Elric in the Dream Realms - Michael Moorcock [78]
Now, more than ever before, Elric wished he had Stormbringer with him. The runesword and a little elemental aid would have driven this rabble away in terror. But he had only the blades captured from the Sorcerer Adventurers. He must rely upon those, his alliance with Oone and their naturally complementary fighting skills. There came a juddering from the bottom of the barge and the wave receded as suddenly as it had risen, but now they were stranded on the very top of the cliff, with the misshapen horde all around them, panting and grunting and sniffing at their prey.
Elric wasted no time with parleying but jumped at once from the boat’s prow and cut at the first two who grabbed for him. The blade, still sharp enough, severed their heads and he stood over their bodies grinning at them like the wolf he was sometimes called. “I want you all,” he said. He used the battle bravado he had learned from the pirates of the Vilmirian Straits. He moved forward again and thrust, catching still another Chaos creature in the chest. “I must kill every one of you before I am satisfied!”
They had not expected this. They shuffled. They looked at each other. They turned their weapons in their hands, they adjusted their rags and tugged at their limbs.
Now Oone was beside Elric. “I want my fair share of these,” she cried. “Save them for me, Elric.” Then she, too, darted forward and cut down an ape-faced thing which carried a jeweled axe of beautiful workmanship, clearly stolen from an earlier victim.
Queen Sough called from behind them. “They have not attacked you. They only threaten. Is this the true thing you must do?”
“It’s our only choice, Queen Sough!” cried Elric over his shoulder, and feinted at two more of the half-human things.
“No! No! It is not heroic. What can the guardian do, who is no longer a hero?”
Even Oone could not follow this and when Elric met her eye in a question she shook her head.
The rabble was gaining some confidence now, closing in. Snouts sniffed at them. Tongues licked saliva from slack lips. Hot, dirty eyes full of blood and pus squinted their hatred.
Then they had begun to close and Elric felt his blade meet resistance, for he had already blunted it on the first two creatures. Yet still the neck split and the head fell to one side, glaring the while, hands clutching. Oone had her back to his and together they moved so that they were protected from one side by the boat which the rabble did not seem to wish to touch. Queen Sough, in obvious distress, wept as she watched but clearly had no authority over the Chaos creatures. “No! No! This does not help her to sleep! No! No! She is in need of them, I know!”
It was at that point that Elric heard the sound of hoofs and saw, over the heads of the closing crowd, the white armour of the Pearl Warrior.
“They are his creatures!” he said in sudden understanding. “This is his own army and he is to be revenged on us!”
“No!” Queen Sough’s voice was distant now, as if very far away. “This cannot be useful! It is your army. They’ll be loyal. Yes.”
Hearing her, Elric knew unexpected clarity. Was it that she was not really human? Were all of these creatures merely shape-changers of some kind, disguising themselves as humans? It would explain their strange cast of mind, the peculiar logic, the strange phrasing.
But there was no time for speculation, for now the creatures were hard about him and Oone, so that it was hardly possible to swing their blades to keep them back. Blood flowed, sticky and foetid, splashing on blades and arms and making them gag. Elric felt he