The Stealer of Souls (43 page)

“My pleasure will be short. There are not enough of them to put up a long fight. Watch them perish, Elric!”

Elric said nothing, pretended to be dazed and frightened.

The next fireball struck one of the leading ships directly and Elric saw tiny figures scampering about, striving desperately to quench the spreading pitch, but within a minute the whole ship was ablaze, a gouting mass of flame as the figures now jumped overboard, unable to save their vessel.

The air around him sounded to the rushing heat of the fireballs and, within range now, the Southerners retaliated with their lighter machines until it seemed the sky was filled with a thousand comets and the heat almost equaled that which Elric had experienced in the torture chamber. Black smoke began to drift as the brass beaks of the ships’ rams ground through timbers, impaling ships like skewered fish. The hoarse yells of fighting men began to be heard, and the clash of iron as the first few opposing warriors met.

But now he only vaguely heard the sounds, for he was thinking deeply.

Then, when at last his mind was ready, he called in a desperate and agonized voice that human ears could not hear above the noise of war: “Stormbringer!”

His straining mind echoed the shout and he seemed to look beyond the turbulent battle, beyond the ocean, beyond the very Earth to a place of shadows and terror. Something moved there. Many things moved there.

“Stormbringer!”

He heard a curse from beneath him and saw Jagreen Lern pointing up at him. “Gag the white-faced sorcerer.” Jagreen Lern’s eyes met Elric’s and the Theocrat sucked in his lips, deliberating a bare moment before adding: “And if that doesn’t put an end to his babbling—best slay him!”

The lieutenant began to climb the mast towards Elric.

“Stormbringer! Your master perishes!”

He struggled in the biting ropes, but could hardly move.

“Stormbringer!”

All his life he had hated the sword he relied on so much; which he was relying on more and more, but now he called for it as a lover calls for his betrothed.

The warrior grasped his foot and shook it. “Silence! You heard my master!”

With insane eyes, Elric looked down at the warrior who shuddered and drew his sword, hanging to the mast with one hand and readying himself to make a stab at Elric’s vitals.

“Stormbringer!” Elric sobbed the name. He
must
live. Without him, Chaos would surely rule the world.

The man lunged at Elric’s body—yet the blade did not reach the albino. Then Elric remembered, with sudden humour, that Jagreen Lern had placed a protective spell about him! The Theocrat’s own magic had saved his enemy!

“Stormbringer!”

Now the warrior gasped and the sword dropped from his fingers. He seemed to grapple with something invisible at his throat and Elric saw the man’s fingers sliced off and blood spurt from the stumps. Then, slowly, a shape materialized and, with bounding relief, the albino saw that it was a sword—his own runesword impaling the warrior and sucking out his soul!

The warrior dropped, but Stormbringer hung in the air and then turned to slash the ropes restraining Elric’s hands and then nestled firmly, with horrid affection, in its master’s right fist.

At once the stolen lifestuff of the warrior began to pour through Elric’s being and the pain of his body vanished. Quickly he grasped a piece of the sail’s rigging and cut away the rest of his bonds until he was swinging by one hand on the rope.

“Now, Jagreen Lern, we’ll see who takes vengeance, finally,” he grimaced as he swung towards the deck and dropped lightly upon it, the unholy vitality from the sword surging through him to fill him with a godlike ecstasy. He had never known it so strong before.

But then he noted that the boarding platforms had been lowered and only a skeleton crew remained on the flagship. Jagreen Lern must have led his main strength onto the ship which was now held fast by grapples.

Close by was a great barrel of pitch, used to form the fireballs. Close to that was a flaring torch used to ignite them. Elric seized the brand and flung it into the pitch.

“Though Jagreen Lern may win this battle, his flagship shall go to the bottom with the Southern fleet,” he said grimly, and dashed for the hold where he had been imprisoned, aware that Moonglum lay helpless there.

He wrenched up the hatch-cover and stared down at the pitiful figure of his friend. Evidently, he had been left to starve to death. A rat chittered away as the light shone down.

Elric jumped into the hold and saw, with horror, that part of Moonglum’s right arm had been gnawed already. He heaved the body onto his shoulder, aware that the heart still beat, though faintly, and clambered back up to the deck. How to ensure his friend’s safety and still take vengeance on Jagreen Lern was a problem. But Elric moved towards the boarding platform which he guessed the Theocrat to have crossed. As he did so, three warriors leapt towards him. One of them cried: “The albino! The reaver escapes!”

Elric struck him down with a blow that required only a slight movement of his wrist. The Black Sword did the rest. The others retreated, remembering how Elric had entered Hwamgaarl.

New energy flowed through him. For every corpse he created, his strength increased—a stolen strength, but necessary if he was to survive and win the day for Law.

He ran, untroubled by his burden, over the boarding platform and onto the deck of the Southern ship. Up ahead he saw the standard of Argimiliar and a little group of men around it, headed by King Hozel himself, his face gaunt as he stared at the knowledge of his own death. A deserved death, thought Elric grimly, but nonetheless when Hozel died it would mean another victory for Chaos.

Then he heard a shout of a different quality, thought for a moment that he had been observed, but one of Hozel’s men was pointing to the north and mouthing something.

Elric looked in that direction and saw the brave sails of the Purple Towns. They were fighting ships, better equipped for battle than those of the merchant princes. Their brightly painted sails caught the light. The only rich decoration the austere sea-lords allowed themselves was upon their sails. Elric’s old friend Kargan must command them.

But they had arrived belatedly. Even if they had sailed with the other Southern vessels it would have been unlikely that they could have turned the day against Pan Tang.

At that moment, staring around him, Jagreen Lern saw Elric and bellowed at his men who moved forward warily and reluctantly, approaching the albino in a wide semi-circle.

Elric cursed the brave sea-lords who had added a further factor to his indecision.

Menacingly he swung the moaning runeblade about him as he advanced to meet the half-terrified Pan Tang warriors. They dropped back, some of them groaning as the blade touched them. The way was now clear to Jagreen Lern.

But the ships of the Purple Towns were drawing closer, almost within catapult range.

Elric looked directly into Jagreen Lern’s frightened face and snarled: “I doubt if my blade has the strength to pierce your burning armour with one blow, and one blow is all I have time for. I leave you now, Theocrat, but remember that even if you conquer all the world including the unknown lands of the East, I’ll have my sword drink your black soul at length.”

With that he dropped Moonglum’s unconscious body overboard and dived after it into the choppy sea.

The blade gave him superhuman strength and he swam towards the leading ship of the sea-lords, which he recognized as Kargan’s, dragging Moonglum’s body after him.

Now, behind him, Jagreen Lern and his men saw their own flagship blazing. Elric had done his work well.

That, too, would serve to divert attention from Kargan’s fleet.

Trusting to the sea-lords’ famed seamanship, he swam directly in the path of the leading galleon, shouting Kargan’s name.

The ship veered slightly and he saw bearded faces at the rail, saw ropes flicker towards him and grasped one, letting them haul him upwards with his burden.

As the seamen pulled them both over the rail, Elric saw Kargan staring at him with shocked eyes. The sea-lord was dressed in the tough brown leather armour of his folk. He had an iron cap on his massive head and his black beard bristled. “Elric! We thought you dead—lost on your voyage south!”

Elric spat salt water from his mouth and said urgently: “Turn your fleet, Kargan! Turn it back the way it has come, there is no hope of saving the Southlanders—they are doomed. We must preserve our forces for a later struggle.”

Hesitating momentarily, Kargan gave the order which was swiftly relayed to the rest of his sixty-strong fleet.

As the ships turned away, Elric noted that hardly a Southern ship remained afloat. For more than a mile the water burned and the sputtering of the flaming, sinking ships was blended with the screams of the maimed and drowning.

“With the Southern seapower crushed so decisively,” Kargan said, watching the physician who was tending to Moonglum, “the lands will not last long before Pan Tang’s marching hordes. Like us, the South relied too much on its ships. It has taught me that we must strengthen our land defenses if we are to have any chance at all.”

“From now on we’ll use your island as our main headquarters,” Elric said. “We’ll fortify the whole place and from there keep in close touch with what is happening in the South. How is my friend, physician?”

The physician looked up. “These are no battle-made wounds. He’s been hurt sorely, but he’ll live. He should recover to perfect fitness given a month or so of rest.”

“He’ll have it,” Elric promised. He gripped the runesword at his belt and wondered what other tasks lay in store for them before the last great battle between Law and Chaos was joined.

Chaos would soon rule more than half the world, in spite of the powerful blow he had dealt it in forever sentencing the Dukes of Hell to their own plane; the more power that Jagreen Lern gathered, the more the threat from Chaos would increase.

He sighed and looked northwards.

Two days later they returned to the Isle of the Purple Towns, the fleet remaining in the largest harbour of Utkel since it was thought wise to have it at hand and not disperse it.

All that following night, Elric talked with the sea-lords, ordered messengers to Vilmir and Ilmiora and, towards morning, there came a polite knock on the door of the room.

Kargan got up to open it and stared in astonishment at the tall, black-faced man who stood there.

“Sepiriz!” Elric cried. “How did you come here?”

“On horseback,” smiled the giant, “and you know the power of the Nihrain steeds. I had come to warn you. We have, at last, managed to contact the White Lords but they can do little as yet. Somehow a path to their plane must be made through the barricades which Chaos has constructed against them. Jagreen Lern’s ships have vomited their contents on the Southern shores and his warriors swarm inland. There is nothing we can do now to stop his conquests there. Once consolidated, his earthly power increased, he will be able to summon more and more allies from Chaos.”

“Then where does my next task lie?” Elric asked softly.

“I am not sure yet. But that is not what I came for. Your blade’s sojourn with its brothers has strengthened it. You notice how swiftly it pours power into your body now?”

“True. Yet I seem ever more reliant upon that power.” He spoke flatly. “The power is stronger, but I am weaker, it seems.”

Sepiriz said gravely: “That power is evilly gained and evil in itself. The blade’s strength will continue to increase but as Chaos-begotten power fills your being, you will have to fight yet more strongly to control the force within you. That also will take strength. So, you see, you must use part of the strength to fight the strength itself.”

Elric sighed and grasped Sepiriz’s arm.

“Thanks for the warning, friend, but when I beat the Dukes of Hell, to whom I formerly pledged allegiance, I did not expect to escape with a mere scratch or a flesh-wound. Know this, Sepiriz,” he turned to the watching sea-lords, “and know this all of you.”

He drew the groaning runeblade from its scabbard and held it aloft so that it shone and flared in its awful power.

“This blade was forged by Chaos to conquer Chaos and that is my destiny, too. Though the world crumbles and turns to boiling gas, I shall live now. I swear by the Cosmic Balance that Law shall triumph and the New Age come to this Earth.”

Taken aback by this grim vow, the sea-lords glanced at one another and Sepiriz smiled.

“Let us hope so, Elric,” he said. “Let us hope so.”

This is the third novelette in the quartette dealing with Elric’s final influence in the great battle between Order and Chaos. Here, the forces of Order are almost beaten, but Elric, himself a part of Chaos, still hopefully fights on against impossible odds.

—John Carnell, SCIENCE FANTASY No. 63, February 1964

BOOK THREE

SAD GIANT’S SHIELD

Thirteen times thirteen, the steps to the sad giant’s lair;

And the Chaos Shield lies there.

Seven times seven are the elder trees

Twelve times twelve warriors he sees

But the Chaos Shield lies there.

And the hero fair will the sad giant dare

And a red sword wield for the sad giant’s shield

On a mournful victory day.

—The Chronicle of the Black Sword

C
HAPTER
O
NE

A
CROSS THE WHOLE
world the shadow of anarchy had fallen. Neither god, nor man, nor that which ruled both could clearly read the future and see the fate of Earth as the forces of Chaos increased their strength both personally and through their human minions.

From Westland mountain, over the agitated ocean to Southland plain, Chaos now held its monstrous sway. Tormented, miserable, unable to hope any longer for liberation from the corroding, warping influence of Chaos, the remnants of races fled over the two continents already fallen to the human minions of Disorder, led by their warped Theocrat Jagreen Lern of Pan Tang, aquiline, high-shouldered and greedy for power, in his glowing scarlet armour, controlling human vultures and supernatural creatures alike as he widened his black boundaries.

Upon the face of the Earth all was disruption and roaring anguish, save for the thinly populated, already threatened Eastern Continent and the Isle of the Purple Towns, which now readied itself to withstand Jagreen Lern’s initial onslaught. The onrushing tide of Chaos must soon sweep the world unless some great force could be summoned to halt it.

Bleakly, bitterly, the few who still resisted Jagreen Lern, under the command of Elric of Melniboné, talked of strategy and tactics in the full knowledge that more than these were needed to beat back Jagreen Lern’s unholy horde.

Desperately, Elric attempted to utilize the ancient sorcery of his emperor forefathers to contact the White Lords of Law; but he was unused to seeking such aid and, as well, the forces of Chaos were now so strong, that those of Law could no longer gain easy access to the Earth as they had contrived to do in earlier times.

As they prepared for the coming fight, Elric and his allies went about the preparation with heavy souls and a sense of the futility of such action. And, in the back of Elric’s mind, was the constant knowledge that even if he won against Chaos, the very act of winning would destroy the world he knew and leave it ripe for the forces of Law to rule—and there would be no place in such a world for the wild albino sorcerer.

Beyond the earthly plane, in their bordering realms, the Lords of the Higher Worlds watched the struggle, and even they did not realize Elric’s entire destiny.

Chaos triumphed. Chaos blocked the efforts of Law on each occasion they tried to pass through the domain of Chaos, now the only road to Earth. And the Lords of Law shared Elric’s frustration.

And, if Chaos and Law were observing the Earth and her struggle, who watched these? For Chaos and Law were but the twin weights in a balance and the hand that held the Balance, though it rarely deigned to interfere in their struggle, still less in the affairs of men, had reached the rare state of a decision to alter the status quo. Which weight would drop? Which rise? Could men decide? Could the lords decide? Or could only the Cosmic Hand remould the pattern of the Earth, reforming her stuff, changing her spiritual constituents and placing her on a different path, a fresh course of destiny?

Perhaps all would play some part before the outcome was decided.

The great zodiac influencing the universe and its Ages, had completed its twelve cycles and the cycles would soon begin again. The wheel would spin and, when it stopped its spinning, which symbol would dominate, how changed would it be?

Great movements on the Earth and beyond it; great destinies being shaped, great deeds being planned and, marvelously, could it just be possible that in spite of the Lords of the Higher Worlds, in spite of the Cosmic Hand, in spite of the myriad supernatural denizens that swarmed the multiverse, that Man might decide the issue?

Even one man?

One man, one sword, one destiny?

Elric of Melniboné sat hunched in his saddle, watching the warriors bustle to and fro around him in the city square of Bakshaan. Here, years before, he had conducted a siege against the city’s leading merchant, tricked others and left rich, but such scores that they held against him were now forgotten, pushed from their minds by the threat of war and the knowledge that if Elric’s command could not save them, nothing could. The walls of the city were being widened and heightened, warriors being trained in the use of unfamiliar war-engines. From being a lazy merchant city, Bakshaan had become a functional place, ready for battle when it came.

For a month, Elric had been riding the length and breadth of the Eastern kingdoms of Ilmiora and Vilmir, overseeing preparations, building the strength of the two nations into an efficient war machine.

Now he studied parchments handed him by his lieutenants and, recalling all the old tactical skill of his ancestors, gave them his decisions.

The sun was setting and heavy black clouds hung against a sharp, metallic blue sky, stretching over the horizon. Elric loosened his cloak strings and allowed the folds of the garment to enclose him, for a chill had come.

Then, as he silently regarded the sky to the west, he frowned as he noticed something like a flashing golden star appear, moving swiftly towards him.

Ever wary for signs of the coming of Chaos, he turned in his saddle shouting:

“Every man to his position! ’Ware the golden globe!”

The thing approached rapidly until soon it was hanging over the city, all men looking up at it in astonishment, their hands on their weapons. As black night fell, the clouds admitting no moonlight, the globe began to fall towards the spires of Bakshaan, a strange luminescence pulsing from it. Elric tugged Stormbringer from its scabbard and black fire flickered along the blade as it gave out a low moaning sound. The globe touched the cobbles of the city square—broke into a million fragments that glowed for a moment before vanishing.

Elric laughed in relief, resheathing Stormbringer as he saw who now stood in the place of the golden globe.

“Sepiriz, my friend. You choose strange means of transport to carry you from the Chasm of Nihrain.”

The tall, black-faced seer smiled, his white pointed teeth gleaming. “I have so few carriages of that type that I must only use them when pressed. I come with news for you—much news.”

“I hope it is good, for we have enough bad to last us for ever.”

“It is mixed. Where can we converse in private?”

“My headquarters are in yonder mansion,” Elric pointed at a richly decorated house on the far side of the square.

Inside, Elric poured yellow wine for his guest. Kelos the merchant, whose house this was, had not accepted the requisitioning altogether willingly and, partly because of this, Elric maliciously made free with all Kelos’s best.

Sepiriz took the goblet and sipped the strong wine.

“Have you succeeded in contacting the White Lords again, Sepiriz?” Elric asked.

“We have.”

“Thank the gods. Are they willing to give their aid to us?”

“They have always been so willing—but they have not yet made a sufficient breach in the defenses that Chaos has set up around this planet. However, the fact that I have at last managed to contact them is a better sign than we’ve had these past months.”

“So—the news
is
good,” Elric said cheerfully.

“Not altogether. Jagreen Lern’s fleet has set sail again—and they head towards the Eastern Continent, with thousands of ships—and supernatural allies, too.”

“It was only what I expected, Sepiriz. My work’s done here, anyway. I’ll ride for the Isle of the Purple Towns at once, for I must lead the fleet against Jagreen Lern.”

“Your chances of winning will be all but non-existent, Elric,” Sepiriz warned him gravely. “Have you heard of the Ships of Hell?”

“I’ve heard of them—do they not sail the depths of the sea, taking on board dead mariners as crews?”

“They do—they’re things of Chaos and far larger than even the largest mortal warship. You’d never withstand them, even if you did not have the Theocrat’s fleet to fight as well.”

“I’m aware the fight will be hard, Sepiriz—but what else can we do? I have a weapon against Chaos in my blade here—or so you tell me.”

“Not enough, that bodkin—you still have no
protection
against the Dark Lords. That is what I have to tell you of—a personal armament for yourself to help you in your struggle, though you’ll have to win it from its present possessor.”

“Who owns it?”

“A giant who broods in eternal misery in a great castle on the edge of the world, beyond the Sighing Desert. Mordaga is his name and he was once a god, but is now made mortal for sins he committed against his fellow gods long ages ago.”

“Mortal? Yet he has lived so long?”

“Aye. Mordaga is mortal—though his life-span’s considerably greater than an ordinary man’s. He is obsessed with the knowledge that he must one day die. That is what saddens him.”

“And the weapon?”

“Not a weapon exactly—a shield. A shield with a purpose—one that Mordaga had made for himself when he raised a rebellion in the domain of the gods and sought to make himself greatest of them, and even wrest the Eternal Balance from He who holds it. For this he was banished to Earth and informed that he would one day die—slain by a mortal’s blade. The shield, as you might guess, is proof against the workings of Chaos.”

“How so?”

“The chaotic forces, if powerful enough, can disrupt any defense made of lawful matter; no construction based on the principles of order can withstand for long the ravages of sheer chaos, as we know.” Sepiriz leaned forward a little. “Stormbringer has shown you that the only weapon effective against Chaos is something of Chaos-manufacture. The same can be said for the Chaos Shield. This itself is Chaotic in nature and therefore there is nothing organized in it on which the random forces can act and destroy. It meets Chaos with Chaos, and so the hostile powers are subverted.”

“If I had only had such a shield of late—things might have gone better for us all!”

“I could not tell you of it. I am merely the servant of Fate and cannot act unless it is sanctioned by that which I serve. Perhaps, as I have guessed, it is willing to see Chaos sweep the world before it is defeated—if indeed it
is
defeated—so that it can completely change the nature of our planet before the new cycle begins. Change it will—but whether it will be ruled in the future primarily by Law or Chaos, that is in your hands, Elric!”

“How would I recognize this shield?”

“By the eight-arrowed Sign of Chaos which radiates from its boss. It is a heavy, round shield, made as a buckler for a giant. But, with the vitality you receive from your runesword, you will have the strength to carry it, have no fear. But first you must have the courage to win it from its present possessor. Mordaga is aware of the prophecy, told him by his fellow gods before they cast him forth.”

“Are you, too, aware of it?”

“I am. In our language it forms a simple rhyme:

“Mordaga’s pride; Mordaga’s doom,

Mordaga’s fate shall be

To die as men when slain by men,

Four men of destiny.”

“Four men? Who are the other three?”

“Those you will know of when the time comes for you to seek the Chaos Shield. Which will you do? Go to the Purple Towns—or will you go to find the shield?”

“I wish that I had the time to embark on a quest of that kind, but I have not. I must go to rally my men, shield or no.”

“You will be defeated.”

“We shall see, Sepiriz.”

“Very well, Elric. Since so little of your destiny is in your own hands, we should allow you to take just one decision at times,” Sepiriz said sympathetically.