Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [129]
And what must the sword have in return?
Elric knew. The sword told him, without words of any sort. Stormbringer needed to fight, for that was its reason for existence. Stormbringer needed to kill, for that was its source of energy, the lives and the souls of men, demons—even gods.
And Elric hesitated, even as his cousin gave a huge, cackling yell and dashed at him so that Mournblade glanced off his helm and he was flung backwards and down and saw Yyrkoon gripping his moaning black sword in both hands to plunge the runeblade into Elric’s body.
And Elric knew he would do anything to resist that fate—for his soul to be drawn into Mournblade and his strength to feed Prince Yyrkoon’s strength. And he rolled aside, very quickly, and got to one knee and turned and lifted Stormbringer with one gauntleted hand upon the blade and the other upon the hilt to take the great blow Prince Yyrkoon brought upon it. And the two black swords shrieked as if in pain, and they shivered, and black radiance poured from them as blood might pour from a man pierced by many arrows. And Elric was driven, still on his knees, away from the radiance, gasping and sighing and peering here and there for sight of Yyrkoon who had disappeared.
And Elric knew that Stormbringer spoke to him again. If Elric did not wish to die by Mournblade, then Elric must accept the bargain which the Black Sword offered.
“He must not die!” said Elric. “I will not slay him to make sport for you!”
And through the black radiance ran Yyrkoon, snarling and snapping and whirling his runesword.
Again Stormbringer darted through an opening, and again Elric made the blade pull back and Yyrkoon was only grazed.
Stormbringer writhed in Elric’s hands.
Elric said: “You shall not be my master.”
And Stormbringer seemed to understand and become quieter, as if reconciled. And Elric laughed, thinking that he now controlled the runesword and that from now on the blade would do his bidding.
“We shall disarm Yyrkoon,” said Elric. “We shall not kill him.”
Elric rose to his feet.
Stormbringer moved with all the speed of a needle-thin rapier. It feinted, it parried, it thrust. Yyrkoon, who had been grinning in triumph, snarled and staggered back, the grin dropping from his sullen features.
Stormbringer now worked for Elric. It made the moves that Elric wished to make. Both Yyrkoon and Mournblade seemed disconcerted by this turn of events. Mournblade shouted as if in astonishment at its brother’s behaviour. Elric struck at Yyrkoon’s sword-arm, pierced cloth—pierced flesh—pierced sinew—pierced bone. Blood came, soaking Yyrkoon’s arm and dripping down onto the hilt of the sword. The blood was slippery. It weakened Yyrkoon’s grip on his runesword. He took it in both hands, but he was unable to hold it firmly.
Elric, too, took Stormbringer in both hands. Unearthly strength surged through him. With a gigantic blow he dashed Stormbringer against Mournblade where blade met hilt. The runesword flew from Yyrkoon’s grasp. It sped across the Pulsing Cavern.
Elric smiled. He had defeated his own sword’s will and, in turn, had defeated the brother sword.
Mournblade fell against the wall of the Pulsing Cavern and for a moment was still.
A groan then seemed to escape the defeated runesword. A high-pitched shriek filled the Pulsing Cavern. Blackness flooded over the eerie pink light and extinguished it.
When the light returned Elric saw that a scabbard lay at his feet. The scabbard was black and of the same alien craftsmanship as the runesword. Elric saw Yyrkoon. The prince was on his knees and he was sobbing, his eyes darting about the Pulsing Cavern seeking Mournblade, looking at Elric with fright as if he knew he must now be slain.
“Mournblade?” Yyrkoon said hopelessly. He knew he was to die.
Mournblade had vanished