Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [106]
“That’s wise,” Dyvim Slorm nodded, “and I’m with you in it.” He smiled slightly and added: “Whether I like it or not, I fancy.”
Elric said: “Where lies the main army of Dharijor and Pan Tang? I heard it was gathering.”
“It has gathered—and marches closer. The impending battle will decide who rules the Western lands. I’m committed to Yishana’s side, not only because she has employed us to aid her, but because I felt that if the warped lords of Pan Tang dominate these nations, then tyranny will come upon them and they will threaten the security of the whole world. It is a sad thing when a Melnibonéan has to consider such problems.” He smiled ironically. “Aside from that, I like them not, these sorcerous upstarts—they seek to emulate the Bright Empire.”
“Aye,” Elric said. “They are an island culture, as ours was. They are sorcerers and warriors as our ancestors were. But their sorcery is less healthy than ever ours was. Our ancestors committed frightful deeds, yet it was natural to them. These newcomers, more human than we, have perverted their humanity whereas we never possessed it in the same degree. There will never be another Bright Empire, nor can their power last more than ten thousand years. This is a fresh age, Dyvim Slorm, in more than one way. The time of subtle sorcery is on the wane. Men are finding new means of harnessing natural power.”
“Our knowledge is ancient,” Dyvim Slorm agreed, “yet, so old is it that it has little relation to present events, I think. Our logic and learning are suited to the past…”
“I think you are right,” said Elric, whose mingled emotions were suited neither to past, present nor future. “Aye, it is fitting that we should be wanderers, for we have no place in this world.”
They drank in silence, moodily, their minds on matters of philosophy. Yet, for all this, Elric’s thoughts were forever turning to Zarozinia and the fear of what might have befallen her. The very innocence of this girl, her vulnerability and her youth had been, to some degree at least, his salvation. His protective love for her had helped to keep him from brooding too deeply on his own doom-filled life and her company had eased his melancholy. The strange rede of the dead creature lingered in his memory. Undoubtedly the rede had referred to a battle, and the falcon which Dyvim Slorm had seen had spoken of one also. The battle was sure to be the forthcoming one between Yishana’s forces and those of Sarosto of Dharijor and Jagreen Lern of Pan Tang. If he was to find Zarozinia then he must go with Dyvim Slorm and there take part in the conflict. Though he might perish, he reasoned that he had best do as the omens ordered—otherwise he could lose even the slight chance of ever seeing Zarozinia again. He turned to his cousin.
“I’ll make my way with you tomorrow, and use my blade in the battle. Whatever else, I have the feeling that Yishana will need every warrior against the Theocrat and his allies.”
Dyvim Slorm agreed. “Not only our doom but the doom of nations will be at stake in this…”
CHAPTER THREE
Ten terrible men drove their yellow chariots down a black mountain which vomited blue and scarlet fire and shook in a spasm of destruction.
In such a manner, all over the globe, the forces of nature were disrupted and rebellious. Though few realized it, the Earth was changing. The Ten knew why, and they knew of Elric and how their knowledge linked with him.
The night was pale purple and the sun hung a bloody globe over the mountains, for it was late summer. In the valleys, cottages were burning as smoking lava smacked against the straw roofs.
Sepiriz, in the leading chariot, saw the villagers