Stormbringer, page 72
They were close to the top now, Elric and his cousin springing ahead with superhuman bounds. The steps terminated at the mouth of a gloomy tunnel and into the darkness rushed the pair, laughing and calling to one another. Less speedily, Moonglum and Rackhir followed, the Red Archer nocking an arrow to his bow.
Elric peered into the gloom, his head swimming with the power that seemed to burst from every pore of his body. He heard the clatter of armoured feet coming towards him and, as they approached, he realised that these warriors were mere human beings. Though nearly a hundred and fifty, they did not daunt him. As the first group rushed at him, he blocked blows easily and struck them down, each soul taken making only a fraction of difference to the vitality already in him. Shoulder to shoulder stood the kinsmen, butchering the soldiers like so many unarmed children. It was dreadful to the eyes of Moonglum and Rackhir as they came up to witness the flood of blood which soon made the tunnel slippery. The stench of death in the close confines became too much as Elric and Dyvim Slorm moved past the first of the fallen and carried the attack to the rest.
Rackhir groaned: “Though they be enemies and the servants of those we fight, I cannot bear to witness such slaughter. We are not needed here, friend Moonglum. These are demons waging war, not men!”
“Aye,” agreed Moonglum, disquieted. They broke out into sunlight again and saw the castle ahead, the remaining warriors reassembling as Elric and Dyvim Slorm advanced menacingly with malevolent joy towards them.
The air rang with the sounds of shouting and steel clashing. Rackhir aimed an arrow at one of the warriors and launched it to take the man in the left eye. “I’ll see that a few of them get a cleaner death,” he muttered, nocking another arrow to the string.
As Elric and his cousin disappeared into the enemy ranks, others, sensing perhaps that Rackhir and Moonglum were less of a danger, rushed at the two. Moonglum found himself engaging three warriors and discovered that his sword seemed extraordinarily light and gave off a sweet, clear tone as it met the warriors’ weapons, turning them aside readily. The sword supplied him with no energy, but it did not blunt as it might have and the heavier swords could not force it down so easily. Rackhir had expended all his arrows in what had been an act of mercy. He engaged the enemy with his sword and killed two, taking Moonglum’s third opponent from behind with an upward thrust into the man’s side and through to his heart.
Then they went with little stomach into the main fray and saw that already the turf was littered with a great many corpses. Rackhir cried to Elric: “Stop! Elric—let us finish these. You have no need to take their souls. We can kill them with more natural methods!”
But Elric laughed and carried on his work. As he finished another warrior and there were no others in the immediate area, Rackhir seized him by the arm. “Elric—”
Stormbringer turned in Elric’s hand, howling its satiated glee and clove down at Rackhir. Seeing his fate, the Red Archer sobbed and sought to avoid the blow. But it landed in his shoulder blade and sheared down to his breastbone. “Elric!” he cried. “Not my soul, too!”
And so died the hero Rackhir the Red Archer, famous in the Eastlands as the saviour of Tanelorn. Cloven by a treacherous blade. By the friend whose life he had saved, long ago when they had first met near the city of Ameeron.
And Elric laughed until realisation came and he tugged his sword away though it was too late. The stolen energy still pulsed in him, but his great grief no longer gave it the same control over him. Tears streamed down Elric’s tortured face and a great, racking groan came from him.
“Ah, Rackhir—will it ever cease?”
On opposite sides of the slain-strewed field, his two remaining companions stood regarding him. Dyvim Slorm had done with killing, but only because there was none left to kill. He gasped, staring around him half in bewilderment. Moonglum glared at Elric with horrified eyes which yet held a gleam of sympathy for his friend, for he knew well Elric’s doom and knew that the life of one close to Elric was coveted by Stormbringer.
“There was no gentler hero than Rackhir,” he said, “no man more desirous of peace and order than him.” Then he shuddered.
Elric raised himself to his feet and turned to look at the huge castle of granite and bluestone which waited in enigmatic silence as if for his next action. On the battlements of the topmost turret he could make out a figure which could only be the giant.
“I swear by your stolen soul, Rackhir, that what you wished to come to pass shall come to pass, though I, a thing of Chaos, achieve it. Law will triumph and Chaos will be driven back! Armed with sword and shield of Chaos forging I shall do battle with every fiend of hell if needs be. Chaos was the indirect cause of your death. And Chaos will be punished for it. But first, we must take the shield.”
Dyvim Slorm, not realising quite what had happened, shouted in exultation to his kinsman. “Elric—let’s visit the sad giant now!”
But Moonglum, coming up to gaze down on the ruined body of Rackhir, murmured: “Aye, Chaos is the cause, Elric. I’ll join in your vengeance with a will so long as,” he shuddered, “I’m spared from the attentions of your hellblade.”
* * *
Together, three abreast, they marched through the open portal of Mordaga’s castle and were immediately in a rich and barbarically furnished hall.
“Mordaga!” Elric cried. “We have come to fulfil a prophecy!”
They waited impatiently, until at last a bulky figure came through a great arch at the end of the vast hall. Mordaga was as tall as two men, but his back was bent. He had long, curling black hair and was clad in a deep blue smock belted at the waist. Upon his great feet were simple leather sandals. His black eyes were full of a sorrow such as Moonglum had only seen before in Elric’s eyes.
Upon the sad giant’s arm was a round shield which bore upon it the eight amber arrows of Chaos. It was of a silvery green colour and very beautiful. He had no other weapons.
“I know the prophecy,” he said in a voice that was like a lonely, roaring wind. “But still I must seek to avert it. Will you take the shield and leave me in peace, human? I do not want death.”
Elric felt a kind of sympathy for sad Mordaga and he knew something of what the fallen god must feel at this moment. “The prophecy says death,” he said softly.
“Take the shield,” Mordaga lifted it off his mighty arm and held it towards Elric. “Take the shield and change fate this once.”
Elric nodded. “I will.”
With a tremendous sigh, the giant deposited the Chaos Shield upon the floor.
“For thousands of years I have lived in the shadow of that prophecy,” he said, straightening his back. “Now, though I die in old age, I shall die in peace and, though once I did not think so, I shall welcome such a death after all this time, I think.”
“The whole world seems to sigh for death,” Elric replied, “but you may not die naturally, for Chaos comes and will engulf you as it will engulf everything unless I can stop it. But at least, it seems, you’ll be in a more philosophical frame of mind to meet it.”
“Farewell and I thank you,” said the giant, turning, and he plodded back towards the entrance through which he had come.
As Mordaga disappeared, Moonglum dashed forward on fleet feet and followed him through the entrance before either Elric or Dyvim Slorm could cry out or stop him.
Then they heard a single shriek that seemed to echo away into eternity, a crash which shook the hall and then the footfall returning.
Moonglum reappeared in the entrance, a bloody sword in his hand.
“It was murder,” he said simply. “I admit it. I took him in the back before he was aware of it. It was a good, quick death and he died whilst happy. Moreover, it was a better death than any his minions tried to mete to us. It was murder, but it was necessary in my eyes.”
“Why?” said Elric, still mystified.
Grimly, Moonglum continued: “He had to perish as Fate decreed. We are servants of Fate, now, Elric, and to divert it in any small way is to hamper its aims. But more than that, it was the beginning of my own vengeance-taking. If Mordaga had not surrounded himself with such a host, Rackhir would not have died.”
Elric shook his head. “Blame me for that, Moonglum. The giant should not have perished for my own sword’s crime.”
“Someone had to perish,” said Moonglum steadfastly, “and since the prophecy contained Mordaga’s death, he was the one. Who else, here, could I kill, Elric?”
Elric turned away. “I wish it were I,” he sighed. He looked down at the great, round shield with its shifting amber arrows and its mysterious silver-green colour. He picked it up easily enough and placed it on his arm. It virtually covered his body from chin to ankles.
“Let’s make haste and leave this place of death and misery. The lands of Ilmiora and Vilmir await our aid—if they have not already wholly fallen to Chaos!”
7
It was in the mountains separating the Sighing Desert from the Weeping Waste that they first learned of the fate of the last of the Young Kingdoms. They came upon a party of six tired warriors led by Lord Voashoon, Zarozinia’s father.
“What has happened?” Elric asked anxiously. “Where is Zarozinia?”
“I know not if she’s lost, dead or captured, Elric. Our continent has fallen to Chaos.”
“Did you not seek for her?” Elric accused.
The old man shrugged. “My son, I have looked upon so much horror these past days that I am now bereft of emotion. I care for nothing but a quick release from all this. The day of mankind is over on the Earth. Go no further than here, for even the Weeping Waste is beginning to change before the crawling tide of Chaos. It is hopeless.”
“Hopeless! No! We still live—perhaps Zarozinia still lives. Did you hear nothing of her fate?”
“Only a rumour that Jagreen Lern had taken her aboard the leading Chaos ship.”
“She is on the seas?”
“No—those cursed craft sail land as well as sea, if it can be told apart these days. It was they who attacked Karlaak, with a vast horde of mounted men and infantry following behind. Confusion prevails—you’ll find nothing but your death back there, my son.”
“We shall see. I have some protection against Chaos at long last, plus my sword and my Nihrain steed.” He turned in the saddle to address his companions. “Well, will you stay here with Lord Voashoon or accompany me into the heart of Chaos?”
“We’ll come with you,” Moonglum said quietly, speaking for them both. “We’ve followed you until now and our fates are linked with yours in any case. We can do nought else.”
“Good. Farewell, Lord Voashoon. If you would do a service, ride over the Weeping Waste to Eshmir and the Unmapped East where Moonglum’s homeland lies. Tell them what to expect, though they’re probably beyond rescue now.”
“I will try,” said Voashoon wearily, “and hope to arrive there before Chaos.”
Then Elric and his companions rode away, towards the massed hordes of Chaos—three men against the unleashed forces of darkness. Three foolhardy men who had pursued their course so faithfully that it was inconceivable for them to flee now. The last acts must be played out whether howling night or calm day followed.
The first signs of Chaos were soon apparent as they saw the place where lush grassland once had been. It was now a yellow morass of molten rock that, though cool, rolled about with a purposeful air. The Nihrain horses, since they did not gallop on the plane of Earth, crossed it with comparative ease and here the Chaos Shield was first shown to work, for, as they passed, the yellow liquid rock changed and became grass again for a short time.
They met once a shambling thing that still had limbs of sorts and a mouth that could speak. From this poor creature they learned that Karlaak was no more, that it had been churned into broiling nothingness and where it had been the forces of Chaos, both human and supernatural, had set up their camp, their work done. The thing also spoke of something that was of particular interest to Elric. Rumour was that the Dragon Isle of Melniboné was the only place where Chaos had been unable to exert its influence.
“If, when our business is done, we can reach Melniboné,” Elric said to his friends as they rode on, “we might be able to abide until such a time that the White Lords can help us. Also there are dragons slumbering in the caves—and these would be useful against Jagreen Lern if we could waken them.”
“What use is it to fight them now?” Dyvim Slorm said defeatedly. “Jagreen Lern has won, Elric. We have not fulfilled our destiny. Our role is over and Chaos rules.”
“Does it? But we have yet to fight it and test its strength against ours. Let us decide then what the outcome has been.”
Dyvim Slorm looked dubious, but he said nothing.
* * *
And then, at last, they came to the Camp of Chaos.
No mortal nightmare could encompass such a terrible vision. The towering Ships of Hell dominated the place as they observed it from a distance, utterly horrified by the sight. Shooting flames of all colours seemed to flicker everywhere over the camp, fiends of all kinds mingled with the men, hell’s evilly beautiful nobles conferred with the gaunt-faced kings who had allied themselves to Jagreen Lern and perhaps now regretted it. Every so often the ground heaved and erupted and any human beings unfortunate enough to be in the area were either engulfed and totally transformed, or else had their bodies warped in indescribable ways. The noise was a dreadful blending of human voices and roaring Chaos sounds, devils’ wailing laughter and, quite often, the tortured shout of a human soul who had perhaps regretted his choice of loyalty and now suffered madness. The stench was disgusting, of corruption, of blood and of evil. The Ships of Hell moved slowly about through the horde which stretched for miles, dotted with great pavilions of kings, their silk banners fluttering; hollow pride compared to the might of Chaos. Many of the human beings could scarcely be told from the Chaos creatures, their forms were so changed under the influence of Chaos.
Elric muttered to his friends as they sat in their saddles watching. “It is obvious that the warping influence of Chaos grows even stronger among the human ranks. This will continue until even Jagreen Lern and the traitor kings will lose every semblance of humanity and become just a fraction of the churning stuff of Chaos. This will mean the end of the human race—mankind will pass away for ever, taken into the maw of Chaos.
“You look upon the last of mankind, my friends, save for ourselves. Soon it will be indistinguishable from anything else. All this unstable Earth is beneath the heel of the Lords of Chaos, and they are gradually absorbing it into their realm, into their own plane. They will first remould and then steal the Earth altogether; it will become just another lump of clay for them to mould into whatever grotesque shapes take their fancy.”
“And we seek to stop that,” Moonglum said hopelessly. “We cannot, Elric!”
“We must continue to strive, until we are conquered. I remember that Straasha the Sea-King said if Pyaray, commander of the Chaos fleet, is slain, the ships themselves will no longer be able to exist. I have a mind to put that to the test. Also, I have not forgotten that my wife may be prisoner aboard his ship, or that Jagreen Lern is there. I have three good reasons for venturing there.”
“No, Elric! It would be more than suicide!”
“I do not ask you to accompany me.”
“If you go, we shall come, but I like it not.”
“If one man cannot succeed, neither can three. I shall go alone. Wait for me. If I do not return, then try to get to Melniboné.”
“Elric—!” Moonglum cried and then watched as, his Chaos Shield pulsing, Elric spurred the Nihrain steed towards the camp.
* * *
Protected against the influence of Chaos, Elric was sighted by a detachment of warriors as he neared the ship which was his destination. They recognised him and rode towards him, shouting.
He laughed in their faces. “Just the fodder my blade needs before we banquet on yonder ship!” he cried as he slashed off the first man’s head as if it were a buttercup. Secure behind his great round shield, he hewed about him with a will. Since Stormbringer had slain the demons imprisoned in the elder trees, the vitality which the sword passed into him was almost without limit, yet every soul that Elric stole from Jagreen Lern’s warriors was another fraction of vengeance reaped. Against men, he was invincible. He split one heavily armoured warrior from head to crotch, sheared through the saddle and smashed the horse’s backbone apart.
Then the remaining warriors dropped back suddenly and Elric felt his body tingle with peculiar sensations, knew he was in the area of influence exerted by the Chaos ship and knew also that he was being protected against them by his shield. He was now partially out of his own earthly plane and existed between his world and the world of Chaos. He dismounted from his Nihrain steed and ordered it to wait for him. There were ropes trailing from the huge sides of the foremost ship and Elric saw with horror that other figures were climbing up them—and he recognised several as men he had known in Karlaak. But before he could reach the ship he was surrounded by all manner of horrifying shapes, things that flew at him cawing, with heads of men and beaks of birds, things that writhed from out of the seething ground and struck at him, things that groped and mewled and screamed, attempting to pull him down to join them. Frantically, he swung Stormbringer this way and that, cutting his way through the Chaos creatures, protected from becoming like them by the pulsing Chaos Shield on his left arm, until at length he joined the ghastly ranks of the dead and swarmed with them up the sides of the great, gleaming ship, grateful at least for the cover they gave him.
He reached the ship’s rail and hauled himself over it, spitting bile from his throat as he entered a peculiar region of darkness and came to the first of a series of decks that rose like steps to the topmost one where he could see the occupants—a manlike figure and something like a huge, blood-red octopus. The first was probably Jagreen Lern, the second was obviously Pyaray, for this, Elric knew, was the guise he took when he manifested himself on Earth.
