Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [145]
“Stormbringer!”
He heard a curse from beneath him and saw Jagreen Lern pointing up at him. “Gag the white-faced sorcerer.” Jagreen Lern’s eyes met Elric’s and the Theocrat sucked in his lips, deliberating a bare moment before adding: “And if that doesn’t put an end to his babbling—best slay him!”
The lieutenant began to climb the mast towards Elric.
“Stormbringer! Your master perishes!”
He struggled in the biting ropes, but could hardly move.
“Stormbringer!”
All his life he had hated the sword he relied on so much; which he was relying on more and more, but now he called for it as a lover calls for his betrothed.
The warrior grasped his foot and shook it. “Silence! You heard my master!”
With insane eyes, Elric looked down at the warrior who shuddered and drew his sword, hanging to the mast with one hand and readying himself to make a stab at Elric’s vitals.
“Stormbringer!” Elric sobbed the name. He must live. Without him, Chaos would surely rule the world.
The man lunged at Elric’s body—yet the blade did not reach the albino. Then Elric remembered, with sudden humour, that Jagreen Lern had placed a protective spell about him! The Theocrat’s own magic had saved his enemy!
“Stormbringer!”
Now the warrior gasped and the sword dropped from his fingers. He seemed to grapple with something invisible at his throat and Elric saw the man’s fingers sliced off and blood spurt from the stumps. Then, slowly, a shape materialized and, with bounding relief, the albino saw that it was a sword—his own runesword impaling the warrior and sucking out his soul!
The warrior dropped, but Stormbringer hung in the air and then turned to slash the ropes restraining Elric’s hands and then nestled firmly, with horrid affection, in its master’s right fist.
At once the stolen lifestuff of the warrior began to pour through Elric’s being and the pain of his body vanished. Quickly he grasped a piece of the sail’s rigging and cut away the rest of his bonds until he was swinging by one hand on the rope.
“Now, Jagreen Lern, we’ll see who takes vengeance, finally,” he grimaced as he swung towards the deck and dropped lightly upon it, the unholy vitality from the sword surging through him to fill him with a godlike ecstasy. He had never known it so strong before.
But then he noted that the boarding platforms had been lowered and only a skeleton crew remained on the flagship. Jagreen Lern must have led his main strength onto the ship which was now held fast by grapples.
Close by was a great barrel of pitch, used to form the fireballs. Close to that was a flaring torch used to ignite them. Elric seized the brand and flung it into the pitch.
“Though Jagreen Lern may win this battle, his flagship shall go to the bottom with the Southern fleet,” he said grimly, and dashed for the hold where he had been imprisoned, aware that Moonglum lay helpless there.
He wrenched up the hatch-cover and stared down at the pitiful figure of his friend. Evidently, he had been left to starve to death. A rat chittered away as the light shone down.
Elric jumped into the hold and saw, with horror, that part of Moonglum’s right arm had been gnawed already. He heaved the body onto his shoulder, aware that the heart still beat, though faintly, and clambered back up to the deck. How to ensure his friend’s safety and still take vengeance on Jagreen Lern was a problem. But Elric moved towards the boarding platform which he guessed the Theocrat to have crossed. As he did so, three warriors leapt towards him. One of them cried: “The albino! The reaver escapes!”
Elric struck him down with a blow that required only a slight movement of his wrist. The Black Sword did the rest. The others retreated, remembering how Elric had entered Hwamgaarl.
New energy flowed through him. For every corpse he created, his strength increased—a stolen strength, but necessary if he was to survive and win the day for Law.
He ran, untroubled