Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [162]
Then, to their left they saw the water froth and form itself into what was to Elric a familiar shape.
“Straasha!”
“I could not aid thee, I could not aid thee. Though I tried, my ancient enemy was too strong for me. Forgive me. In recompense let me take you and your friends back with me to my own land and save you, at least from Chaos.”
“But we cannot breathe beneath the sea!”
“You will not need to.”
“Very well.”
Trusting to the elemental’s words, they allowed themselves to be dragged beneath the waters and down into the cool, green depths of the sea, deeper and deeper until no sunlight filtered there and all was wet darkness and they lived, though at normal times the pressure would have crushed them.
They seemed to travel for miles through the mysterious underwater grottoes until at last they came to a place of coral-coloured rounded constructions that seemed to drift slowly in a sluggish current. Elric knew it. The domain of Straasha the Sea-King.
The elemental bore them to the largest construction and one section of it seemed to fade away to admit them. They moved now through twisting corridors of a delicate pink texture, slightly shadowed, no longer in water. They were now on the plane of the elemental folk. In a huge circular cave, they came to rest.
With a peculiar rushing sound, the sea-king walked to a large throne of milky jade and sat upon it, his green head on his green fist.
“Elric, once again I regret I was unable, after all, to aid you. All I can do now is have some of my folk carry you back to your own land when you have rested here for a while. We are all, it seems, helpless against this new strength which Chaos has of late.”
Elric nodded. “Nothing can stand against its warping influence—unless it is the Chaos Shield.”
Straasha straightened his back. “The Chaos Shield. Ah, yes. It belongs to an exiled god, does it not? But his castle is virtually impregnable.”
“Why is that?”
“It lies upon the topmost crag of a tall and lonely mountain, reached by a hundred and sixty-nine steps. Lining these steps are forty-nine elder trees, and of these you would have to be especially wary. Also Mordaga has a guard of a hundred and forty-four warriors. I’m explicit in giving numbers, for they have a mystic value.”
“Of the warriors I would certainly be wary. But why the elders?”
“Each elder contains the soul of one of Mordaga’s followers who was punished thus. They are vengeful trees—ever ready to take the life of anyone that comes into their domain.”
“A hard task, to get that shield for myself,” Elric mused. “But get it I must, for without it Fate’s purpose would be forever thwarted—and with it I might have vengeance on the one who commands the Chaos fleet—and Jagreen Lern who sails with him.”
“Slay Pyaray, Lord of the Fleet of Hell, and, lacking his direction, the fleet itself would perish. His life-force is contained in a blue crystal set in the top of his head and striking at that with a special weapon is the only means of killing him.”
“Thanks for that information,” Elric said gratefully. “For when the time comes, I shall need it.”
“What do you plan to do, Elric?” Dyvim Slorm asked.
“Put all else aside for the moment and seek the sad giant’s shield. I must—for if I do not have it, every battle fought will be a repetition of the one we have just lost.”
“I will come with you, Elric,” Moonglum promised.
“I also,” said Dyvim Slorm.
“We shall require a fourth if we are to carry out the prophecy,” Elric said. “I wonder what became of Kargan.”
Moonglum looked at the ground. “Did you not notice?”
“Notice what?”
“On board Jagreen Lern’s flagship when you were hewing about you in an effort to reach the main deck. Did you not know, then, what you had done—or rather what your cursed sword did?”
Elric felt suddenly exhausted. “No. Did I—did it—kill him?”
“Aye.”
“Gods!” He wheeled and paced the chamber, slapping his fist in his palm. “Still this hell-made blade exacts its tribute for the service it gives me. Still it drinks the souls of friends. ’Tis