Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [21]
Then it dawned upon his berserker brain that, for some reason, his blade was sated. The energy still pulsed in its metal, but it transferred nothing more to its master. And his own stolen energy was beginning to wane.
“Damn you, Stormbringer! Give me your power!”
Swords rained down upon him as he fought and slew and parried and thrust.
“More power!”
He was still stronger than normal and much stronger than any ordinary mortal, but some of the wild anger was leaving him and he felt almost puzzled as more Kelmain came at him.
He was beginning to waken from the blood-dream.
He shook his head and drew deep breaths. His back was aching.
“Give me their strength, Black Sword!”
He struck at legs and arms and chests and faces and he was covered from head to foot in the blood of his attackers.
But the dead now hampered him worse than the living, for their corpses were everywhere and he almost lost his footing more than once.
“What ails you, runesword? Do you refuse to help me? Will you not fight these things because, like you, they are of Chaos?”
No, it could not be that. All that had happened was that the sword desired no more vitality and therefore gave Elric none.
He fought on for another hour before his grip on the sword weakened and a rider, half-mad with terror, struck a blow at his head, failed to split it but stunned him so that he fell upon the bodies of the slain, tried to rise, then was struck again and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Great Host Screaming
“It was more than I hoped,” murmured Theleb K’aarna in satisfaction, “but we have taken him alive!”
Elric opened his eyes and looked with hatred on the sorcerer who was stroking his black forked beard as if to comfort himself.
Elric could barely remember the events which had brought him here and placed him in the sorcerer’s power. He remembered much blood, much laughter, much dying, but it was all fading, like the memory of a dream.
“Well, renegade, your foolishness was unbelievable. I thought you must have an army behind you. But doubtless it was your fear which unbalanced your poor brain. Still, I’ll not speculate upon the cause of my own good fortune. There’s many a bargain I can strike with the denizens of other planes, were I to offer them your soul. And your body I will keep for myself—to show Queen Yishana what I did to her lover before he died . . .”
Elric laughed shortly and looked about him, ignoring Theleb K’aarna.
The Kelmain were awaiting orders. They had still not marched on Kaneloon. The sun was low in the sky. He saw the pile of corpses behind him. He saw the hatred and fear on the faces of the golden-skinned host and he smiled again.
“I do not love Yishana,” he said distantly, as if scarcely aware of Theleb K’aarna’s presence. “It is your jealous heart that makes you think so. I left Yishana’s side to find you. It is never love that moves Elric of Melniboné, sorcerer, but always hatred.”
“I do not believe you,” Theleb K’aarna tittered. “When the whole South falls to me and my comrades, then will I court Yishana and offer to make her Queen of all the West as well as all the South. Our forces united, we shall dominate the Earth!”
“You Pan Tangians were ever an insecure breed, forever planning conquest for its own sake, forever seeking to destroy the equilibrium of the Young Kingdoms.”
“One day,” sneered Theleb K’aarna, “Pan Tang will have an empire that will make the Bright Empire seem a mere flickering ember in the fire of history. But it is not for the glory of Pan Tang that I do this . . .”
“It is for Yishana? By the gods, sorcerer, then I am glad I’m motivated by hatred and not by love, for I do not half the damage, it seems, done by those in love . . .”
“I will lay the South at Yishana’s feet and she may use it as she pleases!”
“I am bored by this. What do you intend to do with me?”
“First I will hurt your body. I will hurt it delicately to begin with, building up the pain, until I have you in the proper frame of mind. Then I will consort with the Lords