The Demon #2

Morgaine le Fey is a powerful sorceress with a long history.  

She was introduced in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s The Life of Merlin around 1150. Since then she has appeared in numerous works of literature and has been depicted in various ways by different authors, though she is almost always cast as an enemy of King Arthur. The reason for her hatred of Arthur also varies, but it is usually related to sibling rivalry, albeit in its most extreme form. 

The spelling of her name varies, as well, but the meaning remains the same. The word “fay” (also spelled “fey”), as any fantasy fan can tell you, refers to supernatural spirits that dwell, unseen by most humans, in forested areas: fairies, elves, brownies, et cetera. Their proximity to trees suggests that magic (shorthand for the supernatural) flourishes in areas where nature’s concentration is the greatest. Deforestation diminishes its power, it seems. Man’s interference weakens it. “Fey” can also mean “wild,” which is certainly a related term. We frequently use the word to suggest erratic or unpredictable behavior, but let’s not forget that it also means “untamed,” as in not adhering to the standards of civilized society. 

While magic is a difficult term to pin down, it’s generally understood as an inscrutable force that permits the existence of creatures and phenomena beyond that which is considered “normal.” In the ancient world, it was the go-to explanation for anything unusual. In mythical terms, it is a permutation of the life force endemic to our plane of existence. Its trappings are alien to us because they represent a different arrangement of the elements. (I am referring here to earth, water, wind, and fire, rather than to the chemical elements found on the periodic table.) The ability to harness it is the bailiwick of the wizard and the witch. Tapping into it is certainly a task unto itself, but learning to control and manipulate it is the real rub. 

While little is actually known about the druids, it has been suggested that they subscribed to a belief in pantheism, the notion that God’s essence permeates all of creation. This is, at its core, a similar concept to magic: the dissemination of the “divine” throughout nature, finding its greatest strength in vessels that can best contain it.  

The upshot of all of this is that when we put it all together we come out with Morgaine the Supernatural. Is she by her very nature a magical creature? Something other than human? Her name could be interpreted as such. 

In some stories Morgaine apprentices under Merlin, which is interesting because in this way he has a hand in creating his liege’s greatest foe. It’s difficult to say unequivocally, but in the Arthurian legends it seems that there is no distinction made between what constitutes “white” magic and “black” magic. It all derives from the same source, and a sorcerer’s preferences are all that determines on which end of the spectrum he or she operates. The universal, ongoing battle between good and evil that echoes through the ages requires a balance between the two sides; otherwise one would too easily defeat the other. It makes sense, then, that the two sides have access to similar weaponry. 

The rivalry between Morgaine and Merlin is about as good as anyone could hope for, and it forms the foundation of Jack Kirby’s foray into fantasy/horror. 

The Demon #2 picks up right where the first issue left off. Morgaine’s forces have infiltrated the catacombs beneath the mysterious Castle Branek and, as such, are struggling with the “resurrected” Etrigan (he has been imprisoned in the body of Jason Blood for centuries). It soon becomes clear that they are no match for him, and Morgaine is forced use her sorcery to subdue him. When the smoke clears, it is the form of Blood that lies unconscious on the flagstones. 

When his senses return, Blood finds himself being lifted into a sitting position by three men, including one Inspector Stavic (seen briefly in the previous issue), from the nearby village. They are eager to know what business he has at the castle and what happened there. Blood tells them that they are in Merlin’s tomb, and that the “phantoms in black” (Morgaine’s men) escaped with “what they came for.” The gargoyle statues surrounding the crypt spring to life suddenly but crumble to dust at the slightest touch. At this, Merlin’s shadow materializes before the astonished men and apprises them that Morgaine has stolen a powerful spell but that Blood’s “memory” will help them find her. 

Meanwhile, Morgaine has repaired to Walpurgis Wood, a “place of witches,” according to Stavic. As fires blaze and occultists dance around in the throes of sorcery, she removes her mask and begins to weave the spell taken from the crypt, which will restore her youth. Blood and Stavic arrive, but before they can stop the ritual, they are attacked by a monstrous “gorla” guarding the perimeter. Blood is no match for the creature’s strength, and the bullets from Stavic’s gun have no effect. 

Thankfully, Blood’s friend Randu, a U. N. delegate from India, senses that something is wrong. Using mystical abilities akin to ESP, he mentally sends the words that summon Etrigan across the thousands of miles to Central Europe. Blood again transforms into his demonic alter ego and dispatches the gorla. He then disrupts the ritual, causing a huge explosion that leaves a smoking crater and no sign of Morgaine or her henchmen. 

Back in human form, Blood assesses the devastation, knowing that they’ve not seen the last of the sorceress.

It is clear by end of this issue that the series is already beginning to find its footing. Many of the characters and concepts introduced in the first issue make more sense here, and the story is better structured. Kirby’s art is, of course, fantastic and provides the reader with an almost palpable sense of wonder not seen since Marvel’s “monster” comics of the late 1950s. It is remarkable just how much he packs into a single issue, into each page. His creative energy, at this point, seems inexhaustible. The dialogue, his frequent weakness, is even effective. Two issues in, we’ve already gotten to the “meat” of the comic.

 

The Demon #2 is an excellent representation of Kirby at the peak of his creative powers. As the story unfolds, there is a very real sense of greater things on the horizon. I can’t really think of anything negative to say about this issue; sometimes Kirby just got everything right.

The Demon #1

According to Ronin Ro, author of Tales to Astonish: Jack Kirby, Stan Lee, and the American Comic Book Revolution, Kirby came up with the concept of the The Demon and the plot for the first issue during dinner at a Howard Johnson’s. Tasked with creating a new title, “Jack sat quietly and thought about what to bring Carmine [Infantino, DC’s publisher]. Soon he started telling [his wife, daughters, and assistants] a story about a man named Jason Blood and his ability to transform into a fiend from hell.” 

This isn’t hard to believe when you consider that Kirby was known for his staggering imagination and seemingly inexhaustible well of ideas (some better than others, admittedly). And while the comics he created for DC aren’t as memorable as those he did for Marvel, his output at the former was still remarkable, though it might not have been as well appreciated as it should have been at the time. (Bear in mind that the comics industry was undergoing major changes when Kirby made the move to DC, and, at least according to some, Kirby was unwilling or unable to adapt. Thankfully, his work from this period is generally better regarded in retrospect.) 

The original series, which debuted in 1972, lasted only sixteen issues, but Etrigan remains a fairly popular character in the DC Universe. (I’d compare him to Marvel’s Doctor Strange: valuable but not necessarily strong enough to carry his own series.) Most recently, he’s served as the central character in Demon Knights, one of the original titles of the New 52 initiative. Unfortunately, the series is getting the ax in August with #23 (predictable, since fantasy comics, for reasons that I will never understand, are mostly ignored by fans), but at least it outlasted many of DC’s new books. (By contrast, the second series of Sword of Sorcery, featuring Amethyst and introduced as a replacement title, while well written and beautifully illustrated, only stuck around for eight issues.) In spite of this, I’m sure he’ll continue to show up in other comics from time to time. 

The Demon occupies an interesting place in the history of comics. In some ways, it’s a darker exploration of the concept behind the Hulk (though the Hulk himself was derived from a conflation of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Frankenstein). There are also unmistakable echoes of Marvel’s Thor. As far as the first issue is concerned, the “mechanism” by which Etrigan is changed into Blood is difficult to pin down, just as Thor’s transformation into Donald Blake is a bit of a head-scratcher. Both men are unaware of their other selves until something releases them. In the case of Thor, it’s the discovery of Mjolnir in its hidden location. In the case of Etrigan, it’s a vault in an ancient castle. In both instances, magical words are involved; an inscription is related to their hidden alter egos. This comes as no surprise, as words are used to powerful effect throughout mythology. 

The Hulk, on the other hand, is very much a creature of pure emotion. He is neither demon nor god. He is a manifestation of repressed anger, of frustration. Like Thor and Etrigan, however, he is unaware that such a thing dwells within him. Bruce Banner has forgotten his unpleasant childhood and the feelings associated with it. Blood’s history is mysterious to him; he doesn’t realize that his “ancestors” (including one painted by Rembrandt) are all just him. Both men lose themselves in their respective careers: Banner in physics, Blood in, appropriately enough, demonology. 

It also prompts the question (not “begs”; check Wikipedia) of where fantasy ends and horror begins. Most fantasy, at least to some degree, includes elements of horror, though the purpose of the monsters in fantasy is to provide something for the heroes to fight, something that clearly represents an element of evil (or, at the very least, savagery encroaching on civilization), rather than to scare people. Kirby thought of The Demon as a horror title (even though it differed greatly from books such as DC’s House of Mystery and Warren’s Eerie and Creepy), but it doesn’t appear that his intent was to keep readers awake at night.  

The “horror” in this book is related to the idea that sorcery, such as the kind practiced by Merlin, is inherently evil, deriving from creatures dwelling in hellish realms beyond our own. Merlin has typically been considered a “good” character, but along with that he has frequently been cast as dangerous, as someone whose tireless quest for esoteric knowledge has thrown him into the paths of infernal forces, entangling him in their dark designs. How good can a character really be if he has summoned a demon? Can something so evil be used as an instrument for good? Or is the concept of “good” really just relative? Are good and evil essentially just two opposing sides, in binary opposition, eternally struggling with each other?  

Like the Hulk, Etrigan doesn’t fit the heroic archetype, which certainly made his book stand out on the racks when it was published. (These days, of course, such a thing isn’t that unusual.) A monster with his own comic? Other than The Incredible Hulk (and by this point readers knew he was really a good guy, more or less), this kind of thing hadn’t really been seen before. (Note that Swamp Thing didn’t get his own book until two months later.) Despite the approval of the Comics Code, some parents still might have forbidden their children to lay down twenty cents for this thing. The first issue sold well, however, perhaps because some kids bought it just to defy their folks. 

A character like Superman is easily recognizable as a hero. And while Batman’s appearance frequently instills fear at first blush, he has an easy-enough time, given the opportunity, of convincing the innocent that he’s on their side. The Hulk has a much harder time getting people to believe that he means them no harm, especially in his childlike persona (Peter David defined it as the “id” of the Freudian psychic apparatus). Even though the Hulk isn’t evil, his episodes of rage cause mass destruction, and, for this reason and others, he is relentlessly hunted by Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross and the army (until Ross becomes a Hulk himself and sees the error of his ways, that is). Etrigan isn’t a hero in the traditional sense. He has no sense of altruism. His infernal origins would make such a thing functionally impossible.

The Demon #1, “Unleash the One Who Waits,” opens in Camelot. The forces of Morgaine le Fey are attacking the castle, and Merlin declares that neither he nor his “Eternity Book” will fall into the hands of the enemy. The castle’s walls are no match for Morgaine’s sorcery, but her troops are “stopped and thrown back by an attacker of unequalled ferocity.” This attacker is a demon in Merlin’s service. As the castle crumbles amidst the rising flames, Merlin calls to his infernal servant and gives him a page from his magic tome to keep in his possession until the time comes when he is needed again. As he walks away from the ruin, his shape changes into that of a man, and his memories fade. 

The story picks up centuries later, as Jason Blood is discussing the page Merlin gave him (although he is unaware of its origins) with a sorcerer. Blood explains that he has been having nightmares about a demon, and desiring an explanation he has taken great pains to track the man down. The sorcerer tells him that the page reads “Yarva! Etrigan! Daemonicus!” (“I summon the demon, Etrigan!”). Suddenly, an empty suit of armor assails Blood. He seizes a burning brand from the fireplace, thrusting it into his foe’s face, and the armor explodes. Unconscious, Blood experiences visions of Etrigan engaged in fierce combat. Morgaine, a mask concealing her wizened features, appears. It is clear that she knows Blood’s secret and that it’s only a matter of time before Merlin summons him. 

When Blood awakens, he finds himself lying in the grass outside the ruins of the structure he had been inside only an hour before. The sorcerer, not surprisingly, has vanished.  

On the other side of the world, a statue from Castle Branek comes to life, much to shock of the villagers, and disappears into an opening in the ground. During a dinner party at Blood’s apartment, the statue shows up at the door and presents Blood with a scroll. He understands that the statue is one of the “Unliving,” sent to bring him to Castle Branek. He agrees, unaware that Morgaine and the sorcerer have been observing all of this through a two-way mirror.  

When Blood reaches the castle, he is ambushed by Morgaine’s men. The statue bears the brunt of the attack, and Blood responds to a voice's beckoning him into an underground vault. Following the voice, he is led to a tomb surrounded by gargoyles. The stone monstrosities allow him to pass, and Blood reads the mystical inscription carved into the tomb’s door. By the time he has finished reading, he has changed into Etrigan. 

And not a moment too soon, as Morgaine’s forces have found their way into the tomb. 

While certainly a good introduction to the series, The Demon #1 suffers from the same problems as many of Kirby’s Bronze-Age comics. He wrote, penciled, and edited his own stories, and, as is the case here, there are often issues with the way things play out. While the richness of Kirby’s ideas permeates every page, the dialogue doesn’t always flow naturally, and the characters don’t come to life; they fail to transcend being mere drawings. They seem two-dimensional and lack distinct personalities. Also, some of the captions are unnecessary, but this was often the case in Bronze-Age comics. In addition, the story doesn’t develop in a completely logical fashion and appears unfocused, making it somewhat difficult to follow. 

That being said, there is much to enjoy. Kirby’s inimitable art style is at its peak here. At DC, Kirby was finally free to choose his own inkers, and the finished art stays truer to his original intent than much of his work at Marvel. While Joe Sinnott (Kirby’s embellisher on Fantastic Four) is arguably the greatest inker in the history of comics, he did tend to alter the look of Kirby’s figures (not that this was necessarily a bad thing), and on leaving Marvel for DC Kirby was looking for someone who wouldn’t change things around so much. He found this in Mike Royer.

 

Even though it isn’t a completely satisfying issue, it does leave readers wanting more, and there is a lot of potential here for great stories once some of the wrinkles are ironed out.

Sword of Sorcery #5

“I feel evil seeping into my bones.” –The Gray Mouser

Humankind has an enduring fascination with lost civilizations.

Of particular interest are those that are believed to have been swallowed by the ocean, for reasons that we can only guess at. The most famous of these is, of course, Atlantis, about which stories too numerous to list have been written. Others, including Lemuria, Mu, and Ys, have found their way into fiction, as well. (Mu, in particular, was a favorite of H. P. Lovecraft.) The idea that an entire continent could have just vanished from the face of the planet is undeniably intriguing, especially if we also subscribe to the idea that its human inhabitants differed from us in significant ways and that creatures beyond imagining walked its forests and shores.

This fascination is certainly connected to the belief that we, as a race, have lost something important. Perhaps the suffering and injustice in the world can be explained away by some document penned by a sage thousands of years ago, and if we could only access its wisdom peace could be restored. We were never meant to lose connection with our ancestors; they possessed fundamental knowledge that had been passed down since the beginning. Alas, those voices were forever silenced, and the cataclysmic severing of that connection is why we find it impossible to function in the world today.   

For the less idealistic and more avaricious, there is also the notion that untold riches, imprisoned in decaying coffers, lie at the bottom of some unfathomable undersea trench. The value we place on gold and jewels is, of course, related to their rarity. Could this rarity be the result of treasures’ having been excavated throughout untold millennia and then being lost beneath the waves? While there will always be more “regular” rocks than precious stones, it’s possible that the latter were once more abundant and easier and cheaper to obtain. Anyone canny enough to devise a way to retrieve those lost riches would be a king among men.

Sword of Sorcery #5 is, sadly, the final issue in the series, but it goes out on a high note. Like its predecessor, it contains two stories, the first being a joint adventure, the second a solo one.

Things open up with “The Sunken Land,” which finds our heroes, Fafhrd and the Mouser, at sea once again. Fafhrd is in the process of trying to subdue a giant squid, as his companion stands by, an arrow nocked in his bow. While it initially appears that the barbarian is struggling, it soon becomes clear that he is merely toying with the thing and that the pair is planning to make lunch out of it (the Mouser claims to have a good recipe). I guess when you’re miles from anywhere in open water you take whatever you can get.

When he cuts the beast open, Fafhrd finds a strange ring with an emerald key attached. The Mouser recognizes its symbols as originating from Simorgya, a legendary land populated with evil wizards that sank beneath the ocean. He advises his companion to rid himself of the thing before it brings them bad luck. Fafhrd, in his typically skeptical manner, refuses, and immediately the sky darkens and the sea begins to churn. The barbarian loses his balance and plunges into the water, and by the time he surfaces, the boat is nowhere in sight.

Fortunately, he spots another boat and calls out to the crew to let him aboard. The reply comes in the form of a paddle to the head. He manages to flip the oarsman off the boat, however, and climbs onto the deck. There, he encounters a brace of armored men, who, despite the barbarian’s goading, do not speak. When he has dispatched them, an old man apprises him that the ship belongs to Lavas Laerk, who seeks the riches of Simorgya. He has forced his men to take a vow of silence (in reverence, I assume) until they reach it. Laerk appears and, noticing the ring on Fafhrd’s finger, declares the barbarian a spy and orders the crew to attack. Though he fights valiantly, the hero succumbs to the overwhelming numbers and is hung from the yardarm to serve as an example to others.

Laerk is angered when one of his men speaks but soon realizes that the fabled Simorgya has emerged from the waves beneath the boat. Traversing the island, they find a door in a hillside, and, predictably, the key on Fafhrd’s ring opens it. Inside, illuminated by preternatural light, a stunning array of treasures greets them. Fafhrd, having been tossed aside, is working at freeing himself when he spots the Mouser, who had followed Laerk’s vessel. The barbarian grabs an axe from the hoard, and the companions engage the villains.

It is at this point that they notice that seawater is filling the chamber. Deciding that the fight is not worth it, Fafhrd and the Mouser head for the egress, and Laerk orders his men to give chase. When the heroes pause for breath, however, they notice strange forms rising from the shadows. They appear to be cloaks, but there are no visible men occupying them. The phantasms seize Laerk, sending him to a watery grave, as the cursed island again disappears beneath the waves and the heroes return to their boat. Fafhrd, wisely, heeds his companion’s advice, tossing his purloined weapon into the sea.

In Sword of Sorcery #4, we are given a glimpse into Fafhrd’s youth in the frozen north in the backup story. In this issue, we are treated to a Mouser solo tale, taking place during the time when he was a wizard’s apprentice and titled, appropriately enough, “The Mouse Alone.”

His master has sent him on an errand to the city of Bathaal. Weary from the journey and eager to get things over with, he demands to see the king, to whom he offers his service. Finding his diminutive stature amusing, the king asks what the young Mouser can possibly do for him. He insists that his fighting skills are worthy, but after being given a sword and facing one of the guards, he is merely humbled. The king orders Shendai the Deft, a master of daggers, to take the Mouser away and feed him.

On the way, they are beset by brigands, but Shendai succeeds in easily killing both. The Mouser offers to reward him for protecting his master’s gold, but when he reaches for his purse he finds it gone. He is left alone in the marketplace, realizing that he learned an important if costly lesson.

Unless I missed something, it’s never made clear exactly what the Mouser is supposed to be doing there. Was he supposed to have purchased something? Why did he seek audience with the king?

Howard Chaykin’s art, which graced the pages of the first four issues, is nowhere to be found here. The main story is illustrated by Walt Simonson, who provided the art for the Fafhrd backup story in issue #4, and the backup is by Jim Starlin. Both are inked, to great effect, by Al Milgrom. Starlin, of course, is best known as the creator of Thanos and the force behind the most memorable runs of Captain Marvel and Strange Tales (featuring Adam Warlock). He has also written and illustrated several creator-owned series, including Dreadstar, ‘Breed, and Cosmic Guard. Simonson has worked on just about everything (most notably Thor, Batman, and X-Factor) and is currently involved in various projects for Marvel (he just completed an excellent three-issue run on Indestructible Hulk).

Looking back, Sword of Sorcery is a book that featured the all-stars of Bronze-Age comic art, and if it hadn’t been canceled there’s no telling how great it could’ve become. Sword & sorcery fans will definitely want to collect all five issues, which can be accomplished relatively inexpensively (under thirty bucks, depending on condition).

Sword of Sorcery #4

“This city has become unliveable. A man can’t even be cold and miserable in peace.” –Fafhrd

Sometimes we forget just how much influence the work of H. P. Lovecraft has had on fantasy literature.

Usually associated with the horror genre, his Cthulhu Mythos introduced readers to the notion that there are things out there that are beyond the ken of mere mortals, things with indescribable forms, things with grotesque anatomies that defy any kind of logic with which we are familiar.

Why does that creature have tentacles on its face? What purpose could those sorts of appendages possibly serve?

It has been suggested that the legendary kraken, the origins of which go all the way back to the thirteenth century, was an inspiration for Cthulhu, which is reasonable enough. Throughout history, humankind has devised explanations for both observable phenomena and for things that cannot otherwise be explained.

Why, for example, do ships disappear during ocean voyages? Sea monsters. Yeah, let’s go with that.

Lovecraft took that idea and applied it to things that humankind didn’t even realize needed explaining. In fact, in his work, too much knowledge can be a bad thing. Ancient civilizations (prior to the emergence of philosophy as a respectable discipline) were primarily interested in figuring out the underlying mechanics of why things happen, and they probably never entertained the idea that finding out the truth could rob a person of his or her sanity.

Many of the gods described in the various mythologies of the world are either anthropomorphic or, at the very least, have human body parts and generally possess humanoid forms. This is likely attributable to the fact that we tend to imagine things in relatable forms. The ancient Greeks are well known for having regarded the human body as the most perfect thing in the whole of creation, which is why their gods look just like regular (albeit beautiful) people. It’s just as likely, though, that they envisioned their deities that way because it was impossible for them to think of them in any other fashion.

In Lovecraft’s fiction, we find that ageless beings such as Cthulhu are frequently worshipped. In “The Call of Cthulhu,” the narrator discovers that the eponymous creature’s cults exist all over the globe. Why anyone would worship a monster is indeed a perplexing question, but it’s probably ultimately related to the acceptance of its overarching power and the hope that revering it might somehow mollify one’s fate. They are, in essence, motivated entirely by fear.

The Cthulhu Mythos is frequently referred to as “cosmic horror,” due to the fact that his godlike monsters originate from deep space, so we might be inclined to associate his work with science fiction, but it’s actually much closer to fantasy, as there is little in the way of actual science involved.

Lovecraft and Conan creator Robert E. Howard maintained a friendly correspondence, and, in various ways, many of the tropes introduced in the former’s work found their way into the latter’s. This “marriage” provides the foundation for sword & sorcery’s relationship with the trappings of Lovecraft’s fiction. Lovecraft, whose writing was virtually unknown outside the pages of Weird Tales and its ilk, passed away in 1937 (one year after Howard), but thanks to the efforts of August Derleth, et al., his work became a major force in speculative fiction.

Unlike the first three issues in the series, Sword of Sorcery #4 contains two stories. The above exposition relates to the first.

As “The Cloud of Hate” opens, Fafhrd and the Mouser are attempting to warm themselves by a small brazier in the streets of their native Lankhmar. The Mouser remarks that he hears swords being drawn, and they are soon set upon by two thieves who mistakenly believe that Fafhrd and his companion have any money. This “fool’s errand,” as Fafhrd calls it, ends with their attackers’ deaths.

Things take a strange turn when fog descends on one of the thieves and snatches his dagger with a tendril. Curiosity getting the better of them, they follow the dagger over the rooftops and out of the city, where it makes a beeline for a small merchant camp. It picks up a young woman and then casts her to the ground, killing her instantly. Incensed by this, the pair continues to follow as it makes its way into the surrounding woods.

They encounter a man who warns them that a fire-breathing dragon dwells in the forest. Finding his behavior unnerving, Fafhrd punches him in the face. Noticing the fog’s entering a nearby cave, the adventurers sneak inside.

There they find something that almost defies description.

An enormous “cloud of hate” fills the chamber, surrounded by worshippers, imploring it to spread violence, pain, and war and to destroy everything good in the world. As the pair observes the shocking scene, a guard attacks them, followed by the host of mad devotees. To make things worse, many of the cloud’s tendrils hold weapons. Fafhrd and the Mouser fight valiantly, but the odds are clearly overwhelming, and they begin to wonder if they will, for the first time, not emerge victorious.

They realize that their only chance is to stab the cloud in its giant eye, which is too high up for either of them to reach. Fafhrd hands his dagger to his companion and, praying to his Northern gods, gives him a boost. The Mouser’s strike hits home, and the fog instantly disperses. Once again, they lament going away empty handed, but know that they can find solace in good wine and fair maidens.

The idea of a god (or whatever it is) composed of fog, with none of the things we associate with sentience other than a huge eyeball, is very Lovecraft-esque. No attempt whatsoever is made to give the thing humanoid features. While it appears insubstantial, Fafhrd’s blade does manage to sever some of its tendrils, although doing so doesn’t help the situation much. The sheer weirdness of it is an excellent example of how sword & sorcery has borrowed from Lovecraft’s ideas.

(The Illithids, or Mind Flayers, from Dungeons & Dragsons, while certainly more humanoid, also come to mind, but we’ll save that for a future article.)

The second story, “The Prophecy,” takes place during young Fafhrd’s fifteenth year.

Out for a walk on a snowy mountain trail with his beloved Aynsa, Fafhrd discounts the words of an old man who warns them that a “snow serpent” lurks nearby. He advises them to at least take heed of a prophecy: “Where fails a blade, however true—that work an ordinary song may do.” To Fafhrd’s ears, it’s pure “gibberish.”

As they continue on their way, the young barbarian pulls out a lute and begins singing her praises, unaware that the serpent is poised to strike. It seizes Aynsa, and Fafhrd unsheathes his sword.

Despite his best efforts, the blade cannot penetrate the monster’s scales, and when he attempts to stab it in the head, it bites his weapon in half and knocks him into the mountainside with its tail. The great beast spreads its wings and flies off toward its cave, leaving a dejected Fafhrd in its wake. Unable to rescue his beau, he decides to honor her with a song of mourning.

As the music emanates from his throat and instrument, loose icicles on the roof of the cave break loose. They plummet downward and embed themselves in the serpent’s head. The lovers reunite and pick things up where they left off.

Overall, Sword of Sorcery #4 is a decent issue, if a fairly unremarkable one. Howard Chaykin’s art is, once again, quite good, and the surprise addition of Walt Simonson in the second story is a nice treat (his work here prefigures his groundbreaking run on Thor in the early ‘80s). I don’t mind that two-story format, but it does make the stories feel a bit rushed (the second one, in particular, seems to end as soon as it gets going).

This is the sort of title that appeals greatly to hardcore sword & sorcery fans but leaves other readers cold, which is probably why it was canceled so soon. This being said, it’s a must-have in my book.

Sword of Sorcery #3

“I’m considered an expert at silencing braggarts who mock my compactness.” –The Gray Mouser 

Sword & sorcery and pirates have had a long association (“The Pool of the Black One,” one of Robert E. Howard’s original Conan stories, comes to mind). After all, the swashbuckling action, carousing, treasure-hunting, and roguish behavior endemic to corsair tales are also the trappings of sword & sorcery. Because of their similarities, the two genres mix extremely well, and, as we have seen again and again, the briny deep (with its own species of monsters, brigands, and inclement weather) can prove just as perilous as dry land, if not more so.   

It’s no surprise, then, that Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser would mix up with some pirates sooner or later. 

Passengers aboard Smantha, the towering barbarian and his diminutive companion are in the process of relieving the crew of their coin via the former’s feats of strength when a ship bearing the flag of Overlord Glipkerio approaches. Expecting good tidings, the crew is caught off guard when the sailors from the other vessel, under the command of one Captain Dugim, begin slaughtering them. His objective: to kidnap Princess Shada, whose presence had been unknown to Fafhrd and the Mouser until the attack. 

Having murdered everyone onboard (save Fafhrd and the Mouser, who were knocked out during the battle by a falling yardarm), Dugim instructs his men to sink Smantha. His head reeling as the vessel disappears beneath the waves, Fafhrd grabs his unconscious companion and leaps into the sea. Miles from anywhere and lacking food or potable water, the adventurers drift on the open sea, clinging for dear life to Smantha’s debris. Days later, they are picked up by a slave ship, on which they are forced to perform menial tasks. When the vessel arrives in Lankhmar, their home port, Fafhrd returns the slavemaster’s hospitality by tying him up and forcing a length of rope down his gullet. 

They decide to pay Overlord Glipkerio a visit to find out why he had the sailors killed and the princess abducted. After a brief fracas with the overlord’s guards, the companions find that Glipkerio had nothing to do with the attack and that Dugim had acted on his own, having rebelled against his boss. He seeks ransom for the princess from her father, but King Strumbol is a notorious cheapskate who values his riches more than his daughter. Glipkerio offers to hire them to rescue her, and they agree.

The overlord takes them to see his wizard, Kohn, who gives them an airship and a deck of mysterious playing cards, which, he promises, will prove useful if they find themselves besieged by overwhelming odds. As a guide, he provides Lissa, a mute woman cursed with avian attributes. (He has been trying to cure her for decades.) She leads them over open water (much to their chagrin) to an island lousy with buccaneers, who fire burning pitch at the airship and manage to knock it out of the sky. Escaping unscathed, Fafhrd and the Mouser find the pirates inebriated (and, therefore, easily dispatched) and make their way to a tent. There they find Dugim seated on a throne with the princess in his lap. 

Fafhrd and the Mouser set upon Dugim’s men, but they fall into a trap. They wind up tied to poles where they are simply going to be murdered by Crassus, a big man with an axe. (No frills here.) Lissa vanishes into the sky, and the pair believes she has abandoned them. In truth, she flies into a cloud to collect the rainwater required to “activate” the magical playing cards and, having done so, dumps the liquid onto the deck.  

Immediately, the fearsome figures pictured on the cards spring to life and attack the pirates.  

With Dugim’s men occupied, the Mouser confronts the pirate captain and drives his sword through the man’s torso. Shada, incensed by this, bashes the cloaked hero in the head with a drinking vessel, proclaiming that she and Dugim had just married and that they had interrupted the after-party. She raises a sword to slay him, but Lissa, intervening, is the unfortunate recipient of the killing blow. Shada flees into the jungle as the Mouser, grief-stricken, collapses beside Lissa’s body. 

This otherwise lighthearted story ends with the Mouser carrying her away for burial. Despite their all-too-brief association, he had apparently developed feelings for her (or, at the very least, appreciated how she had helped them and admired her courage in the face of hardship). Fafhrd plops down on a precipice and tells his friend to take as long as he needs.

Although we aren’t told a lot about Lissa, other than the fact that she was transformed by her jealous necromancer husband, her plight is striking, to an even greater degree when we discover late in the story that Shada is not the damsel in distress we took her for. The real victim here is Lissa, and she acts valiantly even though she is profoundly unhappy. She puts her own troubles aside to help Fafhrd and the Mouser and ultimately sacrifices herself to save the Mouser. Her death proves to be the only escape from her condition, and to some degree she probably welcomes it. In this way, she becomes a tragic heroine and is deserving of our admiration.  

 

Another worthy issue in the Sword of Sorcery series, “Betrayal,” by Denny O’Neil and Howard Chaykin, is bursting with beautifully rendered high-seas adventure, captivating swordplay, and breathtaking vistas. It’s unclear whether or not this story was adapted from one of Fritz Leiber’s; in fact, strangely enough, I couldn’t find any credits in the book and had to rely on a secondary source. Three issues in, Chaykin had developed a strong grasp on the characters, and his remarkable figure-work imbued Fafhrd, the Mouser, and the various bit players with grandeur.

Sword of Sorcery #2

If there really is such a thing as “honor among thieves,” it certainly doesn’t exist in Lankhmar, the home city of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, at least if the events in Sword of Sorcery #2 are any indication. 

Continuing the adventures of Fritz Leiber’s sword & sorcery duo, the second issue of this dynamic series finds our heroes at odds with the Thieves’ Guild, as well as a ghostly triumvirate threatening vengeance if a certain purloined item is not returned to them. Denny O’Neil and Howard Chaykin again take the reins as the crimson-haired barbarian and his cloaked companion become ensnared in a morass of skulduggery. 

“Revenge of the Skull of Jewels,” adapted from Leiber’s story “Thieves’ House,” opens in the expansive and malodorous tomb of Votishal. We are thrown right into the middle of the action as Fafhrd attempts to keep some sort of humanoid-lizard guardian at bay while the Mouser picks at a difficult lock and an impatient, corpulent man named Fissif stands nearby.  

As the Mouser gets the lock open and Fafhrd defeats the monster, it becomes clear that Fissif is the mastermind behind the raid, having hired the pair for their reputation. Opening a coffer, he retrieves a skull with ruby eyes and diamond teeth and a pair of skeletal hands with pearl fingernails. He has promised to share the riches, but he outwits Fafhrd and the Mouser by giving them drugged wine: a simple ploy, but an effective one. 

When they awaken, they head to the Thieves’ House to find Fissif and make him pay for cheating them. Inside, they find the leader of the thieves and a red-headed wench admiring the jeweled skull and hands. Without warning, the woman takes the treasures and disappears through a door that cannot be opened from their side. When they attempt to question the leader, they discover that he has been strangled. Hearing footsteps, they duck behind a tapestry. 

Fissif enters with a man named Sleyvas and two other members of the guild. The fat thief tells Sleyvas that the leader was murdered by the skeletal hands and that the skull flew away. Of course, Sleyvas rejects this absurd tale, insisting that Fissif convinced Fafhrd and his companion to steal the treasures for him. While this heated exchange is going on, one of the thieves spots Fafhrd’s shoes beneath the drapery, and a swordfight ensues.  

Fissif bashes the barbarian on the head with a vase, but thanks to the Mouser’s quick thinking they escape. They duck down a dark passage, and Fafhrd manages to hit his head again on a low-hanging beam. The Mouser exits through a window before realizing that he has left his friend behind. By this point, the barbarian’s brains are effectively scrambled, and as he staggers down the hallway he stumbles into a hidden chamber. 

There, he encounters three ghosts who know of the theft of the skull and hands and demand that they be returned to them within a day, or else they will drain the very life from his body. While weighing his options, Fafhrd is ambushed and captured by the thieves. They have also discovered the Mouser’s whereabouts and send him a message, stating that if he does not return the skull and hands to them they will take it out on the barbarian. 

Disguising himself as a fortune-telling hag, the Mouser gains admittance to the apartment of the woman, known as Ivlis, who stole the treasures, having figured out its location based on its proximity to the Thieves’ House. He ties her up, reclaims the skeletal treasures, and returns to the den of thievery. Pretending to be the spirit of the dead man whose skull and hands were made into valuables, the Mouser succeeds in freeing Fafhrd. The thieves attack the interlopers just as Ivlis appears, having been freed by her housekeeper.  

Realizing they are outnumbered, Fafhrd resolves to take as many of them with him as he can. Just then, the skull’s eyes begin to glow, and its jaw begins to move. This terrifies Fissif, but Sleyvas becomes enraged, insisting that the fat man is again acting foolishly. He strikes the skull with his blade, causing the ghosts to materialize. He suffers the brunt of their vengeance, and they squeeze the life out of him. The other thieves flee in horror, leaving Fafhrd, the Mouser, and Ivlis alone. 

The Mouser rues the fact that they failed to profit in any way from this venture. Fafhrd suggests that they drown their sorrows, as they usually do, with wine. 

The art is in this issue, as in its predecessor, is a cut above what was found in most comics of the time. Sword of Sorcery was Chaykin’s first major assignment, having been recommended to DC’s editors by Neal Adams, and considering the strength of the illustration it really is hard to understand why it was canceled so quickly. It’s entirely possible that it just got swallowed up in the racks by the numerous other comics that were coming out around the same time. (Recall that the Seventies was a period of major expansion for Marvel, DC, and others.) Despite this initial hiccup, Chaykin would go on to do groundbreaking work in the following years (American Flagg!, Black Kiss, features in Star*Reach and Heavy Metal).

 

Definitely deserves a slot in every sword & sorcery fan’s longbox.

Sword of Sorcery #1

In the early Seventies, the sword & sorcery craze was in full swing.

Marvel had launched Conan the Barbarian at the beginning of the decade, and its popularity opened the doors for other, similar concepts to find their way into American comic books. DC had actually introduced a “sword & sorcery” character called Nightmaster in Showcase #82 in 1969, but, as the lead singer of a rock band who accidentally discovers a doorway into another world in a bookstore (fair enough, I suppose) and wears a form-fitting blue suit and red cape, he seemed more like a weird version of Superman than a swashbuckling fantasy hero. His adventures, despite featuring some of the earliest work of Bernie Wrightson, only lasted three issues.

In 1972, DC decided to bring Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, Fritz Leiber’s seminal sword & sorcery pair, to comics. Far less well known than Robert E. Howard’s Conan, Leiber’s heroes were nonetheless created in the late 1930s, although the stories chronicling their adventures (Swords and Deviltry, Swords against Wizardry, et al.) would not see print until much later.

Denny O’Neil, Samuel Delaney, and Dick Giordano tried them out in the pages of Wonder Woman (?) #s 201 and 202. All I can say about that is that it was the Seventies. (This sort of thing would be seen again ten years later when Marvel incomprehensibly made Rocket Raccoon a guest star in Incredible Hulk #271.) In any event, their appearances must’ve proven popular enough to warrant their own series, so the following year Sword of Sorcery hit the stands.

Featuring adaptations of Leiber’s stories, as well as original ones, and illustrated by Howard Chaykin, Jim Starlin, Walt Simonson, Al Milgrom, and the Crusty Bunkers (Neal Adams and the gang from Continuity Associates), Sword of Sorcery had all the signs of a hit, yet it only lasted five issues. It was well received by critics, but sales were weak, though it’s not exactly clear why.

The series gets off to a strong start with an adaptation of Leiber’s “The Price of Pain Ease” (peculiar title, that). As the story opens, we find Fafhrd, the seven-foot-tall, red-maned barbarian, and the Gray Mouser, his much-smaller but just as formidable companion, enjoying ale and the company of scantily-clad lasses in a tavern. As they carouse, they are being eyed by a coterie of shady-looking characters. One of them makes the mistake of insulting Fafhrd, and a brawl ensues. When the owner of the establishment shows up with the local authorities, they escape and meet up in the marketplace.

Knowing both the Thieves’ Guild, from which the pair purloined some treasure, and the law will be looking for them, they decide to take up temporary residence in the palace of Duke Danius, who is staying elsewhere. Just as they are settling in to their new, lavish digs, Danius shows up and orders his men to kill them. The rogues manage to make it back to the courtyard, but the wall is too high to scale, and the Duke’s archers are unlikely to miss.

Fafhrd is in the process of drawing his sword, prepared to go down fighting, when two unicorns suddenly materialize. Realizing it is not the time to ask questions, the barbarian and his diminutive partner leap onto the steeds. Climbing into the sky, the mystical mounts deliver the pair to a cave, wherein two sorcerers, standing behind a burning brazier, await them.

And this is where things start to get weird.   

The first of the sorcerers, clad in a crimson robe, is Sheelba of the Eyeless Face, whose features are hidden in shadow beneath a hood. The other, covered by a green robe, is Ningauble of the Seven Eyes. His (?) features are similarly hidden, but snakelike eyestalks in consonance with his title emerge from the darkness. They both desire the same object: the mask that Death keeps above his throne. To obtain it, the heroes must journey to his castle, deep in Shadowland. Sheelba tells the Mouser that he must get it for him or else face terrible consequences. Ningauble promises Fafhrd great riches. The problem, of course, is that they can’t both have it, but they decide to sort that matter out later. Complicating matters further, Danius, who is already unhappy with them, is also headed to the castle.

Danius, we find out, has obtained an enchanted axe. He kills the witch who created it for him and sets out for the Shadowland with a singular, insane purpose: “to slay Death himself.”

When Fafhrd and the Mouser make it to Death’s throne, they find it empty, with the mask right there for the taking. Faced with the aforementioned dilemma, they try to think of a compromise, but one isn’t apparent, so they draw their weapons to settle the long-pondered question of who the superior swordsman is. They swing their blades at each other for a few minutes until they decide that they enjoy each other’s company far too much, and that a better solution must be available to them.

Before they can discuss it, however, an axe flies across the room, and they turn around to find Danius standing before them. Fafhrd attempts to engage him, but the axe’s magic renders him unconscious. The Mouser throws his dagger at the Duke, but the other uses his weapon’s power to send it right back at him (fortunately, not blade first). As Danius prepares to finish his foes, the scent of the grave permeates the chamber, and he realizes that Death has returned.

Danius swings his axe at Death, but it has no effect whatsoever. Realizing that he has been lied to, he begs for mercy, but you can’t expect death to be the forgiving sort, can you?

Having woken up, and with Death distracted, Fafhrd and the Mouser make their way out of the castle, having broken the mask in twain, hoping that Ningauble and Sheelba will each take half.

Engaging and entertaining on every page, Sword of Sorcery #1 is a true Bronze-Age gem. The cover, masterfully illustrated by Michael Kaluta, is a real eye catcher, even though it depicts a scene that doesn’t actually appear in the comic. The interior artwork is detailed and exciting, and the storytelling is superb. The images flow easily, carrying the story along at a near-perfect pace.

I have never read Leiber’s original stories, but if this adaptation is any indication, I definitely should. Whereas Conan’s adventures are typically completely serious, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser’s (this one, at least) manage to be more lighthearted without compromising the fantasy elements that the stories rely on. Knowing how and where to insert humor in a sword & sorcery tale requires finesse, and we definitely see that here.  

I have already ordered the second issue, so you can expect to see it reviewed here soon.