Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [107]
“See them run,” he said. “See them run, brother. Oh, the joy of it—such forces there are at work!”
“’Tis good to have woken at this time,” his brother agreed, shouting over the rumbling noise of the volcano.
Then the smile left Sepiriz and his eyes narrowed. He lashed at his twin horses with a bull-hide whip, so that blood laced the flanks of the great black steeds as they galloped even faster down the steep mountain.
In the village, one man saw the Ten in the distance. He shrieked, voicing his fear in a warning:
“The fire has driven them out of the mountain. Hide—escape! The men from the volcano have awakened—they are coming. The Ten have awakened according to the prophecy—it is the end of the world!” Then the mountain gushed a fresh spewing of hot rock and flaming lava and the man was struck down, screamed as he burned, and died. He died needlessly, for the Ten had no interest in him or his fellows.
Sepiriz and his brothers rode straight through the village, their chariot wheels rattling on the coarse street, the hoofs of their horses pounding.
Behind them, the mountain bellowed.
“To Nihrain!” cried Sepiriz. “Speedily, brethren, for there is much work to do. A blade must be brought from limbo and a pair of men must be found to carry it to Xanyaw!”
Joy filled him as he saw the earth shuddering about him and heard the gushing of fire and rock behind him. His black body glistened, reflecting the flames of the burning houses. The horses leaned in their harness, dragging the bucking chariot at wild speed, their hoofs blurred movement over the ground so that it often seemed they flew.
Perhaps they did, for the steeds of Nihrain were known to be different from ordinary beasts.
Now they flung themselves along a gorge, now up a mountain path, making their speedy way towards the Chasm of Nihrain, the ancient home of the Ten who had not returned there for two thousand years.
Again, Sepiriz laughed. He and his brothers bore a terrible responsibility, for though they had no loyalty to men or gods, they were Fate’s spokesmen and thus bore an awful knowledge within their immortal skulls.
For centuries they had slept in their mountain chamber, dwelling close to the dormant heart of the volcano since extremes of heat and cold bothered them little. Now the spewing rock had awakened them and they knew that their time had come—the time for which they had been waiting for millennia.
This was why Sepiriz sang in joy. At last he and his brothers were to be allowed to perform their ultimate function. And this involved two Melnibonéans, the two surviving members of the royal line of the Bright Empire.
Sepiriz knew they lived—they had to be alive, for without them Fate’s scheme was impossible. But there were those upon the Earth, Sepiriz knew, who were capable of cheating Fate, so powerful were they. Their minions lay everywhere, particularly among the new race of men, but ghouls and demons were also their tools.
This made his chosen task the harder.
But now—to Nihrain! To the hewn city and there to draw the threads of destiny into a finer net. There was still a little time, but it was running short; and Time the Unknown, was master of all…
The pavilions of Queen Yishana and her allies were grouped thickly about a series of small, wooded hills. The trees afforded cover from a distance and no campfires burned to give away their position. Also the sounds of the great army were as muted as possible. Outriders went to and fro, reporting the enemy’s positions and keeping wary eyes open for spies.
But Elric and his Imrryrians were unchallenged as they rode in, for the albino and his men were easily recognizable and it was well-known that the feared Melnibonéan mercenaries had elected to aid Yishana.
Elric said to Dyvim Slorm: “I had best pay my respects to Queen Yishana, on account of our old bond, but I do not want her to know of my wife’s disappearance—otherwise she may try to hinder me.