King Of Swords by Michael Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock [Moorcock, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-16T16:34:26.093000+00:00

And the Lady Jane smiled in reply. "Aye. Well, by and by Gerane—that was one of his names—became reconciled to some degree and he and I fell in love and were happy for a short while. Sadly, I had not accounted for the fact that Aireda was also in love with Gerane." She sighed. "I had dreamed of being Guinevere, of Isolde, of other heroines of romance, but I had forgotten that all these women were the victims of tragedy in the end. Our tragedy began to play itself out and at first I was not aware of it. Jealousy took power over Aireda and she grew to hate first me and then Gerane. She would plan revenges on us of varying sorts, but they were never completely satisfying to her. She had heard that Gerane's people had enemies

—another race with bleaker souls—and she had guessed that one of her mother's rituals had to do with summoning members of this race—other demons, her mother had thought. Her first attempts were unsuccessful, but she absorbed herself in remembering every detail of those old spells."

"She conjured up Gerane's enemies?"

"Aye. Three of them came one night into the house. She was their first victim, for they hate humans as much as they hate elves—your folk. Shambling, awkward, poorly fashioned creatures they were, completely unlike your folk, Prince Corum. We should call them trolls or some such name."

"And what did they do after they had slain Aireda?"

"She was not slain, but badly wounded, for it was in conversation with her later that I learned what she had done . . ."

"And Gerane?"

"He had no sword. He had come with none. He had needed none in the Manor in the Forest."

"He was killed?"

"He heard the noise in the hall and came down to see what caused it. They butchered him there, by the door."

She pointed. The tears shone on her cheeks now. "They cut him into sections, my elfin love..." She lowered her head.

Corum got up and went to comfort the old, beautiful Lady Jane Pentallyon. She gripped his mortal hand just once and had once again contained her grief. She straightened her back. "The—trolls—did not remain in the house. Doubtless they were confused by what had happened to them. They ran off into the night."

"Do you know what became of them?" Jhary asked.

"I heard several years later that beasts resembling men had begun to terrorize the folk of Exmoor and had eventually been taken and had stakes driven through their hearts, for they were thought to be the Devil's spawn. But the story spoke of only two, so perhaps one still lives in some lonely spot, still unaware of what had happened to him or where he is. I feel a certain sympathy for him ..."

"Do not grieve yourself, lady, by any further telling of this tale," said Corum gently.

"Since then," she went on, "I have concerned myself with the study of old wisdom. I learned something from Gerane and I have since spoken with various men and women who reckon themselves versed in the mystic arts.

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