The Stealer of Souls (39 page)

“
Farewell!
”

And then there was a terrifying sound of smashing timbers, the feel of sharp rock lacerating his rolling body, and he was beneath the waves, fighting his way to the surface to gasp in air before another wave tossed him and grazed his arm against the rocks.

Desperately, encumbered by the life-giving runesword at his belt, he attempted to swim for the looming cliffs of Shazaar, conscious that even if he lived, he had returned to enemy soil and his chances of reaching the White Lords were now almost non-existent.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

Elric lay exhausted on the cold shingle, listening to the musical sound that the tide made as it drew back over the stones. Another sound joined that of the surf, and he recognized it as the crunch of boots. Someone was coming towards him. In Shazaar it was most likely to be an enemy. He rolled over and began scrambling to his feet, drawing the last reserves from his worn-out body. His right hand had half-drawn Stormbringer from its scabbard before he realized that it was Moonglum, bent with weariness, standing grinning before him.

“Thank the gods, you live!” Moonglum lowered himself to the shingle and leaned back with his arms supporting his weight, regarding the now calm sea and the towering Serpent’s Teeth in the distance.

“Aye, we live,” Elric squatted down, moodily, “but for how long in this ruined land, I cannot guess. Somewhere, perhaps, we can find a ship—but it will mean seeking a town or city and we’re a marked pair, easily recognized by our physical appearance.”

Moonglum shook his head and laughed lightly. “You’re still the gloomy one, friend. Be thankful for your life, say I.”

“Small mercies are all but useless in this conflict,” Elric said. “Rest, now, Moonglum, while I watch, then you can take my place. There was no time to lose when we began this adventure, and now we’ve lost days.”

Moonglum gave no argument, but allowed himself immediately to sleep and when he awoke, much refreshed though aching still, Elric slept until the moon was high and shining brightly in the clear sky.

They trudged through the night, the sparse grass of the coast region giving way to wet, blackened ground. It was as if a holocaust had raged over the countryside, followed by a rainstorm which had left behind it a marsh of ashes. Remembering the grassy plains of this part of Shazaar, Elric was horrified, unable to tell whether men or the creatures of Chaos had caused such wanton ruin.

Noon was approaching, with a hint of weird disturbances in the bright-clouded sky, when they saw a long line of people coming towards them. They flattened themselves behind a small rise and peered cautiously over it as the party drew nearer. These were no enemy soldiers, but gaunt women and starving children, men who staggered in rags, and a few battered riders, obviously the remnants of some defeated band of partisans who had held out against Jagreen Lern.

“I think we’ll find friends, of sorts, here,” Elric muttered thankfully, “and perhaps some information which will help us.”

They arose and walked towards the wretched herd. The riders quickly grouped around the civilians and drew their weapons, but before any challenges could be given, someone cried from the enclosed ranks:

“Elric of Melniboné! Elric—have you returned with news of rescue?”

Elric didn’t recognize the voice, but he knew his face was a legend, with its dead white skin and glowing crimson eyes.

“I’m seeking rescue myself, friend,” he said with poorly assumed cheerfulness. “We were shipwrecked on your coasts while on a journey which we hoped would help us lift the yoke of Jagreen Lern from off the Westlands, but unless we find another ship, our chances are poor.”

“Which way did you sail, Elric?” said the unseen spokesman.

“We sailed to Sorcerers’ Isle in the south-west, there to invoke the aid, if we could, of the White Lords,” Moonglum replied.

“Then you were going in the wrong direction!”

Elric straightened his back and tried to peer into the throng. “Who are you to tell us that?”

There was a disturbance in the crowd and a bent, middle-aged man with long, curling moustachios adorning his fair-skinned face broke from the ranks and stood leaning on a staff. The riders drew back their horses so that Elric could see him properly.

“I am named Ohada the Seer, once famous in Aflitain as an oracle. But Aflitain was razed in the sack of Shazaar and I was lucky enough to escape with these few people who are all from Aflitain, one of the last cities to fall before Pan Tang’s sorcerous might. I have a message of great import for you, Elric. It is for your ears only and I received it from one you know—one who may help you and, indirectly, us.”

“You have piqued my curiosity and raised my hopes,” Elric beckoned with his hand. “Come, seer, tell me your news and let’s all trust it is as good as you hint.”

Moonglum took a step back as the seer approached. Both he and the Aflitainians watched with curiosity as Ohada whispered to Elric. Elric himself had to strain to catch the words. “I bear a message from a strange man called Sepiriz. He says that what you have failed to do, he has done, but there is something which you must do that he cannot. He says to go to the carved city and there he will enlighten you further.”

“Sepiriz! How did he contact you?”

“I am clairvoyant. He came to me in a dream.”

“Your words could be treacherous, designed to lead me into Jagreen Lern’s hands.”

“Sepiriz added one thing to me—he told me that we should meet on this very spot. Could Jagreen Lern know that?”

“Unlikely—but, by the same reckoning, could
anyone
know that?” He nodded. “Thanks, seer.” Then he shouted to the riders. “We need a pair of horses—your best!”

“Our horses are valuable to us,” grumbled a knight in torn armour, “they are all we have.”

“My companion and I need to move swiftly if we are to save the world from Chaos. Come, risk a pair of horses against the chance of vengeance on your conquerors.”

“Aye, very well.” The knight dismounted and so did the man beside him. They led their steeds up to Elric and Moonglum.

“Use them with care, Elric.”

Elric took the reins and swung himself into the saddle, the huge runesword slapping at his side. “I will,” said he. “What are your plans now?”

“We’ll fight on, as best we can.”

“Would it not be wiser to hide in the mountains or the Marshes of the Mist?”

“If you had witnessed the depravity and terror of Jagreen Lern’s rule, you would not make such an enquiry,” the knight said bleakly. “Though we cannot hope to win against a warlock whose servants can command the very earth to heave like the ocean, pull down floods of salt water from the sky, and send green clouds scudding down to destroy helpless children in nameless ways, we shall take what vengeance we can. This part of the continent is calm beside what is going on elsewhere. Dreadful geological changes are taking place. You would not recognize a hill or forest ten miles north. And those that you passed one day might well have changed or disappeared the next.”

“We have witnessed something of the like on our sea journey,” Elric nodded. “I wish you a long life of revenge, friend. I myself have scores to settle with Jagreen Lern and his accomplice.”

“His accomplice? You mean King Sarosto of Dharijor?” A thin smile crossed the knight’s haggard face. “You’ll take no vengeance on Sarosto. He was assassinated soon after our forces were vanquished at the battle of Sequa. Though nothing was proved, it is common knowledge that he was killed at the orders of the Theocrat who now rules unchallenged.” The knight shrugged. “And who can stand for long against Jagreen Lern, let alone his captains?”

“Who are these captains?”

“Why, he has summoned all the Dukes of Hell to him. Whether they will accept his mastery much longer, I do not know. It is our belief that Jagreen Lern will be the next to die—and Hell unchecked will rule in his place!”

“I hope not,” Elric said softly, “for I won’t be cheated of my vengeance.”

The knight sighed. “With the Dukes of Hell as his allies, Jagreen Lern will soon rule the world.”

“Let us hope I can find a means of disposing of that dark aristocracy, and keeping my vow to slay Jagreen Lern,” Elric said and, with a wave of thanks to the seer and the two knights, turned his horse towards the mountains of Jharkor, Moonglum in his wake.

They got little rest on their perilous ride to the mountain home of Sepiriz, for, as the knight had told them, the ground itself seemed alive and anarchy ruled everywhere. Afterwards, Elric remembered little, save a feeling of utter horror and the noise of unholy screechings in his ear, dark colours, gold, reds, blue, black, and the flaring orange that was everywhere the sign of Chaos on Earth.

In the mountain regions close to Nihrain, they found that the rule of Chaos was not so complete as in other parts. This proved that Sepiriz and his nine black brothers were exerting at least some control against the forces threatening to engulf them.

Through steep gorges of towering black rock, along treacherous mountain paths, down slopes that rattled with loose stones and seemed likely to start an avalanche, they pressed deeper and deeper into the heart of the ancient mountains. These were the oldest mountains in the world, and they held one of the Earth’s most ancient secrets—the domain of the immortal Nihrain who had ruled for centuries even before the coming of the Melnibonéans. At last, they came to the Hewn City of Nihrain, its towering palaces, temples and fortresses carved into the living black granite, hidden in the depths of the chasm that might have been bottomless. Virtually cut off from all but the faintest filterings of sunlight, it had brooded here since earliest times.

Down the narrow paths they guided their reluctant steeds until they had reached a huge gateway, its pillars carved with the figures of titans and half-men looming above them, so that Moonglum gasped and immediately fell silent, overawed by the genius which could accomplish the twin feats of gigantic engineering and powerful art.

In the caverns, also carved to represent scenes from the legends of the Nihrain, Sepiriz awaited them, a welcoming smile on his thin-lipped ebony face.

“Greetings, Sepiriz,” Elric dismounted and allowed slaves to lead his horse away. Moonglum did likewise, a trifle warily.

“I was informed correctly,” Sepiriz clasped Elric’s shoulders in his hands. “I am glad for I learned you were bound to Sorcerers’ Isle to seek the White Lords’ help.”

“True. Is their help, then, unobtainable?”

“Not yet. We ourselves are trying to contact them, with the aid of the hermit magicians of the island, but so far Chaos has blocked our attempts. But there is work for you and your sword closer to home. Come to my chamber and refresh yourselves. We have some wine which will revitalize you and when you have drunk your fill I’ll tell you what task Fate has decided for you now.”

Sitting in his chair, sipping his wine and glancing around Sepiriz’s dark chamber, lighted only by the fires which burned in its several grates, Elric searched his mind for some clue to the unidentifiable impressions which seemed to drift just below the surface of his conscious brain. There was something mysterious about the chamber, a mystery that was not solely created by its vastness and the shadows that filled it. Without knowing why, Elric thought that though it was bounded by miles of solid rock in all directions, it had no proper dimensions that could be measured by the means normally employed; it was as if it extended into planes that did not conform to the Earth’s space and time—planes that were, in fact, timeless and spaceless. He felt that he might attempt to cross the chamber from one wall to the other—but could walk for ever without ever reaching the far wall. He made an attempt to dismiss these thoughts and put down his cup, breathing in deeply. There was no doubt that the wine relaxed and invigorated him. He pointed to the wine-jar on the stone table and said to Sepiriz: “A man might easily become addicted to such a brew!”

“I’m addicted already,” Moonglum grinned, pouring himself another cup.

Sepiriz shook his head. “It has a strange quality, our Nihrain wine. It tastes pleasant and refreshes the weary, yet once his strength is regained, the man who drinks it then is nauseated. That is why we still have some of it left. But our stocks are low—the vines from which it was made have long since passed from the Earth.”

“A magic potion,” Moonglum said, replacing his cup on the table.

“If you like so to designate it. Elric and I are of an earlier age when what you call magic was part of normal life and Chaos ruled entirely, if more quietly than now. You men of the Young Kingdoms are perhaps right to be suspicious of sorcery, for we hope to ready the world for Law soon and then, perhaps, you’ll find similar brews by more painstaking methods, methods you can understand better.”

“I doubt it,” Moonglum laughed.

Elric sighed. “If we are not luckier than we have been, we’ll see Chaos unleashed on the globe and Law forever vanquished,” he said gloomily.

“And no luck for us if Law is triumphant, eh?” Sepiriz poured himself a cup of the wine.

Moonglum looked sharply at Elric, understanding that much more of his friend’s unenviable predicament.

“You said there was work for me and my sword, Sepiriz,” Elric said. “What’s its nature?”

“You have already learned that Jagreen Lern has summoned some of the Dukes of Hell to captain his men and keep his conquered lands under control?”

“Yes.”

“You understand the import of this? Jagreen Lern has succeeded in making a sizable breach in the Law-constructed barrier which once kept the creatures of Chaos from wholly ruling the planet. He is forever widening this breach as his power increases. This explains how he could summon such a mighty assembly of hell’s nobility where, in the past, it was hard to bring one to our plane. Arioch is among them…”

“Arioch!” Arioch had always been Elric’s patron demon, the principal god worshipped by his ancestors. That matters had reached such a stage conveyed to him, deeper than anything else, that he was now a total outcast, unprotected either by Law or Chaos.