Stormbringer es-6 Read online

  For some years Dharijor had sought an opportunity for conquest and the hasty alliance against her had been made in an effort to stop her before she had fully prepared for conquest. Whether this effort would succeed, Elric did not know, and those who spoke to him were equally uncertain.

  The streets of Banarva were packed with soldiers and supply trains of horses and oxen. The harbour was filled with warships and it was difficult to find lodgings since most inns and many private houses had been requisitioned by the army. And it was the same all over the Western Continent. Everywhere, men strapped metal about them, bestrode heavy chargers, sharpened their arms, and rode beneath bright silken banners to slay and to despair.

  Here, without doubt, Elric reflected, he would find the battle of the prophecy. He tried to forget his tormented longing for news of Zarozinia and turned his moody eyes towards the west Stormbringer hung like an anchor at his side and ho fingered it constantly, hating it even as it fed him his vitality.

  He spent the night in Banarva and by morning had hired a good horse and was riding through the sparse grassland towards Jharkor.

  Across a war-torn world rode Elric, his crimson eyes burning with a fierce anger at the sights of wanton destruction he witnessed. Although he had himself lived by his sword for many years and had committed acts of murder, robbery and urbicide, he disliked the senselessness of wars such as this, of men who killed one another for only the vaguest of reasons.

  It was not that he pitied the slain or hated the slayers; he was too remote from ordinary men to care greatly about what they did. Yet, in his own tortured way, he was an ideal who, because he lacked peace and security himself, resulted - the sights of strife which this war brought to him. His ancestors, he knew, had also been remote, yet they had delighted in the conflicts of the men of the Young Kingdoms, observing them from a distance and judging themselves above nidi activities; above the morass of sentiment and emotion in which these new men struggled. For ten thousand years the sorcerer-emperors of Melnibone had ruled this world, a race without conscience or moral creed, unneedful of reasons for their acts of conquest, seeking no excuses for their natural malicious tendencies. But Elric, the last in the direct line of emperors, was not like them. He was capable of cruelty and malevolent sorcery, had little pity, yet could love and hate more violently than ever his ancestors. And these strong passions, perhaps, had been the cause of his breaking with his homeland and travelling the world to compare himself against these new men since he could find none in Melnibone who shared his feelings. And it was because of these twin forces of love and hate that he had returned to have vengeance on his cousin Yyrkoon who had put Cymoril, Elric betrothed, into a magic slumber and usurped the kingship of Melnibone, the Dragon Isle, last territory of the fallen Bright Empire. With the aid of a fleet of reavers, Elric had razed Imrryr in his vengeance-taking, destroyed the Dreaming City and scattered forever the race who had founded it so that the last survivors were now mercenaries roaming the world to sell their arms to whomever bid highest. Love and bate; they had led him to kill Yyrkoon who deserved death and, inadvertently, Cymoril, who did not. Love and hate. They welled in him now as bitter smoke stung his throat and he passed a straggling group of townspeople who were fleeing, without knowledge of their direction, from the latest depredation of the roving Dharijorian troops who had struck far into this part of Tarkesh and had met little hindrance from the armies of King Hilran of Tarkesh whose main force was concentrated further north, readying itself for the major battle.

  Now Elric rode close to the Western Marches, near the Jharkorian border. Here lived sturdy foresters and harvesters in better times. But now the forests were blackened and burnt and the crops of the field were mined.

  His journey, which was speedy for he wasted time took him through one of the stark forests where remnants of trees cast cold silhouettes against the grey, seething sky. He raised the hood of his cloak over his bead so that the heavy black fabric completely hid his face, and rode on as rain rushed suddenly down and beat through the skeleton trees, sweeping across the distant plains beyond so that all the world seemed grey and black with the hiss of the rain a constant and depressing sound.

  Then, as he passed a ruined hovel which was half cottage and half hole in the earth, a cawing voice called out: «Lord Elric! »

  Astonished that he should be recognised, he turned his bleak face in the direction of the voice, pushing his hood back as he did so. A ragged figure appeared in the hole's opening. It beckoned him closer. Puzzled, he walked his horse towards the figure and saw that it was an old man, or perhaps a woman, he couldn't tell.

  «You know my name. How?»

  «Thou art a legend throughout the Young Kingdoms. Who could not recognise that white face and heavy blade thou art carrying?»

  «True, perhaps, but I have a notion there is more to this than chance recognition. Who are you and how do you know the High Speech of Melnibone?» Elric deliberately used the coarse Common Speech.

  «Thou shouldn’t know not all who practise dark sorcery use the High Tongue of those who are pastmasters in its arts. Wouldst thou guest with me a while?»

  Elric looked at the hovel and shook his head. He was fastidious at the best of times. The wretch smiled and made a mock bow, restoring to the Common Speech and saying: «So the mighty lord disdains to grace my poor home. But does he not perhaps wonder why the fire which raged through this forest a while ago did not, in fact, harm me?»

  «Aye, » said Elric thoughtfully, »that is an interesting riddle.»

  The hag took a step towards him. «Soldiers came not a month gone-from Pan Tang they were. Devil Riders with their hunting tigers running with them. They despoiled the harvest and burnt even the forests that those who fled them might not eat game or berries here. I lived in this forest all my life, doing a little simple magic and prophecy for my needs. But when I saw the walls of flame soon to engulf me, I cried the name of a demon I knew—a thing from Chaos which, latterly, I had dared not summon. It came.

  «Save me, » cried I, «And what would ye do in return?» said the demon. «Anything, » I quoth. Then bear this message for my masters,‘ it said. 'When the kinslayer known as Elric of Melnibone shall pass this way, tell him that there is one kinsman he shall not slay and he will be found in Sequaloris. If Brie loves his wife, he will play his role. If he plays it well, his wife shall be returned.» So I fixed the message in my mind and now give it thee as I swore.»

  «Thanks, » said Elric, »and what did you give in the first place for the power to summon such a demon?»

  «Why, my soul, of course. But it was an old one and not of much worth. Hell could be no worse than this existence.»

  'Then why did you not let yourself burn, your soul un-bartered?»

  «I wish to live, » said an wretch, smiling again. «Oh, life is good. My own life, perhaps, is squalid, yet the life around me that is what I love. But let me not keep you, my lord, for you have weightier matters on your mind.» Once more the wretch gave a mock bow as Elric rode off, puzzled, but encouraged. His wife still lived and was safe. But what bargain must he strike before he could get her back?

  Savagely he goaded his horse into a gallop, heading for Sequaloris in Jbarkor. Behind him, faintly through the beating rain, he heard a cackling at once mocking and miserable.

  Now his direction was not so vague, and he rode at great speed - but cautiously, avoiding the roving bands of invaders, until at length the arid plains gave way to the lusher wheatlands of the Sequa province of Jharfcor. Another day's ride and Elric entered the small walled city of Sequaloris which had so far not suffered attack. Here, he discovered preparations for war and learnt news that was of greater interest to him.

  The Imrryrian mercenaries, led by Dyvim Storm, Elric's cousin and son of Dyvim Tvar, Elric's old friend, were due to arrive next day in Sequaloris.

  There had been a certain enmity between Elric and the Imrryrians since the albino had been the direct cause of their need to leave the ruins of the
Dreaming City and live as mercenaries. But those times were past, long since, and on two previous occasions he and the Imrryrians had fought on the same side. He was their leader by right and the tics of tradition were strong in the elder race. Elric prayed to Arioch that Dyvim Slorm would have come due to his wife's whereabouts.

  At noon of the next day the mercenary army rode swaggering into the city. Elric met them dose to the city gate. The Imrryrian warriors were obviously weary from a long ride and were loaded with booty since, before Yishana sent for them, they had been raiding in Shazar dose to the Marshes of the Mist. They were different from any other race, these Imrryrians, with their tapering faces, slanting eyes and high cheekbones. They were pale and slim with long, soft hair drifting to their shoulders. The finery they wore was not stolen, but definitely Melnibonean in design; shimmering cloths of gold, blue and green, metals of delicate workmanship and intricately patterned. They carried lances with long, sweeping heads and there were slender swords at their sides. They sat arrogantly in their saddles, convinced of their superiority over other mortals, and were, as Elric, not quite human in their unearthly beauty.

  He rode up to meet Dyvim Slorm, his own sombre clothes contrasting with theirs. He wore a tall-collared jacket of quilted leather, black and buckled in by a broad, plain belt at which hung a poignard and Stormbringer. His milk-white hair was held from his eyes by a fillet of black bronze and his breeks and boots were also black. All his black set off sharply his white skin and crimson, glowing eyes.

  Dyvim Slorm bowed in his saddle, showing only slight surprise.

  «Cousin Elric. So the omen was true.»

  «What omen, Dyvim Slorm?»

  «A falcon's - your name bird if I remember.» It had been customary for Melniboneans to identify newborn children with birds of their choice; thus Elric's was a falcon, hunting bird of prey.

  «What did it tell you, cousin?» Elric asked eagerly.

  «It gave a puzzling message. While we had barely gone from the Marshes of the Mist, it came and perched on my shoulder, and spoke in human tongue. It told me to come to Sequaloris and there I would meet my king. From Sequaloris we were to journey together to join Yishana»s army and the battle, whether won or lost, would resolve the direction of our linked destinies thereafter. Do you make sense of that, cousin?»

  «Some» Elric frowned. «But come-I haw a place reserved for you at the inn. I will tell you all I know over wine-if we can find decent wine in this forsaken hamlet I need help, cousin; as much help as I can obtain' for Zarozinia has been abducted by supernatural agents and I have a feeling that this and the wars are but two elements in a greater play.»

  «Then quickly, to the inn. My curiosity is further piqued. This matter increases in interest for me. First falcons and omens, now abductions and strife! What else, I wonder, are we to meet! »

  With the Imrryrians straggling after them through the cobbled streets, scarcely a hundred warriors but hardened by their outlawed lift, Elric and Dyvim Slorm made their way to the inn and there, in haste, Elric outlined all he had learned.

  Before replying, his cousin sipped his wine and carefully placed the cup upon the board, pursing his lips. «I have a feeling in my bones that we are puppets in some struggle between the gods. For all our blood and flesh and will, we can see none of the bigger conflict save for a few scarcely related details.»

  «That may be so, » said Elric impatiently, »but I'm greatly angered at being involved and require my wife's release. I have no notion why we, together, must make the bargain for her return, neither can I guess what it is we have that those who captured her want. But, if the omens are sent by the same agents, then we had best do as we are told, for the meantime, until we can see matters more clearly. Then, perhaps, we can act upon our own volition.»

  «That's wise, » Dyviro Slorm nodded, »and I'm with you in it» He smiled slightly and added: «Whether I like it or not, I fancy.»

  Elric said: «Where lies the main army of Dharijor and Pan Tang? I heard it was gathering.»

  «It has gathered-and marches closer. The impending battle will decide who rules the western lands. I'm committed to Yishana's aide, not only because she has employed us to aid her, but because I felt that if the warped lords of Pan Tang dominate these nations, then tyranny will come upon them and they will threaten the security of the whole world. It is a sad thing when a Melnibonean has to consider such problems.» He smiled ironically. «Aside from that, I like them not these sorcerous upstarts-they seek to emulate the Bright Empire.»

  «Aye.» Elric said. They are an island culture, as ours was. They are sorcerers and warriors as our ancestors were. But their sorcery is less healthy than ever ours was. Our ancestors committed frightful deeds, yet it was natural to them. These newcomers, more human than we, have perverted their humanity whereas we never possessed it in the same degree. There will never be another Bright Empire, nor can their power last more than ten thousand years. This is a fresh age, Dyvim Slorm, in more man one way. The time of subtle sorcery is on the wane. Men an finding new means of harnessing natural power.»

  «Our knowledge is ancient, » Dyvim Slorm agreed, »yet, so old is it that it has little relation to present events, I think. Our logic and learning are suited to the past...»

  «I think you are right» said Elric, whose mingled emotions were suited neither to past present nor future. «Aye, it is fitting that we should be wanderers, for we have no place in this world.»

  They drank in silence, moodily, their minds on matters of philosophy. Yet for all this, Elric's thoughts were forever turning to Zarozinia and the fear of what might have befallen her. The very innocence of this girl, her vulnerability and her youth had been, to some degree at least his salvation. His protective love for her had helped to keep him from brooding too deeply on his own doom-filled life and her company had eased his melancholy. The strange reed of the dead creature lingered in his memory. Undoubtedly the reed had referred to a battle, and the falcon which Dyvin Slorm had seen had spoken of one also The battle was sure to be the forthcoming one between Yishana's forces and those of Sarosto of Dharijor and Jagreen Lern of Pan Tang. If he was to find Zarozinia then he must go with Dyvim Slonn and there take part in UK conflict- Though he might perish, he reasoned that he had best do as the omens ordered-otherwise he could lose even the slight chance of ever seeing Zarozinia again. He turned to his cousin.

  «I’ll make my way with you tomorrow, and use my blade in the battle. Whatever else, I have the feeling that Yisbana will need every warrior against the Theocrat and his allies.»

  Dyvim Slorm agreed. «Not only our doom but the doom of nations will be at stake in this...»

  Three

  Then terrible men drove their yellow chariots down a black-mountain which vomited blue and scarlet fire and shook in a spasm of destruction.

  In such a manner, all over the globe, the forces of nature were disrupted and rebellious. Though few realised it, the earth was changing. The Ten knew why, and they knew of Elric and how their knowledge linked with him.

  The night was pale purple and the sun hung a bloody globe over the mountains, for it was late summer. In the valleys, cottages were burning as smoking lava smacked against the straw roofs.

  Sepiriz, in the leading chariot, saw the villagers running, a confused rabble-like ants whose hills had been scattered. He turned to the blue-armoured man behind him and he smiled almost gaily.

  «See them run, » he said. «See them run, brother. Oh, the joy of it-such forces there are at work! »

  « ‘Tis good to have woken at this time, » his brother agreed, abouting over the rumbling noise of the volcano.

  Then the smile left Sepiriz and his eyes narrowed: He lashed at his twin horses with a bull-hide whip, so that blood laced the flanks of the great black steeds and they galloped even faster down the steep mountain.

  In the village, one man saw the Ten in the distance. He shrieked, voicing his fear in a warning:

  «The fire has driven them out of t
he mountain. Hide - escape! The men from the volcano have awakened-they are coming. The Ten have awakened according to the prophecy-it is the end of the world! » Then the mountain gushed a fresh spewing of hot rock and flaming lava and the man was struck down, screamed as he burned and died. He died needlessly, for the Ten had no interest in him or his fellows. Sepiriz and his brothers rode straight through the village, their chariot wheels rattling on the coarse street, the hooves of their horses pounding.

  Behind them, the mountain bellowed. «To Nihrain! » cried Sepiriz. «Speedily, brethren, for there is much work to do. A blade must be brought from Limbo and a pair of men must be found to carry it to Xanyaw! »

  Joy filled him as he saw the earth shuddering about him and heard the gushing of fire and rock behind him. His black body glistened, reflecting the flames of the burning houses. The horses leaned in their harness, dragging the bucking chariot at wild speed, their hooves blurred movement over the ground so that it often seemed they flew.

  Perhaps they did, for the steeds of Nihrain were known to be different from ordinary beasts.

  Now they flung themselves along a gorge, now up a mountain path, making their speedy way towards the Chasm of Nihrain, the ancient home of the Ten who had not returned there for two thousand years.

  Again, Sepiriz laughed. He and his brothers bore a terrible responsibility, for though they had no loyalty to men or gods, they were Fate's spokesmen and thus bore an awful knowledge within their immortal skulls.

  For centuries they had slept in their mountain chamber, dwelling dose to the dormant heart of the volcano since extremes of heat and cold bothered them little. Now the spewing rock had awakened them and they knew that their time had come - the time for which they had been waiting for millenia.

  This was why Sepriz sang in Joy. At last he and his brothers were to be allowed to perform their ultimate function. And this involved two Melniboneans, the two surviving members of the Royal Line of the Bright Empire.