The War Hound and the World's Pain by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online Page A

their condition. I am as sane as you, sir.”
    “Then you are, after all, only half-mad,” I told her. I offered her my arm as I opened the bedroom door for her. The passage beyond was cold. “Where does this Lucifer of yours hold Court?”
    “In Hell,” she said.
    We walked slowly along the passage and began to descend the broad stone steps towards the main hall.
    “And His castle is in Hell?” I asked, looking about me in a somewhat theatrical fashion. I could see the trees through the windows. Everything was exactly as it had been during my stay there.
    “It could be,” she said.
    I shook my head. It took much to threaten my rational view of the world, for my mind had been tempered in the fires of the War, by its terrors and its cruelties, and had survived the contemplation of considerable evil and delusion. “Then all the world is Hell? Do you propose that philosophy?”
    “Ah,” she said, almost gaily, “is that what we are left with, sir, when we have discarded every other hope?”
    “It is a sign of Hope, is it, to believe our own world Hell?”
    “Hell is better than nothing,” she answered, “to many, at least.”
    “I refuse to believe such nonsense,” I told her. “I have become grim and absolute, madam, in most of my opinions. We appear to be returning to the realm of speculation. I wish to see a concrete Devil and, if we are in Hell, concrete proof of that statement.”
    “You are overeconomical, sir, in the use of your intelligence.”
    “I think not. I am a soldier, as I’ve told you more than once. It is a soldier’s trait. Simple facts are his trade.”
    “We have already discussed your reasons for choosing to become a soldier, sir.”
    I was amused, once more, by the sharpness of her wit.
    We were walking down the steps, alternately through sunlight and shadow. The shift of light gave her features a variety of casts, which had become familiar to me.
    Such strength of mind or of body was not usually associated either with witchcraft or with Satan-worship. In my experience, as Sabrina had already hinted to me, those who sought the aid of demons were wretched, powerless creatures who had given up hope of all salvation, whether it be on Earth or in Heaven.
    We were crossing the main floor now, towards the huge doors of the library.
    “He is in there,” she said.
    I stopped, loosening my sword. I sniffed.
    “Still no brimstone,” I said. “Has He horns, your Master? A long tail? Cloven hooves? Does fire come from His nostrils? Or is His enchantment of a subtler sort?”
    “I would say that it was subtler,” she told me softly. She seemed torn between proving herself and wishing to flee with me. Her expression was challenging and yet fearful as she looked up at me. She seemed even more beautiful. I touched her hair, stroking it. I kissed her upon her warm lips.
    Then I strode forward and pushed the large doors open.
    Sabrina put her hand on my arm and preceded me into the room. She curtseyed.
    “Master, I have brought you Captain von Bek.”
    I followed immediately behind her, my sword ready, my mind prepared for any challenge, yet my resolve left me immediately.
    Seated at the central table and apparently reading a book was the most wonderful being I had ever seen.
    I became light-headed. My body refused any commands. I found myself bowing.
    He was naked and His skin glowed as if with soft, quivering flames. His curling hair was silver and His eyes were molten copper. His body was huge and perfectly formed, and when His lips smiled upon me I felt that I had never loved before; I loved Him. He bore an aura about His person which I had never associated with the Devil: perhaps it was a kind of dignified humility combined with a sense of almost limitless power.
    He spoke in a sweet, mature voice, putting down the book.
    “Welcome, Captain von Bek. I am Lucifer.”
    I was speaking. I believed Him at that moment and I said as much.
    Lucifer acknowledged this, standing to His full height