The Queen of the Swords

'Agreed Master Jhary. Still, I say, your most important enemy is Gaynor the Damned.'

'But he is indestructible.'

'He can be destroyed by one as strong and as fate-heavy as himself.' Arkyn looked significantly at Corum. 'But it would take much courage and could mean that both would be destroyed…'

Corum inclined his head. 'I will consider what you have said, Lord Arkyn.'

'And now I go.'

The handsome figure vanished and they were left alone in the temple.

Corum looked at Rhalina and then he looked at Jhary. Neither met his gaze. They both knew what Lord Arkyn had asked of him - of the responsibility which had been put upon his shoulders.

He frowned, fingering the jewelled patch on his eye, flexing the fingers of the six-fingered alien hand extending from his left wrist.

'With the Eye of Rhynn and the Hand of Kwll,' he said. 'With Shool's obscene gifts which were grafted to my soul almost as wholly as they were grafted to my body, I will attempt to rid this Realm of Prince Gaynor the Damned.'

CHAPTER THREE Prince Gaynor the Damned

'He was once a hero,' said Jhary as they stood on the walls that night, peering out at the thousand campfires of the Chaos army surrounding the city, 'this Prince Gaynor. He, too, fought on the side of Law. But then he fell in love with something - perhaps it was a woman - and became a renegade, throwing in his lot with Chaos. He was punished - punished some say, by the Power of the Balance. Now he may never serve Law or know the pleasure of Law. Now he must serve Chaos eternally, just as you, eternally, serve Law…'

'Eternally?' Corum said, disturbed.

'I'll speak no more of that,' Jhary said. 'But you sometimes know peace. Prince Gaynor only remembers peace and can never, throughout all the ages, expect to find it again.'

'Not even in death?'

'He is doomed never to die, for in death there is peace, even if that death lasts only an instant before another rebirth.'

'Then I cannot slay him?'

'You can slay him no more than you can slay one of the Great Old Gods. But you can banish him. You must know how to do that, however…'

'Do you know, Jhary?'

'I think so.' Jhary lowered his head in concentration as he paced the walls beside Corum. 'I remember tales that Gaynor can be defeated only if his visor is opened and his face looked upon by one who serves Law. But his visor can only be opened by a greater force than any mortal wields. Such is the familiar condition of a sorcerous fate. It is all I know.'

'It is precious little,' Corum said gracelessly.

'Aye.'

'It must be tonight. They will expect no attack from us - especially on the first night of their siege. We must go against the Chaos Host, strike swiftly and attempt to slay - or banish, whatever it is - Prince Gaynor the Damned. He controls the malformed army and they will be drawn back to their own Realm if he is no longer present.'

'A simple plan,' said Jhary sardonically. 'Who rides with us? Beldan is here. I have seen him.'

'I'll not risk any of the defenders. They'll be needed if the plan fails.'

'We'll ride alone,' Corum said.

Jhary shrugged and sighed. 'You'd best stay here, little friend,' he told his cat.

Through the night they slipped, leading their horses whose hooves were bound in thick rags to muffle their sound, towards the Camp of Chaos where the Mabden revelled and kept poor guard.

The smell was sufficient to tell them where Prince Gaynor's hellish band was camped. The half-men shambled about in strange, ritual dances, resembling the movements of mating beasts rather than those of human folk. The stupid beast faces were slack-mouthed, dull-eyed, and they drank much sour wine to make them forget what once they had been before they had pledged themselves to the corruption that was Chaos.

Prince Gaynor sat in the middle of this, near the leaping fire, all encased from head to foot in his flashing armour. It was sometimes silver, sometimes gold, sometimes bluish steel. A dark yellow plume nodded on the helm and on the breastplate was engraved the Arms of Chaos - eight arrows radiating from a central hub, representing, according to Chaos, all the rich possibilities inherent in its philosophy. Prince Gaynor did not carouse. He did not eat and he did not drink. He merely stared at his warriors, his metal-gloved hands upon the pommel of his big sword which was also sometimes silver, sometimes gold, sometimes bluish steel. He was all of a piece, Prince Gaynor the Damned.

They had to skirt several snoring barbarian guards before they could creep into Gaynor's camp, which was set some distance from the rest of the camp, just as the Army of the Dog and the Army of the Bear were camped the other side. Some of Lyr's men staggered past them, but, because Corum and Jhary were swathed in cowled cloaks, hardly gave them a second glance. None suspected that the warriors of Lywm-an-Esh would come in couples to their camp.

When they reached the edge of the firelight and were close to the leaping throng of beast men, they mounted their horses and waited for a long moment while they regarded the mysterious figure of Prince Gaynor the Damned.

He had not moved once since they had first observed him. Seated on an ornate, high saddle of ebony and ivory, his hands on the pommel of his great broadsword he continued to stare without interest at the caperings of his obscene followers.

Then they rode into the circle of fiery light and Prince Corum Jhaelen Irsei, Servant of Law, faced Prince Gaynor the Damned, Servant of Chaos.

Corum wore all his Vadhagh gear - his delicate, silver-mail, his conical helm, his scarlet robe. His tall spear was in his right hand and his great round war-board was upon his left arm.

Prince Gaynor rose from where he was seated and lifted an arm to stop the revels. The legion of hell turned to regard Corum and they began to snarl and gibber when they recognized him.

'Be silent!' Prince Gaynor the Damned commanded, stepping forward in his flickering armour and sheathing his sword. 'Saddle my charger, one of you, for I think Prince Corum and his friend come to do battle with me.' His voice was vibrant and, on the surface, amused. But there was a bleak quality underlying it, a tragic sadness.

'Will you fight me alone, Prince Gaynor?' Corum asked.

The Prince of Chaos laughed. 'Why should I? It is long since I subscribed to your ideas of chivalry, Prince Corum. And I have a pledge to my mistress, Queen Xiombarg, that I must use any means to destroy you. I have never known her to hate - but she hates you, Sir Vadhagh. How she hates you!'

'It could be because she fears me,' Corum suggested.

'Aye. It could be.'

'Then you will set your whole host upon us?'

'Why should I not? If you are foolish enough to enter my power…'

'You have no pride?'

'None, I think.'

'No honour?'

'None.'

'No courage?'

'I have no absolute qualities at all, I fear - save that, perhaps - save fear, itself.'

'You are honest, however.'

A deep laugh issued from the closed visor. 'If you would believe it. Why have you come to my camp, Prince Corum?'

'You know why, do you not?'

'You hope to slay me, because I am the brain which controls all this barbarian brawn? A good idea. But I cannot be slain. Would that I could - I have prayed for death, often enough. You hope that if you defeat me you will buy time for building up your defences. Perhaps you would do so, but I regret that I will slay you and thus rob Halwyg-nan-Vake of its chief supply of brain and resourcefulness.'

'If you cannot be slain, why not fight me personally?'

'Because I would not waste time. Warriors!'

The misshapen beast-men arrayed themselves behind their master who mounted his white charger on which had been placed the high saddle of ebony and ivory. He settled his own spear in its rest and drew his own shield on to his arm.