why, but my vitals seemed to chill within me. I could not, easily, continue the conversation, though I wanted to. She appeared not to have noticed my discomfort.

At last I said: “A day of omens, madam. I hope to talk with you again some time.” I bowed and returned to my cabin.

CHAPTER FOUR

I saw her in the same place the next day. The sky had cleared somewhat and sunlight pushed thick beams through the clouds, the rays slanting down on the choppy sea so that the world seemed half dark, half light. A moody day.

We stood for a while in silence, leaning out over the rail, watching the surf slide by, watching the oars smash into the waters in monotonous rhythm.

Again, she was the first to speak.

“What do they plan to do with me?” she asked quietly.

“You will be a hostage against the eventuality of your brother Prince Arjavh ever attacking Necranal,” I told her. “You will be safe—King Rigenos will not be able to bargain if you are harmed.”

She sighed.

“Why did not you and the other Eldren women flee when our fleets put in to Paphanaal?” I asked. This had puzzled me.

“The Eldren do not flee,” she said. “They do not flee from cities theirs by right.”

“They fled to the Mountains of Sorrow centuries ago,” I pointed out.

“No,” she shook her head, “they were driven there. There is a difference.”

“There is a difference,” I agreed.

“Who speaks of difference?” A new, harsher voice broke in. It was Rigenos. He had come out of his cabin silently and stood behind us, feet apart on the swaying deck.

“Greetings, sire,” I said. “We were discussing the meaning of words.”

“You’ve become uncommon friendly with the Eldren bitch,” he sneered. What was it about a man who had shown himself noble and brave in many ways that when the Eldren were concerned he became an uncouth iconoclast?

“Sire,” I pointed out softly, “you speak of one who, though our enemy, is of noble blood.”

Again he sneered. “Noble blood! The vile stuff which flows in their polluted veins cannot be termed thus. Beware, Erekosë! I realize that you are not altogether versed in our ways or our knowledge, that your memory is hazy—but remember that the Eldren wanton has a tongue of liquid gold which can beguile you to your doom and ours. Pay no heed to her.”

“Sire…” I said.

“She’ll weave such a spell that you’ll be a fawning dog at her mercy and no good to any of us. I tell you, Erekosë, beware. Gods, I’ve half a mind to give her to the rowers and let them have their way with her.”

“You placed her under my protection, king,” I said angrily, “and I am sworn to protect her against all dangers.”

“Fool!” he said. “I have warned you. I do not want to lose your friendship, Erekosë—and more, I do not want to lose our War Champion. If she shows further signs of enchanting you, I shall slay her. No-one shall stop me.”

“I am doing your work, king,” I said, “at your request. But remember you this, I am Erekosë. I have been many other champions. What I do is for the human race. I have taken no oath of loyalty to you or any other king. I am Erekosë, the War Champion—Champion of Humanity, not Rigenos’s Champion!”

His eyes narrowed. “Is this treachery, Erekosë?”

“No, King Rigenos. Disagreement with a single representative of Humanity does not constitute treachery to mankind.”

He said nothing, just stood there, seeming to hate me as much as he hated the Eldren girl. His breathing was heavy and rasped in his throat.

“Give me no reason to regret my summoning of thee, dead Erekosë,” he said at length and turned away, back to his cabin.

“I think we’d best remain apart,” said Ermizhad quietly.

“Dead Erekosë, eh?” I said and then grinned. “If I’m dead then I’m strangely prone to emotion for a corpse.” I made light of our dispute, yet events had taken a turn which had caused me to fear that he would not, for one thing, allow me the hand of Iolinda.

Although he warmed somewhat as the journey reached its end, I was still troubled as we sailed up the Droonaa River and came again to Necranal.

As it happened, King Rigenos found himself in no position to refuse me aught. I received such an ovation upon my return, that to go against my wishes would have aroused the wrath of the people against him. I think he began to see me as a threat to his throne, then, but I was not interested in his crown, only in his daughter.

The king announced our betrothal the next day and the news was received with joy by the citizens of Necranal. We stood before them on the great balcony overlooking the city. We smiled and waved but, when we went inside again, the king left us with a curt word and hurried away.

“Father seems to disapprove of our match,” Iolinda said in puzzlement, “in spite of his consent.”

“A disagreement about tactics,” I comforted her. “He will soon forget.”

But, I admitted to myself, I still felt troubled.

Iolinda and I lay together, as was the custom in the Human Kingdoms. But, that first night, we did not make love.

         

Two days later there came word that what we had sought to avert by taking Paphanaal had actually come to pass.

Eldren ships had beached on the coast of Necralala. An Eldren army was pushing towards Necranal and, it was said, none could stand against it.

The king spoke to me sombrely.

“You must go, Erekosë, and do battle with the Hounds of Evil. Evidently we underestimated their strength. News is that Prince Arjavh leads them. This is our opportunity to strike the head from the monster that is the Eldren.”

“I’ll take forty divisions of men,” I said, “and leave at once.”

“Twenty divisions will be enough,” he said. “Even then you will outnumber the Eldren horde.”

“But surely it is best to be safe,” I said.

“Twenty,” he said dogmatically, “we’ll need the rest in case other attacks have been made from other parts of the coasts. You’ll agree that my logic is reasonable?”

“I agree,” I nodded, “but this seems, I think, more a question of emotion than logic.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes had a half-guilty look.

“Nothing,” I said. “I will take twenty divisions. Will you agree to fifteen of those being cavalry?”

“I’ll agree to that,” he said. “Fifteen cavalry divisions and five infantry. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said.

         

I rode in my proud armour at the head of my army, my lance flaunting my banner of bronze portcullis on an azure field. It was with seeming sorrow that Iolinda had bade me farewell. Ermizhad had said little when I told her of my mission, but she had been tense.

Well before we met Arjavh’s forces, we heard stories of their progress from fleeing villagers. Apparently they were marching doggedly towards Necranal, avoiding any settlements they came to. If I guessed right, the reason for Prince Arjavh being in Necralala was for the purpose of rescuing his sister. I knew little of the Eldren prince save that he was a monster incarnate, a slayer of women and children. I was impatient to meet him in battle. Other stories had told that half his forces were comprised of halflings—things from the Ghost Worlds.

         

The armies of the Eldren and the forces of the Humanity met on a vast plateau surrounded by distant hills. My marshals and captains were all for rushing upon the Eldren immediately, for their numbers were smaller than ours, but I stood by the Code of War and ordered our herald to the Eldren camp, under a flag of truce. I watched him ride away and then, on an impulse, spurred after him.

He turned in his saddle, hearing the hoof-beats of my horse. “Lord Erekosë?” he said questioningly.

“Ride on, herald—and I’ll ride with you.”

So together we came to the Eldren camp.

We rode through a silent camp until we came to the simple pavilion of Prince Arjavh.

“I bring a challenge from the hosts of Humanity!” cried the herald.

I heard a movement in the tent and from it stepped a lithe figure, dressed in half-armour, a steel breastplate strapped over a loose shirt of green, leather hose beneath leg greaves, also of steel, and sandals on his feet. His long black hair was kept away from his eyes by a band of gold bearing a single great ruby.

And his face—was beautiful. I hesitate to use the word to describe a man, but it is the only one to do his fine features justice. Like Ermizhad he had the tapering skull, the slanting, orbless eyes, but his lips did not curve upwards as did hers. His mouth was grim and there were lines of weariness about it. He passed his hand across his face and looked up at us.

“I am Prince Arjavh of Mernadin,” he said in his liquid voice. “We accept your challenge.”

“Shall we decide the terms of the battle?” I asked softly.

He looked at me, puzzled, then his face cleared. “Greetings, Erekosë,” he said.

“How do you know my name?”

He smiled a smile full of melancholy irony.

“Our scientists are skilful men,” he said. “But why do you come, thus, with your herald?”

“Curiosity,” I said. “I have spoke much with your sister, Ermizhad.”

“How is she?” he asked quickly.

“Well,” I said, “she was placed under my protection.”

“I am relieved,” he said. “We come, of course, to rescue her.”

“That is what I supposed. Now, shall we discuss the terms of the battle?”

“It has been a million years since the Eldren and Humanity agreed on terms—extermination of every warrior is the usual rule, now.”

“Well that rule has been changed,” I said impatiently. “Come, are you prepared?”

“Deliverance of the wounded to their own side,” he said.

“Agreed.”

“No slaying of prisoners taken in battle—the winner releasing his captives.”

“Agreed.”

“Deliverance of Ermizhad from captivity if we shall win.”

“To that I cannot agree. The king holds her. If you win, you must go on to Necranal and lay siege to the city.”

He sighed. “Very well, Sir Champion. We shall be ready at dawn tomorrow.”

I said hurriedly: “We outnumber you, Prince Arjavh—you could go back now, in peace.”

He shook his head. “Let the battle be fought,” he said.

“Until dawn, then, Prince Arjavh.”

He moved his hand tiredly in assent and nodded. “Farewell, Lord Erekosë.”

“Farewell.” I wheeled my horse and rode back to our camp in a sorrowful mood.

         

As the watery dawn broke, our forces advanced towards each other. Very slowly, it seemed, but implacably.

A flight of swallows flew high above us and glided away towards the far-off hills.

I smelled the stink of sweating men and horses, heard the creak of harness and the clash of metal. Because of the necessity for speed, we had brought no cannon and neither, it appeared, had the Eldren. Perhaps, I thought, their siege machines were following behind at a slower pace.

I had planned to depend upon my cavalry spreading out on two sides to surround the Eldren while another arrow-head of cavalry pierced the centre of their ranks and pushed through to the rear so that we would surround them on all sides.

As we came close I gave the order for the archers to shoot. We had no crossbows, only longbows, which had a greater range and penetrating power. The first flight of arrows screamed overhead and thudded down into the Eldren ranks.

Our shafts were answered by the slim arrows of the Eldren. Horses and men shrieked as arrows found their marks and for a moment there was consternation in our ranks as they became ragged and then, with discipline, re-formed. I drew my sword.

“Cavalry—charge!”

The knights spurred their war-steeds forward and began, line upon line of them, to fan out on two sides while another division rode straight towards the centre of the Eldren host. They were bent over the necks of their fast-moving horses, lances leaning at an angle across their saddles, aimed at the Eldren.

Their multicoloured plumes streamed behind them and the dim sunlight gleamed on their armour. I was almost deafened by the thunder of hoofs as I kicked my charger into a gallop and with a band of fifty picked knights behind me, surrounding the twin standards of Humanity, rode forward, straining my eyes for Arjavh whom, at that moment, I hated with a hate akin to jealousy.

With a fearful din of shouts and clashing metal we smashed into the Eldren army and soon I was oblivious of all but the need to kill and defend my life.

I hewed about me with savage intensity, seeking sight of Arjavh. At last I saw him, a huge mace swinging from his gauntleted hand, battering at the infantrymen who sought to pull him from his saddle.

“Arjavh!”

He heard but paid no attention, intent as he was on defending himself. “Arjavh!”

“A moment, Erekosë, I have work here.”

He kicked his horse towards me, still flaying around him with the giant mace. Then the infantrymen drew back as they saw we were about to engage. I aimed a mighty blow at him but he pulled aside in time and I felt his mace glance off my back as I leaned so far forward in my saddle after the wasted blow that my sword almost touched the churned ground.

I brought the sword up in an underarm swing and the mace was there to deflect it. For several minutes we fought until, in my astonishment, I heard a voice some distance away. “Rally the standard! Rally Knights of Humanity!”

We had not succeeded in our tactics, that was obvious. Our forces were attempting to re-consolidate and attack afresh. Arjavh smiled and lowered his mace. “They sought to surround the halflings,” he said and laughed aloud.

“We’ll meet again, soon, Arjavh,” I shouted as I turned my horse back and forced my way through milling, embattled men towards the standard which swayed to my right. There was no cowardice in my leaving and Arjavh knew it. I had to be with my men when they rallied.

CHAPTER FIVE

Arjavh had mentioned the halflings. What were they? What kind of creatures were they that they could not, as he had inferred, be surrounded?

The halflings were only part of my problem. Fresh tactics had to be decided upon hurriedly, or the day would be soon lost. Four of my marshals were desperately trying to get our ranks closed as I came up. The Eldren enclosed us and many groups of humans were cut off from our main body.

“What’s the position?” I shouted above the noise of battle.

“It’s hard to tell, Lord Erekosë. One moment we had surrounded the Eldren and the next moment half their forces were surrounding us—they vanished and reappeared behind us! Even now we cannot tell which is material Eldren and which halfling.” The man who answered me was Count Roldero, an experienced marshal. His voice was ragged and he was very much shaken.

“What other qualities do these halflings possess?”

“They are solid enough when fighting, Lord Erekosë, and can be slain, but they can disappear at will and be wherever they wish on the field. It is impossible to plan tactics against such a foe.”

“In that case,” I decided, “you had best keep your men together and fight a defensive action. I think we still outnumber the Eldren and their ghostly allies. Let them come to us!”

         

I could see that the morale of my warriors was bad; they had been disconcerted and were finding it difficult to face the idea of defeat since victory had, at first, seemed so certain.

Through the milling men I saw the basilisk banner of the Eldren approaching as their cavalry moved speedily towards us, Arjavh at their head. Our forces came, again, together and once more I was doing battle with the Eldren prince.

He knew the power of my sword, knew that the touch of it could slay him, but that deadly mace, wielded like a sword, warded off every blow I made. I fought him for half an hour until he showed signs of sweating weariness and my muscles ached horribly.

And again our forces had been split, again it was impossible to tell how the battle went for us. For most of the time I was uncaring, oblivious of the events around me as I concentrated on breaking through Arjavh’s splendid guard.

Then I saw Count Roldero ride swiftly past me, his golden armour split, his face and arms bloody. In one red hand he carried the torn banner of Humanity and his eyes stared out of his wounded head in fear. “Flee, Lord Erekosë,” he shouted as he galloped past. “Flee—the day is lost!”

I could not believe it, until the ragged remnants of my warriors began to stream past me in ignominious flight.

“Rally Humanity!” I screamed. “Rally!” But they paid me no heed. Again Arjavh dropped his mace to his side.

“You are defeated,” he said. “You are a worthy foe, Erekosë, and I will remember our battle terms—go in peace. Necranal will have need of you.”

I shook my head slowly and drew a heavy breath. “Prepare to defend yourself, Prince Arjavh,” I said.

He shrugged, swiftly brought up the mace against the blow I aimed at him and then brought it down suddenly upon my metal-gauntleted wrist. My whole arm went numb. I tried to cling to the sword, but my fingers would not respond. It dropped from my hand and hung by a thong from my wrist.

With a curse, I flung myself from my saddle straight at him, my good hand grasping, but he turned his horse aside and I fell, face forward, in the bloody mud of the field. I attempted once to rise, failed, and lost consciousness.

         

I shivered, aware that I was no longer clad in my armour. I looked up. Arjavh stood over me.

“I wonder why he hates me,” he said to himself before he realized that I was awake. His expression altered and he gave me a light smile. “You’re a ferocious one, Sir Champion.”

“My warriors,” I said, “what…?”

“Those that were left have fled. We released the few prisoners we had and sent them after their comrades. Those were the terms, I believe?”

I struggled up. “Then you are going to release me?”

“I suppose so. Although…”

“Although?”

“You would be a useful bargaining prisoner.”

I took his meaning and relaxed, sinking back onto the hard bed. I thought deeply and fought the idea which came to me, but it grew too large in me. At length I said, almost against my will: “Trade me for Ermizhad.”

His cool eyes showed surprise for an instant.

“You would suggest that? But Ermizhad is Humanity’s chief hostage.”

“Damn you, Eldren—I said trade me for her.”

“You’re a strange human, my friend. But with your permission granted, that is what I shall do. I thank you.”

He left the tent. I heard him instructing a messenger.

“Make sure the people know,” I shouted from the bed. “The king may not agree, but the people will force his hand.”

Arjavh instructed the messenger accordingly. He came back.

“It puzzles me,” I said at length as he sat on a bench on the other side of the tent. “It puzzles me that the Eldren have not conquered Humanity before now—with those halfling warriors I should think you’d be invincible.”

He shook his head. “We rarely make use of our allies,” he said. “But I was desperate. You can understand that I was prepared to go to almost any measures to rescue my sister.”

“I can,” I told him.

“We would never have invaded,” he continued, “had it not been for her.” It was said so simply that I believed him. Either his cunning was so great that I was completely deceived, or else he spoke the truth.

“What are the halflings?” I asked him.

Again he smiled: “Sorcerous ghouls,” he said.

“That is what King Rigenos told me—it is no explanation.”

“What if I told you they were capable of breaking up their atomic structure at will and assembling it again in another place. You would not understand me—sorcery, you would say.”

I was surprised at the scientific nature of his explanation. “I would understand you better,” I said slowly.

He raised his slanting eyebrows.

“You are different,” he said. “Well, the halflings, as you have seen, are related to the Eldren. Not all the dwellers on the Ghost Worlds are our kin—some are closer related to men, and there are other, baser, forms of life, too…

“The Ghost Worlds are solid enough, but exist in an alternate series of dimensions to our own. On these worlds, the halflings have no special powers—no more than we have—but here they have. We do not know why. On Earth different laws seem to apply to them. More than a million years ago we discovered a means of bridging the dimensions between Earth and these other worlds. We found a race akin to our own who will, at times, come to our aid if our need is especially great. This was one of those times. Sometimes, however, the bridge ceases to exist when the Ghost Worlds move into another phase of their weird orbit, so that any halflings on Earth cannot return and any of our people are in the same position if on the Ghost Worlds. Therefore, you will understand, it is dangerous to stay on either side overlong.”

“Is it possible,” I asked, “that the Eldren came originally from these Ghost Worlds?”

“I suppose it is possible,” he agreed. “There are no records.”

“Perhaps that is why the humans hate you as aliens,” I suggested.

“That is not the reason,” he told me, “for the Eldren occupied the Earth for ages before humankind ever came to the planet.”

“What!”

“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.

CHAPTER SIX

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.”

My herald sneered. “They became ingenuous in their defeat if they think they can take you with such a simple trick, my lord.”

“Be silent,” I ordered, my mind a battleground of conflicting thoughts and emotions. I took a deep breath.

“I accept, Prince Arjavh,” I said hollowly, and added: “Is the Lady Ermizhad therein?”

“She is, and looks forward to seeing you.” There was an edge on Arjavh’s voice as he answered this last question. He loved her, I knew, and perhaps was aware of my own affection for her. Aware of it though, at that time, I was not. It was that, of course, which contributed to my decision to enter Loos Ptokai.

The herald said in astonishment: “My lord, surely you cannot be serious. Once inside the gates you will be slain. There were stories, once, that you and Arjavh were not on unfriendly terms, for enemies, but after the havoc you have caused in Mernadin, he will kill you immediately.”

I shook my head in a new and quieter mood. “I think not,” I said, and all the ferocity, the hate, the mad battle-anger, seemed to swell out of me, leaving me, as I turned away from the herald so he should not see me, with tears in my eyes.

“Open your gates, Prince Arjavh,” I called in shaking tones which I could not control. “I come to Loos Ptokai as your guest.”

         

I rode my horse slowly into the city, having left my sword and lance behind me. The herald, in astonishment, was galloping back to our own camp to give the news to the marshals.

The streets of Loos Ptokai were silent, as if in mourning, as Arjavh came down the steps from the battlements to greet me. I saw, now that he was closer, that he, too, wore the expression which showed upon my own harsh face. His steps were not so lithe and his voice not quite so lilting as when we had first met a year before.

I dismounted. He gripped my hand.

“So,” he said in attempted gaiety, “the barbarian battlemonger is still material. My people had begun to doubt it.”

“I suppose they hate me,” I said.

He seemed a little surprised. “The Eldren cannot hate,” he said as he led me towards the palace wherein he had residence.

         

I was shown by Arjavh to a small room containing a bed, a table and a chair of wonderful workmanship. In one corner was a sunken bath, water already steaming in it. After he had left, I stripped off my blood-and dust-encrusted clothing and sank gratefully into the water.

After the initial emotional shock I had received when Arjavh had given his invitation, my mind was now numbed and, for the first time in a year, I relaxed, mentally and physically, washing all the grief and hatred from me as I washed my body.

I was almost cheerful as I donned the fresh clothes which had been laid out for me and, when someone knocked at my door, called lightly for them to enter.

“Hello, Erekosë.” Ermizhad stood there.

“My lady,” I returned, bowing slightly.

“How are you?”

“Better,” I said, “for your hospitality.”

“Arjavh sent me to take you to dinner.”

“I am ready. But first tell me how you have fared.”

“Well enough—in health,” said she. She came closer. “And tell me—are you wed now to Queen Iolinda?”

“We are still betrothed,” I told her, looking into her eyes. “We are to be married when…”

“When?”

“When Loos Ptokai is taken,” I said quickly and then stepped towards her so that we were separated by less than an inch. “Could not the Eldren admit defeat, Ermizhad. Could they not acknowledge mankind’s victory?”

“To what purpose—they say you swore to slay us all?”

“Forget that—let peace ensue between our peoples.”

She shook her head. “For all your bloody conquests, Erekosë, you still do not understand the people you serve. Your race will only be satisfied when every Eldren has perished.”

I knew the people I served. She was right.

“I could still try to convince them,” I said lamely.

“Thanks for that,” she said. “Come—the meal awaits.” She paused, frowning, then: “No—they’ll hold you to your vow.”

         

At dinner, Ermizhad and I sat close together and we all spoke gaily, the wit flowed and we succeeded in driving away the knowledge of the forthcoming battle. But as Ermizhad and I talked softly to one another, I caught a look of pain in Arjavh’s eyes and for a moment he was quiet. He broke through our conversation suddenly:

“You spoke earlier of peace, Erekosë. Is there any chance of arranging peace terms?”

“A conditional surrender on your part?” I asked.

“I suppose so.”

“I am in a difficult position, Arjavh, as you know. Technically I am the War Leader of Humanity and will have no power when the war is ended. The new queen, Iolinda, is the ruler of Humanity and only upon her decision can the war be ended by debate. There is also the consideration of the people and the warriors who have been so inflamed against the Eldren that even if the queen declared peace, they might force her to continue the war. Victory is certain, that you know, but, for my part, I should welcome peace.”

“That is what I thought,” he waved his hand tiredly, “there can be no peace.”

“I told Ermizhad that I would strive to convince the queen and the people that peace is desirable. I’ll return to Necranal and see what I can do to show her that you offer no threat to our race.”

“You trust us inordinately,” smiled Ermizhad. “We are known for our smooth-tongued cunning. We may be beguiling you.”

“If that is the case,” I said, “the results will not be on my conscience. And the gods know I have enough already.”

“We are reputed to be soulless, Erekosë—bereft, in fact, of consciences.”

I shrugged.

         

There was still the chance that the Eldren were fooling me into suing for peace on their part, but now that the battle-madness was gone from me, now that Iolinda was so far away that what she felt seemed no longer important, I had become tired of conflict and wanted only peace. I did not want to complete my vow and exterminate the Eldren. How could I?

I would try what I could to bring peace to the wasted land of Mernadin. If the Eldren abused my attempts, I did not know what I should do. I did not think they would.

I spent more than a day with Arjavh and Ermizhad until eventually our herald, accompanied by several marshals, presented himself again outside the gates of Loos Ptokai.

“We fear that you have been guilty of treachery!” called the herald. “Let us see our master—or his body. Then we shall know what to do.”

Arjavh and I mounted the steps to the battlements and I saw relief in the eyes of the herald and marshals as they noted I was unharmed.

“I have been talking with Prince Arjavh,” I said, “in an attempt to discuss peace terms. I’ll join you within the hour.”

“Peace terms, Lord Erekosë! Peace!”

“Yes,” I said, “peace. Now go back. Tell the warriors that I am safe.”

“We can take this city, Lord Erekosë,” Count Roldero spoke, “there is no need to talk of peace. We can destroy the Eldren once and for all. Have you succumbed to their cursed enchantments—have they beguiled you with their smooth words?”

“No,” I said, “it was I who suggested it.”

Roldero swung his horse round in disgust.

“Peace!” he spat as he and his comrades headed back to the camp. “Our master’s gone mad.”

“Difficulties already,” said Arjavh to me.

“They fear me,” I told him, “and they’ll obey me—for a while at least.”

“Let us hope so,” he said.

         

This time there were no cheering crowds in Necranal to welcome me, for news of my mission had gone ahead of me. The people disapproved.

Her new power had given Iolinda a haughty look as she strode about the throne room, awaiting me.

“Well, Erekosë,” she said, “I know why you are here—why you have forsaken your troops, gone against your word to destroy the Eldren.”

“Iolinda,” I said urgently. “I am convinced that the Eldren are weary of war—that they never intended to threaten the Two Continents in the first place. They want only peace.”

“Peace we shall have—when the Eldren race has perished,” she cried.

“Iolinda, if you love me, you will listen to me, at least.”

“If I love you. And what of the Lord Erekosë—does he still love his queen?”

I was taken aback. I gaped. I could think of nothing to say—nothing but one word, for then I realized that the reason for my bitterness through the year had not been her lack of response to my love—but my lack of response to hers. That word, of course, was ‘No’. But I did not utter it.

“Oh, Erekosë,” her tone softened. “Can it be true?” There were tears in her eyes.

“No,” I said thickly. “I—I still love you, Iolinda. We are to be married…” But she knew. However, if peace was to be the result, then I was prepared to marry her in spite of anything I personally felt.

“I still want to marry you, Iolinda,” I said.

“No,” she sighed. “No you don’t.”

“I will,” I said. “I will. If peace with the Eldren comes about…”

Again her wide eyes blazed. “Not on those terms, Erekosë. Never. You are guilty of High Treason against us. The people already speak of you as a traitor.”

“But I conquered all of Mernadin for them—all but Loos Ptokai.”

“All but Loos Ptokai—where your wanton Eldren bitch awaits you.”

“Iolinda—you are unfair.”

She was unfair—but, to some degree, she spoke from knowledge of my true position.

“And you are a traitor! Guards!” she called and, as if they had already been told what to do, a dozen of the Imperial Guards rushed in, led by their captain, Katorn. There was a hint of triumph in his eyes and then, at once, I knew why we had never liked one another—he desired Iolinda!

It was an instinctive knowledge—but I knew then that whether I drew my sword or not he would slay me.

I drew my sword.

“Take him, Katorn!” cried Iolinda. “Take him—alive or dead, he is a traitor to his kind!”

“It’s untrue,” I said, as Katorn advanced cautiously, his men spreading out behind him. I backed to a wall, near a window. The throne room was on the first storey of the palace. Outside were the private gardens of the queen. “Think, Iolinda—retract your command. You are driven by jealousy. I’m no traitor.”

“Slay him, Katorn!”

But I slew Katorn. As he came rushing at me, my sword flicked across his face. He screamed, staggered, his hands rushed up to his head and then he toppled in his golden armour, toppled and fell with a crash to the ground.

The other guards came on, but more warily. I fought off their blades, slew a couple, drove the others back, glimpsed Iolinda watching me, leapt to the sill of the window.

“Goodbye, Queen. You have lost your champion now.” I jumped.

I landed in a rose-bush that ripped at my skin, broke free and ran hastily towards the gate of the garden, the guards behind me.

I tore the gate open and found myself in a deserted alley. I ran down the twisting streets of Necranal with the guards in pursuit, their ranks joined by a howling pack of the townspeople who had no idea why I was wanted. They chased me for the sheer animal pleasure of the hunt.

I ran blindly at first, and then towards the river. My crew, I hoped, still retained their loyalty to me. If they did there was a faint chance of escape. I gained the ship just before my pursuers. I leapt aboard screaming:

“Prepare to sail!”

Only half the crew was aboard, the others were on shore leave, but these hurriedly shipped out the oars while we held the guards and the citizens at bay. We shoved off and began a hasty flight down the Droonaa River.

         

It was some time before they managed to commandeer a ship for pursuit and by that time we were safely outdistancing them. My crew asked no questions. They were used to my silences, my actions which sometimes seemed peculiar but, a week after we were on course over the sea, bound for Mernadin, I told them briefly that I was now an outlaw.

“Why, Lord Erekosë?” asked my captain.

“The queen’s malice,” I said, “and, I suspect, Katorn of the Imperial Guard spoke against me, turning her to hate me.”

They were satisfied with the explanation and, when we put in at a small cove near the Plains of Melting Ice, I bade them farewell, mounted my horse and rode swiftly for Loos Ptokai, knowing not what I should do when I got there, only that I must let Arjavh know the turn events had taken.

         

Two months passed, two ominous months in Loos Ptokai, while we wondered what Iolinda would do. Having no leader, the armies of mankind remained surrounding the city but not attacking it. The inaction was oppressive in itself. I became irritable at times, but there were days of happiness with Ermizhad. We openly acknowledged our love now.

I queried Arjavh about the terrible weapons of which he had spoken while I was his prisoner.

“Use them this once, Arjavh,” I told him. “Make a show of strength, that is all. They will be ready to discuss peace, then.”

“No,” he refused. “No. I do not think even this emergency merits such an action.”

“Arjavh,” I said, “I respect the reason you have for refusing to use the weapons, but I have grown to love the Eldren. I love them more, evidently, than they love themselves. My own race would suffer from your weapons. If the time comes when I feel we could use them, will you let me decide—take the decision away from you?”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Arjavh—will you?”

“We Eldren have never been motivated by self-interest to the extent of destroying another race, Erekosë. Do not confuse our values with those of mankind.”

“I am not,” I replied. “That is my reason for asking you this. I could not bear to see such a noble race perish at the hands of one which is, in taking this action against you, ignoble!”

“Iolinda spoke the truth,” he said quietly. “You are a traitor to your race.”

“I seek only to stop them from continuing in their folly.”

He pursed his lips.

“For the love I have for Ermizhad and the love she has for me. For you and all the Eldren left alive, I ask you to let me take the decision if it becomes necessary.”

“For Ermizhad?” He raised his eyebrows. “Very well, my friend,” he said quickly. “Very well—I leave the decision to you. I suppose that is fair. But remember—do not act as unwisely as others of your kind.”

“I will not,” I promised.

CHAPTER SEVEN

After much bickering among themselves, I subsequently learned, the marshals had elected one of themselves, the most experienced, to act as their War Champion. They elected Count Roldero. The siege commenced in earnest.

The massive siege engines were brought forward, giant cannon boomed their solid shot against the trembling walls of Loos Ptokai, blazing fireballs screamed into the city, thousands of arrows followed them in black showers—and a million men came against our handful.

But Loos Ptokai, the ancient capital of Mernadin, Loos Ptokai held firm during those first days.

Wave upon wave of yelling warriors mounted the siege towers and we replied with arrows, with molten metal and with the fire-spewing silver cannon of the Eldren. We fought bravely, Arjavh and I leading the defenders and, whenever they sighted me, the warriors of Humanity screamed for vengeance and died striving for the privilege of slaying me.

We fought side by side, like brothers, Arjavh and I, but our Eldren warriors were tiring and, after a week of constant barrage, we began to realize that we could not hold against the enemy for more than another week.

During one of the rare lulls in the fighting, I told Arjavh of my decision.

“Break out your weapons,” I said, “and arm the Eldren.”

He made no remonstration. “Very well,” he said. “I agreed that you would decide. And I know that we are lost if we do not show Humanity our real strength. Very well, they shall be ready for use tomorrow.”

I only hoped that he had not overestimated their power.

         

The next day I was taken by Arjavh to the vaults which lay within the core of the city. We moved along bare corridors of polished black marble, lighted by small bulbs which burned with a greenish light. We came to a door of dark metal and he pressed a stud beside it. The door moved open and we entered an elevator which bore us yet further downwards.

We stepped out into a great hall full of weirdly wrought machines that looked brand new. They stretched for nearly half a mile ahead of us.

“There are the weapons,” said Arjavh hollowly.

Around the walls were arranged handguns of various kinds, rifles and things that looked like bazookas. There were squat machines on treads, like ultra-streamlined tanks, with glass cabins and couches for a single man to lie flat upon and operate the controls. I saw no flying machines of any kind, however. I asked Arjavh about this.

“Flying machines! It would be interesting if there were such things. We have never, in all our history, been able to develop a machine that will safely stay in the air for any length of time.”

I was amazed at this strange gap in their technology, but did not comment upon it.

“Are you still decided to use them?” he asked me, thinking perhaps that the sight of them would shock me out of my decision.

But these things were not so very different to similar war machines of the age from which, eighteen months before, I had come. I nodded my head.

We returned to the surface and there instructed our warriors to bring the weapons up.

         

Already I half-doubted my own decision, but felt, as always, that I had to act as I thought best, not as my emotions told me to act.

The weapons were raised. The men were armed. The larger machines were mounted upon the walls. I sent a messenger under a flag of truce to tell the marshals to assemble, the next day, before the walls of Loos Ptokai.

They came, in all their proud panoply of war, which seemed so insignificant, now, against the power of our energy weapons.

We had set one of the new cannon pointing up into the sky so that we could demonstrate its fearful potential.

“We offer you a truce—and peace,” I said.

Roldero laughed aloud. “You offer us peace, traitor! You should be begging for peace—though you’ll get none.”

“I warn you Count Roldero,” I shouted. “I warn you all. We have fresh weapons—weapons which once came near to destroying this whole Earth! Watch!”

I gave the order to fire the giant cannon.

An Eldren warrior depressed a stud on the controls.

There came a humming from the cannon and all at once a tremendous blinding bolt of golden energy gouted from its snout. The heat alone blistered our skins and we fell back shielding our eyes.

Horses shrieked and reared. The marshals’ faces were grey and their mouths gaped. They fought to control their mounts.

“That is what we offer you if you will not have peace!” I shouted. “We have a dozen like it and hand-cannon which can kill a hundred men at a sweep. What say you now?”

“We fight—we fight assured of your evil pact with Azmobaana. We are pledged to wage war on sorcery—and what better example of sorcery is there than that—that…?” He was lost for a word to describe our cannon.

“It is not sorcery, foolish Count Roldero,” I cried desperately. “It is science—a more developed science than that which invented powder and cannon, that is all. Your own ancestors once had weapons like these!”

“Sorcery! Black sorcery!” he shouted and wheeled his horse away with his men fleeing behind him, back to gather his forces, I knew.

They came and we met them. They were helpless against our weapons. Energy spouted from the guns and seared into their ranks. We all felt pain as we fired the howling waves of force which swept across them and destroyed them, turning proud men and beasts to blackened rubble.

I pitied them as they came on, the cream of Humanity’s menfolk.

It took an hour to destroy a million warriors.

One hour.

When the extermination was over, I was filled with a strange emotion which I could not then, and cannot now, define. It was a mixture of grief and triumph. And it was then that I made my final decision—or did I, indeed, make it at all?

Was I right?

In spite of Arjavh’s constant antagonism to my plan, I ordered the machines out of Loos Ptokai and, mounted in one of them, ordered them overland.

         

Two months before I had been responsible for winning the cities of Mernadin for Humanity. Now I reclaimed them in the name of the Eldren.

I reclaimed them in a terrible way. I destroyed every human being occupying them. A week and we were at Paphanaal, the fleets of mankind at anchor in the great harbour. I destroyed those fleets as I destroyed the garrison, men, women and children perished.

And then, for the machines were amphibious, I led the Eldren across the sea to the Two Continents.

Noonos of the jewel-studded towers fell. Tarkar fell. The wondrous cities of the wheatlands fell, Stalaco, Calodemia, Mooros and Ninadoon crumbled in an inferno of gouting energy. Wedmah, Shilaal, Sinana all burned in a few hours.

In Necranal, the pastel-coloured city of the mountain, Iolinda died with some twenty millions of her citizens. And with the fall of Necranal our work was done.

Arjavh stood with me looking up at the smouldering mountainside which had been Necranal.

“For one woman’s wrath,” he said, “and another’s love, you did this?”

“You are wrong, Arjavh,” I said solemnly. “I did it for the only kind of peace that would have lasted.” I waved my hand at the rubble that was Necranal.

“I know my race too well. This Earth would have been forever rent by strife of some kind. I had to decide who best deserved to live. If they had destroyed the Eldren, then they would have fought among themselves for something. For empty things, too—for power over their fellows, for a bauble, for possession of a woman who didn’t want them.” I sighed.

“They never grew up, Arjavh, ancient as my race was. I’m driven to wonder if that is why the first humans came to Earth—because they had been exiled by others of their kind. Perhaps these weren’t representative of the whole. I think not.”

“It is done now,” Arjavh said. He gripped my arm, “Come friend, back to Mernadin—Ermizhad awaits you.”

I was an empty man, then, bereft of emotion. I followed him towards the river, drifting sluggishly now, choked with black dust.

“I think I did right,” I said. “It was not my will, you know, but something else. There are forces whose nature we shall never know, can only dream of. I think it was another will than mine which brought me to this age—not Rigenos. Rigenos, like me, was a puppet, a tool used, as I was used. It was doomed that Humanity should die on this planet.”

“It is better that you think that,” he said. “Come, now, let us go home.”

EPILOGUE

The scars of that destruction have healed now, as I end my chronicle. I returned to Loos Ptokai to wed Ermizhad, to have the secret of immortality conferred upon me, to brood for a year or two until my brain cleared.

It is clear, now. I feel no guilt about what I did. I feel more certain than ever that it was the decision of some Other.

So we are here, the three of us, Ermizhad, Arjavh and I. Arjavh is undisputed ruler of the Earth, an Eldren Earth, and we rule with him.

We cleansed this Earth of humankind—I am its last representative—and in doing so knitted this planet back into the pattern, allowed it to drift, at last, harmoniously with a harmonious universe. For the universe is old, perhaps even dying, and it could not tolerate the humans who broke its peace.

Did I do right?

It is too late for that question. I have sufficient control, nowadays, not to ask it, for I could not answer but in seeking to do so would destroy my own sanity.

One thing puzzles me. If, indeed, time is cyclic and the universe will be born again to turn another eternity, then Humanity will one day rise again, somehow, on this Earth and my adopted people will disappear from Earth, or seem to.

Ermizhad and I cannot bear children, so I am aware that I shall not be the father of your race. Then how shall you come again to disrupt the harmony of the universe?

There is only one answer which occurs to me. Some Being of a higher order wishes it—it is part of the pattern. It is, in its very disruption, a necessary part of the pattern.

Now, the Earth is peaceful. The silent air carries only the sounds of quiet laughter, the murmur of conversation, the small noises of small animals. We and the Earth are at peace.

But how long can it last? Oh, how long can it last?