The Dark World

Henry Kuttner

Published: 1946

Categorie(s): Fiction, Fantasy, Science Fiction

About Kuttner:

Henry Kuttner (April 7, 1915–

February 4, 1958) was a science fiction

author born in Los Angeles, California.

As a young man he worked for a literary

agency before selling his first story,

"The Graveyard Rats", to Weird Tales in

1936. Kuttner was known for his literary

prose and worked in close collaboration

with his wife, C. L. Moore. They met

through their association with the

"Lovecraft Circle", a group of writers

and fans who corresponded with H. P.

Lovecraft. Their work together spanned

the 1940s and 1950s and most of the

work was credited to pseudonyms,

mainly Lewis Padgett and Lawrence

O'Donnell. Both freely admitted that one

reason they worked so much together

was because his page rate was higher

than hers. In fact, several people have

written or said that she wrote three

stories which were published under his

name. "Clash by Night" and The Portal

in the Picture, also known as Beyond

Earth's Gates, have both been alleged to

have been written by her. L. Sprague de

Camp, who knew Kuttner and Moore

well, has stated that their collaboration

was so intensive that, after a story was

completed, it was often impossible for

either Kuttner or Moore to recall who

had written which portions. According

to de Camp, it was typical for either

partner to break off from a story in mid-

paragraph or even mid-sentence, with

the latest page of the manuscript still in

the typewriter. The other spouse would

routinely continue the story where the

first had left off. They alternated in this

manner as many times as necessary until

the story was finished. Among Kuttner's

most popular work were the Gallegher

stories, published under the Padgett

name, about a man who invented robots

when he was stinking drunk, only to be

completely unable to remember exactly

why he had built them after sobering up.

These stories were later collected in

Robots Have No Tails. In the

introduction to the paperback reprint

edition after his death, Moore stated that

all the Gallagher stories were written by

Kuttner alone. In 2007, New Line

Cinema released a feature film based on

the Lewis Padgett short story "Mimsy

Were the Borogoves" under the title The

Last Mimzy. In addition, The Best of

Henry Kuttner was republished under the

title The Last Mimzy Stories.

Chapter 1

Fire in the Night

TO THE north thin smoke made a

column against the darkening sky. Again

I felt the unreasoning fear, the impulse

toward nightmare flight that had been

with me for a long time now. I knew it

was without reason. There was only

smoke, rising from the swamps of the

tangled Limberlost country, not fifty

miles from Chicago, where man has

outlawed superstition with strong bonds

of steel and concrete.

I knew it was only a camper's fire, yet

I knew it was not. Something, far back in

my mind, knew what the smoke rose

from, and who stood about the fire,

peering my way through the trees.

I looked away, my glance slipping

around the crowded walls — shelves

bearing the random fruit of my uncle's

magpie collector's instinct. Opium pipes

of inlaid work and silver, golden

chessmen from India, a sword…

Deep memories stirred within me —

deep panic. I was beneath the sword in

two strides, tearing it from the wall, my

fingers cramping hard around the hilt.

Not fully aware of what I did, I found

myself facing the window and the distant

smoke again. The sword was in my fist,

but feeling wrong, not reassuring, not as

the sword ought to feel.

"Easy, Ed," my uncle's deep voice

said behind me. "What's the matter? You

look — sort of wild."

"It's the wrong sword," I heard myself

saying helplessly.

Then something like a mist cleared

from my brain. I blinked at him stupidly,

wondering what was happening to me.

My voice answered.

"It isn't the sword. It should have

come from Cambodia. It should have

been one of the three talismans of the

Fire King and the Water King. Three

very great talismans — the fruit of â

¢cui, gathered at the time of the deluge, but still fresh — the rattan with flowers

that never fade, and the sword of Yan,

the guarding spirit."

My uncle squinted at me through pipe-

smoke. He shook his head.

"You've changed, Ed," he said in his

deep, gentle voice. "You've changed a

lot. I suppose because of the war — it's

to be expected. Arid you've been sick.

But you never used to be interested in

things like that before. I think you spend

too much time at the libraries. I'd hoped

this vacation would help. The rest —"

"I don't want rest!" I said violently. "I

spent a year and a half resting in

Sumatra. Doing nothing but rest in mat

smelly little jungle village, waiting and

waiting and waiting."

I could see and smell it now. I could

feel again the fever that had raged so

long through me as I lay in the tabooed

hut.

My mind went back eighteen months

to the last hour when things were normal

for me. It was in the closing phases of

World War II, and I was flying over the

Sumatran jungle. War, of course, is never

good or normal, but until that one

blinding moment in the air I had been an

ordinary man, sure of myself, sure of my

place in the world, with no nagging

fragments of memory too elusive to

catch.

Then everything blanked out, suddenly

and completely. I never knew what it

was. There was nothing it could have

been. My only injuries came when the

plane struck, and they were miraculously

light. But I had been whole and unhurt

when the blindness and blankness came

over me.

The friendly Bataks found me as I lay

in the ruined plane. They brought me

through a fever and a raging illness with

their strange, crude, effective ways of

healing, but I sometimes thought they had

done me no service when they saved me.

And their witch-doctor had his doubts,

too.

He knew something. He worked his

curious, futile charms with knotted string

and rice, sweating with effort I did not

understand — then. I remembered the

scarred, ugly mask looming out of the

shadow, the hands moving in gestures of

strange power.

"Come back, O soul, where thou are

lingering in the wood, or in the hills, or

by the river. See, I call thee with a

toemba bras, with an egg of the fowl

Rajah moelija, with the eleven healing

leaves… ."

"Yes, they were sorry for me at first,

all of them. The witchdoctor was the

first to sense something wrong and the

awareness spread. I could feel it

spreading, as their attitude changed.

They were afraid. Not of me, I thought,

but of — what?

Before the helicopter came to take me

back to civilization, the witch-doctor

had told me a little. As much, perhaps,

as he dared.

"You must hide, my son. All your life

you must hide.

Something is searching for you — "

He used a word I did not understand. "

— and it has come from the Other

World, the ghostlands, to hunt you down.

Remember this: all magic things must be

taboo to you. And if that too fails,

perhaps you may find a weapon in

magic. But we cannot help you. Our

powers are not strong enough for that."

He was glad to see me go. They were

all glad.

And after that, unrest. For something

had changed me utterly. The fever?

Perhaps. At any rate, I didn't feel like the

same man. There were dreams,

memories — haunting urgencies as if I

had somehow, somewhere left some

vital job unfinished.

I found myself talking more freely to

my uncle.

"It was like a curtain lifting. A curtain

of gauze. I saw some things more clearly

— they seemed to have a different

significance. Things happen to me now

that would have seemed incredible —

before. Now they don't.

"I've traveled a lot, you know. It

doesn't help. There's always something

to remind me. An amulet in a pawnshop

window, a knotted string, a cat's-eye

opal and two figures. I see them in my

dreams, over and over. And once —"

I stopped.

"Yes?" my uncle prompted softly.

"It was in New Orleans. I woke up

one night and there was something in my

room, very close to me. I had a gun — a

special sort of gun — under my pillow.

When I reached for it the — call it a dog

— sprang from the window. Only it

wasn't shaped quite like a dog." I

hesitated. "There were silver bullets in

the revolver," I said.

My uncle was silent for a long

moment. I knew what he was thinking.

"The other figure?" he said, finally.

"I don't know. It wears a hood. I think

it's very old. And beyond these two —"

"Yes?"

"A voice. A very sweet voice,

haunting. A fire. And beyond the fire, a

face I have never seen clearly."

My uncle nodded. The darkness had

drawn in; I could scarcely see him, and

the smoke outside had lost itself against

the shadow of night. But a faint glow

still lingered beyond the trees… Or did I

only imagine that?

I nodded toward the window.

"I've seen that fire before," I told him.

"What's wrong with it? Campers make

fires."

"No. It's a Need-fire."

"What the devil is that?"

"It's a ritual," I said. "Like the

Midsummer fires, or the Beltane fire the

Scots used to kindle. But the Need-fire

is lighted only in time of calamity. It's a

very old custom."

My uncle laid down his pipe and

leaned forward.

"What is it, Ed? Do you have any

inkling at all?"

"Psychologically I suppose you could

call it a persecution complex," I said

slowly. "I believe in things I never used

to. I think someone is trying to find me

— has found me. And is calling. Who it

is I don't know. What they want I don't

know. But a little while ago I found out

one more thing — this sword."

I picked the sword up from the table.

"It isn't what I want," I went on, "But

sometimes, when my mind is — abstract,

something from outside floats into it.

Like the need for a sword. And not any

sword — just one. I don't know what the

sword looks like, but I'd know if I held it

in my hand." I laughed a little. "And if I

drew it a few inches from the sheath, I

could put out that fire up there as if I'd

blown on it like a candleflame. And if I

drew the sword all the way out — the

world would come to an end!"

My uncle nodded. After a moment, he

spoke.

"The doctors," he asked. "What do

they say?"

"I know what they would say, if I told

them," I said grimly. "Pure insanity. If I

could be sure of that, I'd feel happier.

One of the dogs was killed last night,

you know."

"Of course. Old Duke. Another dog

from some farm, eh?"

"Or a wolf. The same wolf that got

into my room last night, and stood over

me like a man, and clipped off a lock of

my hair."

Something flamed up far away,

beyond the window, and was gone in the

dark. The Need-fire.

My uncle rose and stood looking

down at me in the dimness. He laid a big

hand on my shoulder.

"I think you're sick, Ed."

"You think I'm crazy. Well, I may be.

But I've got a hunch I'm going to know

soon, one way or the other."

I picked up the sheathed sword and

laid it across my knees. We sat in silence

for what seemed like a long time.

In the forest to the north, the Need-fire

burned steadily. I could not see it. But its

flames stirred in my blood —

dangerously — darkly.

Chapter 2

Call of the Red Witch

I COULD not sleep. The suffocating

breathlessness of late summer lay like a

woollen blanket over me. Presently I

went into the big room and restlessly

searched for cigarettes. My uncle's voice

came through an open doorway.

"All right, Ed?"

"Yeah. I can't sleep yet. Maybe I'll

read."

I chose a book at random, sank into a

relaxer chair and switched on a lamp. It

was utterly silent. I could not even hear

the faint splashing of little waves on the

lakeshore.

There was something I wanted —

A trained rifleman's hand, at need,

will itch for the feeling of smooth wood

and metal. Similarly, my hand was

hungry for the feel of something —

neither gun nor sword, I thought.

A weapon that I had used before. I

could not remember what it was. Once I

glanced at the poker leaning against the

fireplace, and thought that was it; but the

flash of recognition was gone instantly.

The book was a popular novel. I

skimmed through it rapidly. The dim,

faint, pulsing in my blood did not wane.

It grew stronger, rising from sub-sensory

levels. A distant excitement seemed to

be growing deep in my mind.

Grimacing, I rose to return the book to

its shelf. I stood there for a moment, my

glance skimming over the titles. On

impulse I drew out a volume I had not

looked at for many years, the Book of

Common Prayer.

It fell open in my hands. A sentence

blazed out from the page.

I am become as it were a monster unto

many.

I put back the book and returned to my

chair. I was in no mood for reading. The

lamp overhead bothered me, and I

pressed for the switch. Instantly

moonlight flooded the room — and

instantly the curious sense of expectancy

was heightened, as though I had lowered

a — a barrier.

The sheathed sword still lay on the

window-seat. I looked past it, to the

clouded sky where a golden moon shone.

Faint, far away, a glimmer showed —

the Need-fire, blazing in the swampy

wilderness of the Limberlost.

And it called.

The golden square of window was

hypnotic. I lay back in my chair, half-

closing my eyes, while the sense of

danger moved coldly within my brain.

Sometimes before I had felt this call,

summoning me. And always before I had

been able to resist.

This time I wavered.

"The lock of hair clipped from my

head — had that given the enemy

power? Superstition. My logic called it

that, but a deep, inner well of conviction

told me that the ancient hair-magic was

not merely mummery. Since that time in

Sumatra, I had been far less skeptical.

And since then I had studied.

The studies were strange enough,

ranging from the principles

of

sympathetic magic to the wild fables of

lycanthropy and demonology. Yet I was

amazingly quick at learning.

It was as though I took a refresher

course, to remind myself of knowledge I

had once known by heart. Only one

subject really troubled me, and I

continually stumbled across it, by

roundabout references.

And that was the Force, the entity,

disguised in folklore under such familiar

names as the Black Man, Satan, Lucifer,

and such unfamiliar names as Kutchie, of

the Australian Dieris, Tuna, of the

Esquimaux, the African Abonsam, and

the Swiss Stratteli.

I did no research on the Black Man —

but I did not need to. There was a

recurrent dream that I could not help

identifying with the dark force that

represented evil. I would be standing

before a golden square of light, very

much afraid, and yet straining toward

some consummation that I desired. And

deep down within that glowing square

that would be the beginning of motion. I

knew there were certain ritual gestures

to be made before the ceremony could

be begun, but it was difficult to break the

paralysis that held me.

A square like the moon-drenched

window before me — yet not the same.

For no chill essence of fear thrust

itself out at me now. Rather, the low

humming I heard was soothing, gentle as

a woman's crooning voice.

The golden square wavered — shook

— and little tendrils of crepuscular light

fingered out toward me. Ever the low

humming came, alluring and disarming.

Golden fingers — tentacles — they

darted here and there as if puzzled. They

touched lamp, table, carpet, and drew

back. They — touched me.

Swiftly they leaped forward now —

avid! I had time for a momentary pulse

of alarm before they wrapped me in an

embrace like golden sands of sleep. The

humming grew louder. And I responded

to it.

As the skin of the flayed satyr

Marsyas thrilled at the sound of his

native Phrygian melodies! I knew this

music. I knew this — chant!

Stole through the golden glow a

crouching shadow — not human — with

amber eyes and a bristling mane — the

shadow of a wolf.

It hesitated, glanced over its shoulder

questioningly. And now another shape

swam into view, cowled and gowned so

that nothing of its face or body showed.

But it was small — small as a child.

Wolf and cowled figure hung in the

golden mists, watching and waiting. The

sighing murmur altered. Formed itself

into syllables and words. Words in no

human tongue, but — I knew them.

"Ganelon! I call you, Ganelon! By the

seal in your blood — hear me!"

Ganelon! Surely that was my name. I

knew it so well.

Yet who called me thus?

"I have called you before, but the way

was not open. Now the bridge is made.

Come to me, Ganelon!"

A sigh.

The wolf glanced over a bristling

shoulder, snarling. The cowled figure

bent toward me. I sensed keen eyes

searching me from the darkness of the

hood, and an icy breath touched me.

"He has forgotten, Medea," said a

sweet, high-pitched voice, like the tone

of a child.

Again the sigh. "Has he forgotten me?

Ganelon, Ganelon! Have you forgotten

the arms of Medea, the lips of Medea?"

I swung,' cradled in the golden mists,

half asleep.

"He has forgotten," the cowled figure

said.

"Then let him come to me

nevertheless. Ganelon! The Need-fire

burns. The gateway lies open to the Dark

World. By fire and earth, and darkness, I

summon you! Ganelon!"

"He has forgotten."

"Bring him. We have the power, now."

The golden sands thickened. Flame-

eyed wolf and robed shadow swam

toward me. I felt myself lifted — moving

forward, not of my own volition.

The window swung wide. I saw the

sword, sheathed and ready. I snatched up

the weapon, but I could not resist that

relentless tide that carried me forward.

Wolf and whispering shadow drifted

with me.

"To the Fire. Bring him to the Fire."

"He has forgotten, Medea."

"To the Fire, Edeyrn. To the Fire."

Twisted tree-limbs floated past me.

Far ahead I saw a flicker. It grew larger,

nearer. It was the Need-fire.

Faster the tide bore me. Toward the

fire itself —

Not to Caer Llyr!

From the depths of my mind the

cryptic words spewed. Amber-eyed

wolf whirled to glare at me; cowled

shadow swept in closer on the golden

stream. I felt a chill of deadly cold drive

through the curling mists.

"Caer Llyr," the cloaked Edeyrn

whispered in the child's sweet voice.

"He remembers Caer Llyr — but does he

remember Llyr?"

"He will remember! He has been

sealed to Llyr. And, in Caer Llyr, the

Place of Llyr, he will remember."

The Need-fire was a towering pillar a

few yards away. I fought against the

dragging tide.

I lifted my sword — threw the sheath

away. I cut at the golden mists that

fettered me.

Under the ancient steel the shining

fog-wraiths shuddered and were torn

apart — and drew back. There was a

break in the humming harmony; for an

instant, utter silence.-

Then —

"Matholch!" the invisible whisperer

cried. "Lord Matholch!"

The wolf crouched, fangs bared. I

aimed a cut at its snarling mask. It

avoided the blow easily and sprang.

It caught the blade between its teeth

and wrenched the hilt from my grip.

The golden fogs surged back, folding

me in their warm embrace.

"Caer Llyr," they murmured.

The Need-fire roared up in a scarlet

fountain.

"Caer Llyr!" the flames shouted.

And out of those fires rose — a

woman!

Hair dark as midnight fell softly to her

knees. Under level brows she flashed

one glance at me, a glance that held

question and a fierce determination. She

was

loveliness

incarnate.

Dark

loveliness.

Lilith. Medea, witch of Colchis!

And —

"The gateway closes," the child-voice

of Edeym said.

The wolf, still mouthing my sword,

crouched uneasily. But the woman of the

fire said no word.

She held out her arms to me.

The golden clouds thrust me forward,

into those white arms.

Wolf and cowled shadow sprang to

flank us. The humming rose to a deep-

pitched roar — a thunder as of crashing

worlds.

"It is difficult, difficult," Medea said.

"Help me, Edeyrn. Lord Matholch."

The fires died. Around us was not the

moonlit wilderness of the Limberlost,

but empty grayness, a featureless

grayness that stretched to infinity. Not

even stars showed against that blank.

And now there was fear in the voice

of Edeyrn.

"Medea. I have not the — power. I

stayed too long in the Earth-world."

"Open the gate!" Medea cried. "Thrust

it open but a little way, or we stay here

between the worlds forever!"

The wolf crouched, snarling. I felt

energy pouring out of his beast-body.

His brain that was not the brain of a

beast.

Around us the golden clouds were

dissipating.

The grayness stole in.

"Ganelon," Medea said. "Ganelon!

Help me!"

A door in my mind opened. A

formless darkness stole in.

I felt that deadly, evil shadow creep

through me, and submerge my mind

under ebon waves.

"He has the power," Edeyrn

murmured. "He was sealed to Llyr. Let

him call on — Llyr."

"No. No. I dare not. Llyr?" But

Medea's face was turned to me

questioningly.

At my feet the wolf snarled and

strained, as though by sheer brute

strength it might wrench open a gateway

between locked worlds.

Now the black sea submerged me

utterly. My thought reached out and was

repulsed by the dark horror of sheer

infinity, stretched forth again and —

Touched — something!

Llyr… Llyr!

"The gateway opens," Edeyrn said.

The gray emptiness was gone. Golden

clouds thinned and vanished. Around

me, white pillars rose to a vault far, far

above. We stood on a raised dais upon

which

curious

designs

were

emblazoned.

The tide of evil which had flowed

through me had vanished.

But, sick with horror and self-

loathing, I dropped to my knees, one arm

shielding my eyes.

I had called on — Llyr!

Chapter 3

Locked Worlds

ACHING IN every muscle, I woke and

lay motionless, staring at the low

ceiling. Memory flooded back. I turned

my head, realizing that I lay on a soft

couch padded with silks and pillows.

Across the bare, simply furnished room

was a recessed window, translucent, for

it admitted light, but I could see only

vague blurs through it.

Seated beside me, on a three-legged

stool, was the dwarfed, robed figure I

knew was Edeym.

Not even now could I see the face; the

shadows within the cowl were too deep.

I felt the keen glint of a watchful gaze,

though, and a breath of something

unfamiliar — cold and deadly. The

robes were saffron, an ugly hue that held

nothing of life in the harsh folds. Staring,

I saw that the creature was less than four

feet tall, or would have been had it stood

upright.

Again I heard that sweet, childish,

sexless voice.

"Will you drink, Lord Ganelon? Or

eat?"

I threw back the gossamer robe

covering me and sat up. I was wearing a

thin tunic of silvery softness, and trunks

of the same material. Edeyrn apparently

had not moved, but a drapery swung

apart in the wall, and a man came

silently in, bearing a covered tray.

Sight of him was reassuring. He was a

big man, sturdily muscled, and under a

plumed Etruscan-styled helmet his face

was tanned and strong. I thought so till I

met his eyes. They were blue pools in

which horror had drowned. And ancient

fear, so familiar that it was almost

submerged, lay deep in his gaze.

Silently he served me and in silence

withdrew.

Edeyrn nodded toward the tray.

"Eat and drink. You will be stronger,

Lord Ganelon."

There were meats and bread, of a

sort, and a glass of colorless liquid that

was not water, as I found on sampling it.

I took a sip, set down the chalice, and

scowled at Edeyrn.

"I gather that I'm not insane," I said.

"You are not. Your soul has been

elsewhere — you have been in exile —

but you are home again now."

"In Caer Llyr?" I asked, without quite

knowing why.

Edeyrn shook the saffron robes.

"No. But you must remember?"

"I remember nothing. Who are you?

What's happened to me?"

"You know that you are Ganelon?"

"My name's Edward Bond."

"Yet you almost remembered — at the

Need-fire," Edeym said. "This will take

time. And there is danger always. Who

am I? I am Edeyrn — who serves the

Coven."

"Are you —"

"A woman," she said, in that childish,

sweet voice, laughing a little. "A very

old woman, the oldest of the Coven, it

has shrunk from its original thirteen.

There is Medea, of course, Lord

Matholch — " I remembered the wolf —

"Ghast Rhymi, who has more power than

any of us, but is too old to use it. And

you, Lord Ganelon, or Edward Bond, as

you name yourself. Five of us in all now.

Once there were hundreds, but even I

cannot remember that time, though Ghast

Rhymi can, if he would."

I put my head in my hands.

"Good heavens, I don't know! Your

words mean nothing to me. I don't even

know where I am!"

"Listen," she said, and I felt a soft

touch on my shoulder. "You must

understand this. You have lost your

memories."

"That's not true."

"It is true, Lord Ganelon. Your true

memories were erased, and you were

given artificial ones. All you think you

recall now, of your life on the Earth-

world — all that is false. It did not

happen. At least, not to you."

"The Earth-world? I'm not on Earth?"

"This is a different world," she said.

"But it is your own world. You came

from here originally. The Rebels, our

enemies, exiled you and changed your

memories."

"That's impossible."

"Come here," Edeyrn said, and went

to the window. She touched something,

and the pane grew transparent. I looked

over her shrouded head at a landscape I

have never seen before.

Or had I?

Under a dull, crimson sun the rolling

forest below lay bathed in bloody light. I

was looking down from a considerable

height, and could not make out details,

but it seemed to me that the trees were

oddly shaped and that they were moving.

A river ran toward distant hills. A few

white towers rose from the forest. That

was all. Yet the scarlet, huge sun had

told me enough. This was not the Earth I

knew.

"Another planet?"

"More than that," she said. "Few in

the Dark World know this. But I know

— and there are some others who have

learned, unluckily for you. There are

worlds of probability, divergent in the

stream of time, but identical almost, until

the branches diverge too far."

"I don't understand that."

"Worlds coexistent in time and space

— but separated by another dimension,

the variant of probability. This is the

world that might have been yours had

something not happened, long ago.

Originally the Dark World and the Earth-

world were one, in space and time. Then

a decision was made — a very vital

decision, though I am not sure what it

was. From that point the time-stream

branched, and two variant worlds

existed where there had been only one

before.

"They were utterly identical at first,

except that in one of them the key

decision had not been made. The results

were very different. It happened

hundreds of years ago, but the two

variant worlds are still close together in

the time stream. Eventually they will

drift farther apart, and grow less like

each other. Meanwhile, they are similar,

so much so that a man on the Earth-

world may have his twin in the Dark

World."

"His twin?"

"The man he might have been, had the

key decision not been made ages ago in

his world. Yes, twins, Ganelon —

Edward Bond. Do you understand now?"

I returned to the couch and sat there,

frowning.

'Two worlds, coexistent. I can

understand that, yes. But I think you

mean more — that a double for me exists

somewhere."

"You were born in the Dark World.

Your double, the true Edward Bond, was

born on Earth. But we have enemies

here, woods-runners, rebels, and they

have stolen enough knowledge to bridge

the gulf between time-variants. We

ourselves learned the method only lately,

though once it was well-known here,

among the Coven.

"The rebels reached out across the

gulf and sent you — sent Ganelon —

into the Earth-world so that Edward

Bond could come here, among them.

They —"

"But why?" I interrupted. "What

reason could they have for that?"

Edeyrn turned her hooded head

toward me, and I felt, not for the first

time, remote chill as she fixed her

unseen gaze upon my face.

"What reason?" she echoed in her

sweet, cool voice. "Think, Ganelon. See

if you remember."

I thought, I closed my eyes and tried to

submerge my conscious mind, to let the

memories of Ganelon rise up to the

surface if they were there at all. I could

not yet accept this preposterous thought

in its entirety, but certainly it would

explain a great deal if it were true. It

would even explain — I realized

suddenly — that strange blanking out in

the plane over the Sumatra jungle, that

moment from which everything had

seemed so wrong.

Perhaps that was the moment when

Edward Bond left Earth, and Ganelon

took his place — both twins too stunned

and helpless at the change to know what

had happened, or to understand.

But this was impossible!

"I don't remember!" I said harshly. "It can't have happened. I know who I am! I

know everything that ever happened to

Edward Bond. You can't tell me that all

this is only illusion. It's too clear, too

real!"

"Ganelon, Ganelon," Edeyrn crooned

to me, a smile in her voice. "Think of the

rebel tribes. Try, Ganelon. Try to

remember why they did what they did to

you. The woods-runners, Ganelon — the

disobedient little men in green. The

hateful men who threatened us. Ganelon,

surely you remember!"

It may have been a form of hypnotism.

I thought of that later. But at that moment,

a picture did swim into my mind. I could

see the green-clad swarms moving

through the woods, and the sight of them

made me hot with sudden anger. For that

instant I was Ganelon, and a great and

powerful lord, defied by these

underlings not fit to tie my shoe.

"Of course you hated them,"

murmured Edeyrn. She may have seen

the look on my face. I felt the stiffness of

an unfamiliar twist of feature as she

spoke. I had straightened where I sat,

and my shoulders had gone back

arrogantly, my lip curling a feeling of

scorn. So perhaps she did not read my

mind at all. What I thought was plain in

my face and bearing.

"Of course you punished them when

you could," she went on. "It was your

right and duty. But they duped you,

Ganelon. They were cleverer than you.

They found a door that would turn on a

temporal axis and thrust you into another

world. On the far side of the door was

Edward Bond who did not hate them. So

they opened the door."

Edeyrn's voice rose slightly and in it I

detected a note of mockery.

"False memories, false memories,

Ganelon. You put on Edward Bond's

past when you put on his identity. But he

came into our world as he was, free of

any knowledge of Ganelon. He has given

us much trouble, my friend, and much

bewilderment. At first we did not guess

what had gone wrong. It seemed to us

that as Ganelon vanished from our

Coven, a strange new Ganelon appeared

among the rebels, organizing them to

fight against his own people." She

laughed softly. "We had to rouse Ghast

Rhymi from his sleep to aid us. But in

the end, learning the method of door-

opening, we came to Earth and searched

for you, and found you. And brought you

back. This is your world, Lord Ganelon!

Will you accept it?"

I shook my head dizzily.

"It isn't real. I'm still Edward Bond."

"We can bring back your true

memories. And we will. They came to

the surface for a moment, I think, just

now. But it will take time. Meanwhile,

you are one of the Coven, and Edward

Bond is back upon Earth in his old

place. Remembering — " She laughed

softly. "Remembering, I am sure, all he left undone here. But helpless to return,

or meddle again in what does not

concern him. But we have needed you,

Ganelon. How badly we have needed

you!"

"What can I do? I'm Edward Bond."

"Ganelon can do much — when he

remembers. The Coven has fallen upon

evil days. Once we were thirteen. Once

there were other Covens to join us in our

Sabbats. Once we ruled this whole

world, under Great Llyr. But Llyr is

falling asleep now. He draws farther and

farther away from his worshippers. By

degrees the Dark World has fallen into

savagery. And, of all the Covens, only

we remain, a broken circle, dwelling

close to Caer Llyr where the Great One

sleeps beyond his Golden Window."

She fell silent for a moment.

"Sometimes I think that Llyr does not

sleep at all," she said. "I think he is

withdrawing, little by little, into some

farther world, losing his interest in us

whom he created. But he returns!" She

laughed. "Yes, he returns when the

sacrifices stand before his Window. And

so long as he comes back, the Coven has

power to force its will upon the Dark

World.

"But day by day the forest rebels grow

stronger, Ganelon. With our help, you

were gathering power to oppose them —

when you vanished. We needed you then,

and we need you more man ever now.

You are one of the Coven, perhaps the

greatest of us all. With Matholch you

were —"

"Wait a minute," I said. "I'm still

confused. Matholch? Was he the wolf I

saw?"

"He was."

"You spoke of him as though he were

a man."

"He is a man — at times. He is

lycanthropic. A shape-changer."

"A werewolf? That's impossible. It's a

myth, a bit of crazy folklore."

"What started the myth?" Edeyrn

asked. "Long ago, there were many

gateways opened between the Dark

World and Earth. On Earth, memories of

those days survive as superstitious tales.

Folklore. But with roots in reality."

"It's superstition, nothing else," I said

flatly. "You actually mean that

werewolves, vampires and all that,

exist."

"Ghast Rhymi could tell you more of

this than I can. But we cannot wake him

for such a matter. Perhaps I — well,

listen. The body is composed of cells.

These are adaptable to some extent.

When they are made even more

adaptable,

when

metabolism

is

accelerated sporadically, werewolves

come into being."

The sweet, sexless child's voice

spoke on from the shadow of the hood. I

began to understand a little. On Earth,

college biology had showed me

instances of cells run wild — malignant

tumors and the like. And there were

many cases of "wolf-men," with thick

hair growing like a pelt over them. If the

cells could adapt themselves quickly,

strange things might occur.

But the bones? Specialized osseous

tissue, not the rigidly brittle bones of the

normal man. A physiological structure

that could, theoretically, so alter itself

that it would be wolf instead of man,

was an astounding theory!

"Part of it is illusion, of course,"

Edeyrn said. "Matholch is not as bestial

in form as he seems. Yet he is a shape-

changer, and his form does alter."

"But how?" I asked. "How did he get

this power?"

For the first time Edeyrn seemed to

hesitate. "He is — a mutation. There are

many mutations among us, here in the

Dark World. Some are in the Coven, but

others are elsewhere."

"Are you a mutation?" I asked her.

"Yes."

"A — shape-changer?"

"No," Edeyrn said, and the thin body

under the robe seemed to shake a little.

"No, I cannot change my shape, Lord

Ganelon. You do not remember my —

my powers?"

"I do not."

"Yet you may find me useful when the

Rebels strike again," she said slowly.

"Yes, there are mutations among us, and

perhaps that is the chief reason why the

probability-rift came ages ago. There

are no mutants on Earth — at least not

our type. Matholch is not the only one."

"Am I a mutant?" I asked very softly.

The cowled head shook.

"No. For no mutant may be sealed to

Llyr. As you have been sealed. One of

the Coven must know the key to Caer

Llyr."

The cold breath of fear touched me

again. No, not fear. Horror, the deadly,

monstrous breathlessness that always

took me when the name of Llyr was

mentioned.

I forced myself to say, "Who is Llyr?"

There was a long silence.

"Who speaks of Llyr?" a deep voice

behind me asked. "Better not to lift that

veil, Edeyrn!"

"Yet it may be necessary," Edeyrn

said.

I turned, and saw, framed against the

dark portiere, the rangy, whipcord figure

of a man, clad as I was in tunic and

trunks. His red, pointed beard jutted; the

half-snarling curve of his full lips

reminded me of something. Agile grace

was in every line of his wiry body.

Yellow eyes watched me with wry

amusement.

"Pray it may not be necessary," the

man said. "Well, Lord Ganelon? Have

you forgotten me, too?"

"He has forgotten you, Matholch,"

Edeyrn said, "At least in this form!"

Matholch — the wolf! The shape-

changer!

He grinned.

"It is Sabbat tonight," he said. "The

Lord Ganelon must be prepared for it.

Also, I think there will be trouble.

However, that is Medea's business, and

she asks if Ganelon is awake. Since he

is, let us see her now."

"Will you go with Matholch?" Edeyrn

asked me.

"I suppose so," I said. The red-beard

grinned again.

"Ai, you have forgotten, Ganelon! In

the old days you'd never have trusted me

behind your back with a dagger."

"You always knew better than to

strike," Edeyrn said. "If Ganelon ever

called on Llyr, it would be unfortunate

for you!"

"Well, I joked," Matholch said

carelessly. "My enemies must be strong

enough to give me a fight so I'll wait till

your memory comes back, Lord

Ganelon. Meanwhile the Coven has its

back to the wall, and I need you as badly

as you need me. Will you come?"

"Go with him," Edeyrn said. "You are

in no danger — wolf's bark is worse

than wolf's bite — even though this is

not Caer Llyr."

I thought I sensed a hidden threat in

her words. Matholch shrugged and held

the curtain aside to let me pass.

"Few dare to threaten a shape-

changer," he said over his shoulder.

"I dare," Edeyrn said, from the

enigmatic shadows of her saffron cowl.

And I remembered that she was a mutant

too — though not a lycanthrope, like a

red-bearded werewolf striding beside

me along the vaulted passage.

What was — Edeyrn?

Chapter 4

Matholch — and

Medea

UP TO now the true wonder of the

situation had not really touched me yet.

The anaesthesia of shock had dulled me.

As a soldier — caught in the white light

of a flare dropped from an overhead

plane — freezes into immobility, so my

mind still remained passive. Only

superficial thoughts were moving there,

as though, by concentration on

immediate needs, I could eliminate the

incredible fact that I was not on the

familiar, solid ground of Earth.

But it was more than this. There was a

curious, indefinable familiarity about

these groined, pale-walled halls through

which I strode beside Matholch, as there

had been a queer familiarity about the

twilit landscape stretching to forested

distance beneath the window of my

room.

Edeyrn — Medea — the Coven.

The names had significance, like

words in a language I had once known

well, but had forgotten.

The half-loping, swift walk of

Matholch, the easy swing of his

muscular shoulders, the snarling smile

on his red-bearded lips — these were

not new to me.

He watched me furtively out of his

yellow eyes. Once we paused before a

red-figured drapery, and Matholch,

hesitating, thrust the curtain aside and

gestured me forward.

I took one step — and stopped. I

looked at him.

He nodded as though satisfied. Yet

there was still a question in his face.

"So you remember a little, eh? Enough

to know that this isn't the way to Medea.

However, come along, for a moment. I

want to talk to you."

As I followed him up a winding stair,

I suddenly realized that he had not

spoken in English. But I had understood

him, as I had understood Edeyrn and

Medea.

Ganelon?

We were in a tower room, walled

with transparent panes. There was a

smoky, sour odor in the air, and gray

tendrils coiled up from a brazier set in a

tripod in the middle of the chamber.

Matholch gestured me to one of the

couches by the windows. He dropped

carelessly beside me.

"I wonder how much you remember,"

he said.

I shook my head.

"Not much. Enough not to be too —

trusting."

"The artificial Earth-memories are

still strong, then. Ghast Rhymi said you

would remember eventually, but that it

would take time. The false writing on the

slate of your mind will fade, and the old,

true memories will come back. After a

while."

Like a palimpsest, I thought —

manuscript with two writings upon its

parchment. But Ganelon was still a

stranger; I was still Edward Bond.

"I wonder," Matholch said slowly,

staring at me. "You spent much time

exiled. I wonder if you have changed,

basically. Always before — you hated

me, Ganelon. Do you hate me now?"

"No," I said. "At least, I don't know. I

think I distrust you."

"You have reason. If you remember at

all. We have always been enemies,

Ganelon, though bound together by the

needs and laws of the Coven. I wonder

if we need be enemies any longer?"

"It depends. I'm not anxious to make

enemies — especially here."

Matholch's red brows drew together.

"Aye, that is not Ganelon speaking! In

the old days, you cared nothing about

how many enemies you made. If you

have changed so much, danger to us all

may result."

"My memory is gone," I said. "I don't

understand much of this. It seems dream-

like."

Now he sprang up and restlessly

paced the room. "That's well. If you

become the old Ganelon again, we'll be

enemies again. That I know. But if Earth-

exile has changed you — altered you —

we may be friends. It would be better to

be friends. Medea would not like it; I do

not think Edeyrn would. As for Ghast

Rhymi — " He shrugged. "Ghast Rhymi

is old — old. In all the Dark World,

Ganelon, you have the most power. Or

can have. But it would mean going to

Caer Llyr."

Matholch stooped to look into my

eyes.

"In the old days, you knew what that

meant. You were afraid, but you wanted

the power. Once you went to Caer Llyr

— to be sealed. So there is a bond

between you and Llyr — not

consummated yet. But it can be, if you

wish it."

"What is Llyr?" I asked.

"Pray that you will not remember

that," Matholch said. "When Medea talks

to you — beware when she speaks of

Llyr. I may be friend of yours or enemy,

Ganelon, but for my own sake, for the

sake of the Dark World — even for the

sake of the rebels — I warn you: do not

go to Caer Llyr. No matter what Medea

asks. Or promises. At least be wary till

you have your memories back."

"What is Llyr?" I said again.

Matholch swung around, his back to

me. "Ghast Rhymi knows, I think. I do

not. Nor do I want to. Llyr is — is evil

— and is hungry, always. But what feeds

his appetite is — is — " He stopped.

"You have forgotten," he went on after

a while. "One thing I wonder. Have you

forgotten how to summon Llyr?"

I did not answer. There was a

darkness in my mind, an ebon gate

against which my questioning thoughts

probed vainly. Llyr — Llyr?

Matholch cast a handful of powdery

substance into the glowing brazier.

"Can you summon Llyr?" he asked

again his voice soft. "Answer, Ganelon.

Can you?"

The sour smoke-stench grew stronger.

The darkness in my head sprang apart,

riven, as though a gateway had opened in

the shadow. I — recognized that deadly

perfume.

I stood up, glaring at Matholch. I took

two steps, thrust out my sandaled foot,

and overturned the brazier. Embers

scattered on the stone floor. The red-

beard turned a startled face to me.

I reached out, gripped Matholch's

tunic, and shook him till his teeth rattled

together. Hot fury filled me — and

something more.

That Matholch should try his tricks on

me!

A stranger had my tongue. I heard

myself speaking.

"Save your spells for the slaves and

helots," I snarled. "I tell you what I wish

to tell you — no more than that! Burn

your filthy herbs elsewhere, not in my

presence!"

Red-bearded jaw jutted. Yellow eyes

flamed. Matholch's face altered, flesh

flowing like water, dimly seen in the

smoke-clouds that poured up from the

scattered embers.

Yellow tusks threatened me through

the gray mists.

The shape-changer made a wordless

noise in his throat — the guttural sound a

beast might make. Wolf-cry! A wolf

mask glared into mine!

The smoke swam away. The illusion

— illusion? — was gone. Matholch, his

face relaxing from its snarling lines,

pulled gently free from my grip.

"You — startled me, Lord Ganelon,"

he said smoothly. "But I think that I have

had a question answered, whether or not

these herbs — " He nodded toward the

overturned brazier. " — had anything to

do with it."

I turned toward the doorway.

"Wait," Matholch said. "I took

something from you, a while ago."

I stopped.

The red-beard came toward me,

holding out a weapon — a bared sword.

"I took this from you when we passed

through the Need-fire," he said. "It is

yours."

I accepted the blade.

Again I moved toward the curtained

archway.

Behind me Matholch spoke.

"We are not enemies yet, Ganelon," he

said gently. "And if you are wise, you

will not forget my warning. Do not go to

Caer Llyr."

I went out. Holding the sword, I

hurried down the winding stairway. My

feet found their path without conscious

guidance. The — intruder — in my brain

was still strong. A palimpsest. And the

blurred, erased writing was becoming

visible, as though treated with some

strong chemical.

The writing that was my lost memory.

The castle — how did I know it was a

castle? — was a labyrinth. Twice I

passed silent soldiers standing guard,

with a familiar shadow of fear in their

eyes — a shadow that, I thought,

deepened as they saw me.

I went on, hurrying along a pale-

amber hallway. I brushed aside a golden

curtain and stepped into an oval room,

dome-ceilinged, walled with pale,

silken draperies. A fountain spurted, its

spray cool on my cheek. Across the

chamber, an archway showed the

outlines of leafy branches beyond.

I went on through the arch. I stepped

out into a walled garden. A garden of

exotic flowers and bizarre trees.

The blooms were a riot of patternless

color, like glowing jewels against the

dark earth. Ruby and amethyst, crystal-

clear and milky white, silver and gold

and emerald, the flowers made a

motionless carpet. But the trees were not

motionless.

Twisted and gnarled as oaks, their

black boles and branches were veiled by

a luxuriant cloud of leafage, virulent

green.

A stir of movement rippled through

that green curtain. The trees roused to

awareness.

I saw the black branches twist and

writhe slowly —

Satisfied, their vigilance relaxed.

They were motionless again. They —

knew me.

Beyond that evil orchard the dark sky

made the glowing ember of the sun more

brilliant by contrast.

The trees stirred again.

Ripples of unrest shook the green. A

serpentine limb, training a veil of

leaves, lashed out — struck — whipped

back into place.

Where it had been a darting shape ran

forward, ducking and twisting — as the

guardian trees struck savagely at it.

A man, in a tight-fitting suit of earth-

brown and forest-green, came running

toward me, his feet trampling the jewel-

flowers. His hard, reckless face was

alight with excitement and a kind of

triumph. He was empty-handed, but a

pistol-like weapon of some sort swung

at his belt.

"Edward!" he said urgently, yet

keeping his voice low. "Edward Bond!"

I knew him. Or I knew him for what

he was. I had seen dodging, furtive,

green-clad figures like his before, and an

anger already familiar surged over me at

the very sight of him.

Enemy, upstart! One of the many who

had dared work their magic upon the

great Lord Ganelon.

I felt the heat of rage suffuse my face,

and the blood rang in my ears with this

unfamiliar, yet well-known fury. My

body stiffened in the posture of Ganelon

— shoulders back, lip curled, chin high.

I heard myself curse the fellow in a

voice that was choked and a language I

scarcely remembered. And I saw him

draw back, disbelief vivid upon his

face. His hand dropped to his belt.

"Ganelon?" he faltered, his eyes

narrow as they searched mine. "Edward,

are you with us or are you Ganelon

again?"

Chapter 5

Scarlet Witch

GRIPPED in my right hand I still held

the sword. I cut at him savagely by way

of answer. He sprang back, glanced at

me over his shoulder, and drew his

weapon. I followed his glance and saw

another green figure dodging forward

among the trees. It was smaller and

slenderer — a girl, in a tunic the color

of earth and forest. Her black hair swung

upon her shoulders. She was tugging at

her belt as she ran, and the face she

turned to me was ugly with hate, her

teeth showing in a snarl.

The man before me was saying

something.

"Edward, listen to me!" he was

crying. "Even if you're Ganelon, you

remember Edward Bond! He was with

us — he believed in us. Give us a

hearing before it's too late! Aries could

convince you, Edward! Come to Aries.

Even if you're Ganelon, let me take you

to Aries!"

"It's no use, Ertu," the voice of the girl

cried thinly. She was struggling with the

last of the trees, whose flexible bough-

tips still clutched to stop her. Neither of

them tried now to keep their voices

down. They were shouting, and I knew

they must rouse the guards at any

moment, and I wanted to kill them both

myself before anyone came to forestall

me by accident. I was hungry and thirsty

for the blood of these enemies, and in

that moment the name of Edward Bond

was not even a memory.

"Kill him, Ertu!" cried the girl. "Kill

him or stand out of the way! I know

Ganelon!"

I looked at her and took a fresh grip

on my sword. Yes, she spoke the truth.

She knew Ganelon. And Ganelon knew

her, and remembered dimly that she had

reason for her hate. I had seen that face

before, contorted with fury and despair. I

could not recall when or where or why,

but she looked familiar.

The man Ertu drew his weapon

reluctantly. To him I was still at least the

image of a friend. I laughed exultantly

and swung at him again with the sword,

hearing it hiss viciously through the air.

This time I drew blood. He stepped back

again, lifting his weapon so that I looked

down its black barrel.

"Don't make me do it," he said

between his teeth. "This will pass. You

have been Edward Bond — you will be

again. Don't make me kill you, Ganelon!"

I lifted the sword, seeing him only

dimly through a ruddy haze of anger.

There was a great exultation in me. I

could already see the fountain of blood

that would leap from his severed

arteries when my blade completed its

swing.

I braced my body for the great full-

armed blow!

And the sword came alive in my hand.

It leaped and shuddered against my fist.

Impossibly — in a way I cannot

describe — that blow reversed itself.

All the energy I was braced to expend

upon my enemy recoiled up the sword,

up my arm, crashed against my own

body. A violent explosion of pain and

shock sent the garden reeling. The earth

stuck hard against my knees.

Mist cleared from my eyes. I was still

Ganelon, but a Ganelon dizzy from

something more powerful than a blow.

I was kneeling on the grass, braced

with one hand, shaking the throbbing

fingers of my sword-hand and staring at

the sword that lay a dozen feet away,

still faintly glowing.

It was Matholch's doing — I knew

that! I should have remembered how

little I could trust that shifting, unstable

wolf-ling. I had laid hands upon him in

his tower-room — I should have known

he would have his revenge for that. Even

Edward Bond — soft fool that he was

— would have been wise enough not to

accept a gift from the shape-changer.

There was no time now for anger at

Matholch, though. I was looking up into

Ertu's eyes, and into the muzzle of his

weapon, and a look of decision grew

slowly in his face as he scanned mine.

"Ganelon!"

he

said,

almost

whispering. "Warlock!"

He tilted the weapon down at me, his

finger moving on the trigger.

"Wait, Ertu!" cried a thin voice behind

him. "Wait — let me!"

I looked up, still dazed. It had all

happened so quickly that the girl was

still struggling in the edge of the trees,

though she cleared them as I looked and

lifted her own weapon. Behind it her

face was white and blazing with

relentless hate. "Let me!" she cried

again. "He owes me this!"

I was helpless. I knew that even at this

distance she would not miss. I saw the

glare of fury in her eyes and I saw the

muzzle waver a little as her hand shook

with rage, but I knew she would not miss

me. I thought of a great many things in

that instant — confused memories of

Ganelon's and of Edward Bond's surged

together through my mind.

Then a great hissing like a wind swept

up among the trees behind the girl. They

all swayed toward her more swiftly than

trees have any right to move, stooping

and straining and hissing with a dreadful

vicious avidity. Ertu shouted something

inarticulate. But I think the girl was too

angry to hear or see.

She never knew what happened. She

could only have felt the great bone-

cracking sweep of the nearest branch,

reaching out for her from the leaning

tree. She fired as the blow struck her,

and a white-hot bolt ploughed up the turf

at my knee, I could smell the charring

grass.

The girl screamed thinly once as the

avid boughs writhed together over her.

The limbs threshed about her in a furious

welter, and I heard one clear and distinct

snap — a sound I had heard before, I

knew, in this garden. The human spine is

no more than a twig in the grip of those

mighty boughs.

Ertu was stunned for one brief instant.

Then he whirled to me, and this time I

knew his finger would not hesitate on the

trigger.

But time had run out for the two

woods-people. He was not fully turned

when there came a laugh, cool and

amused, from behind me. I saw loathing

and hatred flash across Ertu's bronzed

face, and the weapon whirled away from

me and pointed toward someone at my

back. But before he could press the

trigger something like an arrow of white

light sprang over my shoulder and struck

him above the heart.

He dropped instantly, his mouth frozen

in a snarling square, his eyes staring.

I turned, getting slowly to my feet.

Medea stood there smiling, very slim

and lovely in a close-fitting scarlet

gown. In her hand was a small black

rod, still raised. Her purple eyes met

mine.

"Ganelon," she murmured in an

infinitely caressing voice. "Ganelon."

And still holding my gaze with hers, she

clapped her hands softly.

Silent, swift-moving guardsmen came

and lifted the motionless body of Ertu.

They carried him away. The trees

stirred, whispered — and fell silent.

"You have remembered," Medea said.

"Ganelon is ours again. Do you

remember me — Lord Ganelon?"

Medea, witch of Colchis! Black and

white and crimson, she stood there

smiling at me, her strange loveliness

stirring old, forgotten memories in my

blood. No man who had known Medea

could ever forget her wholly. Not till

time ended.

But wait! There was something more

about Medea that I must remember.

Something that made even Ganelon a

little doubtful, a little cautious. Ganelon?

Was I Ganelon again? I had been wholly

my old self when the woods-people

stood before me, but now I was

uncertain.

The memories ebbed. While the

lovely witch stood smiling at me, not

guessing, all that had made me so briefly

Ganelon dropped from my mind and

body like a discarded cloak. Edward

Bond stood there in my clothing, staring

about the clearing and remembering with

dismay and sick revulsion what had just

been happening here.

For a moment I turned away to hide

from Medea what my face must betray if

she saw it. I felt dizzy with more than

memory. The knowledge that two

identities shared my body was a thought

even more disturbing than the memory of

what I had just done in the grip of

Ganelon's strong, evil will.

This was Ganelon's body. There could

be no doubt of it now. Somewhere on

Earth Edward Bond was back in his old

place, but the patterns of his memory

still overlaid my mind, so that he and I

shared a common soul, and there was no

Ganelon except briefly, in snatches, as

the memories that were rightfully mine

— mine? — returned to crowd out

Edward Bond.

I hated Ganelon. I rejected all he

thought and was. My false memories, the

heritage from Edward Bond, were

stronger in me than Ganelon. I was

Edward Bond — now!

Medea's caressing voice broke in

upon my conflict, echoing her question.

"Do you remember me, Lord

Ganelon?"

I turned to her, feeling the

bewilderment on my own face, so that

my very thoughts were blurred.

"My name is Bond," I told her

stubbornly.

She sighed.

"You will come back," she said. "It

will take time, but Ganelon will return to

us. As you see familiar things again, the

life of the Dark World, the life of the

Coven, the doors of your mind will open

once more. You will remember a little

more tonight, I think, at the Sabbat." Her

red smile was suddenly almost

frightening.

"Not since I went into the Earth-world

has a Sabbat been held, and it is long

past time," she went on. "For in Caer

Llyr there is one who stirs and grows

hungry for his sacrifice."

She looked at me piercingly, the

purple eyes narrowing.

"Do you remember Caer Llyr,

Ganelon?"

The old sickness and horror came

over me as she repeated that cryptic

name.

Llyr — Llyr! Darkness, and something

stirring beyond a golden window.

Something too alien to touch the soil that

human feet touched, something that

should never share the same life humans

lived. Touching that soil, sharing that

life, it defiled them so that they were no

longer fit for humans to share. And yet,

despite my revulsion, Llyr was terribly

intimate, too!

I knew, I remembered —

"I remember nothing," I told her

shortly. For in that particular moment,

caution was born in me. I could not trust

anyone, not even myself. Least of all

Ganelon — myself. I did remember, but I

must not let them know. Until I was

clearer as to what they wanted, what

they threatened, I must keep this one

secret which was all the weapon I had.

Llyr! The thought of him — of it —

crystallized that decision in my mind.

For somewhere in the murk of Ganelon's

past there was a frightening link with

Llyr. I knew they were trying to push me

into that abyss of oneness with Llyr, and

I sensed that even Ganelon feared that. I

must pretend to be more ignorant than I

really was until the thing grew clearer in

my memory.

I shook my head again. "I remembered

nothing." â¢

"Not even Medea?" she whispered,

and swayed toward me. There was-

sorcery about her. My arms received that

red and white softness as if they were

Ganelon's arms, not mine. But it was

Edward Bond's lips which responded to

the fierce pressure of her lips.

Not even Medea?

Edward Bond or Ganelon, what was

it to me then? The moment was enough.

But the touch of the red witch wrought

a change in Edward Bond. It brought a

sense

of

strangeness, of

utter

strangeness, to him — to me. I held her

lovely, yielding body in my arms, but

something alien and unknown stooped

and hovered above me as we touched. I

surmised that she was holding herself in

check — restraining a — a demon that

possessed her — a demon that fought to

free itself.

"Ganelon!"

Trembling, she pressed her palms

against my chest and thrust free. Tiny

droplets stood on her pale forehead.

"Enough!" she whispered. "You

know!"

"What, Medea?"

And now stark horror stood in those

purple eyes.

"You have forgotten!" she said. "You

have forgotten me, forgotten who I am,

what I am!"

Chapter 6

The Ride to Caer

Secaire

LATER, in the apartments that had been

Ganelon's, I waited for the hour of

Sabbat. And as I waited, I paced the

floor restlessly. Ganelon's feet, pacing

Ganelon's floor. But the man who

walked here was Edward Bond.

Amazing, I thought, how the false

memory-patterns of another person,

impressed upon Ganelon's clean-

sponged brain, had changed him from

himself to — me.

I wondered if I would ever be sure

again which personality was myself. I

hated and distrusted Ganelon, now. But I

knew how easily the old self slipped

back, in which I would despise Edward

Bond.

And yet to save myself, I must call

back Ganelon's memories. I must know

more than those around me guessed I

knew, or I thought Ganelon and Bond

together might be lost. Medea would tell

me nothing. Edeyrn would tell me

nothing. Matholch might tell me much,

but he would be lying.

I scarcely dared go with them to this

Sabbat, which I thought would be the

Sabbat of Llyr, because of that strange

and terrible link between Llyr and

myself. There would be sacrifices.

How could I be sure I, myself, was

not destined for the altar before that —

that golden window?

Then, for a brief but timeless moment

Ganelon came back, remembering

fragmentary things that flitted through my

mind too swiftly to take shape. I caught

only terror — terror and revulsion and a

hideous, hopeless longing… .

Dared I attend the Sabbat?

But I dared not fail to attend, for if I

refused I must admit I knew more about

what threatened Ganelon than Edward

Bond should know. And my only frail

weapon against them now was what

little I recalled that was secret from

them. I must go. Even if the altar waited

me, I must go.

There were the woodspeople. They

were outlaws, hunted through the. forests

by Coven soldiers. Capture meant

enslavement — I remembered the look

of still horror in the eyes of those living

dead men who were Medea's servants.

As Edward Bond, I pitied them,

wondered if I could do anything to save

them from the Coven. The real Edward

Bond had been living among them for a

year and a half, organizing resistance,

fighting the Coven. On Earth, I knew, he

must be raging helplessly now, haunted

by the knowledge of work unfinished

and friends abandoned to the mercies of

dark magic.

Perhaps

I

should

seek

the

woodspeople out. Among them, at least,

I would be safe while my memories

returned. But when they returned — why,

men Ganelon would rage, running amuck

among them, mad with his own fury and

arrogance. Dared I subject the

woodspeople to the danger that would

be the Lord Ganelon when Ganelon's

memories came back? Dared I subject

myself to their vengeance, for they

would be many against one?

I could not go and I could not stay.

There was safety nowhere for the

Edward Bond who might become

Ganelon at any moment. There was

danger everywhere. From the rebel

woods-people, from every member of

this Coven.

It might come through the wild and

mocking Matholch.

Or through Edeyrn, who had watched

me unseen with her chilling gaze in the

shadows of her cowl.

Through Ghast Rhymi, whoever he

was. Through Aries, or through the red

witch!

Yes, most of all, I thought, through

Medea — Medea, whom I loved!

At dusk, two maidens — helot-

servants — came, bringing food and a

change of garments. I ate hurriedly,

dressed in the plain, fine-textured tunic

and shorts, and drew about me the royal

blue cloak they had carried. A mask of

golden cloth I dangled undecidedly, until

one of the maidens spoke:

"We are to guide you when you are

ready, Lord," she reminded me.

"I'm ready now," I said, and followed

the pair.

A pale, concealed lighting system of

some sort made the hallways bright. I

was taken to Medea's apartment, with its

singing fountain under the high dome.

The red witch was there breathtakingly

lovely in a clinging robe of pure white.

Above the robe her naked shoulders

gleamed smoothly. She wore a scarlet

cloak. I wore a blue one.

The helots slipped away. Medea

smiled at me, but I noticed a wire-taut

tenseness about her, betrayingly visible

at the corners of her lips and in her eyes.

A pulse of expectation seemed to beat

out from her.

"Are you ready, Ganelon?"

"I don't know," I said. "It depends, I

suppose. Don't forget that my memory's

gone."

"It may return tonight, some of it

anyway," she said.

"But you will take no part in the ritual,

at least until after the sacrifice. It will be

better if you merely watch. Since you do

not remember the rites, you'd best leave

those to the rest of the Coven."

"Matholch?"

"And Edeyrn," Medea said. "Ghast

Rhymi will not come. He never leaves

this castle, nor will he unless the need is

very great. He is old, too-old."

I frowned at the red witch. "Where

are we going?" I asked.

"To Caer Secaire. I told you there had

been no sacrifice since I went to Earth-

world to search for you. It is past time."

"What am I supposed to do?"

She put out a slender hand and

touched mine.

"Nothing, till the moment comes. You

will know then. But meantime you must

watch — no more than that. Put on your

mask now."

She slipped on a small black mask

that left the lower half of her face

visible.

I donned the golden mask. I followed

Medea to a curtained archway, and

through it.

We were in a courtyard. Two horses

stood waiting, held by grooms. Medea

mounted one and I the other.

Overhead the sky had darkened. A

huge door lifted in the wall. Beyond, a

roadway stretched toward the distant

forest.

The somber, angry disc of the red sun,

swollen and burning with a dull fire,

touched the crest of the mountain barrier.

Swiftly it sank. Darkness came across

the sky with a swooping rush. A million

points of white light became visible. In

the faint starshine Medea's face was

ghost-pale.

Through the near-darkness her eyes

glowed.

Faintly, and from far away, I heard a

thin, trumpeting call. It was repeated.

Then silence — and a whispering that

rose to a rhythmic thudding of shod

hoofs.

Past us moved a figure, a helot

guardsman, unmasked, unspeaking, his

gaze turned to the waiting gateway.

Then another — and another. Until

three score of soldiers had gone past,

and after them nearly three score of

maidens — the slave-girls.

On a light, swift-looking roan stallion

Matholch came by, stealing a glance at

me from his yellow eyes. A cloak of

forest green swirled from his shoulders.

Behind him, the tiny form of Edeyrn,

on a pony suited to her smallness. She

was still cowled, her face hidden, but

she now wore a cloak of purest yellow.

Medea nodded at me. We touched our

heels to the horses' flanks and took our

places in the column. Behind us other

figures rode, but I could not see them

clearly. It was too dark.

Through the gateway in the wall we

went, still in silence save for the

clopping of hoofs. We rode across the

plain. The edges of the forest reached

out toward us and swallowed us.

I glanced behind. An enormous bulk

against the sky showed the castle I had

left.

We rode under heavy, drooping

branches. These were not the black trees

of Medea's garden, but they were not

normal either. I could not tell why an

indefinable sense of strangeness reached

out at me from the dun shadows above

and around us.

After a long time the ground dipped at

our feet, and we saw below us the road's

end. The moon had risen belatedly. By

its yellow glare there materialized from

the deep valley below us a sort of tower,

a dark, windowless structure almost

Gothic in plan, as though it had thrust

itself from the black earth, from the dark

grove of ancient and alien trees.

Caer Secaire!

I had been here before. Ganelon of the

Dark World knew this spot well. But I

did not know it; I sensed only that

unpleasant familiarity, the deja vu

phenomenon, known to all psychologists,

coupled

with

a

curious

depersonalization, as though my own

body, my mind, my very soul, felt altered

and strange.

Caer Secaire. Secaire? Somewhere,

in my studies, I had encountered that

name. An ancient rite, in — in Gascony,

that was it!

The Mass of Saint Secaire!

And the man for whom that Black

Mass is said — dies. That, too, I

remembered. Was the Mass to be said

for Ganelon tonight?

This was not the Place of Llyr.

Somehow I knew that. Caer Llyr was

elsewhere and otherwise, not a temple,

not a place visited by worshipers. But

here in Caer Secaire, as in other temples

throughout the Dark Land, Llyr might be

summoned to his feasting, and,

summoned, would come.

Would Ganelon be his feast tonight? I

clenched the reins with nervous hands.

There was some tension in the air that I

could not quite understand. Medea was

calm beside me. Edeyrn was always

calm. Matholch, I could swear, had

nothing to take the place of nerves. Yet

in the night there was tension, as if it

breathed upon us from the dark trees

along the roadside.

Before us, in a silent, submissive

flock, the soldiers and the slave-girls

went. Some of the soldiers were armed.

They seemed to be herding the rest, their

movements mechanical, as if whatever

had once made them free-willed humans

was now asleep. I knew without being

told the purpose for which those men

and maidens were being driven toward

Caer Secaire. But not even these

voiceless mindless victims were tense.

They went blindly to their doom. No, the

tension came from the dark around us.

Someone, something, waiting in the

night!

Chapter 7

Men of the Forest

FROM out of the dark woods, suddenly,

startlingly, a trumpet-note rang upon the

air. In the same instant there was a wild

crashing in the underbrush, an outburst of

shouts and cries, and the night was laced

by the thin lightnings of unfamiliar

gunfire. The road was suddenly

thronging with green-clad figures who

swarmed about the column of slaves

ahead of us, grappling with the guards,

closing in between us and the mindless

victims at our forefront.

My horse reared wildly. I fought him

hard, forcing him down again, while

stirrings of the old red rage I had felt

before mounted in my brain. Ganelon, at

sight of the forest people, struggled to

take control. Him too I fought. Even in

my surprise and bewilderment, I saw in

this interruption the possibility of

succor. I cracked my rearing horse

between the ears with clubbed rein-

loops and struggled to keep my balance.

Beside me Medea had risen in her

stirrups and was sending bolt after

arrowy bolt into the green melee ahead

of us, the dark rod that was her weapon

leaping in her hand with every shot.

Edeyrn had drawn aside, taking no part

in the fight. Her small cowled figure sat

crouching in the saddle, but her very

stillness was alarming. I had the feeling

she could end the combat in a moment if

she chose.

As for Matholch, his saddle was

empty. His horse was already crashing

away through the woods, and Matholch

had hurled himself headlong into the

fight, snarling joyously. The sound sent

cold shudders down my spine. I could

see that his green cloak covered a shape

that was not wholly manlike, and the

green people veered away from him as

he plunged through their throngs toward

the head of the column.

The woodsfolk were trying a

desperate rescue. I realized that

immediately. I saw too that they dared

not attack the Coven itself. All their

efforts were aimed at overpowering the

robot-like guards so that the equally

robotlike victims might be saved from

Llyr. And I could see that they were

failing.

For the victims were too apathetic to

scatter. All will had long ago been

drained away from them. They obeyed

Orders — that was all. And the forest

people were leaderless. In a moment or

two I realized that, and knew why. It was

my fault. Edward Bond may have

planned this daring raid, but through my

doing, he was not here to guide them.

And already the abortive fight was

nearly over.

Medea's flying fiery arrows struck

down man after man. The mindless

guards fired stolidly into the swarms that

surged about them, and Matholch's deep-

throated, exultant, snarling yells as he

fought his way toward his soldiers were

more potent than weapons. The raiders

shrank back from the sound as they did

not shrink from gunfire. In a moment, I

knew, Matholch would reach his men,

and organized resistance would break

the back of this unguided mutiny.

For an instant my own mind was a

fierce battleground. Ganelon struggled to

take control, and Edward Bond resisted

him savagely.

As Ganelon I knew my place was

beside the wolfling; every instinct urged

me forward to his side. But Edward

Bond knew better. Edward Bond too

knew where his rightful place should be.

I shoved up my golden mask so that

my face was visible. I drove my heels

into my horse's sides and urged him

headlong down the road behind

Matholch. The sheer weight of the horse

gave me an advantage Matholch, afoot,

did not have. The sound of drumming

hoofs and the lunging shoulders of my

mount opened a way for me. I rose in the

stirrups and shouted with Ganelon's

deep, carrying roar:

"Bond! Bond! Edward Bond!"

The rebels heard me. For an instant

the battle around the column wavered as

every green-clad man paused to look

back. Then they saw their lost leader,

and a great echoing hail swept then-

ranks.

"Bond! Edward Bond!"

The forest rang with it, and there was

new courage in the sound. Matholch's

wild snarl of rage was drowned in the

roar of the forest men as they surged

forward again to the attack.

Out of Ganelon's memories I knew

what I must do. The foresters were

dragging down guard after guard,

careless of the gunfire that mowed their

disordered ranks. But only I could save

the prisoners. Only Ganelon's voice

could pierce the daze that held them.

I kicked my frantic horse forward,

knocking guards left and right, and

gained the head of the column.

"In the forest!" I shouted. "Waken and

run! Run hard!"

There was an instant forward surge as

the slaves, still tranced in their dreadful

dream, but obedient to the voice of a

Coven member, lurched through the thin

rank of their guard. The whole shape of

the struggle changed as the core of it

streamed irresistibly forward across the

road and into the darkness of the woods.

The green-clad attackers fell back to

let the slaves through. It was a strange,

voiceless flight they made. Not even the

guards shouted, though they fired and

fired again upon the retreating column,

their faces as blank as if they slept

without dreams.

My flesh crawled as I watched that

sight — the men and women fleeing for

their lives, the armed soldiers shooting

them down, and the faces of them all

utterly without expression. Voiceless

they ran and voiceless they died when

the gun-bolts found them.

I wrenched my horse around and

kicked him in the wake of the fleeing

column. My golden mask slipped

sidewise and I tore it off, waving to the

scattering foresters, the moonlight

catching brightly on its gold.

"Save yourselves!" I shouted, "Scatter

and follow me!"

Behind me I heard Matholch's deep

snarl, very near. I glanced over one

shoulder as my horse plunged across the

road. The shape-changer's tall figure

faced me across the heads of several of

his soldiers. His face was a wolflike

snarling mask, and as I looked he lifted a

dark rod like the one Medea had been

using. I saw the arrow of white fire leap

from it, and ducked in the saddle.

The movement saved me. I felt a

strong tug at my shoulders where the

blue cape swirled out, and heard the tear

of fabric as the bolt ripped through it and

plunged hissing into the dark beyond. My

horse lunged on into the woods.

Then the trees were rustling all about

me, and my bewildered horse stumbled

and tossed up his head, whinnying in

terror. Beside me in the dark a soft voice

spoke softly.

"This way," it said, and a hand seized

the bridle.

I let the woodsman lead me into the

darkness.

It was just dawn when our weary

column came at last to the end of the

journey, to the valley between cliffs

where the woodsmen had established

their stronghold. All of us were tired,

though the blank-faced slaves we had

rescued trudged on in an irregular

column behind me, unaware that then"

feet were torn and their bodies drooping

with exhaustion.

The forest men slipped through the

trees around us, alert for followers. We

had no wounded with us. The bolts the

Coven shot never wounded. Whoever

was struck fell dead in his tracks.

In the pale dawn I would not have

known the valley before me for the

headquarters of a populous clan. It

looked quite empty except for scattered

boulders, mossy slopes, and a small

stream that trickled down the middle,

pink in the light of sunrise.

One of the men took my horse then,

and we went on foot up the valley, the

robot slaves crowding behind. We

seemed to be advancing up an empty

valley. But when we had gone half its

length, suddenly the woodsman at my

right laid his hand upon my arm, and we

paused, the rabble behind us jostling

together without a murmur. Around me

the woodsmen laughed softly. I looked

up.

She stood high upon a boulder that

overhung the stream. She was dressed

like a man in a tunic of soft, velvety

green, cross-belted with a weapon

swinging at each hip, but her hair was a

fabulous mantle streaming down over

her shoulders and hanging almost to her

knees in a cascade of pale gold that

rippled like water. A crown of pale gold

leaves the color of the hair held it away

from her face, and under the shining

chaplet she looked down and smiled at

us. Especially she smiled at me — at

Edward Bond.

And her face was very lovely. It had

the strength and innocence and calm

serenity of a saint's face, but there was

warmth and humor in the red lips. Her

eyes were the same color as her tunic,

deep green, a color I had never seen

before in my own world.

"Welcome back, Edward Bond," she

said in a clear, sweet gently hushed

voice, as if she had spoken softly for so

many years that even now she did not

dare speak aloud.

She jumped down from the boulder,

very lightly, moving with the sureness of

a wild creature that had lived all its

lifetime in the woods, as indeed I

suppose she had. Her hair floated about

her as lightly as a web, settling only

slowly about her shoulders as she came

forward, so that she seemed to walk in a

halo of her own pale gold.

I remembered what the woodsman

Ertu had said to me in Medea's garden

before her arrow struck him down.

"Aries could convince you, Edward!

Even if you're Ganelon, let me take you

to Aries!"

I stood before Aries now. Of that I

was sure. And if I had needed any

conviction before that the woodsmen's

cause was mine, this haloed girl would

have convinced me with her first words.

But as for Ganelon —

How could I know what Ganelon

would do?

That question was answered for me.

Before my lips could frame words,

before I could plan my next reaction,

Aries came toward me, utterly without

pretense or consciousness of the

watching eyes. She put her hands on my

shoulders and kissed me on the mouth.

And that was not like Medea's kiss —

no! Aries' lips were cool and sweet, not

warm with the dangerous, alluring

honey-musk of the red witch. That

intoxication of strange passion I

remembered when I had held Medea in

my arms did not sweep me now. There

was a — a purity about Aries, an

honesty that made me suddenly, horribly

homesick for Earth.

She drew back. Her moss-green eyes

met mine with quiet understanding. She

seemed to be waiting.

"Aries," I said, after a moment.

And that seemed to satisfy her. The

vague question that had begun to show

on her face was gone.

"I wondered," she said. "They didn't

hurt you, Edward?"

Instinctively I knew what I had to say.

"No. We hadn't reached Caer Secaire.

If the woodsmen hadn't attacked — well,

there'd have been a sacrifice."

Aries reached out and lifted a corner

of my torn cloak, her slim fingers light

on the silken fabric.

"The blue robe," she said. "Yes, that

is the color the sacrifice wears. The

gods cast their dice on our side tonight,

Edward. Now as for this foul thing, we

must get rid of it."

Her green eyes blazed. She ripped the

cloak from me, tore it across and

dropped it to the ground.

"You will not go hunting again alone,"

she added. "I told you it was dangerous.

But you laughed at me. I'll wager you

didn't laugh when the Coven slaves

caught you! Or was that the way of it?"

I nodded. A slow, deep fury was

rising within me. So blue was the color

of sacrifice, was it? My fears hadn't

been groundless. At Caer Secaire I

would have been the offering, going

blindly to my doom. Matholch had

known, of course. Trust his wolf-mind to

appreciate the joke. Edeyrn, thinking her

cool, inhuman thoughts in the shadow of

her hood, she had known too. And

Medea?

Medea!

She had dared betray me! Me,

Ganelon!

The Opener of the Gate, the Chose of

Llyr, the great Lord Ganelon! They

dared! Black thunder roared through my

brain. I thought: By Llyr, but they'll

suffer for this! They'll crawl to my feet

like dogs. Begging my mercy!

Rage had opened the floodgates, and

Edward Bond was no more than a set of

thin memories that had slipped from me

as the blue cloak had slipped from my

shoulders — the blue cloak of the

chosen sacrifice, on the shoulders of the

Lord Ganelon!

I blinked blindly around the green-

clad circle. How had I come here? How

dared these woodsrunners stand in

defiance before me? Blood roared in my

ears and the woodland swam around me.

When it steadied I would draw my

weapon and reap these upstarts as a

mower reaps his wheat.

But wait!

First, the Coven, my sworn comrades,

had betrayed me. Why, why! They had

been glad enough to see me when they

brought me back from the other world,

the alien land of Earth. The woodsmen I

could slay whenever I wished it — the

other problem came first. And Ganelon

was a wise man. I might need these

woods-people to help me in my

vengeance. Afterward — ah, afterward!

I strove hard with memory. What

could have happened to turn the Coven

against me? I could have sworn this had

not been Medea's original intention —

she had welcomed me back too sincerely

for that. Matholch could have influenced

her, but again, why, why? Or perhaps it

was Edeyrn, or the Old One himself,

Ghast Rhymi.-In any case, by the Golden

Window that opens on the Abyss, they'd

learn their error!

"Edward!" a woman's voice, sweet

and frightened, came to me as if from a

great distance. I fought my way up

through a whirlpool of fury and hatred. I

saw a pale face haloed in floating hair,

the green eyes troubled. I remembered.

Beside Aries stood a stranger, a man

whose cold gray eyes upon mine

provided the shock I needed to bring me

back to sanity. He looked at me as if he

knew me — knew Ganelon. I had never

seen the man before.

He was short and sturdy, young-

looking in spite of the gray flecks in his

close-cropped beard. His face was

tanned so deeply it had almost the color

of the brown earth. In his close-fitting

green suit he was the perfect

personification of a woodsrunner, a

glider through the forest, unseen and

dangerous. Watching the powerful flex of

his muscles when he moved, I knew he

would be a bad antagonist. And there

was deep antagonism in the way he

looked at me.

A white, jagged scar had knotted his

right cheek, quirking up his thin mouth so

that he wore a perpetual crooked,

sardonic half-grin. There was no

laughter in those gelid gray eyes, though.

And I saw that the circle of

woodsmen had drawn back, ringing us,

watching.

The bearded man put out his arm and

swept Aries behind him. Unarmed, he

stepped forward, toward me.

"No, Lorryn," Aries cried. "Don't hurt

him."

Lorryn thrust his face into mine.

"Ganelon!" he said.

And at the name a whisper of fear, of

hatred, murmured around the circle of

woodsfolk. I saw furtive movements,

hands slipping quietly toward the hilts of

weapons. I saw Aries' face change.

The old-time cunning of Ganelon

came to my aid.

"No," I said, rubbing my forehead.

"I'm Bond, all right. It was the drug the

Coven gave me. It's still working."

"What drug?"

"I don't know," I told Lorryn. "It was

in Medea's wine that I drank. And the

long journey tonight has tired me."

I took a few unsteady paces aside and

leaned against the boulder, shaking my

head as though to clear it. But my ears

were alert. The low murmur of suspicion

was dying.

Cool fingers touched mine.

"Oh, my dear," Aries said, and

whirled on Lorryn. "Do you think I don't

know Edward Bond from Ganelon?

Lorryn, you're a fool!"

"If the two weren't identical, we'd

never have switched them in the first

place," Lorryn said roughly. "Be sure,

Aries. Very sure!"

Now the whispering grew again.

"Better to be sure," the woodsmen

murmured. "No risks, Aries! If this is

Ganelon, he must die."

The doubt came back into Aries' green

eyes. She thrust my hands away and

stared at me. And the doubt did not fade.

I gave her glance for glance.

"Well, Aries?" I said.

Her lips quivered.

"It can't be. I know, but Lorryn is

right. You know that; we can take no

risks. To have the devil Ganelon back,

after all that's happened, would be

disastrous."

Devil, I thought. The devil Ganelon.

Ganelon had hated the woodsfolk, yes.

But now he had another, greater hatred.

In his hour of weakness, the Coven had

betrayed him. The woods-folk could

wait. Vengeance could not. It would be

the devil Ganelon who would bring Caer

Secaire and the Castle crashing down

about the ears of the Coven!

Which would mean playing a careful

game!

"Yes, Lorryn is right," I said. "You've

no way of knowing I'm not Ganelon.

Perhaps you know it, Aries — " I smiled

at her " — but there must be no chances

taken. Let Lorryn test me."

"Well?" Lorryn said, looking at Aries.

Doubtfully she glanced from me to the

bearded man.

"I — very well, I suppose."

Lorryn barked laughter.

"My tests might fail. But there is one

who can see the truth. Freydis."

"Let Freydis test me," I said quickly,

and was rewarded by seeing Lorryn

hesitate.

"Very well," he said at last. "If I'm

wrong, I'll apologize now. But if I'm

right, I'll kill you, or try to. There's only

one other life I'd enjoy taking the more,

and the shape-changer isn't in my reach

— yet."

Again Lorryn touched his scarred

cheek. At the thought of Lord Matholch,

warmth came into his gray eyes; a distant

ember burned for an instant there. I had

seen hatred before. But not often had I

seen such hatred as Lorryn held for —

the wolfing?

Well, let him kill Matholch, if he

could! There was another, softer throat

in which I wanted to sink my fingers.

Nor could all her magic protect the red

witch when Ganelon came back to Caer

Secaire, and broke the Coven like rotten

twigs in his hands!

Again the black rage thundered up like

a deluging tide. That fury had wiped out

Edward Bond — but it had not wiped

out Ganelon's cunning.

"As you like, Lorryn," I said quietly.

"Let's go to Freydis now."

He nodded shortly. Lorryn on one side

of me, Aries, puzzled and troubled, on

the other, we moved up the valley,

surrounded by the woodsfolk. The dazed

slaves surged ahead.

The canyon walls closed in. A cave-

mouth showed in the granite ahead.

We drew up in a rough semi-circle

facing that cavern. Silence fell, broken

by the whispering of leaves in the wind.

The red sun was rising over the

mountain wall.

Out of the darkness came a voice,

deep, resonant, powerful.

"I am awake," it said. "What is your

need?"

"Mother Freydis, we have helots

captured from the Coven," Aries said

quickly. "The sleep is on them."

"Send them in to me."

Lorryn gave Aries an angry look. He

pushed forward.

"Mother Freydis!" he called.

"I hear."

"We need your sight. This man,

Edward Bond — I think he is Ganelon,

came back from the Earth-world where

you sent him."

There was a long pause.

"Send him into me," the deep voice

finally said. "But first the helots."

At a signal from Lorryn the woodsfolk

began herding the slaves toward the

cavemouth. They made no resistance.

Empty-eyed, they trooped toward that

cryptic darkness, and one by one,

vanished.

Lorryn looked at me and jerked his

head toward the cavern. I smiled.

"When I come out, we shall be friends

again as before." I said.

His eyes did not soften.

"Freydis must decide that."

I turned to Aries.

"Freydis shall decide," I said. "But

there is nothing to fear, Aries.

Remember that. I am not Ganelon."

She watched me, afraid, unsure, as I

stepped back a pace or two.

The silent throng of woodsfolk stared,

waiting warily. They had their weapons

ready. I laughed softly and turned. I

walked toward the cave-mouth. The

blackness swallowed me.

Chapter 8

Freydis

STRANGE to relate, I felt sure of myself

as I walked up the sloping ramp in the

darkness. Ahead of me, around a bend, I

could see the glimmer of firelight, and I

smiled. It had been difficult to speak

with these upstart woodsrunners as if

they were my equals, as if I were still

Edward Bond. It would be difficult to

talk to their witchwoman as if she had as

much knowledge as a Lord of the Coven.

Some she must have, or she could never

have managed the transfer which had

sent me into the Earth-world and brought

out Edward Bond. But I thought I could

deceive her or anyone these rebels had

to offer me.

The small cave at the turn of the

corridor was empty except for Freydis.

Her back was to me. She crouched on

her knees before a small fire that burned,

apparently without fuel, in a dish of

crystal. She wore a white robe, and her

white hair lay in two heavy braids along

her back. I stopped, trying to feel like

Edward Bond again, to determine what

he would have said in this moment. Then

Freydis turned and rose.

She rose tremendously. Few in the

Dark World can look me in the eye, but

Freydis' clear blue gaze was level with

my own. Her great shoulders and great,

smooth arms were as powerful as a

man's, and if age was upon her, it did not

show in her easy motions or in the

timeless face she turned to me. Only in

the eyes was knowledge mirrored, and I

knew as I met them that she was old

indeed.

"Good morning, Ganelon," she said in

her deep, serene voice.

I gaped. She knew me as surely as if

she read my mind.

Yet I was sure, or nearly sure, that no

one in the Dark World could do that. For

a moment I almost stammered. Then

pride came to my rescue.

"Good day, old woman," I said. "I

come to offer you a chance for your life,

if you obey me. We have a score to

settle, you and I."

She smiled.

"Sit down, Covenanter," she said.

"The last time we matched strength, you

traded worlds. Would you like to visit

Earth again, Lord Ganelon?"

It was my turn to laugh.

"You could not. And if you could, you

wouldn't, after you hear me."

Her blue eyes searched mine. —

"You want something desperately,"

she said in a slow voice. "Your very

presence here, offering me terms, proves

that. I never thought to see the Lord

Ganelon face to face unless he was in

chains or in a berserker battle-mood.

Your need of me, Lord Ganelon, serves

as chains for you now. You are fettered

by your need, and helpless."

She turned back to the fire and sat

down with graceful smoothness, her

huge body under perfect control. Across

the flame in its crystal bowl she faced

me.

"Sit down, Ganelon," she said again,

"and we will bargain, you and I. One

thing first — do not waste my time with

lies. I shall know if you tell the truth,

Covenanter. Remember it."

I shrugged.

"Why should I bother with lies for

such as you?" I said. "I have nothing to

hide from you. The more of truth you

know, the stronger you'll see my case is.

First, though — those slaves who came

in before me?

She nodded toward the back of the

cave.

"I sent them into the inner mountain.

They sleep. You know the heavy sleep

that comes upon those loosed from the

Spell, Lord Ganelon."

I sat down, shaking my head.

"No — no, that I can not quite

remember. I — you asked for the truth,

old woman. Listen to it, then. I am

Ganelon, but the false memories of

Edward Bond still blur my mind. As

Edward Bond I came here — but Aries

told me one thing that brought Ganelon

back. She told me that the Coven, in my

hour of weakness, had dressed me in the

blue cloak of the sacrifice and I was

riding for Caer Secaire when the

woodsmen attacked us. Must I tell you

now what my first wish in life is, witch-

woman?"

"Revenge on the Coven." She said it

hollowly, her eyes burning into mine

through the fire. "This is the truth you

speak, Covenanter. You want my help in

getting your vengeance. What can you

offer the woodsfolk in return, save fire

and sword? Why should we trust you,

Ganelon?"

Her ageless eyes burned into mine.

"Because of what you want. My

desire is vengeance. Yours is — what?"

"The end of Llyr — the ruin of the

Coven!" Her voice was resonant and her

whole ageless face lighted as she spoke.

"So. I too desire the ruin of the Coven

and the end — the end of Llyr." My

tongue stumbled a little when I said that.

I was not sure why. True, I had been

sealed to Llyr in a great and terrible

ceremony once — I could recall that

much. But Llyr and I were not one. We

might have been, had events run

differently. I shuddered now at the

thought of it.

Yes, it was Llyr's end I desired now

— must desire, if I hoped to live.

Freydis looked at me keenly. She

nodded.

"Yes — perhaps you do. Perhaps you

do. What do you want of us then,

Ganelon?"

I spoke hastily:

"I want you to swear to your people

that I am Edward Bond. No — wait! I

can do more for them now than Edward

Bond could do. Give thanks that I am

Ganelon again, old woman! For only he

can help you. Listen to me. Your

foresters could not kill me. I know that.

Ganelon is deathless, except on Llyr's

altar. But they could fetter me and keep

me prisoner here until you could work

your spells again and bring Edward

Bond back. And that would be foolish

for your sake and for mine.

"Edward Bond has done all he knows

for you. Now it's Ganelon's turn. Who

else could tell you how Llyr is

vulnerable, or where Matholch keeps his

secret weapons, or how one can

vanquish Edeyrn? These things I know

— or I once knew. You must help me

win my memories back, Freydis. After

that — " I grinned fiercely.

She nodded. Then she sat quiet for

awhile.

"What do you want me to do, then,

Ganelon?" she asked, at last.

"Tell me first about the bridging of the

worlds," I said eagerly. "How did you

change Edward Bond and me?"

Freydis smiled grimly.

"Not so fast, Covenanter!" she

answered. "I have my secrets too! I will

answer only a part of that question. We

wrought the change, as you must guess,

simply to rid ourselves of you. You must

remember how fiercely you were

pressing us in your raids for slaves, in

your hatred of our freedom. We are a

proud people, Ganelon, and we would

not be oppressed forever. But we knew

there was no death for you except in a

way we could not use.

"I knew of the twin world of Earth. I

searched, and found Edward Bond. And

after much striving, much effort, I

wrought a certain transition that put you

in the other world, with memories of

Edward Bond blotting out your own.

"We were rid of you. True, we had

Edward Bond with us, and we did not

trust him either. He was too like you. But

him we could kill if we must. We did

not. He is a strong man, Covenanter. We

came to trust him and rely upon him. He

brought us new ideas of warfare. He

was a good leader. It was he who

planned the attack upon the next Coven

sacrifice —"

"An attack that failed," I said. "Or

would have failed, had I not swung my

weight into the balance. Edward Bond

had Earth-knowledge, yes. But his

weapons and defenses could only have

breached the outer walls of the Coven.

You know there are powers, seldom

used, but powers that do not fail!"

"I know," she said. "Yes, I know,

Ganelon. Yet we had to try, at least. And

the Coven had been weakened by losing

you. Without you, none of the others

would have dared call on Llyr, except

perhaps Ghast Rhymi." She stared

deeply into the fire. "I know you

Ganelon. I know the pride that burns in

your soul. And I know, too, that

vengeance, now, would be very dear to

your heart. Yet you were sealed to Llyr,

once, and you have been Covenanter

since your birth. How do I know you can

be trusted?"

I did not answer that. And, after a

moment, Freydis turned toward the

smoke-blackened wall. She twitched

aside a curtain I had not seen. There, in

an alcove, was a Symbol, a very ancient

Sign, older than civilization, older than

human speech.

Yes, Freydis would be one of the few

who knew what that Symbol meant. As I

knew.

"Now will you swear that you speak

with a straight tongue?" she said.

I moved my hand in the ritual gesture

that bound me irrevocably. This was an

oath I could not break without being

damned and doubly damned, in this

world and the next. But I had no

hesitation. I spoke truth!

"I will destroy the Coven!" I said.

"And Llyr?"

"I will bring an end to Llyr!"

But sweat stood out on my forehead as

I said that. It was not easy.

Freydis twitched the curtain back into

place. She seemed satisfied.

"I have less doubt now," she said.

"Well, Ganelon, the Norns weave

strange threads together to make warp

and woof of destiny. Yet there is a

pattern, though sometimes we cannot see

it. I did not ask you to swear fealty to the

forest-folk."

"I realize that."

"You would not have sworn it," she

said. "Nor is it necessary. After the

Coven is broken, after an end is made to

Llyr, I can guard the people of the woods

against even you, Ganelon. And we may

meet in battle then. But until then we are

allies. I will name you — Edward

Bond."

"I'll need more than that," I told her.

"If the masquerade is to pass

unchallenged."

"No one will doubt my word,"

Freydis said. Firelight flickered on her

great frame, her smooth, ageless face.

"I cannot fight the Coven till I get back

my memories. The memories of

Ganelon. All of them."

She shook her head.

"Well," she said slowly, "I cannot do

too much on that score. Something, yes.

But writing on the mind is touchy work,

and memories, once erased, are not

easily brought back. You still have

Edward Bond's memories?"

I nodded.

"But my own, no. They're fragmentary.

I know, for example, that I was sealed to

Llyr, but the details I don't remember."

"It would be as well, perhaps, to let that memory stay lost,"

Freydis said somberly. "But you are

right. A dulled tool is no use. So listen."

Rock-still, boulder-huge, she stood

across the fire from me. Her voice

deepened.

"I sent you into the Earth-World. I

brought your double, Edward Bond,

here. He helped us, and — Aries loved

him, after a while. Even Lorryn, who

does not trust many, grew to trust

Edward Bond."

"Who is Lorryn?"

"One of us now. Not always. Years

ago he had his cottage in the forest; he

hunted, and few were as cunning as

Lorryn in the chase. His wife was very

young. Well, she died. Lorryn came back

to this cottage one night and found death

there, and blood, and a wolf that snarled

at him from a bloody muzzle. He fought

the wolf; he did not kill it. You saw

Lorryn's cheek. His whole body is like

that, scarred and wealed from wolf-

fangs."

"A wolf?" I said. "Not —"

"A

wolfling,"

Freydis

said.

"Lycanthrope, shape-changer. Matholch.

Some day Lorryn will kill Matholch. He

lives only for that."

"Let him have the red dog," I said

contemptuously. "If he likes, I'll give him

Matholch flayed!"

"Aries and Lorryn and Edward Bond

have planned their campaign," Freydis

said. "They swore that the last Sabbat had been celebrated in the Dark World.

Edward Bond showed them new

weapons he remembered from Earth.

Such weapons have been built and are in

the arsenal, ready. No Sabbats have been

held since Medea and her followers

went searching to Earth; the woodsfolk

held their hands. There was nothing to

strike at except old Ghast Rhymi. Now

Medea and the rest of the Coven are

back, they're ready. If you lead against

them Ganelon, the Coven can be

smashed, I think."

"The Coven has its own weapons," I

muttered. "My memory fails — but I

think Edeym has a power that — that —

" I shook my head. "No, it's gone."

"How can Llyr be destroyed?"

Freydis asked.

"I — I may have known once. Not

now."

"Look at me," she said. And leaned

forward, so that it seemed as though her

ageless face was bathed in the fires.

Through the flames her gaze caught

mine. Some ancient power kindled her

clear blue eyes. Like pools of cool

water under a bright sky — pools deep

and unstirring, where one could sink into

an azure silence forever and ever… .

As I looked the blue waters clouded,

grew dark. I saw a great black dome

against a black sky. I saw the thing that

dwells deepest and most strongly in the

mind of Ganelon — Caer Llyr!

The dome swam closer. It loomed

above me. Its walls parted like dark

water, and I moved in memory down the

great smooth, shining corridor that leads

to Llyr Himself.

Chapter 9

Realm of the

Superconscious

ONWARD I moved. Faces flickered

before me — Matholch's fierce grin,

Edeyrn's cowled head with its glance

that chilled, Medea's savage beauty that

no man could ever forget, even in his

hatred. They looked at me, mistrustfully.

Their lips moved in soundless question.

Curiously, I knew these were real faces I

saw.

In the magic of Freydis' spell I was

drifting through some dimensionless

place where only the mind ventures, and

I was meeting here the thoughts of the

questing Coven, meeting the eyes of their

minds. They knew me. They asked me

fiercely a question I could not hear.

Death was in the face Matholch's

mind turned to mine. All his hatred of me

boiled furiously in his yellow wolf-eyes.

His lips moved — almost I could hear

him. Medea's features swam up before

me, blotting out the shape-changer. Her

red mouth framed a question — over and

over.

"Ganelon, where are you? Ganelon,

my lover, where are you? You must

come back to us. Ganelon!"

Edeyrn's faceless

head moved

between Medea and me, and very

distantly I heard her cool, small voice

echoing the same thought.

"You must return to us, Ganelon.

Return to us and die!"

Anger drew a red curtain between

those faces and myself.

Traitors, betrayers, false to the Coven

oath! How dared they threaten Ganelon,

the strongest of them all? How dared

they — and why?

Why?

My brain reeled with the query. And

then I realized there was one face

missing from the Coven. These three had

been searching the thought-planes for

me, but what of Ghast Rhymi?

Deliberately I groped for the contact

of his mind.

I could not touch him. But I

remembered. I remembered Ghast

Rhymi, whose face Edward Bond had

never seen. Old, old, old, beyond good

and evil, beyond fear and hatred, this

was Ghast Rhymi, the wisest of the

Coven. If he willed, he would answer

my groping thought. If he willed not,

nothing could force him. Nothing could

harm the Eldest, for he lived on only by

force of his own will.

He could end himself instantly, by the

power of a thought. And he is like a

candle flame, flickering away as one

grasps at him. Life holds nothing more

for him. He does not cling to it. If I had

tried to seize him he could slip like fire

or water from my grasp. He would as

soon be dead as alive. But unless he

must, he would not break his deep calm

to think the thought that would change

him into clay.

His mind and the image of his face

remained hidden from my quest. He

would not answer. The rest of the Coven

still kept calling to me with a strange

desperation in their minds — return and

die, Lord Ganelon! But Ghast Rhymi did

not care.

So I knew that it was at his command

the death-sentence had been passed. And

I knew I must seek him out and somehow

force an answer from him — from Ghast

Rhymi, upon whom all force was

strengthless. Yet force him I must!

All this while my mind had been

drifting effortlessly down the great

hallway of Caer Llyr, borne upon that

tide that flows deepest in the mind of

Ganelon, the Chosen of Llyr — Ganelon,

who must one day return to Him Who

Waits… . As I was returning now.

A golden window glowed before me.

I knew it for the window through which

great Llyr looks out upon his world, the

window through which he reaches for

his sacrifices. And Llyr was hungry. I

felt his hunger. Llyr was roaming the

thought-planes too, and in the moment

that I realized again where my mind was

drifting, I felt suddenly the stir of a great

reaching, a tentacular groping through

the golden window.

Llyr had sensed my presence in the

planes of his mind. He knew his Chosen.

He stretched out his godlike grasp to

fold me into that embrace from which

there is no returning.

I heard the soundless cry of Medea,

vanishing like a puff of smoke out of the

thought-plane as she blanked her mind

defensively from the terror. I heard

Matholch's voiceless howl of pure fear

as he closed his own mind. There was

no sound from Edeyrn, but she was gone

as utterly as if she had never thought a

thought. I knew the three of them sat

somewhere in their castle, eyes and

minds closed tightly, willing themselves

to blankness as Llyr roamed the thought-

lanes seeking the food he had been

denied so long.

A part of me shared the terror of the

Coven. But a part of me remembered

Llyr. For an instant, almost I recaptured

the dark ecstasy of that moment when

Llyr and I were one, and the memory of

horror and of dreadful joy came back,

the memory of a power transcending all

earthly things.

This was mine for the taking, if I

opened ray mind to Llyr. Only one man

in a generation is sealed to Llyr, sharing

in his godhead, exulting with him in the

ecstasy of human sacrifice — and I was

that one man if I chose to complete the

ceremony that would make me Llyr's. If I

chose, if I dared — ah!

The memory of anger came back. I

must not release myself into that

promised joy. I had sworn to put an end

to Llyr. I had sworn by the Sign to finish

the Coven and Llyr. Slowly, reluctantly,

my mind pulled itself back from the

fringing contact of those tentacles.

The moment that tentative contact was

broken, a full tide of horror washed over

me. Almost I had touched — him.

Almost I had let myself be defiled

beyond all human understanding by the

terrible touch of — of — There is no

word in any language for the thing that

was Llyr. But I understood what had

been in my mind as Edward Bond when

I realized that to dwell on the same soil

as Llyr, share the same life, was a

defilement that made earth and life too

terrible to endure — if one knew Llyr.

I must put an end to him. In that

moment, I knew I must stand up and face

the being we knew as Llyr and fight him

to his end. No human creature had ever

fully faced him — not even his

sacrifices, not even his Chosen. But his

slayer would have to face him, and I had

sworn to be his slayer.

Shuddering, I drew back from the

black depths of Caer Llyr, struggled to

the surface of that still blue pool of

thought which had been Freydis' eyes.

The darkness ebbed around me and by

degrees the walls of the cave came back,

the fuelless flame, the great smooth-

limbed sorceress who held my mind in

the motionless deeps of her spell.

As I returned to awareness, slowly,

slowly, knowledge darted through my

mind in lightning-flashes, too swiftly to

shape into words.

I knew, I remembered.

Ganelon's life came back in pictures

that went vividly by and were printed

forever on my brain. I knew his powers;

I knew his secret strengths, his hidden

weaknesses. I knew his sins. I exulted in

his power and pride. I returned to my

own identity and was fully Ganelon

again. Or almost fully.

But there were still hidden things. Too

much had been erased from my memory

to come back in one full tide. There

were gaps, and important gaps, in what I

could recall.

The blue darkness cleared. I looked in

Freydis' clear gaze across the fire. I

smiled, feeling a cold and arrogant

confidence welling up in-me.

"You have done well, witch-woman,"

I told her.

"You remember?"

"Enough. Yes, enough." I laughed.

"There are two trials before me, and the

first is the easier of the two, and it is

impossible. But I shall accomplish it."

"Ghast Rhymi?" she asked in a quiet

voice.

"How do you know that?"

"I know the Coven. And I think, but I

am not sure, that in Ghast Rhymi's hands

lie the secrets of the Coven and of Llyr.

But no man can force Ghast Rhymi to do

his bidding."

"I'll find the way. Yes, I will even tell

you what my next task is. You shall have

the truth as I just learned it, witch. Do

you know of the Mask and the Wand?"

Her eyes on mine, she shook her head.

"Tell me. Perhaps I can help."

I laughed again. It was so fantastically

implausible that she and I should stand

here, sworn enemies of enemy clans,

planning a single purpose together! Yet

there was only a little I hid from her that

day, and I think not very much that

Freydis hid from me.

"In the palace of Medea, is a crystal

mask and the silver Wand of Power," I told her. "What that Wand is I do not

quite remember — yet. But when I find

it, my hands will know. And with it I can

overcome Medea and Matholch and all

their powers. As for Edeyrn — well,

this much I know. The Mask will save

me from her."

I hesitated.

Medea I knew now. I knew the strange

hungers and the stranger thirsts that

drove the beautiful red and white witch

to her trystings. I knew now, and

shuddered a little to think of it, why she

took her captives with those arrows of

fire that did not kill at all, but only

stunned them.

In the Dark World, my world,

mutation has played strange changes

upon flesh that began as human. Medea

was one of the strangest of all. There is

no word in Earth-tongues for it, because

no creature such as Medea ever walked

Earth. But there is an approximation. In

reality perhaps, and certainly in legend,

beings a little like her have been known

on Earth. The name they give them is

Vampire.

But Edeyrn, no. I could not remember.

It may be that not even Ganelon had ever

known. I only knew that in time of need,

Edeyrn would uncover her face.

"Freydis," I said, and hesitated again.

"What is Edeyrn?"

She shook her massive head, the white

braids stirring on her shoulders.

"I have never known. I have only

probed at her mind now and then, when

we met as you met her today, on the

thought-lanes. I have much power,

Ganelon, but I have always drawn back

from the chill I sensed beneath Edeyrn's

hood. No, I cannot tell you what she is."

I laughed again. Recklessness was

upon me now.

"Forget Edeyrn," I said. "When I have

forced Ghast Rhymi to my bidding, and

faced Llyr with the weapon that will end

him, what shall I fear of Edeyrn? The

Crystal Mask is a talisman against her.

That much I know. Let her be whatever

monstrous thing she wills — Ganelon

has no fear of her.

"There is a weapon, then against Llyr

too?"

"There is a sword," I said. "A sword

that is — is not quite a sword as we

think of weapons. My mind is cloudy

there still. But I know that Ghast Rhymi

can tell me where it is. A weapon, yet

not a weapon. The Sword Called Llyr."

For an instant, as I spoke that name, it

seemed to me that the fire between us

flickered as if a shadow had passed

across its brightness. I should not have

called the name aloud. An echo of it had

gone ringing across the realms of

thought, and in Caer Llyr perhaps Llyr

Himself had stirred behind the golden

window — stirred, and looked out.

Even here, I felt a faint flicker of

hunger from that far-away domed place.

And suddenly, I knew what I had done,

Llyr was awake!

I stared at Freydis with widened eyes,

meeting her blue gaze that was widening

too. She must have felt the stir as it ran

formlessly all through the Dark World. In

the Castle of the Coven I knew they had

felt it too, perhaps that they looked at

one another with the same instant dread

which flashed between Freydis and me

here.

Llyr was awake!

And I had wakened him. I had gone

drifting in thought down that shining

corridor and stood in thought before the

very window itself, Llyr's Chosen,

facing Llyr's living window. No wonder

he had stirred at last to full awakening.

Exultation bubbled up in my mind.

"Now they must move!" I told Freydis

joyfully. "You wrought better than you

knew when you set my mind free to rove

its old track. Llyr wakens and is hungrier

man the Coven ever dared let him grow

before. For overlong there has been no

Sabbat, and Llyr ravens for his sacrifice.

Have you spies watching the Castle now,

witch-woman?"

She nodded.

"Good. Then we will know when the

slaves are gathered again for a Sabbat

meeting. It will be soon. It must be soon!

And Edward Bond will lead an assault

upon the Castle while the Coven are at

Sabbat in Caer Secaire. There will be

the Mask and the Wand, old woman!"

My voice deepened to a chant of

triumph. "The Mask and the Wand for

Ganelon, and Ghast Rhymi alone in the

Castle to answer me if he can! The

Norns fight on our side, Freydis!"

She looked at me long and without

speaking.

Then a grim smile broke across her

face and stooping, she spread her bare

hand, palm down, upon the fuelless

flame. I saw the fire lick up around her

fingers. Deliberately she crushed it out

beneath her hand, not flinching at all.

The fire flared and died away. The

crystal dish stood empty upon its

pedestal, and dimness closed around us.

In that twilight the woman was a great

figure of marble, towering beside me.

I heard her deep voice.

"The Norns are with us, Ganelon," she

echoed. "See that you fight upon our side

too, as far as your oath will take you. Or

you must answer to the gods and to me.

And by the gods — " she laughed

harshly " — by the gods, if you betray

me, I swear I'll smash you with no other

power than this!'

In the dimness I saw her lift her great

arms. We looked one another in the eye,

this mighty sorceress and I, and I was

not sure but that she could overcome me

in single combat if the need arose. By

magic and by sheer muscle, I recognized

an equal. I bent my head.

"So be it, Sorceress," I said, and we

clasped hands there in the darkness. And

almost I hoped I need not have to betray

her.

Side by side, we went down the

corridor to the cave mouth.

The half-circle of foresters still

awaited us. Aries and the scarred Lorryn

stood a little forward, lifting their heads

eagerly as we emerged. I paused,

catching the quiver of motion as

calloused hands slipped stealthily

toward hilt and bowstring. Panic,

subdued and breathless, swept around

the arc of woods-folk.

I stood there savoring the moment of

terror among them, knowing myself

Ganelon and the nemesis that would

bring harsh justice upon them all, in my

own time. In my own good time.

But first I needed their help.

At my shoulder the deep voice of

Freydis boomed through the glade.

"I have looked upon this man," she

said. "I name him — Edward Bond."

Distrust of me fell away from them;

Freydis' words reassured them.

10

Chapter

Swords for the Coven

NOW the sap that runs through

Ygdrasill-root stirred from its wintry

sluggishness, and the inhuman guardians

of the fate-tree roused to serve me. The

three Norns — the Destiny-weavers — I

prayed to them!

Urdur who rules the past!

She whispered of the Covenanters,

and their powers and their weaknesses;

of Matholch, the wolfling, whose

berserk rages were his great flaw, the

gap in his armor through which I could

strike, when fury had drowned his wary

cunning; of the red witch and of Edeyrn

— and of old Ghast Rhymi. My enemies.

Enemies whom I could destroy, with the

aid of certain talismans that I had

remembered now. Whom I would

destroy!

Verdandi who rules the present!

Edward Bond had done his best. In

the caves the rebels had showed me

were weapons, crude rifles and

grenades, gas-bombs and even a few

makeshift flame-throwers. They would

be useful against the Coven's slaves.

How useless they would be against the

Covenanters I alone knew. Though

Freydis may have known too.

Yet Aries and Lorryn and their

reckless followers were ready to use

those Earth-weapons, very strange to

them, in a desperate attack on the Castle.

And I would give them that chance, as

soon as our spies brought word of

Sabbat-preparations. It would be soon. It

would have to be soon. For Llyr was

awake now — hungry, thirsting —

beyond the Golden Window that is his

door into the worlds of mankind.

Skuld who rules the future!

To Skuld I prayed most of all. I

thought that the Coven would ride again

to Caer Secaire before another dawn

came. By then I wanted the rebels ready.

Edward Bond had trained them well.

There was military discipline, after a

fashion. Each man knew his equipment

thoroughly, and all were expert

woodsmen. We laid our plans, Aries and

Lorryn and I — though I did not tell them

everything I intended — and group by

group, the rebels slipped away into the

forest, bound for the Castle.

They would not attack. They would

not reveal themselves until the signal

was given. Meantime, they would wait,

concealed in the gulleys and scrub-

woods around the Castle. But they

would be ready. When the time came,

they would ride down to the great gates.

Their grenades would be helpful there.

Nor did it seem fantastic that we

should battle magic with grenades and

rifle. For I was beginning to realize

more and more, as my memory slowly

returned, that the Dark World was not

ruled by laws of pure sorcery. To an

Earth-mind such creatures as Matholch

and Medea would have seemed

supernatural, but I had a double mind,

for as Ganelon I could use the memories

of Edward Bond as a workman uses

tools.

I had forgotten nothing I had ever

known about Earth. And by applying

logic to the Dark World, I understood

things I had always before taken for

granted.

The mutations gave the key. There are

depths in the human mind forever

unplumbed, potentialities for power as

there are lost, atrophied senses — the

ancient third eye that is the pineal gland.

And the human organism is the most

specialized thing of flesh that exists.

Any beast of prey is better armed with

fang and claw. Man has only his brain.

But as carnivores grew longer, more

deadly talons, so man's mind developed

correspondingly. Even in Earth-world

there are mediums, mind-readers,

psychomantic experts, ESP specialists.

In the Dark World the mutations had run

wild, producing cosmic abortions for

which there might be no real need for

another million years.

And such minds, with their new

powers, would develop tools for those

powers. The wands. Though no

technician, I could understand their

principle. Science tends toward simpler

mechanisms; the klystron and the

magnetron are little more than metal

bars. Yet, under the right conditions,

given energy and direction, they are

powerful machines.

Well, the wands

tapped

the

tremendous electromagnetic energy of

the planet, which is, after all, simply a

gargantuan magnet. As for the directive

impulse, trained minds could easily

supply that.

Whether or not Matholch actually

changed to wolf-form I did not know,

though I did not think he did. Hypnosis

was part of the answer. An angry cat

will fluff out its fur and seem double its

size. A cobra will, in effect, hypnotize

its prey. Why? In order to break down

the enemy's defenses, to disarm him, to

weaken the single-purposiveness that is

so vital in combat. No, perhaps

Matholch did not turn into a wolf, but

those under the spell of his hypnosis

thought he did, which came to the same

thing in the end.

Medea? There was a parallel. There

are diseases in which blood transfusions

are periodically necessary. Not that

Medea drank blood; she had other

thirsts. But vital nervous energy is as

real a thing as a leucocyte, and witch

though she was, she did not need magic

to serve her needs.

Of Edeyrn I was not so sure. Some

stray remembrances hung like mists in

my mind. Once I had known what she

was, what chilling power lay hidden in

the darkness of her cowl. And that was

not magic either. The Crystal Mask

would protect me against Edeyrn, but I

knew no more than that.

Even Llyr — even Llyr! He was no

god. That I knew well. Yet what he might

be was something I could not even guess

at as yet. Eventually I meant to find out,

and the Sword Called Llyr, which was

not a true sword, would aid me then.

Meanwhile, I had my part to play.

Even with Freydis as my sponsor, I

could not afford to rouse suspicion

among the rebels. I had explained that

Medea's drug had left me weak and

shaken. That helped to explain any minor

lapses I might make. Curiously, Lorryn

seemed to have accepted me fully at

Freydis' word, while in Aries' behavior

I detected a faint, almost imperceptible

reserve. I do not think that she suspected

the truth. Or, if she did she was trying

not to admit it, even in her own mind.

And I could not afford to let that

suspicion grow.

The valley was very active now.

Much had happened since I came

there in the dawn. I had been through

enough exertion both physical and

emotional to last an ordinary man for a

week, but Ganelon had only begun his

battle. It was thanks to Edward Bond

that our plans for attack would be

formulated so readily, and in a way I

was glad I had been too busy for

anything but the most impersonal

planning with Aries and Lorryn.

It helped to cover the great gaps of my

ignorance about things Edward Bond

should know. Many times I angled

craftily for information, many times I had

to call upon the excuse of the mythical

drug and upon the exhaustion of my

ordeal at the Castle. But by the time our

plans were laid, it seemed to me that

even Aries' suspicions were partly

lulled.

I knew I must lull them utterly.

We rose from the great map-table in

the council-cavern. All of us were tired.

I met Lorryn's scar-twisted grin, warmth

in it now as he smiled at the man he

thought his sworn friend, and I made

Edward Bond's face smile back at him.

"We'll do it this time," I told him

confidently. "This time we'll win!"

His smile twisted suddenly into a

grimace, and the light like embers

glowed in his deep eyes.

"Remember," he growled. "Matholch

— for me!"

I looked down at the relief-map of the

table, very skillfully made under

Edward Bond's directions.

The dark green hills rolling with their

strange forests of semi-animate trees,

every brook traced in white plaster,

every roadway marked. I laid my hand

on the little mound of towers that was a

miniature Castle of the Coven. From it

stretched the highway I had ridden last

night, beside Medea, in my blue

sacrificial robe. There was the valley

and the windowless tower of Caer

Secaire which had been our destination.

For a moment I rode that highway

again, in the darkness and the starshine,

seeing Medea beside me in her scarlet

cloak, her face a pale oval in the dusk,

her mouth black-red, her eyes shining at

me. I remembered the feel of that

fiercely yielding body in my arms as I

had held her last night, as I had held her

so many times before. In my mind

whirled a question.

Medea, Medea, red witch of Colchis,

why did you betray me?

I ground my palm down on the tiny

plaster towers of the Castle, feeling them

powder away beneath my hand. I grinned

fiercely at the ruin I had made of

Edward Bond's model.

"We'll have no need for this again!" I

said through my teeth.

Lorryn laughed.

"No need to repair it. Tomorrow the

Coven Castle will be wreckage too."

I dusted the powdered plaster from

my hand and looked across the table at

the silent Aries. She looked at me

gravely, waiting. I smiled.

"We haven't had a moment alone

together," I said, making my voice

tender. "I'll need sleep before I leave

tonight, but there's time for a walk, if

you'll come with me."

The grave green gaze dwelt upon

mine. Then she nodded, without smiling,

and came around the table, stretching out

her hand to me. I took it and we went

down the steps to the cave-mouth and out

into the glen, neither of us speaking. I let

her lead the way, and we walked in

silence toward the upper end of the

valley, the little stream tinkling away

beside us.

Aries walked very lightly, her

gossamer hair floating behind her in a

pale misty veil. I wondered if it was by

intent that she kept her free hand resting

upon the bolstered weapon at her side.

It was hard for me to keep my mind

upon her, or to care whether or not she

knew me for myself. Medea's face in all

its beauty and its evil floated before me

up the glen, a face no man who looked

upon it could ever forget. For a moment I

was angry at the recollection that

Edward Bond, in my flesh, had taken last

night the kisses she meant for Ganelon.

Well, I would see her again tonight,

before she died by my hand!

In my mind I saw the tiny roadway of

the map-table, winding down from

Coven Castle to the sacrificial temple.

Along the real road, sometime in the

night to come, I knew the cavalcade

would ride again as it had ridden with

me last night. And again there would be

forest men hiding along the road, and

again I would lead them against the

Coven. But this time the outcome would

be very different from anything either the

rebels or the Coven could expect.

What a strange web the Morns had

woven! Last night as Edward Bond,

tonight as Ganelon, I would lead the

same men in the same combat against the

same foe, but with a purpose as different

as night from day.

The two of us, deadly enemies though

we shared the same body in a strange,

inverted way — enemies though we had

never met and never could meet, for all

our common flesh. It was an enigma too

curious to unravel.

"Edward," a voice said at my

shoulder. I looked down.

Aries was facing me with the same

enigmatic gaze I had met so often today.

"Edward, is she very beautiful?"

I stared at her.

"Who?"

"The witch. The Coven witch.

Medea."

I almost laughed aloud. Was this the

answer to all her aloofness of the day?

Did she think my own withdrawal, all

the changes she sensed in me, were due

to the charms of a rival beauty? Well, I

must set her mind at rest about that, at

any rate. I called upon Llyr to forgive me

the lie, and I took her shoulders in my

hands and said:

"There is no woman on this world or

on Earth half so beautiful as you, my

darling.""

Still she looked up at me gravely.

"When you mean that, Edward, I'll be

glad," she said. "You don't mean it now.

I can tell. No." She put her fingers

across my mouth as I began to protest.

"Let's not talk about her now. She's a

sorceress. She has powers neither of us

can fight. It isn't your fault or mine that

she's too beautiful to forget all in a

moment. Never mind now. Look! Do you

remember this place?"

She twisted deftly from my grasp and

swept out a hand toward the panorama

spread below us. We stood in a grove of

tall, quivering trees high on the crest of

the low mountain. The leaves and

branches made a bower around us with

their showers of shaking tendrils, but

through an opening here and there we

could see the rolling country far below

us, glowing in the light of the red

westering sun.

"This will be ours some day," said

Aries softly. "After the Coven is gone,

after Llyr has vanished. We'll be free to

live above ground, clear the forests,

build our cities — live like men again.

Think of it, Edward! A whole world

freed from savagery. And all because

there were a few of us at the start who

did not fear the Coven, and who found

you. If we win the fight, Edward, it will

be because of you and Freydis. We

would all have been lost without you."

She turned suddenly, her pale gold

hair flying out around her face like a

halo of floating gauze, and she smiled at

me with a sudden, bewitching charm I

had never seen upon her face before.

Until now she had always turned a

grave reserve to my advances. Now

suddenly I saw her as Edward Bond had,

and it came to me in a flash of surprise

that Bond was a very fortunate man, after

all. Medea's sultry scarlet beauty would

never wholly vanish from my mind, I

knew, but this Aries had her own

delicate and delightful charm.

She was very near me, her lips parted

as she smiled up into my face. For an

instant I envied Edward Bond. Then I

remembered. I was Edward Bond! But it

was Ganelon who stooped suddenly and

seized the forest girl in a fiercely ardent

embrace that amazed her, for I felt her

gasp of surprise against my breast and

her stir of protest in the moment before

my lips touched hers.

Then she protested no longer.

She was a strange, wild, shy little

creature, very pleasant in my arms, very

sweet to kiss. I knew by the way she

responded to me that Edward Bond had

never held her like this. But then Edward

Bond was a weakling and a fool. And

before the kiss had ended I knew where I

would turn first for solace when Medea

had paid for treachery with her life. I

would not forget Medea, but I would not

soon forget this kiss of Aries', either.

She clung to me in silence for a

moment, her gossamer hair floating like

thistledown about us both, and above her

head I looked out over the valley which

she had seen in her mind's eyes peopled

with free forest folk, dotted with their

cities. I knew that dream would never

come true.

But I had a dream of my own!

I saw the forest people toiling to raise

my mighty castle here perhaps on this

very mountaintop, a castle to dominate

the whole countryside and the lands

beyond it. I saw them laboring under my

overseers to conquer still further lands. I

saw my armies marching, my slaves in

my fields and mines, my navies on the

dark oceans of a world that might well

be mine.

Aries should share it with me — for

awhile. For a little while.

"I will always love you!" I said at her

ear in the voice of Edward Bond. But it

was Ganelon's lips that found her lips in

the one last ardent kiss I had time for

then.

Curiously, it seemed to me that it took

Ganelon's kisses at last to convince her I

was Edward Bond… .

After that, for a few hours I slept, snug

in Edward Bond's cavern rooms, in his

comfortable bed, his guards watching

beside the door. I slept with the memory

of his sweet forest girl in my arms, and

the prospect of his kingdom and his

bride before me when I woke. I think in

the Earth-world, Edward Bond must

have dreamed jealous dreams.

But my own dreams were bad. Llyr in

his castle was awake and hungry, and the

great, cold, writhing tendrils of his

hunger coiled lazily through my mind as

I slept. I knew they stirred through every

mind in the Dark World that had senses

to perceive them. I knew I must wake

soon, or never. But first I must sleep and

grow strong for the night's ordeal.

Resolutely I shut Llyr from my thoughts,

resolutely I shut away Aries.

It was Medea's red smile and sidelong

sultry glance that went down with me

into the caverns of slumber.

11

Chapter

In Ghast Rhymi's

Tower

QUIETLY Lorryn and I crouched among

the trees and looked out at the Castle of

the Coven, aglitter with lights against the

starry sky. This was the night! We both

knew it, and we were both tense and

sweating with a nervous exultation that

made this waiting hard indeed.

All around us in the woods, unseen,

we heard the tiny sounds that meant an

army of forest people waited our signal.

And this time they were here in force. I

caught a glint of starlight now and then

on rifle-barrels, and I knew that the

rebels were armed to put up a good fight

against the soldiers of the Coven.

Not, perhaps, too good a fight.

I did not care. They thought they were

going to storm the Castle and the Coven

by sheer force of arms. I knew their only

purpose was to divert attention while I

made my way into the Castle and found

the secret weapons that would give me

power over the Covenanters. While they

were striking, I would make my way to

Ghast Rhymi and learn what was

essential for me to learn.

After that, I did not care. Many

foresters would die. Let them. There

would still be slaves aplenty for me

when my hour came. And nothing could

stop me now. The Norns fought with me;

I could not fail… .

There was much activity within the

Castle. Voices floated out to us in the

still night air. Figures moved to and fro

against the lights. Then great gates were

flung open upon a burst of golden

radiance and the outlines of many riders

crowded against it. A procession was

coming out.

I heard chains clash musically, and I

understood. This time the sacrifices rode

chained to their mounts, so that no siren

voices from the wood could lure them

away. I shrugged. Let them go to their

death, then. Llyr must be fed while he

lasted. Better these than Ganelon,

offered at the Golden Window. We saw

them go off down the dark road, their

chains ringing.

That was Matholch — there on the tall

horse. I knew his vulpine outlines, the

lift of the cloak upon his shoulders. And

I would have known him too because of

the great start, quickly checked, that

Lorryn made beside me. I heard the

breath whistle through his nostrils, and

his voice grated in my ear.

"Remember! That is mine!"

Edeyrn went by, tiny on her small

mount, and a breath of chill seemed to

me to sweep the darkness as she passed.

Medea came!

When I could no longer make out her

outlines in the distance, when her white

robe was no more than a shimmer and

her scarlet cloak had melted into the

dark, I turned to Lorryn, my mind

spinning, my plans already chaotic with

change. For a new compulsion had come

upon me, and I was not even trying to

resist it.

I had not seen a sacrifice in Caer

Secaire. This was one of the blank

places in my memory, and a dangerous

blank. Until Ganelon remembered the

Sabbat, until he watched Llyr accept the

offerings through the Golden Window, he

could not wholly trust himself to fight the

Coven and Llyr. This was a gap that

must be filled. And curiosity was

suddenly very strong upon me. Curiosity

— and could it be — the pull of Llyr?

"Lorryn, wait for me here," I

whispered in the darkness. "We've got to

make sure they enter Caer Secaire, start

the Sabbat. I don't want to attack until

I'm sure. Wait for me." He stirred

protestingly, but I was away before he

could speak.

I was out upon the road and running

softly and silently after that processional

winding toward the valley and the Mass

of St. Secaire, which is the Black Mass.

It seemed to me as I ran that the

fragrance of Medea's perfume hung upon

the air I breathed, and my throat choked

with the passion of my hatred for her,

and of my love.

"She shall be the first to die," I

promised myself in the dark… .

I watched the great iron doors of Caer

Secaire swing shut upon the last of the

procession. The Caer was dark inside.

They went quietly in, one by one, and

vanished into the deeper night within.

The doors clanged resonantly after them.

Some memory of Ganelon's, buried

beneath the surface of conscious thought,

urged me to the left, around the curve of

the great wall. I followed the impulse

obediently, moving almost like a sleep-

walker toward a goal I did not know.

Memory took me close under the

looming rampart, made me lay my hands

on its surface. There were heavy

scrollings of pattern there, writhing like

tendrils over the dark walls. My

remembering fingers traced the curves,

though my mind still wondered.

Then the wall moved beneath my

hands. The scroll-work had been a key

of sorts, and a door sank open in the

blackness before me. I went confidently

forward, out of black night, through a

black door into deeper blackness within.

But my feet knew the way.

A stairway rose beneath me in the

dark. My feet had expected it and I did

not stumble. It was very curious to move

so blindly through this strange and

dangerous place, not knowing where or

why I moved, yet trusting my body to

find the way. The stairs wound up and

up.

Llyr was here. I could feel his hungry

presence like a pressure on the mind, but

many times intensified because of the

narrow spaces within these walls, as if

he were a sound of thunder reverberating

again and again from the enclosed

spaces of the Caer. Something within me

reverberated soundlessly in answer, a

roar of exultation that I suppressed in

quick revolt.

Llyr and I were no longer linked by

that ceremony of long ago. I repudiated

it. I was not Llyr's Chosen now. But

within me a sense I could not control

quivered with ecstasy at the thought of

those sacrifices who had fled blindly

through the great doors of Caer Secaire.

And I wondered if the Coven — if

Medea — thought of me now, who had

so nearly stood with the sacrifices last

night.

My feet paused upon the stairs. I

could see nothing, but I knew that before

me was a wall carved with scroll-

patterns. My hands found it, traced the

raised designs. A section of darkness

slid sidewise and I was leaning upon a

wide ledge, looking down, very far

down.

Caer Secaire was like a mighty grove

of columns whose capitals soared up

and

up

into

infinite darkness.

Somewhere above, too high for me to

see its source, a light was beginning to

glow. My heart paused when I saw it, for

I knew that light — mat golden radiance

from a Golden Window.

Memory came fitfully back to me. The

Window of Llyr. The Window of

Sacrifice. I could not see it, but my

mind's eye remembered its glow. In Caer

Llyr that Window's substance shone

eternally, and Llyr Himself lolled behind

it — far behind it — forever. But in

Caer Secaire and in the other temples of

sacrifice that had once dotted the Dark

World, there were replicas of the

Window which glowed only when Llyr

came bodilessly through the dark to take

his due.

Above us, hovering and hungry, Llyr

was dawning now in that golden

radiance, like a sun in the night time of

the temple. Where the Window of

Secaire was located, how it was shaped,

I still could not remember. But

something in me knew that golden light

and shivered in response as I watched

its brilliance strengthen through the

columns of the temple.

Far below me I saw the Coven

standing, tiny figures foreshortened to

wedges of colored cloak — green-robed

Matholch, yellow-robed Edeyrn, red

Medea. Behind them stood a circle of

guardsmen. Before them, as I watched,

the last of the chosen slaves moved

blindly away among the columns. I could

not see where they were going, but in

essence I knew. The Window was

yawning for its sacrifices, and somehow

they must make their way to it.

As the light broadened, I saw that

before the Coven stood a great cup-

shaped altar, black on a black dais.

Above it a lipped spout hung. My eyes

traced the course of the trough which

ended in the spout, and I saw now that

there was a winding, descending curve,

dark against that growing light, which

came down in a great sweep from the

mysterious heights overhead, stretching

from — the Window? — to the cupped

altar. A stir deep within me told me what

that trough was for. I leaned upon the

sill, shaking with an anticipation that

was half for myself and half for Him,

who hovered above us in the sun-like

dawning of golden light.

Thinly from below me rose a chant. I

knew Medea's voice, clear and silver, a

thread of sound in the dimness and the

silence. It rose like incense, quivering

among the mighty, topless columns of

Secaire.

A tenseness of waiting grew and grew

in the dim air of the temple. The figures

below me stood motionless, heads lifted,

watching the dawning light. Medea's

voice chanted on and on.

Time paused there in the columned

grove of Secaire, while Llyr hovered

above us waiting for her prey.

Then a thin and terrible cry rang out

from the heights overhead. One scream.

The light shot out blindingly in a great

burst of exultation, like a voiceless

answering cry from Llyr Himself.

Medea's chant rose to a piercing climax

and paused.

There was a stir among the columns;

something moved along that curve of

trough. My eyes sought the altar and the

lipped spout above it.

The Coven was rigid, a cluster of

frozen figures, waiting.

Blood began to drip from the spout.

I do not know how long I hung there

on the ledge, my eyes riveted to the altar.

I do not know how many times I heard a

cry ring out from above, how many times

Medea's chant rose to a hungry climax as

the light burst forth in a glory overhead

and blood gushed into the great cup of

the altar. I was deaf and blind to

everything but this. I was half with Llyr

at his Golden Window, shaken with

ecstasy as he took his sacrifices, and

half with the Coven below, glorying in

their share of the ceremony of the

Sabbat.

But I know I waited too long.

What saved me I do not know now.

Some voice of the ego crying unheard in

my mind that this was time dangerously

spent, that I must be elsewhere before

the Sabbat ended, that Lorryn and his

men waited endlessly while I hung here

battening like a glutton upon Llyr's feast.

Reluctantly awareness returned to my

mind. With an infinite effort I pulled

myself back from the brink of that

Golden Window and stood reeling in the

darkness, but in my own body again, not

hovering mindlessly with Llyr in the

heights above. The Coven was still tense

below me, gripped in the ecstasy of the

sacrifice. But for how long I could not

be sure. Perhaps for the rest of the night;

perhaps for only an hour. I must hurry, if

hurrying were not already futile. There

was no way to know.

So I went back in the darkness, down

the unseen stairs, and out of the dark,

unseen door, and back along the road to

Coven Castle, my mind still reeling with

remembered ecstasy, the glow of the

Window still before my dazzled eyes,

and the scarlet runnel above the altar,

and the thin, sweet chanting of Medea

louder in my ears than the sound of my

own feet upon the road… .

The red moon was far down the sky

when I came back to Lorryn, still

crouching beside the castle wall and half

mad with impatience. There was an

eager stir among the unseen soldiers as I

came running down the road, a forward

surge as if they had waited to the very

limit of endurance and would attack now

whether I gave the word or no.

I waved to Lorryn while I was still

twenty feet away. I was careless now of

the Castle guardsmen. Let them see me.

Let them hear.

"Give the signal!" I shouted to Lorryn.

"Attack!"

I saw him start up beside the road,

and the moonlight glinted upon the silver

horn he lifted to his lips. Its blare of

signal notes ripped the night to tatters. It

ripped away the last of my lethargy too.

I heard the long yell that swept the

forest as the woodsmen surged forward

to the attack, and my own voice roared

unbidden in reply, an ecstasy of battle-

hunger that matched the ecstasy I had just

shared with Llyr.

The rattle of rifle-fire drowned out

our voices. The first explosions of

grenades shook the Castle, outlining the

outer walls in livid detail. There were

shouts from within, wild trumpetings of

signal horns, the cries of confused

guardsmen, leaderless and afraid. But I

knew they would rally. They had been

trained well enough by Matholch and by

myself. And they had weapons that could

give the woodsmen a stiff fight.

When they recovered from this panic

there would be much blood spilled

around the outer walls.

I did not wait to see it. The first

explosions had breached the barriers

close beside me, and I scrambled

recklessly through the gap, careless of

the rifle fire that spattered against the

stones. The Morns were with me tonight.

I bore a charmed life, and I knew I could

not fail.

Somewhere above me in the besieged

towers Ghast Rhymi sat wrapped in his

chill indifference, aloof as a god above

the struggle around Coven Castle. I had a

rendezvous with Ghast Rhymi, though he

did not know it yet.

I plunged into the gateway of the

Castle, heedless of the milling guards.

They did not know me in the darkness

and the confusion, but they knew by my

tunic I was not a forester, and they let me

shoulder them aside.

Three steps at a time, I ran up the

great stairway.

12

Chapter

Harp of Satan

CASTLE of the Coven! How strange it

looked to me as I went striding through

its halls. Familiar, yet curiously

unknown, as though I saw it through the

veil of Edward Bond's transplanted

memories.

So long as I went rapidly, I seemed to

know the way. But if I hesitated, my

conscious mind took over control, and

that mind was still clouded with

artificial memories, so that I became

confused in the halls and corridors

which were familiar to me when I did

not think directly of them.

It was as if whatever I focused on

sharply receded into unfamiliarity while

everything else remained clear, until I

thought of it.

I strode down hallways arched

overhead and paved underfoot in bright,

intricate mosaics that told legendary

tales half-familiar to me. I walked upon

centaurs and satyrs whose very faces

were well known to the Ganelon half of

my mind, while the Edward Bond half

wondered in vain whether such people

had really lived in this distorted world

of mutations.

This double mind at times was a

source of strength to me, and at others a

source of devouring weakness. Just now

I hoped fervently that I might meet no

delays for once I lost this rushing thread

of memory which was leading me

toward Ghast Rhymi, I might never find

it again. Any interruption might be fatal

to my plans.

Ghast Rhymi, my memories told me,

would be somewhere in the highest

tower of the castle. There too would be

the treasure-room where the Mask and

Wand lay hidden, and hidden deeper in

the serene, untouchable thoughts of Ghast

Rhymi, lay the secret of Llyr's

vulnerability.

These three things I must have, and the

getting would not be easy. For I knew —

without clearly remembering how or by

what — that the treasure-room was

guarded by Ghast Rhymi. The Coven

would not have left open to all comers

that secret place where the things that

could end them lay hidden.

Even I, even Ganelon, had a secret

thing locked in that treasury. For no

Covenanter, no warlock, no sorceress

can deal in the dark powers without

creating, himself, the one instrument that

can destroy him. That is the Law.

There are secrets behind it which I

may not speak of, but the common one is

clear. All Earth's folklore is rife with the

same legend. Powerful men and women

must focus their power in an object

detached from themselves.

The myth of the external soul is

common to all Earth races, but the

reason for it lies deep in the lore of the

Dark World. This much I can say — that

there must be a balance in all things. For

every negative, a positive. We of the

Coven could not build up our power

without creating a corresponding

weakness somewhere, somehow, and we

must hide that weakness so cunningly

that no enemy could find it.

Not even the Coven knew wherein my

own secret lay. I knew Medea's, and I

knew Edeyrn's only partially, and as for

Matholch — well, against him I needed

only my own Covenanter strength. Ghast

Rhymi did not matter. He would not

bother to fight.

But Llyr? Ah!

Somewhere the Sword lay hidden,

and he who could find and use it in that

unknown way for which it was

fashioned, he held the existence of Llyr

in his own hand. But there was danger.

For as Llyr's power in the Dark World

was beyond imagination, so too must be

that balancing power hidden in the

Sword. Even to go near it might be

fatally dangerous. To hold it in the hand

— well, hold it I must, and there was no

profit in thinking about danger.

I went up and up, on and on.

I could not hear the sounds of battle.

But I knew that at the gate the Coven

guards and slaves were fighting and

falling, as Lorryn's men, too, were

falling. I had warned Lorryn that none

must break through his lines to warn

those at Caer Secaire. I knew that he

would follow that order, despite his

anxiety to come to grips with Matholch.

For the rest, there was one in the Castle

who could, without stirring, send a

message to Medea. One person!

He had not sent that message. I knew

that as I thrust through the white curtain

and came out into the tower room. The

little chamber was semicircular, walls,

floor and ceiling were ivory pale. The

casement windows were shut, but Ghast

Rhymi had never needed sight to send

out his vision.

He sat there, an old, old man, relaxed

amid the cushions of his seat, snowy hair

and beard falling in curled ringlets that

blended with his white, plain robe. His

hands lay upon the chair-arms, pale as

wax, so transparent that I could almost

trace the course of the thinned blood that

stirred so feebly in those old veins.

Wick and wax had burned down. The

flame of life flickered softly, and a wind

might send that flame into eternal

darkness. So sat the Ancient of Days, his

blind blue gaze not seeing me, but turned

upon inward things.

Ganelon's memories flooded back.

Ganelon had learned much from Ghast

Rhymi. Even then, the Covenanter had

been old. Now the tides of time had

worn him, as the tides of the sea wear a

stone till nothing is left but a thin shell,

translucent as clouded glass.

Within Ghast Rhymi I could see the

life-fires dwindling, sunk to embers,

almost ash.

He did not see me. Not easily can

Ghast Rhymi be drawn back from, the

deeps where his thoughts move.

I spoke to him, but he did not answer.

I went past him then, warily, toward

the wall that divided the tower-top into

two halves. There was no sign of a door,

but I knew the combination. I moved my

palms in an intricate pattern on the cool

surface, and a gap widened before me.

I crossed the threshold.

Here were kept the holy things of the

Coven.

I looked upon that treasure-vault with

new eyes, clearer because of Edward

Bond's memories. That lens, burning

with dull amber lights there in its

hollowed place in the wall — I had

never wondered much about it before. It

killed. But memories of Earth-science

told me why. It was not magic, but an

instantaneous drainage of the electrical

energy of the brain. And that conical

black device — that, killed, too. It could

shake a man to pieces, by shuttling his

life-force back and forth so rapidly

between artificial cathode and anode

that living flesh could not stand the

strain.

Alternating current,

with

variations!

But these weapons did not interest me

now. I sought other loot. There was no

death-traps to beware of, for none but

the Coven knew the way to enter this

treasure-room, or its location, or even

that it existed, save in legends. And no

slave or guard would have dared to

enter Ghast Rhymi's tower.

My gaze passed over a sword, but not

the one I needed; a burnished shield; a

harp, set with an intricate array of

manual controls. I knew that harp. Earth

has legends of it — the harp of Orpheus,

that could bring back the dead from

Hades. Human hands could not play it.

But I was not quite ready for the harp,

yet.

What I wanted lay on a shelf, sealed

in its cylindrical case. I broke open the

seals and took out the thin black rod with

its hand-grip.

The Wand of Power. The Wand that

could tap the electromagnetic force of a

planet. So could other wands of this type

— but this was the only one without the

safety-device that limited its power. It

was dangerous to use.

In another case I found the Crystal

Mask — a curved, transparent plate that

shielded my eyes like a domino mask of

glass. This mask would shield one from

Edeyrn.

I searched further. But of the Sword of

Llyr I could find no trace.

Time did not lag. I heard nothing of

the noise of battle, but I knew that the

battle went on, and I knew, too, that

sooner or later the Coven would return

to the Castle. Well, I could fight the

Coven now, but I could not fight Llyr. I

dared not risk the issue till I had made

sure.

In the door of the vault I stood, staring

at Ghast Rhymi's silvery head. Whatever

guardian thought he kept here, knew I

had a right to the treasure room. He

made no motion. His thoughts moved far

out in unimaginable abysses, nor could

they be easily drawn back. And it was

impossible to put pressure on Ghast

Rhymi. He had the perfect answer. He

could die.

Well, I too had an answer!

I went back to the vault and lifted the

harp. I carried it out and set it down

before the old man. No life showed in

his blue stare.

I went to the windows and flung them

open. Then I returned, dropping to the

cushions beside the harp, and lightly

touched its intricate controls.

That harp had been in the Earth-

world, or others like it. Legends know

its singing strings, as legends tell of

mystic swords. There was the lyre of

Orpheus, strong with power, that Jupiter

placed amid the stars. There was the

harp of Gwydion of Britain, that

charmed the souls of men. And the harp

of Alfred, that helped to crush Daneland.

There was David's harp that he played

before Saul.

Power rests in music. No man today

can say what sound broke the walls of

Jericho, but once men knew.

Here in the Dark World this harp had

its legends among the common folk. Men

said that a demon played it, that the airy

fingers of elemental spirits plucked at its

strings. Well, in a way they were right.

For an incredible perfection of

science had created this harp. It was a

machine. Sonic, sub-sonic, and pure

vibration to match the thought-waves

emitted by the brain blended into a

whole that was part hypnosis and part

electric magnetism. The brain is a

colloid, a machine, and any machine can

be controlled.

And the harp of power could find the

key to a mind, and lay bonds upon that

mind.

Through the open windows, faintly

from below, I heard the clash of swords

and the dim shouts of fighting men. But

these sounds did not touch Ghast Rhymi.

He was lost on the plane of pure

abstraction, thinking his ancient, deep

thoughts.

My fingers touched the controls of the

harp, awkwardly at first, then with more

ease as manual dexterity came back with

memory.

The sigh of a plucked string

whispered through the white room. The

murmuring of minor notes, in a low,

dreamily distant key. And as the machine

found the patterns of Ghast Rhymi's

mind, under my hands the harp

quickened into breathing life.

The soul of Ghast Rhymi — translated

into terms of pure music!

Shrill and ear-piercing a single note

sang.' Higher and higher it mounted,

fading into inaudibility. Deep down a

roaring, windy noise began, rising and

swelling into the demon-haunted shout of

a gale. Rivers of air poured their music

into the threnody.

High — high — cold and pure and

white as the snowy summit of a great

mountain, that single thin note sang and

sang again.

Louder grew the great winds.

Rippling arpeggios raced through the

rising torrent of the sorcerous music.

Thunder of riven rocks — shrill

screaming of earthquake-shaken lands —

yelling of a deluge that poured down

upon tossing forests.

A heavy humming note, hollow and

unearthly, and I saw the gulfs between

the worlds where the empty night of

space makes a trackless desert.

And suddenly, incongruously, a gay

lilting tune, with an infectious rocking

rhythm, that brought to my mind bright

colors and sunlit streams and fields.

Ghast Rhymi stirred.

For an instant awareness came back

into his blue eyes. He saw me.

And I saw the life-fires sink within

that frail, ancient body.

I knew that he was dying — that I had

troubled his long peace — that he had

relinquished his casual hold upon life.

I drew the harp toward me. I touched

the controls.

Ghast Rhymi sat before me, dead, the

faintest possible spark fading within that

old brain.

I sent the sorcerous spell of the harp

blowing like a mighty wind upon the

dying embers of Ghast Rhymi's life.

As Orpheus drew back the dead

Eurydice from Pluto's realm, so I cast

my net of music, snared the soul of Ghast

Rhymi, drew him back from death!

He straggled at first, I felt his mind

turn and writhe, trying to escape, but the

harp had already found the key to his

mind, and it would not let him go.

Inexorably it drew him.

The ember flickered — faded —

brightened again.

Louder sang the strings. Deeper

roared the tumult of shaking waters.

Higher the white, shrill note, pure as a

star's icy light, leaped and ever rose.

Roaring, racing, sweet with honey-

musk, perfumed with flower-scent and

ambergris, blazing with color, opal and

blood-ruby and amethyst-blue, that

mighty tapestry of color rippled and

shook like a visible web of magic

through the room.

The web reached out.

Swept around Ghast Rhymi like a

fowler's snare!

Back in those faded blue eyes the light

of awareness grew. He had stopped

struggling. He had given up the fight. It

was easier to come back to life — to let

me question him — than to battle the

singing strings that could cage a man's

very soul.

Under the white beard the old man's

lips moved.

"Ganelon," he said. "I knew — when

the harp sang — who played it. Well,

ask your questions. And then let me die.

I would not live in the days that are

coming now. But you will live, Ganelon

— and yet you will die too. That much I

have read in the future."

The hoary head bent slowly. For an

instant Ghast Rhymi listened — and I

listened too.

The last, achingly sweet notes of the

harp died upon the trembling air.

Through the open windows came the

muted clash of sword and the wordless

shriek of a dying man.

13

Chapter

War — Red War!

PITY FLOODED me. The shadow of

greatness that had cloaked Ghast Rhymi

was gone. He sat there, a shrunken,

fragile old man, and I felt a momentary

unreasoning impulse to turn on my heel

and leave him to drift back into his

peaceful abyss of thought. Once, I

remembered, Ghast Rhymi had seemed a

tall, huge figure — though he had never

been that in my lifetime. But in my

childhood I had sat at the feet of this

Covenanter and looked up with awe at

that majestic, bearded face with

reverence.

Perhaps there had been more life in

that face then, more warmth and

humanity. It was remote now. It was like

the face of a god, or of one who had

looked upon too many gods.

My tongue stumbled.

"Master," I said. "I am sorry!"

No light came into the distant blue

gaze, yet I sensed a stirring.

"You name me master?" he said. "You

— Ganelon? It has been a long time

since you humbled yourself to anyone."

The taste of my triumph was ashes. I

bowed my head. Yes, I had conquered

Ghast Rhymi, and I did not like the savor

of that conquest.

"In the end the circle completes

itself," the old man said quietly. "We are

more kin than the others. Both you and I

are human, Ganelon, not mutants.

Because I am Leader of the Coven I let

Medea and the others use my wisdom.

But — but — " He hesitated.

"For two decades my mind has dwelt

in shadow," he went on. "Beyond good

and evil, beyond life and the figures that

move like puppets on the stream of life.

When I was wakened, I would give the

answers I knew. It did not matter. I had

thought that I had lost all touch with

reality. And that if death swept over

every man and woman in the Dark

World, it would not matter."

I could not speak. I knew that I had

done Ghast Rhymi a very great wrong in

wakening him from his deep peace.

The blue stars dwelt on me.

"And I find that it does matter, after

all. No blood of mine runs in your veins,

Ganelon. Yet we are kin. I taught you, as

I would have taught my own son. I

trained you for your task — to rule the

Coven in my place. And now, I think I

regret many things. Most of all the

answer I gave the Covenanters after

Medea brought you back from Earth-

world."

"You told them to kill me," I said.

He nodded.

"Matholch was afraid. Edeyrn sided

with him. They made Medea agree.

Matholch said, 'Ganelon is changed.

There is danger. Let the old man read the

future and see what it holds.' So they

came to me, and I let my mind ride the

winds of time and see what lay ahead."

"And that was —?"

"The end of the Coven," Ghast Rhymi

said. "If you lived. I foresaw the arms of

Llyr reaching into the Dark World, and

Matholch lying dead in a shadowed

place, and doom upon Edeyrn and

Medea. For time is fluid, Ganelon. It

changes

as

men

change.

The

probabilities alter. When you went into

Earth-world, you Were Ganelon. But you

came back with a double mind. You have

the memories of Edward Bond, which

you can use as tools. Medea should have

left you in Earth-world. But she loved

you."

"Yet she agreed to let them kill me," I

said.

"Do you know what was in her

thoughts?" Ghast Rhymi asked. "In Caer

Secaire, at the time of sacrifice, Llyr

would come. And you have been sealed

to Llyr. Did Medea think you could be

killed, then?"

A doubt grew within me. But Medea

had led me, like a sheep to slaughter, in

the procession to the Caer. If she could

justify herself, let her. I knew that

Edeyrn and Matholch could not.

"I may let Medea live, then," I said.

"But not the wolfling. I have already

promised his life. And as for Edeyrn,

she must perish."

I showed Ghast Rhymi the Crystal

Mask. He nodded.

"But Llyr?"

"I was sealed to Him as Ganelon," I

said. "Now you say I have two minds.

Or, at least, an extra set of memories,

even though they are artificial. I am not

willing to be liege to Llyr! I learned

many things in the-Earth-world. Llyr is

no god!"

The ancient head bent. A transparent

hand rose and touched the ringlets of the

beard. Then Ghast Rhymi looked at me,

and he smiled.

"So you know that, do you?" he asked.

"I will tell you something, Ganelon, that

no one else has guessed. You are not the

first to come from Earth-world to the

Dark World. I was the first."

I stared at him with unconcealed

amazement.

"And you were born in the Dark

World; I was not," he said. "My flesh

sprang from the dust of Earth. It has been

very long since I crossed, and I can

never return now, for my span is long

outlived. Only here can I keep the life-

spark burning within me, though I do not

much care about that either. Yet I am

Earth-born, and I knew Vortigern and the

kings of Wales. I had my own holdings at

Caer-Merdin, and a different sun from

this red ember in the Dark World's sky

shone upon Caer-Merdin! Blue sky, blue

sea of Britain, the gray stones of the

Druid altars under the oak forests. That

is my home, Ganelon. Was my home.

Until my science, that men in those days

called magic, brought me here, with a

woman's aid. A Dark-World woman

named Viviane."

"You are Earth-born?" I said.

"Once — yes. As I grew older here,

very, very old, I regretted my exile. I had

acquired enough of wisdom. I would

have changed it all for one breath of the

cool, sweet air that blew in from the

Irish Sea when I was a boy. But never

could I return. My body would fall to

dust in the Earth-world. So I lost myself

in dreams — dreams of Earth, Ganelon."

His blue eyes brightened with

memories.

His voice deepened.

"In my dreams I brought back the old

days. I stood again on the crags of

Wales, watching the salmon leaping in

the waters of gray Usk. I saw Artorius

again, and his father Uther, and I smelled

the old smells of Britain in her youth.

But they were dreams!

"And dreams are not enough. For the

sake of the love I bore the dust from

which I sprang, for the sake of a wind

that blew from ancient Ireland, I will

help you now, Ganelon. I had never

thought that life would matter to me any

more. But that these abominations should

lead a man of Earth to slaughter — no!

And man of Earth you are now, though

born on this world of sorcery!"

He leaned forward, compelling me

with his gaze.

"You are right. Llyr is no god. He is

— a monster. No more than that. And he

can be slain."

"With the Sword Called Llyr?"

"Listen. Put these legends out of your

mind. That is Llyr's power, and the

power of the Dark World. All is veiled

in mystic symbols of terror. But behind

the veil lies simple truth. Vampire,

werewolf, upas-tree — they all are

biological freaks, mutations run wild!

And the First mutation was Llyr. His

birth split the one time-world into two,

each spinning along its line of

probability. He was a key factor in the

temporal pattern of entropy.

"Listen again. At birth, Llyr was

human. But his mind was not as the

minds of others. He had certain natural

powers, latent powers, which ordinarily

would not have developed in the race

for a million years. Because they did

develop in him too soon, they were

warped and distorted, and put to evil

ends. In the future world of logic and

science, his mental powers would have

fitted. In the dark times of superstition,

they did not fit too well. So he

developed, with the science at his

command and the mental strength he had,

into a monster.

"Human once. Less human as he grew

older and wiser in his alien knowledge.

In Caer Llyr are machines which send

out certain radiations necessary to the

existence of Llyr. Those radiations

permeate the Dark World. They have

caused other mutations, such as

Matholch and Edeyrn and Medea.

"Kill Llyr and his machines will stop.

The curse of abnormal mutations will be

lifted. The shadow over this planet will

be gone."

"How may I kill Him?" I asked.

"With the Sword Called Llyr. His life

is bound up with that Sword, as a

machine is dependent on its parts. I am

not certain of the reason for this,

Ganelon, but Llyr is not human — now.

He is part machine and part pure energy

and part something unimaginable. But he

was born of flesh, and he must maintain

his contact with the Dark World, or die.

The Sword is his contact."

"Where is the Sword?"

"At Caer Llyr," Ghast Rhymi said.

"Go there. By the altar, there is a crystal

pane. Don't you remember?"

"I remember."

"Break that pane. Then you will find

the Sword Called Llyr."

He sank back. His eyes closed, then

opened again.

I knelt before him and he made the

Ancient Sign above me.

"Strange," he murmured, half to

himself. "Strange that I should send a

man to battle again, as I sent so many,

long ago."

The white head bent forward. Snowy

beard lay upon the snowy robe.

"For the sake of a wind that blew

from Ireland," the old man whispered.

Through the open windows a breath of

air drifted, gently ruffling the white

ringlets of hair and beard… .

The winds of the Dark World stirred

in the silent room, paused — and were

gone!

Now, indeed, I stood alone… .

From Ghast Rhymi's chamber I went

down the tower steps and into the

courtyard.

The battle was nearly over. Scarcely a

score of the Castle's defenders were still

on their feet. Around them Lorryn's pack

ravened and yelled. Back to back, grimly

silent, the dead-eyed guardsmen wove

their blades in a steel mesh that

momentarily held at bay their attackers.

There was no time to be wasted here.

I caught sight of Lorryn's scarred face

and made for him. He showed me his

teeth in a triumphant grin.

"We have them, Bond."

"It took you long enough," I said.

"These dogs must be slain quickly!" I

caught a sword from a nearby

woodsman.

Power flowed up the blade and into

the hilt — into me.

I plunged into the thick of the battle.

The foresters made way for me. Beside

me Lorryn laughed quietly.

Then I came face to face with a

guardsman. His blade swung up in thrust

and parry, and I twisted aside, so that his

steel sang harmlessly through the air. My

sword-point leaped like a striking snake

for his throat. The shock of metal grating

on bone jarred my wrist.

I tore the weapon free and glimpsed

Lorryn, still grinning, engaging another

of the guardsmen.

"Kill them!" I shouted. "Kill them!"

I did not wait for response. I went

forward against the blind-eyed soldiers

of Medea, slashing, striking, thrusting, as

though these men were the Coven, my

enemies! I hated each blankly staring

face. Red tides of rage began to surge

up, narrowing my vision and clouding

my mind with hot mists.

For a few moments, I was drunk with

the lust for killing.

Lorryn's hands gripped my shoulders.

His voice came.

"Bond! Bond!"

The fogs were swept away. I stared

around. Not one of the guardsmen was

left alive. Bloody, hacked corpses lay

sprawled on the gray flagstone of the

courtyard. The woodsmen, panting hard,

were wiping their blades clean.

"Did any escape to carry warning to

Caer Secaire?" I asked.

Despite his perpetual scarred grin,

Lorryn looked troubled.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so, but the

place is a rabbit-warren."

"The harm's done then," I said. "We hadn't enough men to throw a cordon

around the Castle."

He grimaced. "Warned or not, what's

the odds? We can slay the Covenanters

as we killed their guards."

"We ride to Caer Llyr," I said,

watching him.

I saw the shadow of fear in the cold

gray eyes. Lorryn rubbed his grizzled

beard and scowled.

"I don't understand. Why?"

"To kill Llyr."

Amazement battled with ancient

superstitious terror in his face. His gaze

searched mine and apparently read the

answer he wanted.

"To kill — that!"

I nodded. "I've seen Ghast Rhymi. He

told me the way."

The men around us were watching and

listening. Lorryn hesitated.

"We didn't bargain for this," he said.

"Yet by the gods! To kill Llyr!

Suddenly he sprang into action,

shouting orders. Swords were sheathed.

Men ran to untether the mounts. Within

minutes we were in our saddles, riding

out from the courtyard, the shadow of the

Castle falling heavily upon us till the

moon lifted above the tallest tower.

I rose in my stirrups and looked back.

Up there, dead, sat Ghasti Rhymi, first of

the coven to die by my hand. I had killed

him as surely as if I had plunged steel

into his heart.

I dropped back into the saddle,

pressing heels into my horse's flanks. He

bolted forward. Lorryn urged his steed

level with me. Behind us the woodsmen

strung out in a long uneven line as we

galloped across the low hills toward the

distant mountains. It would be dawn

before we could reach Caer Llyr. And

there was no time to waste.

Medea and Edeyrn and Matholch! The

names of the three beat like muffled

drums in my brain. Traitors to me,

Medea no less than the others, for had

she not bent before the wills of Edeyrn

and Matholch, had she not been willing

to sacrifice me? Death I would give

Edeyrn and the wolfling. Medea I might

let live, but only as my slave, nothing

more.

With Ghast Rhymi dead, I was leader

of the Coven! In the old man's tower,

sentimental weakness had nearly

betrayed me. The weakness of Edward

Bond, I thought. His memories had

watered my will and diluted my power.

Now I no longer needed his

memories. At my side swung the Crystal

Mask and the Wand of Power. I knew

how to get the Sword Called Llyr. It was

Ganelon and not the weakling Edward

Bond, who would make himself master

of the Dark World.

Briefly I wondered where Bond was

now. When Medea had brought me

through the Need-fire to the Dark World,

Edward Bond, at that same moment,

must have returned to Earth. I smiled

ironically, imagining the surprise that

must have been his. Perhaps he had

tried, and was still trying, to get back to

the Dark World. But without Freydis to

aid him, his attempts would be useless.

Freydis was helping me now, not Bond.

And Bond would stay on Earth! The

substitution would not occur again if I

could help it. And I could help it. Strong

Freydis might be, but could she stand

against the man who had killed Llyr? I

did not think so.

I sent a sly sidewise glance at Lorryn.

Fool! Aries too was another of the same

breed. Only Freydis had sense enough

not to trust me.

The strongest of my enemies must die

first — Llyr. Then the Coven. After that,

the woodsmen would taste my power.

They would learn, that I was Ganelon,

not the Earth weakling, Edward Bond!

I thrust the memories of Bond out of

my mind. I drove them away. I banished

them utterly.

As Ganelon I would battle Llyr.

And as Ganelon I would rule the Dark

World!

Rule — with iron and fire!

14

Chapter

Fire of Life

HOURS BEFORE we came to Caer Llyr

we saw it, at first a blacker blackness

against the night sky, and slowly,

gradually, deepening into an ebon

mountain as the rose-gray dawn spread

behind us.

Our cantering shadows fell before us,

to be trodden under the horses' hoofs.

Cool, fresh winds whispered —

whispered of the sacrifice at Caer

Secaire, of the seeking minds of the

Coven that spied across the land.

But Caer Llyr loomed on the edge of

darkness ahead — guarding the night!

Huge the Caer was, and alien. It

seemed shapeless, a Titan mound of

jumbled black rock thrown almost

casually together. Yet I knew that there

was design in its strange geometry.

Two jet pillars, each fifty feet tall,

stood like the legs of a colossus, and

between them was an unguarded portal.

Only there was mere any touch of color

about the Caer.

A veil of flickering rainbows played

lambently, like a veil across the

threshold. Opalescent and faintly

glowing, the shadow-curtain swung and

quivered as though gentle winds drifted

through gossamer folds of silk.

Fifty feet high was that curtain and

twenty feet broad. Straddling it the ebon

pillars rose. And above and beyond,

towering breathtakingly to the dawn-

clouded sky, squatted the Caer, a

mountain-like structure that had never

been built by man.

From Caer Llyr a breath of fear came

coldly, scattering the woodsmen like

leaves before a gale. They broke ranks,

deployed out and drew together again as

I raised my hand and Lorryn called a

command.

I stared around at the low hills

surrounding us.

"Never in my memory or my father's

memory have men come this close to

Caer Llyr," Lorryn said. "Except for

Covenanters, of course. Nor would the

foresters follow me now, Bond. They

follow you."

How far would they follow? My

wondering thought was cut off as a

woodsman shouted warning. He rose in

his stirrups and pointed south.

Over the hills, riding like demons in a

dusty cloud, came horsemen, their armor

glittering in the red sunlight!

"So someone did escape from the

Castle," I said between my teeth. "And

the Coven have been warned, after all!"

Lorryn grinned and shrugged. "Not

many."

"Enough to delay us." I frowned,

trying to make the best plan. "Lorryn,

stop them. If the Coven ride with then-

guards, kill them too. But hold them back

from the Caer until —"

"Until?"

"I don't know. I'll need time. How

much time I can't say. Battling and

conquering Llyr won't be the work of a

moment."

"Nor is it the work of one man,"

Lorryn said doubtfully. "With us to aid

you, victory will fly at your elbow."

"I know the weapon against Llyr," I

said. "One man can wield it. But keep

the guardsmen back, and the Covenanters

too. Give me time!"

"There will be no difficulty about

that," Lorryn said, a flash of excitement

lighting his eyes. "For look!"

Angling across the hills, riding one by

one into view, hotly pursuing the

armored rout, came green-clad figures,

spurring their horses forward.

Those figures were woodsmen's

women whom we had left behind in the

valley. They were armed now, for I saw

the glitter of swords. Nor were swords

their only weapons. A spiteful crack

echoed, a puff of smoke arose, and one

of the guardsmen flung up his hands and

toppled from his mount.

Edward Bond had known how to

make rifles! And the woodsfolk had

learned how to use them!

At the head of the woods women I

noted two lithe forms, one a slim, supple

girl whose ashy-blond hair streamed

behind her like a banner. Aries.

And at her side, on a great white

steed, rode one whose giant form I could

not mistake even from this distance.

Freydis spurred forward like a Valkyrie

galloping into battle.

Freydis and Aries, and the women of

the forest!

Lorryn's laugh held exultation.

"We have them, Bond!" he cried, his

fist tightening on the rein. "Our women at

their heels, and we to strike from the

flank — we'll catch and crush them

between hammer and anvil. Gods grant

the shape-changer rides there!"

"Then ride," I snapped. "No more

talk! Ride and crush them. Hold them

back from the Caer!"

With that I raced my steed forward,

lying low on the horse's mane, driving

like a thunderbolt toward the black

mountain ahead. Did Lorryn know how

suicidal might be the mission on which I

had sent him? Matholch he might slay,

and even Medea. But if Edeyrn rode

with the Coven guards, if ever she

dropped the hood from her face, neither

sword nor bullet could save the

woodsmen!

Still they would give me time. And if

the woodsmen's ranks were thinned, so

much the better for me later. I would

deal with Edeyrn in my own way when

the time came.

Ahead the black columns stood.

Behind me a shouting rose, and a crackle

of rifle-fire. I looked back, but a fold of

the hills hid the combat from my eyes.

I sprang from the horse's back and

stood before the pillars — between

them. The coruscating veil sparkled and

ran like milky water before me. Above,

towering monstrously, stood the Caer,

the focus of the evil that had spread

across the Dark World.

And in it reposed Llyr, my enemy!

I still had the sword I had taken from

one of the woodsmen, but I doubted if

ordinary steel would be much good

within the Caer. Nevertheless I made

sure the weapon was at my side as I

walked forward.

I stepped through the veil.

For twenty paces I moved forward in

utter darkness. Then light came.

But it was the light that beats upon a

snow plain, so bright, so glittering, that

it blinds. I stood motionless, waiting.

Presently the dazzle resolved itself into

flickering atoms of brightness, weaving

and darting in arabesque patterns. Not

cold, no!

Tropical warmth beat upon me.

The shining atoms drove at me. They

tingled upon my face and hands. They

sank like intangible things through my

garments and were absorbed by my skin.

They did not lull me. Instead, my body

greedily drank that weird snowstorm of

— energy? — and was in turn energized

by it.

Tide of life sang ever stronger in my

veins.

I saw three gray shadows against the

white. Two tall and one slight and small

as a child's shadow.

I knew them. I knew who cast them.

I heard Matholch's voice.

"Kill him. Kill him now."

And Medea's answer.

"No. He need not die. He must not."

"But he must!" Matholch snarled, and

Edeyrn's sexless, thin voice echoed his.

"He is dangerous, Medea. He must

die, and only on Llyr's altar can he be

slain. For he is the Sealed of Llyr."

"He need not die," Medea said

stubbornly. "If he is made harmless —

weaponless — he may live."

"How?" Edeym asked, and for answer

the red witch stepped forward out of the

dazzling white shimmer.

No longer a shadow. No longer a two-

dimensional grayness. She stood before

me — Medea, witch of Colchis.

Her dark hair fell to her knees. Her

dark gaze slanted at me. Evil she was,

and alluring as Lilith.

I dropped my hand to sword-hilt.

I did not. I could not move. Faster

swirled the darting bright atoms,

whirling about me, sinking into my body

to betray me.

I could not move.

Beyond Medea the twin shadows bent

forward.

"The power of Llyr holds him,"

Edeyrn whispered. "But Ganelon is

strong, Medea. If he breaks his fetters,

we are lost."

"By then he will have no weapons,"

Medea said, and smiled at me.

Now indeed I knew my danger. Very

easily my steel could have bitten through

Medea's soft throat, and heartily I

wished it had done so long ago. For I

remembered Medea's power. The

mutation that set her apart from others.

That which had caused her to be named

— vampire.

I remembered victims of hers that I

had seen. The dead-eyed guardsmen, the

Castle slaves, hollow shells of men, the

walking dead, all soul drained from

them, and most of their life-forms as

well.

Her arms stole around my neck. Her

mouth lifted to mine.

In one hand she held her black wand.

It touched my head, and a gentle shock,

not unpleasant, crawled along my scalp.

The — the conductor, I knew, and a gust

of insane laughter shook me at the

incongruity of the weapon.

But there was no magic here. There

was science, of a high order, a science

made possible only for those who were

trained to it, or for those who were

mutants. Medea drank energy, but not

through sorcery. I had seen that wand

used too often to believe that.

The wand opened the closed circuits

of the mind and its energies. It tapped the

brain, as a copper wire can tap a

generated current.

Diverting the life-force to Medea!

The shining mist-motes swirled faster.

They closed in around us, bathing us in a

swirling cloak. The gray shadowiness

fell away from Edeym and Matholch.

Dun-cloaked, cowled dwarf and lean,

grinning wolfling stood there, watching.

Edeyrn's face I could not see, though

the deadly cold crept from beneath the

cowl like an icy wind. Matholch's

tongue crept out and circled his lips. His

eyes were bright with triumph and

excitement.

A numbing, lethargic languor was

stealing over me. Against my mouth as

Medea's lips grew hotter, more ardent,

as my own lips chilled. Desperately I

tried to move, to grasp my sword-hilt. I

could not.

Now the bright veil thinned again.

Beyond Matholch and Edeyrn I could

see a vast space, so enormous that my

gaze failed to pierce its violet depths. A

stairway led up to infinite heights.

A golden glow burned high above.

But behind Matholch and Edeyrn, a

little to one side, stood a curiously-

carved pedestal whose front was a

single pane of transparent glass. It shone

steadily with a cool blue light. What lay

within I did not know, but I recognized

that crystal pane.

Ghast Rhymi had spoken of it. Behind

it must lie the Sword Called Llyr.

Faintly now — faintly — I heard

Matholch's satisfied chuckle.

"Ganelon, my love, do not struggle

against me," Medea whispered. "Only I

can save you. When your madness

passes, we will return to the Castle."

Yes, for I would be no menace then.

Matholch would not bother to harm me.

As a mindless, soulless thing I would

return to the Castle of the Coven as

Medea's slave.

I, Ganelon, hereditary Lord of the

Coven and the Sealed of Llyr!

The golden glow high above

brightened. Crooked lightnings rushed

out from it and were lost in the violet

dimness.

My eyes found that golden light that

was the Window of Llyr.

My mind reached out toward it.

My soul strained to it!

Witch and vampire-mutation Medea

might be — or sorceress — but she had

never been sealed to Llyr. No dark

power beat latently in her blood as it

beat in mine. Well I knew now that, no

matter how I might renounce my

allegiance to Llyr, there yet had been a

bond. Llyr had power over me, but I

could draw upon his power as well!

I drew on that power now!

The golden window brightened. Again

forked lightnings ran out from it and

were gone. A muffled, heavy drum-beat

muttered from somewhere, like the pulse

of Llyr.

Like the heart of Llyr, stirring from

sleep to waking.

Through me power rushed, quickening

my flesh from its lethargy. I drew on

Llyr's power without measuring the cost.

I saw fear flash across Matholch's face,

and Edeyrn made a quick gesture.

"Medea," she said.

But Medea had already sensed that

quickening. I felt her body quiver

convulsively against mine. Avidly she

pressed against me, faster and faster she

drank the energy that made me alive.

But the energy of Llyr poured into me!

Hollow thunders roared in the vast

spaces above. The golden window

blazed with dazzling brightness. And

around us now the sparkling motes of

light paled, shrank, and were gone.

"Kill him!" Matholch howled. "He

holds Llyr!"

He sprang forward.

From somewhere a bloody figure in

dented armor stumbled. I saw Lorryn's

scarred face twist in amazement as he

blinked at the tableau. His sword, red to

the hilt, was bare in his hand.

He saw me with Medea's arms about

my neck.

He saw Edeyrn.

And he saw Matholch!

A wordless, inarticulate sound ripped

through Lorryn's throat. He lifted high

the sword.

As I tore myself free from Medea's

grip, as I sent her reeling away, I saw

Matholch's wand come up. I reached for

my own wand, but there was no need.

Lorryn's blade sang. Matholch's hand,

still gripping the wand, was severed at

the wrist. Blood spurted from cut

arteries.

Howling, the shape-changer dropped

forward. The lycanthropic change came

upon him. Hypnotism, mutation, dark

sorcery — I could not tell. But the thing

that sprang at Lorryn's throat was not

human.

Lorryn laughed. He sent his sword

spinning away.

He met the wolfling's charge, bracing

himself strongly and caught the thing by

throat and leg. Fanged jaws snapped

viciously at him.

Lorryn heaved the monster above his

head. His joints cracked with the

inhuman strain. One instant Lorryn stood

there, holding his enemy high, while the

wolf-jaws snarled and strove to rend

him.

He dashed the wolf down upon the

stones!

I heard bones snap like rotten twigs. I

heard a scream of dying, terrible agony

from a gaping muzzle from which blood

poured.

Then Matholch, in his own shape,

broken, dying, lay writhing at our feet!

15

Chapter

Lair of Power

MIRACULOUSLY the weakness that had

chained me was, gone. Llyr's strength

poured through me. I unsheathed my

sword and ran past Matholch's body,

ignoring Lorryn who stood motionless,

staring down. I ran to the pedestal with

its blue-litten pane.

I gripped the sword's blade and sent

the heavy hilt crashing against the glass.

There was a tinkling of pizzicato

notes, a singing of thin goblin laughter.

The shards fell clashing at my feet.

At my feet also dropped a sword. A

sword of crystal, nearly five feet long —

pommel and guard and blade all of

clearest glass.

It had been part of the window. For

within the hollow pedestal was nothing

at all. The sword had been part of the

pane, so that my breaking the crystal had

released

the

weapon

from its

camouflaged hiding-place.

Along the sleek blade blue light ran.

Within the crystal blue fires burned

wanly. I bent and picked up the sword.

The hilt was warm and alive.

The Sword Called Llyr in my left

hand, the sword with blade of steel in

my right, I stood upright.

Paralyzing cold breathed past me.

I knew that cold.

So I did not turn. I swung the steel

sword under my arm, snatched the

Crystal Mask from my belt, and donned

it. I drew the Wand of Power.

Only then did I turn.

Through the Mask queer glimmers and

shiftings ran, distorting what I saw. The

properties of light were oddly altered by

the Mask. But it had its purpose. It was a

filter.

Matholch lay motionless now. Beyond

his body Medea was rising to her feet,

her dark hair disordered. Facing me

stood Lorryn, a stone man, only his eyes

alive in his set, white face.

He was staring at Edeyrn, whose

sleek dark head I saw. Her back was

toward me. The cowl had been flung

back upon her shoulders.

Lorryn sagged down, the life going out

of him. Bonelessly as water he

collapsed.

He lay dead.

Then slowly, slowly, Edeym turned.

She was tiny as a child, and her face

was like a child's too, in its immature

roundness. But I did not see her face, for

even through the Crystal Mask burned

the Gorgon's glare.

The blood stilled within me. A slow

tide of ice crept with iron lethargy into

my brain and cold wariness engulfed me.

Only in the eyes of the Gorgon fire

burned:

Deadly radiations were there, what

Earth-scientists call ectogenetic rays, but

limited till now to the plant-world. Only

the mad mutation that had created Edeyrn

could have brought from hell such a

nightmare trick of biology.

But I did not fall. I did not die. The

radiations were filtered, made harmless,

by the vibration-warping properties of

the Mask I wore.

I lifted the Wand of Power.

Red fires blasted from it. Scarlet,

licking tongues seared out toward

Edeyrn.

Lashes of flame tore at her, like

crimson whips that burned and left

bloody weals on that calm child-face.

She drew back, the lance of her stare

driving at me.

With her, step by step, retreated

Medea. Toward the foot of the great

stairway that led to Llyr's Window.

The whips of fire seared across her

eyes.

She turned and, stumbling, began to

run up the stairway. Medea paused, her

arms lifted in an uncompleted gesture.

But in my face she read no softening.

She, too, turned, and followed

Edeyrn.

I dropped the useless sword of steel.

Wand in left hand, the Sword Called

Llyr in my right, I followed them.

As my foot touched the first step, a

trembling vibration shook the violet air

about me. Now almost I regretted having

called upon Llyr to break Medea's spell.

For Llyr was awake, watching, and

warned.

The pulse of Llyr muttered through the

huge Caer. The golden lightnings flamed

from the Window high above.

Briefly two black small silhouettes

showed against that amber glow. They

were Edeyrn and Medea, climbing.

After them I went. And at each step

the way grew harder. I seemed to walk

through a thickening, invisible torrent

dot was like a wind or a wave flowing

down from that shining window, striving

to tear me from my foothold, to rip the

crystal sword from my grip.

Up and up I went. Now the Window

was a glaring blaze of yellow fires. The

lightnings crackled out incessantly,

while rocking crashes of thunder

reverberated along the vaulted abysses

of the Caer. I leaned forward as though

against a gale. Doggedly I fought my way

up the stair.

There was someone behind me.

I did not turn. I dared not, for fear the

torrent would sweep me from my place.

I crawled up the last few steps, and

came out on a level platform of stone, a

disc-shaped dais, on which stood a ten-

foot cube. Three of its sides were of

black rock. The side that faced me was a

glaring blaze of amber brilliance.

Far below, dizzyingly far, was the

floor of the Caer. Behind me the

stairway ran down to those incredible

depths, and the tremendous wind still

blew upon me, pouring out from the

Window, seeking to whirl me to my

death.

To the Window's left stood Edeyrn, to

its right, Medea. And in the Window —

The blazing golden clouds whirled,

thickened, tossed like storm-mists, while

still the blinding flashes spurted from

them. The thunder never ceased now. But

it pulsed. It rose and fell in steady

cadence, in unison with the heart-beat of

Llyr.

Monster or mutation — human once,

or half-human — Llyr had grown in

power since then. Ghast Rhymi had

warned me.

Part machine and part pure energy and

part something unthinkable, the power of

Llyr blasted through the golden clouds

upon me!

The Wand of Power dropped from my

hand. I lifted the crystal sword and

managed one forward step. Then the

helltide caught me, and I could advance

no further. I could only fight, with every

bit of my strength, against the avalanche

that strove to thrust me toward the edge

of the hanging platform.

Louder grew the thunders. Brighter the

lightnings flamed.

The cold stare of Edeyrn chilled me.

Medea's face was inhuman now. Yellow

clouds boiled out from the Window and

caught Edeyrn and Medea in their

embrace.

Then they rolled toward me and

overwhelmed me.

Dimly I could see the brighter glow

that marked Llyr's Window. And two

vague silhouettes, Edeyrn and Medea.

I strove to step forward. Instead I was

borne back toward the edge — back and

back.

Great arms caught me about the waist.

A braid of white hair tossed by my eyes.

The giant strength of Freydis stood like a

wall of iron between me and the abyss.

From the corner of my eye I saw that

she had wound a scrap torn from her

white robe about her head, shielding her

from the Gorgon's stare. Blindly, guided

by some strange instinct, the Valkyrie

thrust me forward.

Against us the golden clouds rolled,

sentient, palpable, veined with white

lightnings and shaking with deep

thunders.

Freydis strove silently. I bent forward

like a bow, battering against the torrent.

Step by step I won forward, Freydis

to aid me. Ever she stood as a bulwark

against my back. I could hear her panting

breath, great gasps that ripped from her

throat as she linked her strength with

mine.

My chest felt as though a white-hot

core of iron was driven through it. Yet I

went on. Nothing existed now but that

golden brightening amid the clouds,

clouds of creation, sentient with the

shaking tumult of breaking universes,

worlds beyond worlds crashing into ruin

under the power of Llyr… .

I stood before the Window.

Without volition my arm swept up. I

brought the Sword Called Llyr smashing

down upon Llyr's Window.

In my hand the sword broke.

It fell to tinkling fragments at my feet.

The veined blue glimmers writhed and

coiled about the broken blade.

Were sucked into the Window.

Back rushed the cloud-masses. A

tremendous, nearly unbearable vibration

ripped through the Caer, shaking it like a

sapling. The golden clouds were drawn

through the Window.

With them went Edeyrn and Medea!

One glimpse I had of them, the brand

of my fire like a red mask across

Edeyrn's eyes, Medea's face despairing

and filled with a horror beyond life, her

gaze fixed on me with an imploring plea

that was infinitely terrible. Then they

vanished!

For one instant I saw through the

Window. I saw something beyond space

and time and dimension, a writhing,

ravening chaos that bore down upon

Medea and Edeyrn and a golden core of

light that I knew for Llyr.

Once almost human, Llyr, at the end,

bore no relation to anything remotely

human.

The grinding millstones of Chaos

crushed the three!

The thunder died.

Before me stood the altar of Llyr. But

it held no Window, now. All four sides

were of black, dead stone!

16

Chapter

Self Against Self

Blackness and black stones were the last

things I saw, before dark oblivion closed

down over me like folding wings. It was

as if Llyr's terrible resistance was all

that had held me upright in the last fierce

stages of our struggle. As he fell, so fell

Ganelon at the foot of the Windowless

altar.

How long I lay there I do not know.

But slowly, slowly Caer Llyr came back

around me, and I knew I was lying

prostrate upon the altar. I sat up

painfully, the dregs of exhaustion still

stiffening my body, though I knew-I must

have slept, for that exhaustion was no

longer the overwhelming tide that had

flooded me as I fell.

Beyond me, at the head of the great

steep of stairs, Freydis lay, half

stretched upon the steps as if she had

striven to return to her people in the

moment before collapsing. Her eyes

were still bound, and her mighty arms

lay flung out upon the platform, all

strength drained from them by the

fierceness of our battle. Strangely, as she

lay there, she brought back to my

double-minded memories the thought of

a figure from Earth — another mighty

woman in white robes, with bandaged

eyes and upraised arms, blind Justice

holding her eternal scales.

Faintly I smiled at the thought. In the

Dark World — my world, now —

Justice was Ganelon, and not blind.

Freydis stirred. One hand lifted

uncertainly to the cloth across her eyes. I

let her waken. Presently we must

struggle again together, Justice and I. But

I did not doubt who would prevail.

I rose to my knees, and heard a silvery

tinkling as something slid in fragments

from my shoulder. The Mask, broken

when I fell. Its crystal shards lay among

those other shards which had blasted

Llyr from the Dark World when the

Sword broke. I thought of the strange

blue lightnings which had wrought at last

what no other thing in the Dark World

could accomplish — Llyr's destruction.

And I thought I understood.

He had passed too far beyond this

world ever to touch it except in the

ceremonies of the Golden Window. Man,

demon, god, mutation into namelessness

— whatever he had been, he had kept

but one link with the Dark World which

spawned him. A link enshrined in the

Sword Called Llyr. By that talisman he

could return for the sacrifices which fed

him, return for the great ceremonies of

the Sealing that had made me half his

own. But only by that talisman.

So it must be safely hidden to be his

bridge for the returning. And safely

hidden it was. Without Ghast Rhymi's

knowledge, who could have found it?

Without the strength of the great Lord

Ganelon — well, yes, and the strength of

Freydis too — who could have won

close enough to the window to shatter

the Sword upon the only thing in the

Dark World that could break it? Yes,

Llyr had guarded his talisman as strongly

as any guard could. But vulnerable he

was, to the one man who could wield

that Sword.

So the Sword broke, and the bridge

between worlds broke, and Llyr was

gone into a chaos from which there

could never be a returning.

Medea, too — red witch of Colchis,

lost love, drinker of life, gone beyond

recalling… .

For a moment I closed my eyes.

"Well, Ganelon?"

I looked up. Freydis was smiling

grimly at me from beneath the uplifted

blindfold. I rose to my feet and watched

in silence while she got to hers. Triumph

flooded through me in great waves of

intoxicating warmth. The world I had

just wakened to was wholly mine now,

and not this woman nor any other human

should balk me of my destiny. Had I not

vanquished Llyr and slain the last of the

Coven? And was I not stronger in magic

than any man or woman now who

walked the Dark World? I laughed, the

deep sound echoing from the high vaults

about us and rolling back in reverberant

exultation until that which had been Caer

Llyr was alive with the noise of my

mirth. But Llyr was here no longer.

"Let this be Caer Ganelon!" I said,

hearing the echo of my own name come

rolling back as if the castle itself

replied.

"Ganelon!"

I

shouted.

"Caer

Ganelon!" I laughed to hear the whole

vast hollow repeating my name. While

the echoes still rolled I spoke to Freydis.

"You have a new master now, you

forest people! Because you helped me

you shall be rewarded, old woman, but I

am master of the Dark World — I

Ganelon!" And the walls roared back to

me, "Ganelon — Ganelon!"

Freydis smiled.

"Not so fast, Covenanter," she said

calmly. "Did you think I trusted you?"

I gave her a scornful smile, "What can

you do to me now? Only one thing could

slay me before today — Llyr Himself.

Now Llyr is gone, and Ganelon is

immortal! You have no power to touch

me, sorceress!"

She straightened on the step, her

ageless face a little below mine. There

was a sureness in her eyes that sent the

first twinge of uneasiness into my mind.

Yet what I had said was true for no one

in the Dark World could harm me, now.

Yet Freydis' smile did not waver.

"Once I sent you through limbo into

the Earth World," she said. "Could you stop me if I sent you there again?"

Relief quieted my tremor of unease.

"Tomorrow or the next day — yes, I

could stop you. Today, no. But I am

Ganelon now, and I know the way back.

I am Ganelon, and forewarned, and I

think you could not so easily send me

Earthward again, naked of memories and

clothed in another man's past. I

remember and I could return. You would

waste your time and mine, Freydis. Yet

try it, if you will and I warn you, I

should be back again before your spell

was finished."

Her quiet smile did not falter. She

folded her arms, hiding her hands in the

flowing sleeves. She was very sure of

herself.

"You think you are a godling,

Ganelon," she said. "You think no mortal

power can touch you now. You have

forgotten one thing. As Llyr had his

weakness, as Edeyrn did, and Medea

and Matholch so have you, Covenanter.

In this world there is no man to match

you. But in the Earth World there is,

Lord Ganelon! In that world your equal

lives, and I mean to call him out to fight

one last battle for the freedom of the

Dark World. Edward Bond could slay

you, Ganelon!"

I felt the blood leave my face, a little

wind of chill like Edeyrn's glance

breathed over me. I had forgotten. Even

Llyr, by his own unimaginable hand,

could have died. And I could die by my

own hand too, or by the hand of that

other self who was Edward Bond.

"Fool!" I said. "Dotard! Have you

forgotten that Bond and I can never stand

in the same world? When I came, he

vanished out of this land, just as I must

vanish if you bring him here. How can a

man and his reflection ever come hand to

hand? How could he touch me, old

woman?"

"Easily," she smiled. "Very easily. He

cannot fight you here, nor in the Earth

World. That is true. But limbo, Ganelon?

Have you forgotten limbo?"

Her hands came out of her sleeves.

There was a rod of blinding silver in

each. Before I could stir she had brought

the rods together, crossing them before

her smiling face. At the intersection

forces of tremendous power blazed into

an instant's being, forces that streamed

from the poles of the world and could

touch only for the beat of a second if that

world were not to be shaken into

fragments. I felt the building reel below

me.

I felt the gateway open.

Here was grayness, nothing but

oblivion made visible all around me. I

staggered with the suddenness of it, the

shock, and the terrible tide of anger that

came surging up through my whole body

at the knowledge of Freydis' trickery. It

was not to be endured, this magicking of

the Dark World's lord! I would fight my

way back and the vengeance I would

wreak upon Freydis would be a lesson

to all.

Out of the grayness a mirror loomed

before me. A mirror? I saw my own

face, bewildered, uncomprehending,

staring back into my eyes. But I was not

wearing the ragged blue garments of

sacrifice which I had donned so many

aeons ago in the Castle of the Coven. I

seemed to wear Earth garments, and I

seemed not quite myself, not quite

Ganelon. I seemed —

"Edward Bond!" said the voice of

Freydis behind me.

The reflection of myself glanced

across my shoulder, and a look of

recognition and unutterable relief came

over it.

"Freydis!" he cried, in my own voice.

"Freydis, thank God! I've tried so hard

—"

"Wait," Freydis stopped him. "Listen.

There is one last trial before you. This

man is Ganelon. He has undone all your

work among the forest people. He has

slain Llyr and the Coven. There is none

in the Dark World to stay his hand if he

wins his way back to it. Only you can

stop him, Edward Bond. Only you."

I did not wait for her to say anything

more. I knew what must be done. I

lunged forward before he could speak or

stir, and drove a heavy blow into the

face that might have been my own. It was

a strange thing to do. It was a hard thing.

At the last moment my muscles almost

refused me, for it was as if I struck

myself.

I saw him reel back, and my own head

reeled in imagination, so that the first

blow rocked us both.

He caught himself a dozen feet away

and stood for a moment, unsteady on his

feet, looking at me with a confusion that

might have been the mirror of my own

face, for I knew there was confusion

there too.

Then anger flushed those bewildering,

familiar features, and I saw blood break

from the corner of his mouth and trickle

across his chin. I laughed savagely. That

blood, somehow, made him my enemy. I

had seen the blood of enemies, springing

out in the wake of my blows, too often to

mistake him now for anything but what

he was. Myself — and my deadliest foe.

He dropped into a half-crouch and

came for me, stooping to protect his

body from my fists. I wished fervently

for a sword or a gun. I have never cared

for an equal fight, as Ganelon does not

fight for sport, but to win. But this fight

must be terribly, unbelievably equal.

He dodged beneath my blow, and I

felt the rocking jar of what seemed to be

my own fist jolting against my

cheekbone. He danced back, light-

footed, out of range.

Rage came snarling up in my throat. I

wanted nothing of his boxing, this game

fought by rules. Ganelon fought to win! I

roared at him from the full depth of my

lungs and hurled myself forward in a

crushing embrace that carried us both

heavily to the gray sponginess that was

limbo's floor. My fingers sank

delightfully in his throat. I groped

savagely for his eyes. He grunted with

effort and I felt his fist thud into my ribs,

and felt the sharp white pain of breaking

bone.

So wholly was he myself, and I he,

that for an instant I was not sure whose

rib had snapped beneath whose blow.

Then I drew a deep breath and sobbed it

out again half finished as pain like bright

light flashed through my body, and I

knew it was my own rib.

The knowledge maddened me.

Careless of pain or caution, I drove my

fists savagely into him at blind random,

feeling exultantly the crackle of bone

beneath my knuckles, the spurt of blood

over my hard-clenched hands. We strove

together in a terrible locked embrace,

there upon the floor of limbo, in a

nightmare that had no real being, except

for the pain shooting through me after

each breath.

But in a moment or two, I knew

somehow, very surely, that I was his

master. And this is how I knew. He

rolled half over to jab a hard blow into

my face, and before the blow began, I

had blocked it. I had known. He

squirmed from beneath me and braced

himself to strike me again in the ribs,

and before he could strike, I had twisted

sidewise away. Again I had known.

For I had been Edward Bond once, in

every way that matters. I had lived in his

memory and his world. And I knew

Edward Bond as I knew myself. Instinct

seemed to tell me what he would do

next. He could not out-think me, and so

he could not hope to out-tight me, to

whom his every thought was revealed in

the moment before he could act upon it.

Even in the pain of my broken rib, I

laughed then. Freydis had overreached

herself at last! In smothering Ganelon

under Edward Bond's memories in the

Earth World, she had given me the means

to vanquish him now! He was mine, to

finish when I chose, and the Dark World

was mine, and Edward Bond's kingdom

of free people was mine too, and

Edward Bond's lovely pale-haired

bride, and everything that might have

been his own.

I laughed exultantly, and twisted in

three perfectly timed motions that

blocked and overbalanced the man who

was myself. Three motions only — and

then I had him across my knee, taut-

stretched, his spine pressing hard against

my thigh.

I grinned down at him. My blood

dripped into his face. I saw it strike

there, and I met his eyes, and then

strangely, for one flashing instant, I knew

a fierce yearning for defeat. In that

instant, I prayed voicelessly to a

nameless god that Edward Bond might

yet save himself, and Ganelon might

die… .

I callled forth all the strength that was

in me, and limbo swam redly before my

eyes and the pain of my broken rib was a

lance of white light as I drew the deep

breath that was Edward Bond's last.

I broke his back across, my knee.

17

Chapter

Freedom at Last!

HURRIEDLY TWO cold, smooth hands

pressed hard upon my forehead. I looked

up. They slid lower, covering my eyes.

And weakness was like a blanket over

me. I knelt there, unresisting, feeling the

body of the man who had been myself

slide limply from my knee.

Freydis pressed me down. We lay

side by side, the living and the dead.

The silver rods of the sorceress

touched my head, and made a bridge

between Edward Bond and Ganelon. I

remembered Medea's wand that could

draw the life-force from the mind. A

dull, numbing paralysis had me. Little

tingling shocks rippled through my

nerves, and I could not move.

Sudden agonizing pain shot through

me. My back! I tried to scream with the

white fury of that wrenching agony, but

my throat was frozen. I felt Edward

Bond's wounds!

In that nightmare moment, while my

brain spun down the limitless corridors

of a science beyond that of mankind, I

knew what Freydis had done — what

she was doing.

I felt the mind of Edward Bond come

back from the gulfs. Side by side we lay

in flesh, and side by side in spirit as

well.

There was blackness, and two flames,

burning with a cold, clear fire… .

One was the mind — the life — of

Edward Bond. One was my life!

The flames bent toward each other!

They mingled and were one!

Life and soul and mind of Edward

Bond merged with life of Ganelon!

Where two flames had burned, there

was one now. One only.

And the identity of Ganelon ebbed,

sank… faded into a graying shadow as

the fires of Edward Bond's life leaped

even higher!

We were one. We were —

Edward Bond! No longer Ganelon!

No longer Lord of the Dark World,

Master of the Caere!

Magic of Freydis drowned the soul of

Ganelon and gave his body to the life of

Edward Bond!

I saw Ganelon — die!…

When I opened my eyes again, I knelt

upon the altar that had been Llyr's. The

empty vaults towered hollowly above

us. Limbo was gone. The body across

my knee was gone. Freydis smiled down

at me with her ageless, timeless smile.

"Welcome back to the Dark World,

Edward Bond."

Yes, it was true. I knew that. I knew it

was my own identity, housed though it

was in another man's body. Dizzily I

blinked, shook my head, and rose

slowly. Pain struck savagely at my side,

and I gasped and let Freydis spring

forward to support me on one great

white arm, while the hollow building

reeled about me. But Ganelon was gone.

He had vanished with limbo, vanished

like a scatter of smoke, vanished as if

the prayer he breathed in his extremity

had been answered by the nameless god

he prayed to.

I was Edward Bond again.

"Do you know why Ganelon could

break you, Edward Bond?" Freydis said

softly. "Do you know why you could not

vanquish him? It was not what he

thought. I know he believed he read your

mind because he had dwelt there, but

that was not the reason. When a man

fights himself, my son, the same man

does not fight to win. Only the suicide

hates himself. Deep within Ganelon lay

knowledge of his own evil, and the

hatred of it. So he could strike his own

image and exult in the blow, because he

hated himself in the depths of his own

mind.

"But you had earned your own

respect. You could not strike as hard as

he because you are not evil. And

Ganelon won — and lost. In the end, he

did not fight me. He had slain himself,

and the man who does that has no

combat left in him."

Her voice sank to a murmur. Then she

laughed.

"Go out now, Edward Bond. There is

much to be done in the Dark World!"

So, leaning upon her arm, I went

down the long steps that Ganelon had

climbed. I saw the green glimmer of the

day outside, the shimmer of leaves, the

motion of waiting people. I remembered

all that Ganelon had remembered, but

upon the mind of Ganelon the mind of

Edward

Bond

was

forever

superimposed, and I knew that only thus

could the Dark World be ruled.

The two together, twinned forever in

one body, and the control forever mine

— Edward Bond's.

We came out under the emptied arch

of the opening, and daylight was

blinding for a moment after that haunted

darkness. Then I saw the foresters

anxiously clustering in then- battered

ranks around the Caer, and I saw a pale

girl in green, haloed by her floating hair,

turn a face of incredulous radiance to

mine.

I forgot the pain in my side.

Aries' hair swam like mist about us

both as my arms closed around her. The

roar of exultation that went up from the

forest people swept the clearing and

made the great Caer behind us echo

through all its hollow vaults.

The Dark World was free, and ours.

But Medea, Medea, red witch of

Colchis, how we might have reigned

together!

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- Diapo 168

- Diapo 169

- Diapo 170

- Diapo 171

- Diapo 172

- Diapo 173

- Diapo 174

- Diapo 175

- Diapo 176

- Diapo 177

- Diapo 178

- Diapo 179

- Diapo 180

- Diapo 181

- Diapo 182

- Diapo 183

- Diapo 184

- Diapo 185

- Diapo 186

- Diapo 187

- Diapo 188

- Diapo 189

- Diapo 190

- Diapo 191

- Diapo 192

- Diapo 193

- Diapo 194

- Diapo 195

- Diapo 196

- Diapo 197

- Diapo 198

- Diapo 199

- Diapo 200

- Diapo 201

- Diapo 202

- Diapo 203

- Diapo 204

- Diapo 205

- Diapo 206

- Diapo 207

- Diapo 208

- Diapo 209

- Diapo 210

- Diapo 211

- Diapo 212

- Diapo 213

- Diapo 214

- Diapo 215

- Diapo 216

- Diapo 217

- Diapo 218

- Diapo 219

- Diapo 220

- Diapo 221

- Diapo 222

- Diapo 223

- Diapo 224

- Diapo 225

- Diapo 226

- Diapo 227

- Diapo 228

- Diapo 229

- Diapo 230

- Diapo 231

- Diapo 232

- Diapo 233

- Diapo 234

- Diapo 235

- Diapo 236

- Diapo 237

- Diapo 238

- Diapo 239

- Diapo 240

- Diapo 241

- Diapo 242

- Diapo 243

- Diapo 244

- Diapo 245

- Diapo 246

- Diapo 247

- Diapo 248

- Diapo 249

- Diapo 250

- Diapo 251

- Diapo 252

- Diapo 253

- Diapo 254

- Diapo 255

- Diapo 256

- Diapo 257

- Diapo 258

- Diapo 259

- Diapo 260

- Diapo 261

- Diapo 262

- Diapo 263

- Diapo 264

- Diapo 265

- Diapo 266

- Diapo 267

- Diapo 268

- Diapo 269

- Diapo 270

- Diapo 271

- Diapo 272

- Diapo 273

- Diapo 274

- Diapo 275

- Diapo 276

- Diapo 277

- Diapo 278

- Diapo 279

- Diapo 280

- Diapo 281

- Diapo 282

- Diapo 283

- Diapo 284

- Diapo 285

- Diapo 286

- Diapo 287

- Diapo 288

- Diapo 289

- Diapo 290

- Diapo 291

- Diapo 292

- Diapo 293

- Diapo 294

- Diapo 295

- Diapo 296

- Diapo 297

- Diapo 298

- Diapo 299

- Diapo 300

- Diapo 301

- Diapo 302

- Diapo 303

- Diapo 304

- Diapo 305

- Diapo 306

- Diapo 307

- Diapo 308

- Diapo 309

- Diapo 310

- Diapo 311

- Diapo 312

- Diapo 313

- Diapo 314

- Diapo 315

- Diapo 316

- Diapo 317

- Diapo 318

- Diapo 319

- Diapo 320

- Diapo 321

- Diapo 322

- Diapo 323

- Diapo 324

- Diapo 325

- Diapo 326

- Diapo 327

- Diapo 328

- Diapo 329

- Diapo 330

- Diapo 331

- Diapo 332

- Diapo 333

- Diapo 334

- Diapo 335

- Diapo 336

- Diapo 337

- Diapo 338

- Diapo 339

- Diapo 340

- Diapo 341

- Diapo 342

- Diapo 343

- Diapo 344

- Diapo 345

- Diapo 346

- Diapo 347

- Diapo 348

- Diapo 349

- Diapo 350

- Diapo 351

- Diapo 352

- Diapo 353

- Diapo 354

Table of Contents

Diapo 1

Diapo 2

Diapo 3

Diapo 4

Diapo 5

Diapo 6

Diapo 7

Diapo 8

Diapo 9

Diapo 10

Diapo 11

Diapo 12

Diapo 13

Diapo 14

Diapo 15

Diapo 16

Diapo 17

Diapo 18

Diapo 19

Diapo 20

Diapo 21

Diapo 22

Diapo 23

Diapo 24

Diapo 25

Diapo 26

Diapo 27

Diapo 28

Diapo 29

Diapo 30

Diapo 31

Diapo 32

Diapo 33

Diapo 34

Diapo 35

Diapo 36

Diapo 37

Diapo 38

Diapo 39

Diapo 40

Diapo 41

Diapo 42

Diapo 43

Diapo 44

Diapo 45

Diapo 46

Diapo 47

Diapo 48

Diapo 49

Diapo 50

Diapo 51

Diapo 52

Diapo 53

Diapo 54

Diapo 55

Diapo 56

Diapo 57

Diapo 58

Diapo 59

Diapo 60

Diapo 61

Diapo 62

Diapo 63

Diapo 64

Diapo 65

Diapo 66

Diapo 67

Diapo 68

Diapo 69

Diapo 70

Diapo 71

Diapo 72

Diapo 73

Diapo 74

Diapo 75

Diapo 76

Diapo 77

Diapo 78

Diapo 79

Diapo 80

Diapo 81

Diapo 82

Diapo 83

Diapo 84

Diapo 85

Diapo 86

Diapo 87

Diapo 88

Diapo 89

Diapo 90

Diapo 91

Diapo 92

Diapo 93

Diapo 94

Diapo 95

Diapo 96

Diapo 97

Diapo 98

Diapo 99

Diapo 100

Diapo 101

Diapo 102

Diapo 103

Diapo 104

Diapo 105

Diapo 106

Diapo 107

Diapo 108

Diapo 109

Diapo 110

Diapo 111

Diapo 112

Diapo 113

Diapo 114

Diapo 115

Diapo 116

Diapo 117

Diapo 118

Diapo 119

Diapo 120

Diapo 121

Diapo 122

Diapo 123

Diapo 124

Diapo 125

Diapo 126

Diapo 127

Diapo 128

Diapo 129

Diapo 130

Diapo 131

Diapo 132

Diapo 133

Diapo 134

Diapo 135

Diapo 136

Diapo 137

Diapo 138

Diapo 139

Diapo 140

Diapo 141

Diapo 142

Diapo 143

Diapo 144

Diapo 145

Diapo 146

Diapo 147

Diapo 148

Diapo 149

Diapo 150

Diapo 151

Diapo 152

Diapo 153

Diapo 154

Diapo 155

Diapo 156

Diapo 157

Diapo 158

Diapo 159

Diapo 160

Diapo 161

Diapo 162

Diapo 163

Diapo 164

Diapo 165

Diapo 166

Diapo 167

Diapo 168

Diapo 169

Diapo 170

Diapo 171

Diapo 172

Diapo 173

Diapo 174

Diapo 175

Diapo 176

Diapo 177

Diapo 178

Diapo 179

Diapo 180

Diapo 181

Diapo 182

Diapo 183

Diapo 184

Diapo 185

Diapo 186

Diapo 187

Diapo 188

Diapo 189

Diapo 190

Diapo 191

Diapo 192

Diapo 193

Diapo 194

Diapo 195

Diapo 196

Diapo 197

Diapo 198

Diapo 199

Diapo 200

Diapo 201

Diapo 202

Diapo 203

Diapo 204

Diapo 205

Diapo 206

Diapo 207

Diapo 208

Diapo 209

Diapo 210

Diapo 211

Diapo 212

Diapo 213

Diapo 214

Diapo 215

Diapo 216

Diapo 217

Diapo 218

Diapo 219

Diapo 220

Diapo 221

Diapo 222

Diapo 223

Diapo 224

Diapo 225

Diapo 226

Diapo 227

Diapo 228

Diapo 229

Diapo 230

Diapo 231

Diapo 232

Diapo 233

Diapo 234

Diapo 235

Diapo 236

Diapo 237

Diapo 238

Diapo 239

Diapo 240

Diapo 241

Diapo 242

Diapo 243

Diapo 244

Diapo 245

Diapo 246

Diapo 247

Diapo 248

Diapo 249

Diapo 250

Diapo 251

Diapo 252

Diapo 253

Diapo 254

Diapo 255

Diapo 256

Diapo 257

Diapo 258

Diapo 259

Diapo 260

Diapo 261

Diapo 262

Diapo 263

Diapo 264

Diapo 265

Diapo 266

Diapo 267

Diapo 268

Diapo 269

Diapo 270

Diapo 271

Diapo 272

Diapo 273

Diapo 274

Diapo 275

Diapo 276

Diapo 277

Diapo 278

Diapo 279

Diapo 280

Diapo 281

Diapo 282

Diapo 283

Diapo 284

Diapo 285

Diapo 286

Diapo 287

Diapo 288

Diapo 289

Diapo 290

Diapo 291

Diapo 292

Diapo 293

Diapo 294

Diapo 295

Diapo 296

Diapo 297

Diapo 298

Diapo 299

Diapo 300

Diapo 301

Diapo 302

Diapo 303

Diapo 304

Diapo 305

Diapo 306

Diapo 307

Diapo 308

Diapo 309

Diapo 310

Diapo 311

Diapo 312

Diapo 313

Diapo 314

Diapo 315

Diapo 316

Diapo 317

Diapo 318

Diapo 319

Diapo 320

Diapo 321

Diapo 322

Diapo 323

Diapo 324

Diapo 325

Diapo 326

Diapo 327

Diapo 328

Diapo 329

Diapo 330

Diapo 331

Diapo 332

Diapo 333

Diapo 334

Diapo 335

Diapo 336

Diapo 337

Diapo 338

Diapo 339

Diapo 340

Diapo 341

Diapo 342

Diapo 343

Diapo 344

Diapo 345

Diapo 346

Diapo 347

Diapo 348

Diapo 349

Diapo 350

Diapo 351

Diapo 352

Diapo 353

Diapo 354