Elric felt suddenly exhausted. «No. Did -did it-kill him?»
«Aye.»
«Gods! » He wheeled and paced the chamber, slapping his fist in his palm. «Still this hell-made blade exacts its tribute for the service it gives me. Still it drinks the souls of friends. Tis a wonder you two arc still with me! »
«I agree it's extraordinary, » Moonglum said feelingly.
«I grieve for Kargan. He was a good friend.»
«Elric.» Moonglum said urgently. «You know that Kargan's death was not your responsibility. It was fated.»
«Aye, but why must I always be the executioner of fate? I hesitate to list the names of the good friends and useful allies whose souls my sword has stolen. I hate it enough that it must suck souls out to give me my vitality-but that it should be most partial to my friends, that is what I cannot bear. I've half a mind to venture into the heart of Chaos and mere sacrifice us both! The guilt is indirectly mine, for if I was not so weak I must bear such a blade, many of those who have befriended the might he alive now.»
«Yet the blade's major purpose seems a noble one, » Moonglum said in a baffled voice. «Oh, I fail to understand an this-paradox, paradox upon paradox. Are the gods mad or are they so subtle we cannot fathom the workings of their minds?»
«It's hard enough at times like these to remember any greater purpose, » Dyvim Slorm agreed. «We are pressed so sorely, that we haven't a moment for thought, but must fight the next battle and the next, forgetting often why it is we fight.»
«Is the purpose, indeed, greater and not lesser, » Elric smiled bitterly. «If we are the toys of the gods-are not perhaps the gods themselves mere children?»
«These questions are of no present importance, » said Straasha from his throne.
«And at least, » Moonglum told Elric. «Future generations will thank Stormbringer if so she fulfills her destiny.»
«If Sepiriz is right.» Elric said. «Future generations will know nothing of any of us-blades or men! »
«Perhaps not consciously-but in the depths of their souls they will remember us. Our deeds will be spoken of as belonging to heroes with other names, that is all.»
«That the world forgets me is all I ask, » Elric sighed.
As if growing impatient with this fruitless discussion, the Sea King rose from his throne and said: «Come, I will make certain that you are transported to land, if you have no objection to travelling back in the same manner as you came here.»
«None, » said Elric.
Five
They staggered wearily on to the beach of the Isle of the Purple Towns and Elric turned back to address the Sea King, who remained in the shallows.
«Again I thank you for saving us, Lord of the Sea.» he said respectfully. «And thanks also for telling me more of the sad giant's shield. By this action you have perhaps, given us the opportunity to make certain that Chaos will be swept away from the ocean-and the land, also.»
«Aahh», the Sea King nodded, «yet even if you are successful and the seats unspoiled, it will mean the passing of us both, will it not?»
«True.»
«Then let it be so, for I at least am weary of my long existence. But come-now I must return to my folk and hope to withstand Chaos for -a little longer. Farewell! »
And the Sea King sank into the waves again and vanished.
When they eventually reached the Fortress of Evening, heralds ran out to assist them.
«How went the battle? Where is the fleet?» one asked Moonglum.
«Have the survivors not yet returned?»
«Survivors? Then...?»
«We were defeated.» Elric said hollowly. «Is my wife still here?»
«No, she left soon after the fleet sailed, riding for Karlaak.»
«Good. At least we shall have time to erect new defences against Chaos before they reach that far. Now, we must have food and wine. We must devise a fresh plan of battle.»
«Battle, my lord? With what shall we fight?»
«We shall see, » Elric said, «we shall see.»
Later, they watched as the battered remnants of the fleet began to sail into the harbour. Moonglum counted despairingly.
«Too few.» he said. «This is a black day.» From behind them in the courtyard a trumpet sounded.
«An arrival from the mainland, » Dyvim Storm said.
They strode together down to the courtyard, in time to see a scarlet-clad archer dismounting from his horse. His near fleshless face might have been carved from bone. He stooped with weariness.
Elric was surprised. «Rackhir! You command the Ilmioran coast Why are you here?»
«We were driven back. The Theocrat launched not one fleet but two. The other came in from the Pale Sea and took us by surprise. Our defences were crushed. Chaos swept in and we were forced to flee. The enemy has established itself less than a hundred miles from Bakshaan and marches across country-if march is the word, rather it flows. Presumably it expects to meet up with the army the Theocrat intends to land here.»
«Aaahh, we are surely defeated...» Moonglum's voice was little more than a sigh.
«We must have that shield, Elric, » Dyvim Slorm said. Elric frowned, his heart sinking. «Any further steps we take against Chaos will be doomed unless we have its protection. You, Rackhir, will be the fourth man in the prophecy.» «What prophecy?»
«I’ll explain later. Are you fit enough to ride back with us now?»
«Give me two hours to sleep and then I will be.»
«Good. Two hours. Make your preparations, my friends, for we go to claim the sad giant's shield! »
It was not until three days' later that they met the first survivors, many of them with bodies twisted by Chaos, straggling along a white road that lead towards Jadmar, a city still free.
Of them, they learned that half Ilmiora, parts of Vilmir and the tiny independent kingdom of Org, had all fallen. Chaos was closing in, its shadow spreading more and more swiftly as its conquests increased.
It was with relief that Elric and his companions finally reached Karlaak to find it so far not under attack. But reports placed the armies of Chaos less than two hundred miles away and marching in that direction.
Zarozinia greeted Elric with trouble-tinged joy. «There were rumours you were dead-killed to the sea battle.»
Elric clasped her to him.
«I cannot stay long, » he said, «I have a mission beyond the Signing Desert.»
«I know.»
«You know? How?»
«Sepiriz was here. He left a gift in our stables for yon. Four Nihrain horses.»
«A useful gift. They may carry us far more swiftly than any other beasts. But will that be swift enough? I hesitate to leave you here with Chaos encroaching at such a rate.»
«You must leave me, Elric. If all seems lost here, we shall flee into the Weeping Waste. Even Jagreen Lern can have scant interest in the barrens.»
«Promise me that you will.»
«I promise.»
Feeling a little more relieved. Elric took her by the hand. «I spent the most restful period of my life in this palace, » he said. «Let me spend this last night with you and perhaps we shall find a little of the old peace we once had-before I ride on to the sad giant's lair.»
So they made love, but when they slept, their dreams were so full of dark portent that each wakened the other with their groans so that they lay side by side, clinging to one another until the dawn, when Elric rose, kissed her lightly, clasped her hand and then went to the stables where he found his friends waiting-around a fourth figure. It was Sepiriz.
«Sepiriz, thanks for your gift. They will probably make the difference between our being too late or not, » Elric said sincerely. «But why are you here now?»
«Because I can perform another small service before your main journey begins, » said the black seer. «All of you save Moonglum have weapons endowed with some special power. Elric and Dyvim Slonn have their runeblades, Rackhir, the Arrows of Law, which the sorcerer La
msar gave him at the time of the Siege of Tanelorn - but Moonglum’s weapon has nothing save the skill of its bearer.»
«I think I prefer it thus, » retorted Moonglum. «I've seen what a charmed blade can take from a man.»
«I can give you nothing so strong-nor so evil - as Stormbringer, » Sepiriz said. «But I have a charm for your sword, a slight one that my contact with the White Lords has enabled me to use. Give me your sword, Moonglum.» A trifle unwillingly, Moonglum unsheathed his curved steel made and banded it to the Nihrain who took a small engraving tool from his robe and, whispering a rune, scratched several symbols on the sword near its hilt then he gave it back to the Eastlander.
«There. Now the sword has the blessing of Law and you will find it more able to withstand Law's enemies.»
Elric said impatiently. «We must ride now, Sepiriz, for time grows desperately short.»
«Ride, men. But be wary for patrolling bands of Jagreen Lern's warriors. I do not think they will be anywhere along your route when you journey there-but watch for them coming back.»
They mounted the magical Nihrain steeds which had it, helped Elric more than once, and rode away from Karlaak by the Weeping Waste. Rode away perhaps for ever.
In a short while they had entered the Weeping Waste, for thus was the quickest route to the Signing Desert. Rackhir alone knew this country well, and he guided them. The Nihrain steeds, treading the ground of their own strange plane, seemed literally to fly for it could be observed that their hooves did not touch the damp grasses of the Weeping Waste. They moved at incredible speed and Rackir, until he became used to the pace, gripped his reins tightly.
In this place of eternal rainfall, the land ahead was difficult to see, and the drizzle spread down their faces and into their eyes as they peered through it, trying to make out the high mountain range, which ran along the edge of the Weeping Waste, separating it from the Signing Desert. Then at last, after a journey of a day, they could observe the high crags with their tops lost in cloud and soon, thanks to the marvellous speed of the Nihrain stallions, they were riding through the deep gorges and the rain ceased until, on the evening of the second day, the breeze became warm and finally harsh and hot as they left the mountains and felt the famous rays of the sun blazing down on them, knowing they had come to the edge of the Signing Desert. This wind coughed constantly over the barren sand and rocks, its continuous Signing giving the desert its name.
They protected their faces, particularly their eyes, with their hoods as best they could, for the stinging sand was ever present.
Resting only for a few hours at a time, Rackhir directing them, they allowed the horses to carry them at ten times the speed of ordinary steeds, further and further into the depths of the vast desert.
They spoke little, for it was difficult to be heard over the Signing wind, and each man became sunk into himself, dwelling on personal thoughts.
Brie had long since fallen into what was virtually a mindless trance, letting the horse carry him over the desert He had fought against his own churning thoughts and emotions, finding it hard, as he often did, to retain any objective impression of his predicament. His past had been too troubled, his background too morbid for him to do much now to see clearly.
Always he had been a slave to his melancholic emotions, his physical failings and to the very blood flowing in his veins. He saw life not as a consistent pattern, but as a series of random events. He had fought all his life to assemble his thoughts and, if necessary, accept the chaotic nature of minds, learn to live with it but, except in moments of extreme personal crisis, had rarely managed to think coherently for any length of time. He was, perhaps, because of his outlawed life, his albinoism, his very reliance on his runesword for strength, obsessed with the knowledge of his own doom.
What was thought, he asked himself, what was emotion? What was control and was it worth achieving? Better, maybe, to live by instinct than to theorise and be wrong; better to remain the puppet of the gods, letting them move you this way and that at their pleasure than to seek control of your own fate, dash with the will of the Lords of the Higher Worlds and perish for your pains.
So he considered as he rode into the searing lash of the wind, already striving against natural hazard. And what was the difference between an earthly hazard and the hazard of uncontrolled thought and emotion? Both held something of the same qualities.
But his race, though they had ruled the world for ten thousand years, had lived under the dominance of a different star. They had been neither true men nor true members of the ancient races who had come before men. They were an intermediary type and Elric was half-consciously aware of this; aware that he was the last of an inbred line who had, without effort, used Chaos-given sorcery as others used their earthly dolls-for convenience. His race had been of Chaos, having no need of self-control or the self-restrictions of the new races who had emerged with the Age of the Young Kingdoms, and even these, according to the seer Sepiriz, were not the true men who would one day walk an Earth where order - and progress might become the rule and Chaos rarely exert Influence-if Brie triumphed, destroying the world he knew. This thought added to his gloom, for he had no destiny but death, no purpose save what fate willed. Why fight against if, why bother to sharpen his wits or put his mind in order when this was little more than a sacrifice on the altar of destiny? He breathed deeply of the hot dry air and expelled it from his stinging lungs, spitting out the clogging sand which had managed to enter his mouth and nostrils.
Dyvim Slonn shared something of Elric's mood, though his feelings were not so strong. He had a more ordered life than had Elric, though they were of the same blood. Whereas Elric had questioned the custom of his folk, even renounced king affair that he might explore the new lands of the Young Kingdoms and compare their way of life with his own, Dyvim Slorm had never indulged in such questioning. He had suffered bitterness when through Elric's renegade activities, the Dreaming City of Imrryr, last stronghold of the old race of Melnibone, had been razed; shock, too, of a kind, when he saw what remained of the Imrryrians had been forced out late the world, also, to make their living as mercenaries of most they considered upstart kings of lowly and contemptible peoples. Dyvim Slorm, who had never questioned, did not question now, though he was disturbed.
Moonglum was less self-absorbed. Since the time, many -years before, when he and Elric had met and fought against the Dharzi together, he had felt a peculiar sympathy, even empathy, with his friend. When Elric sank into such moods as the one he was in now, Moonglum felt tormented only because he could not help him. Many times he had sought the means of pulling Elric out of his gloomy depression, but these days he had learned that it was impossible. By nature cheerful and optimistic, even he felt dominated by the doom which was on them.
Rackhir, too, who was of a calmer and more philosophical frame of mind than his fellows, did not feel capable of fully grasping the implications of their mission. He had thought to spend the rest of his days in contemplation and meditation in the peaceful city of Tanelorn, which exerted a strange calming influence on all who lived there. But this call to aid in the fight against Chaos had been impossible to ignore and he had unwillingly strapped on his quiver of Arrows of Law and taken up his bow again to ride from Tanelorn with a small party of those who wished to accompany him and offer their services to Elric.
Peering through the sand-filled air he saw something looming ahead-a single mountain rising from the wastes of the desert, as if placed there by means other than natural.
He called, pointing: «Elric! There! That must be Mordaga's castle! »
Elric roused himself and let his eyes follow Rackhir's pointing hand. «Aye, » he sighed. «We are there. Let us pause now and rest, recuperating our strength before we ride the final distance.»
They reined in their steeds and dismounted, easing their aching limbs and stretching their legs to allow the blood to flow freely again.
They raised their tent against the wind-blown sand and ate their mea
l in a mood of companionship, created by the knowledge that after they reached the mountain, they might never see one another alive again.
Six
The steps wound up around the mountain. High above they could see the gleam of masonry and, just where the steps curved and disappeared for the first time, they saw an elder tree. It looked like an ordinary tree, but it became a symbol for them-there was their initial antagonist. How would it fight? What influence would it exert on them?
Elric placed a booted foot on the first step. It was high, built for the feet of a giant.
He began to climb, the other three following behind him.
Now, as he reached the tenth step, he unsheathed Stormbringer, felt it quiver and send energy into him. The climbing instantly became easier.
As he came close to the elder, he heard it rustle, saw that there was an agitation in its branches. Yes, it was certainly sentient.
He was only a few steps from the tree when he heard Dyvim Slorm shout: «Gods! The leaves-look at the leaves! »
The green leaves, their veins seeming to throb in the sunlight, were beginning to detach themselves from the branches and drift purposefully towards the group.
One settled on Elric's bare hand. He attempted to brush it off, but it clung. Others began to settle on different parts of his body. They were coming in a green wave now, and he felt a peculiar stinging sensation in his hand. With a curse he peeled it off, and to his horror saw that tiny pin-pricks of blood were left where it had been. His body twitched in nausea and he ripped the rest from his face, slashing at others with his crooning runesword. As they were touched by the blade, so they shrivelled, but they were swiftly replaced.
He knew, instinctively, that they were sucking not only blood from his veins, but the soul-force from his being; he was weakening slightly already.
Behind him, his companions were experiencing the same with yells of terror.
These leaves were being directed and he knew where the direction came from-the tree itself. He clambered up the remaining steps, fighting off the leaves which swarmed like locusts around him. With grim intention he began hacking at the trunk which gave out an angry groaning and the branches sought to reach him. He slashed them away and then plunged Stormbringer deep into the tree. Sods of earth spattered upwards as the roots threshed. The tree screamed and began to heel over towards him as if, in death, it sought to kill him also. He wrenched at Stormbringer, which sucked greedily at the half-sentient tree's life-stuff, failed to tug the sword out, and leapt aside as the tree crashed down over the steps, barely missing him. One branch slashed his face and drew blood. He gasped and staggered, feeling the life draining from him.
Stormbringer es-6 Page 15
