Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [149]
For a month, Elric had been riding the length and breadth of the Eastern kingdoms of Ilmiora and Vilmir, overseeing preparations, building the strength of the two nations into an efficient war machine.
Now he studied parchments handed him by his lieutenants and, recalling all the old tactical skill of his ancestors, gave them his decisions.
The sun was setting and heavy black clouds hung against a sharp, metallic blue sky, stretching over the horizon. Elric loosened his cloak strings and allowed the folds of the garment to enclose him, for a chill had come.
Then, as he silently regarded the sky to the west, he frowned as he noticed something like a flashing golden star appear, moving swiftly towards him.
Ever wary for signs of the coming of Chaos, he turned in his saddle shouting:
“Every man to his position! ’Ware the golden globe!”
The thing approached rapidly until soon it was hanging over the city, all men looking up at it in astonishment, their hands on their weapons. As black night fell, the clouds admitting no moonlight, the globe began to fall towards the spires of Bakshaan, a strange luminescence pulsing from it. Elric tugged Stormbringer from its scabbard and black fire flickered along the blade as it gave out a low moaning sound. The globe touched the cobbles of the city square—broke into a million fragments that glowed for a moment before vanishing.
Elric laughed in relief, resheathing Stormbringer as he saw who now stood in the place of the golden globe.
“Sepiriz, my friend. You choose strange means of transport to carry you from the Chasm of Nihrain.”
The tall, black-faced seer smiled, his white pointed teeth gleaming. “I have so few carriages of that type that I must only use them when pressed. I come with news for you—much news.”
“I hope it is good, for we have enough bad to last us for ever.”
“It is mixed. Where can we converse in private?”
“My headquarters are in yonder mansion,” Elric pointed at a richly decorated house on the far side of the square.
Inside, Elric poured yellow wine for his guest. Kelos the merchant, whose house this was, had not accepted the requisitioning altogether willingly and, partly because of this, Elric maliciously made free with all Kelos’s best.
Sepiriz took the goblet and sipped the strong wine.
“Have you succeeded in contacting the White Lords again, Sepiriz?” Elric asked.
“We have.”
“Thank the gods. Are they willing to give their aid to us?”
“They have always been so willing—but they have not yet made a sufficient breach in the defenses that Chaos has set up around this planet. However, the fact that I have at last managed to contact them is a better sign than we’ve had these past months.”
“So—the news is good,” Elric said cheerfully.
“Not altogether. Jagreen Lern’s fleet has set sail again—and they head towards the Eastern Continent, with thousands of ships—and supernatural allies, too.”
“It was only what I expected, Sepiriz. My work’s done here, anyway. I’ll ride for the Isle of the Purple Towns at once, for I must lead the fleet against Jagreen Lern.”
“Your chances of winning will be all but non-existent, Elric,” Sepiriz warned him gravely. “Have you heard of the Ships of Hell?”
“I’ve heard of them—do they not sail the depths of the sea, taking on board dead mariners as crews?”
“They do—they’re things of Chaos and far larger than even the largest mortal warship. You’d never withstand them, even if you did not have the Theocrat’s fleet to fight as well.”
“I’m aware the fight will be hard, Sepiriz—but what else can we do? I have a weapon against Chaos in my blade here—or so you tell me.”
“Not enough, that bodkin—you still have no protection against the Dark Lords. That is what I have to tell you of—a personal armament for yourself to help you in your struggle, though you’ll have to win it from its present possessor.”
“Who owns it?”
“A giant who broods in eternal