Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [135]
Elric did not bother to ask Sepiriz how he knew of the Southerners’ decision to fight Jagreen Lern alone. Sepiriz obviously had many powers as was proved by his ability to contact Elric through the seer. “I have sworn to help the Southlands in spite of their refusal to side with us against the Theocrat,” he said calmly.
“And you’ll keep your oath—by destroying the dukes if you can.”
“Destroying Arioch, and Balan, and Maluk…” Elric whispered the names, fearful that even here he might invoke them.
“Arioch has always been an unhelpful demon,” Moonglum pointed out. “Many’s the time in the past he has refused to aid you, Elric.”
“Because,” Sepiriz said, “he already had some knowledge that you and he were to fight in the future.”
Though the wine had refreshed his body, Elric’s mind was close to snapping. The strain on his soul was almost at breaking point. To fight the demon-god of his ancestors…The old blood was still strong in him, the old loyalties still present.
Sepiriz rose and gripped Elric’s shoulder, staring with black eyes into the dazed and smouldering crimson ones.
“You have pledged yourself to this mission, remember?”
“Aye, pledged—but Sepiriz—the Dukes of Hell—Arioch—I—oh, I wish that I were dead now…”
“You have much to do before you’ll be allowed to die, Elric,” Sepiriz said quietly. “You must realize how important you and your great sword are to Fate’s cause. Remember your pledge!”
Elric drew himself upright, nodded vaguely. “Even had I been given this knowledge before I made that pledge, I would still have made it. But…”
“What?”
“Do not place too much faith on my ability to fulfill this part, Sepiriz.”
The black Nihrain said nothing. Moonglum’s normally animated face was grave and miserable as he looked at Elric standing in the mighty hall, the firelight writhing around him, his arms folded on his chest, the huge broadsword hanging straight at his side, and a look of stunned shock on his white face. Sepiriz walked away into the darkness and returned later with a white tablet on which old runes were engraved. He handed it to the albino.
“Memorize the spell,” Sepiriz said softly, “and then destroy the tablet. But remember, only use it in extreme adversity for, as I warned you, Stormbringer’s brethren may refuse to aid you.”
Elric made an effort and controlled his emotions. Long after Moonglum had gone to rest, he studied the rune under the guidance of the Nihrainian, learning not only how to vocalize it, but also the twists of logic which he would have to understand, and the state of mind into which he must put himself if it were to be effective.
When both he and Sepiriz were satisfied, Elric allowed a slave to take him to his sleeping chamber, but slumber came hard to him and he spent the night in restless torment until the slave came to wake him the next morning and found him fully dressed and ready to ride for Pan Tang where the Dukes of Hell were assembled.
CHAPTER FOUR
Through the stricken lands of the West rode Elric and Moonglum, astride sturdy Nihrain steeds that seemed to need no rest and contained no fear. The Nihrain horses were a special gift, for they had certain additional powers to their unnatural strength and endurance. Sepiriz had told them how, in fact, the steeds did not have full existence on the earthly plane and that their hoofs did not touch the ground in the strict sense, but touched the stuff of their other plane. This gave them the ability to appear to gallop on air—or water.