Jonathan Strahan - Swords & Dark Magic - The New Sword and Sorcery

“But only one entity came forth,” said Sir Hereward. “And it didn’t try to kill me, at least not at first. It wanted me to open the parchment that was inside the mandora.”

“The sorcerer-merchants of Jerreke were famous as inept merchants and ineffective sorcerers,” sniffed Mister Fitz. “In this case, the spell was set off long ago, but due to the botched execution, only one entity was released. Realizing its twin was still entrapped within the mandora, it had to wait inside the chest for the opportunity to make someone else release its companion. Neither Sister Gobbe, who initially brought you the book, nor Lallit, both being in the eye of her god, would be suitable persons to release the twin, so it came down to you. However, by breaking the item that had once held it in bond—the book, or rather the outer pages bound around these remains—you immediately banished it.”

“But the twin is still trapped inside the mandora?” asked Sir Hereward.

“Indeed,” said Mister Fitz. “And as, of course, it is a listed entity, albeit a minor one…”

“Yes,” said Sir Hereward. “Lallit, Jabek, if you would excuse us for a few minutes?”

“Certainly, Sir Hereward,” said Jabek. He turned and left at once. Hereward helped Lallit to stand, holding her perhaps a little closer than was necessary. She looked him in the eye as she stood up, and smiled.

“I am sorry about your vow, Sir Hereward,” she said. Her breath was very sweet, and the blanket very loose upon her body. “I have a vow also, as do all the novices of Narhalet-Narhalit…that until we are consecrated, we shall not…”

“I know,” said Sir Hereward, with a glance at Mister Fitz. “I mean, I know now. Best you be going, Lallit.”

“If it were not for the god’s presence, reminding me of what I will become, I might have forgotten that vow,” whispered Lallit. Then she was gone, wafting past him.

Hereward sighed, hopped over to his saddlebag, and got out a silk armband, a brassard embroidered with sorcerous symbols that shone with their own light, though this was faint under the sun’s bright shaft that came in through the northern window.

“Should I fix your shoulder first?” asked Mister Fitz, as he took his own brassard out from under his hat, and slid it up his arm.

“It’s only a trifle. I think that Nar-Nar has already stopped it bleeding,” said Sir Hereward. He gave a grunt of pain that lessened the effect of this statement, twitching his shoulder as he settled the brassard above his elbow. “I may well get another wound in the next few minutes, to keep you busy. Now, will you open the parchment and I shall strike it on the head with the mandora?”

“Yes,” said Mister Fitz, his slim puppet fingers reaching in through the now-slack strings to pull out the sealed triangle. He held it ready, and looked at Sir Hereward. “But first…”

“I know, I know,” grumbled Sir Hereward. “What’s the thing’s name? Or do I just say ‘Summoned Antagonist’?”

Mister Fitz looked at the parchment for a long second. His painted eyes could see many more things than any human gaze, both in and beyond the ordinary world.

“Hypgrix the Second.”

“Right.”

Sir Hereward picked up his saber and set it ready on the bed, just in case, before holding the mandora high above the parchment. Then he spoke, the words coming as they always did, familiar and strong, the symbols on his and Mister Fitz’s brassards growing brighter with every word.

“In the name of the Council of the Treaty for the Safety of the World, acting under the authority granted by the Three Empires, the Seven Kingdoms, the Palatine Regency, the Jessar Republic, and the Forty Lesser Realms, we declare ourselves agents of the Council. We identify the godlet manifested in this parchment of Jerreke, as Hypgrix the Second, a listed entity under the Treaty. Consequently, the said godlet and all those who assist it are deemed to be enemies of the World and the Council authorizes us to pursue any and all actions necessary to banish, repel, or exterminate the said godlet.”

Mister Fitz broke the seals on the parchment of “godlet,” and even as the creature within boiled up like smoke and began to coalesce into something resembling flesh, Sir Hereward brought the mandora down upon it. Both beast and instrument immediately turned to dust, Mister Fitz gestured, and the dust blew out the window and was gone.

Sir Hereward winced as he sat back down on the bed, and looked at Mister Fitz.

“Now, tell me,” he said. “Why are you covered in salt?”

“Salt?” asked Mister Fitz. “It is not salt, but powdered bone and chalk. I have been digging in the tomb of some ancient, vasty creatures. It has been most interesting. Though not, it is clear, as exciting as your reading.”

“Perhaps not,” said Sir Hereward. He lay back on the bed, and pointed at a long wooden case that lay on the floor near his saddlebag. “If you can spare yourself from your digging, what say you to a game of kings and fools?”

Mister Fitz’s pumpkin-size head slowly rotated on his ridiculously thin neck, and his blue eyes peered at Sir Hereward’s face.

“So soon after your last defeat? You are transparent, Here-ward, but I doubt you have found some real advantage. The better player always wins.”

“We shall see,” said Sir Hereward. “Please lay out the set, and if you would be so kind, call down for ale.”

“Oh, and put this back in its place,” said Sir Hereward, stripping the brassard from his arm. “I trust that I will not need it, at least until we reach Bazynghame?”

“Best keep it near,” said Mister Fitz, as he picked up the game box. “There is the small matter of what I was digging for—and what I have found…”

MICHAEL MOORCOCK was born in London, England. At the age of sixteen, he became editor of Tarzan Adventures, and later, Sexton Black Library . But it was his editorship of New Worlds magazine, from May 1964 to March 1971, during which he fostered the “New Wave,” perhaps the most important movement in the history of science fiction. Moorcock is best known, however, for his creation of the Multiverse and his influence on sword and sorcery (a subgenre he helped name, together with Fritz Leiber). His character, Elric of Melniboné, is one of the most influential fantasy antiheroes the genre has ever produced. Not only have the novels been in continuous print since the 1970s, but Elric has crossed over into comics, role-playing games, and rock and roll. Moorcock’s influence on sword and sorcery fiction is colossal and no anthology of same could hope to be complete without him. He and his wife, Linda, currently divide their time between Texas, France, and California.

The sun, rimmed in copper now and bloated as if with blood, settled upon the horizon, casting long black shadows across the strangely made ship, the Silela Li . On deck, two priestesses of Xiombarg, in their elaborate quilted habits and glinting bronze crowns, stood at the ship’s rail, considering the view and listening to the distant hungry roar which greeted the coming of darkness with godlike glee. The women began to chant, performing their evening prayers, and it seemed to them that a great shadow in the form of a woman, the shape preferred by their deity, appeared in the sky overhead. As they completed their ritual, two men came up from the passenger quarters below. One was short, with a shock of startling red hair, a ruddy complexion, large blue eyes, and a wide, smiling mouth. He wore a thick padded jacket and deerskin britches tucked into soft boots. His tall companion was clad in black, silk and leather, hair the colour of milk, skin pale as the thinnest bleached linen. His long head with its tapering ears and slightly slanting brows was as remarkable as his sharp, glittering ruby-coloured eyes. Like his companion, he was unarmed. The women, lowering their hands, completed their ceremonies and turned, surprised to see the men, who bowed politely. The priestesses acknowledged the two and passed down the companionway, returning to their cabin below decks. The men replaced the women at the rail of the Silela Li . The disc of the sun was halfway below the water now, its light cutting a red road across the sea.