Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [19]
“Now I understand why these arms decorate her chamber,” Moonglum said. “According to legend, these are the shields and weapons of all those who loved Myshella and championed her cause.” Elric nodded and said, as if to himself, “Aye, she was ever an enemy of Melniboné, was the Empress of the Dawn.”
He held the pulsing stone delicately and reached out to place it on her forehead.
“It makes no difference,” Moonglum said after a moment. “She does not stir.”
“There is a rune, but I remember it not . . .” Elric pressed his fingers to his temples. “I remember it not . . .”
Moonglum went to the window. “We can ask Theleb K’aarna, perhaps,” he said ironically. “He will be here soon enough.”
Then Moonglum saw that there were tears again in Elric’s eyes and that he had turned away, hoping Moonglum would not see. Moonglum cleared his throat. “I have some business below. Call me if you should require my help.”
He left the room and closed the door and Elric was alone with the woman who seemed, increasingly, a dreadful phantom from his most frightful dreams.
He controlled his feverish mind and tried to discipline it, to remember the crucial runes in the High Speech of Old Melniboné.
“Gods!” he hissed. “Help me!”
But he knew that in this matter in particular the Lords of Chaos would not assist him—would hinder him if they could, for Myshella was one of the chief instruments of Law upon the Earth, had been responsible for driving Chaos from the world.
He fell to his knees beside her bed, his hands clenched, his face twisting with the effort.
And then it came back to him. His head still bent, he stretched out his right hand and touched the pulsing stone, stretched out his left hand and rested it upon Myshella’s navel, and he began a chant in an ancient tongue that had been spoken before true men had ever walked the Earth . . .
“Elric!”
Moonglum burst into the room and Elric was wrenched from his trance.
“Elric! We are invaded! Their advance riders . . .”
“What?”
“They have broken into the castle—a dozen of them. I fought them off and barred the way up to this tower, but they are hacking at the door now. I think they have been sent to destroy Myshella if they could. They were surprised to discover me here.”
Elric rose and looked carefully down at Myshella. The rune was finished and had been repeated almost through again when Moonglum had come in. She did not stir yet.
“Theleb K’aarna worked his sorcery from a distance,” Moonglum said. “Ensuring that Myshella would not resist him. But he did not reckon with us.”
He and Elric hurried from the room, down the steps to where a door was bulging and splintering beneath the weapons of those beyond.
“Stand back, Moonglum.”
Elric drew the crooning runesword, lifted it high and brought it against the door.
The door split and two oddly shaped skulls were split with it.
The remainder of the attackers fell back with cries of astonishment and horror as the white-faced reaver fell upon them, his huge sword drinking their souls and singing its strange, undulating song.
Down the stairs Elric pursued them. Into the hall where they bunched together and prepared to defend themselves from this demon with his hell-forged blade.
And Elric laughed.
And they shuddered.
And their weapons trembled in their hands.
“So you are the mighty Kelmain,” Elric sneered. “No wonder you needed sorcery to aid you if you are so cowardly. Have you not heard, beyond World’s Edge, of Elric Kinslayer?”
But the Kelmain plainly did not understand his speech, which was strange enough in itself, for he had spoken in the common tongue, known to all men.
These people had golden skins and eye-sockets that were almost square. Their faces, in all, seemed crudely carved from rock, all sharp angles and planes, and their armour was not rounded, but angular.
Elric bared his teeth in a smile and the Kelmain drew closer together.
Then he screamed with dreadful laughter and