How had they defeated the Off-Moo, who had been so well and cleverly protected? The dormant Off-Moo, those who had resembled statues and who guarded their borders, had clearly been caught unawares. They had never had a chance to wake. The Off-Moo's ability to direct deadly stalactites against their enemies had somehow been impaired. Initially knowing nothing of the Off-Moo, Gaynor had somehow learned much since I last visited their city.
Signs of savage, mindless cruel destruction were everywhere.
What had become of the Off-Moo? Had they fled? Were they in hiding in the city? Had they all been killed? Or captured? It was hard for me to remember that Gaynor had gathered supernatural allies since I had last visited this realm. We saw a few silhouettes moving in the ruins. They had the shambling walk of the troogs or the swagger of the half-blind savages who fought beside them.
As we drew nearer to them, even Elric began to keep to the shadows, watching to see what they were doing. But it was clear they were doing very little, save sifting through the ruins for the loot they had hoped to find. I couldn't imagine what possessions of the Off-Moo would be valuable to these semi-brutes. Where was Gaynor's main army?
We were coming close to the great plaza of the city. Everywhere the mysterious towers of the Off-Moo burned with that strange fluttering white fire. What I had mistaken for their screaming was the noise the towers made as they burned. The sound of a mortal voice.
Where the towers burned, neither the conquerors nor the conquered were in evidence.
We decided we would have to capture one of the savages and interrogate him. Oona cocked her head, listening. She walked rapidly towards a burning tower and peered in.
Seconds later a dark shape appeared in the doorway. Its own robes flickered as the fire flickered and its eyes glittered. I saw no welcome in them.
Oona exchanged a few words with the figure. Cautiously he came out of the tower and glided towards us. It was hard to tell from the long, stony face if we were recognized or not. The Off-Moo spoke slowly, in Greek:
"Gaynor did this to us. He feared we would try to stop him in his ambitions. And he feared rightly. But he has made exceptional alliances with certain of the Lords of the Higher Worlds and so gained the knowledge of how to defeat us and with what."
"How many of you has he killed?" Elric spoke with the direct bluntness of a professional soldier.
"That remains to be seen, sir. I am Scholar Crina. I was not here when Gaynor attacked. When I returned I found our city much as you find it now. My departing colleagues were able to inform me that the weight of barbarians overwhelmed them. But before that something else occurred."
"Where are the barbarians now?" I asked. I was shivering, still soaked through.
"Do you know?"
"They marched away, " was all he would say.
"Where's this Gaynor?" Elric asked brusquely. "Presumably his will is what it always was?"
"He has done what he needed to do here."
"And what was that?"
"He has stolen our Great Staff and now marches against the Grey Fees."
"Impossible, " said Oona. "The staff is useless in his blood-soaked hands. It could as easily destroy him as aid him. No one would take such a risk. Nobody would be so foolish as to chance such destruction."
"No one except Gaynor, " said Elric.
"What does he expect to gain from invading the Grey Fees?" I asked.
Scholar Crina answered that question. "Enormous power. Power over the forces of creation themselves. This was what he first offered us, if we would help him. Naturally we refused him."
"The gods would never allow it."
Scholar Crina seemed amused. "No sane being would. But there is a theory that the Lords of the Higher Worlds themselves are no longer entirely sane, as disturbing changes take place throughout the multiverse. A conjunction comes. All the realms will realign within the great field of Time. New destinies will be decided. New realities. Yours is not the only story. There are others. Other lives. Other dreams. All lead to the same great supernatural moment. Nothing is as certain as it was. Even loyalties to Law and Chaos are no longer permanent. Look at Gaynor. He employs both Law and Chaos in his attempt to make himself the ruler of worlds. Once such things were impossible for mortals. But now, it seems, even mortal power increases and becomes less stable."
"Gaynor does not mean to destroy himself, " said Oona. "He no doubt believes he is invulnerable now that he bears your Great Staff."
"He claims to be king of the world. And it is true that his possession of our Great Staff gives him the confidence to march upon the Grey Fees. But to what end? What can he hope to achieve, save complete destruction of the multiverse?"
"He reminds me of a certain dictator in my own country, " I said mildly. "His madness, his poor grasp on reality seems to be what drives him. His addiction to power is so great, he will destroy whole realms in order to satisfy his craving."
Scholar Crina lowered his eyes. "He has no ordinary sense of self-interest. Those are the most dangerous people of all to gain control of a civilization."
"Echoes, " said Oona thoughtfully to herself. "On how many planes, do you think, is a version of this story being played out? We believe we have volition, but we can do little to change the consequences or the direction of our actions, because those consequences and actions are taking place, with minuscule differences expanding to vast differences, on countless levels of the multiverse."
Elric showed no interest in her philosophy. "If Gaynor can be stopped on this plane, " he said, "then presumably his defeat will be echoed, as his victories are?"
She smiled at him. "Well, Father, if anyone was best fitted to change his own destiny, then it is you."
Neither Elric nor I knew exactly what she meant, but I shared his sense of determination.
"Gaynor's power was too great for us, " said Scholar Crina.
"But your Staff, " said Oona. "How could he have taken that from you?"
"The Staff itself appears to have allowed it, " said Scholar Crina simply. "We have always known it had volition. That is how it came to us."
They were referring to the malleable artifact-bowl, child, staff-I had witnessed the Off-Moo manipulating in that first ceremony. Or had they been the manipulators? Were they perhaps the manipulated? I remembered how it had changed shape. At whose volition?
"Does it always take the form of a staff?" I asked him. I recalled all the shapes it had made.
"We know it as the Runestaff, " he said. "But it takes several forms. It is a staff and a cup and a stone and is one of the great regulators of our realities."
"Is that what my people know as the Grail?" I remembered von Eschenbach and some of our own family legends. "Were you its guardians?"
"In this realm, " he said. "And in this realm we have failed."
"You mean various versions of the Grail inhabit other realms?"
Scholar Crina was regretful. "Only one Great Staff exists, " he said. "It represents the Balance itself. Some say it is the Balance. Its influence extends far beyond any realm in which it is kept."
"My family was once said to guard the Grail, " I told him. "But it was removed from our keeping. Presumably we also failed in our trust."