Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [5]
After three days’ traveling, when a light snow had begun to drift from the sky, Elric and Moonglum rode out of the hills and saw before them the foaming waters of the Schlan River, tributary of the Zaphra-Trepek which flowed from beyond Iosaz down to the sea at Trepesaz.
No ships sailed the Schlan at this point, for there were rapids and huge waterfalls every few miles, but at the old town of Stagasaz, built where the Schlan joined the Zaphra-Trepek, Elric planned to send Moonglum into town and buy a small boat in which they could sail up the Zaphra-Trepek to Iosaz where Theleb K’aarna was almost certain to be.
They followed the banks of the Schlan now, riding hard and hoping to reach the outskirts of the town before nightfall. They rode past fishing villages and the houses of minor nobles, they were occasionally hailed by friendly fishermen who trawled the quieter reaches of the river, but they did not stop. The fishermen were typical of the area, with ruddy features and huge curling moustaches, dressed in heavily embroidered linen smocks and leather boots that reached almost to their thighs; men who in past times had been ever ready to lay down their nets, pick up swords and halberds and mount horses to go to the defense of their homeland.
“Could we not borrow one of their boats?” Moonglum suggested. But Elric shook his head. “The fishermen of the Schlan are well known for their gossiping. The news of our presence might well precede us and warn Theleb K’aarna.”
“You seem needlessly cautious . . .”
“I have lost him too often.”
More rapids came in sight. Great black rocks glistened in the gloom and roaring water gushed over them, sending spray high into the air. There were no houses or villages here and the paths beside the banks were narrow and treacherous so that Elric and Moonglum were forced to slow their pace and make their way with caution.
Moonglum shouted over the noise of the water: “We’ll not reach Stagasaz by nightfall now!”
Elric nodded. “We’ll make camp below the rapids. There.”
The snow was still falling and the wind drove it against their faces so that it became even more difficult to pick their way along the narrow track that now wound high above the river.
But at last the tumult began to die and the track widened out and the waters calmed and, with relief, they looked about them over the plain to find a likely camping place.
It was Moonglum who saw them first.
His finger was unsteady as he pointed into the sky towards the north.
“Elric. What make you of those?”
Elric peered up into the lowering sky, brushing snowflakes from his face.
His expression was at first puzzled. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.
Black shapes against the sky.
Winged shapes.
It was impossible at this distance to judge their scale, but they did not fly the way birds fly. Elric was reminded of another flying creature—a creature he had last seen when he and the sea-lords fled burning Imrryr and the folk of Melniboné had released their vengeance upon the reavers.
That vengeance had taken two forms.
The first form had been the golden battle-barges which had waited for the attack as they left the Dreaming City.
The second form had been the great dragons of the Bright Empire.
And these creatures in the distance had something of the look of dragons.
Had the Melnibonéans discovered a means of waking the dragons before the end of their normal sleeping time? Had they unleashed their dragons to seek out Elric, who had slain his own kin, betrayed his own unhuman kind in order to have revenge on his cousin Yyrkoon who had usurped Elric’s place on the Ruby Throne of Imrryr?
Now Elric’s expression hardened into a grim mask. His crimson eyes shone like polished rubies. His left hand fell upon the hilt of his great black battle-blade, the runesword Stormbringer, and he controlled a rising sense of horror.
For now, in mid-air, the shapes had changed. No longer did they have the appearance of dragons, but this time they seemed to be