Free The Queen of Swords by Michael Moorcock Page B

wings and fly skyward.
    Rhalina was staring in horror at the scene. “By all the Great Old Gods, Corum—what new foulness is this?”
    “It is a foulness which aids us,” said Corum grimly. And he called out, “Strike!”
    And the barbed lances were flung by scarlet arms and found the heads of each black bird. There was an agitation in the air and then the creatures had fallen to the slopes.
    Rhalina continued to watch wide-eyed as the living-dead riders dismounted and went to collect their prizes. Corum had learned what happened in that netherworld whenever he summoned aid from it. By calling upon his earlier victims he could have their aid if he supplied them with victims of their own—then these victims would replace them and presumably the souls of the first victims would be released to find peace. He hoped that this was so.
    The leading Vadhagh picked up two of the birds by their throats and slung them over his back. He turned a face that was half shorn away and looked through eyeless sockets at Corum.
    “It is done, master,” droned the dead voice.
    “Then you may return,” said Corum, half-choking.
    “Before I go, I must impart a message to you, master.”
    “A message? From whom?”
    “From One Who is Closer to You than You Know,” said the dead Vadhagh mechanically. “He says that you must seek the Lake of Voices, that if you have the courage to sail across it then you might find help in your quest.”
    “The Lake of Voices. Where is it? Who is this creature you speak of…”
    “The Lake of Voices lies beyond this mountain range. Now I depart, master. We thank you for our prizes.”
    Corum could bear no longer to look at the Vadhagh. He turned away, replacing the jeweled patch over his eye. When he looked back the Vadhagh had gone and so had the birds, all save the one which had been slain by the Hand of Kwll.
    Rhalina’s face was pale. “These ‘allies’ of yours are no better than creatures of Chaos! It must corrupt us to use them, Corum…”
    Jhary got up from the position in which he had been before the arrival of Corum’s ghastly warriors. “It is Chaos which corrupts us,” he said lightly, “which makes us fight. Chaos brutalizes all—even those who do not serve it. That you must accept, Lady Rhalina. I know it is the truth.”
    She lowered her eyes. “Let us make our way to this lake,” she said. “What was its name?”
    “A strange one.” Corum looked back at the last dead bird. “The Lake of Voices.”
    They trudged on through the mountains, resting frequently now that the danger of the birds had been removed, beginning to feel a new threat—that of hunger and thirst, for they had no provisions with them.
    Eventually they began to descend and they saw sparse grass growing on the lower slopes and beyond the grass a lake of blue water—a calm and beautiful lake which they could not believe existed in any realm of Chaos.
    “It is lovely!” Rhalina gasped. “And we might find food there—and at least we shall be able to quench our thirst.”
    “Aye…” said Corum, more suspiciously.
    And Jhary said, “I think your informant said we should need courage to cross it. I wonder what danger it holds.”
    * * *
    They could barely walk by the time they reached the grassy slopes and left the harsh rock behind them. On the grass they rested and they found a spring nearby so that they did not have to wait until they reached the lake to quench their thirst. Jhary murmured a word to his cat which sprang suddenly into the air on its wings and was soon lost from sight.
    “Where have you sent the cat, Jhary?” asked Corum.
    Jhary winked at him. “Hunting,” he said.
    Sure enough, in a very short time the cat returned with a small rabbit, almost as big as itself, in its claws. It deposited the rabbit and then left to find another. Jhary busied himself with the building of a fire and soon they had feasted and were sleeping while one of their number kept watch until he was relieved by