Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [164]
“We were driven back. The Theocrat launched not one fleet but two. The other came in from the Pale Sea and took us by surprise. Our defenses were crushed, Chaos swept in and we were forced to flee. The enemy has established itself less than a hundred miles from Bakshaan and marches across country—if march is the word, rather it flows. Presumably it expects to meet up with the army the Theocrat intends to land here.”
“Aaahh, we are surely defeated…” Moonglum’s voice was little more than a sigh.
“We must have that shield, Elric,” Dyvim Slorm said.
Elric frowned, his heart sinking. “Any further steps we take against Chaos will be doomed unless we have its protection. You, Rackhir, will be the fourth man in the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?”
“I’ll explain later. Are you fit enough to ride back with us now?”
“Give me two hours to sleep and then I will be.”
“Good. Two hours. Make your preparations, my friends, for we go to claim the sad giant’s shield!”
From two sides now, Chaos enclosed the East and the four men left the Fortress of Evening knowing it was unlikely it would survive. They rode across the waters to the mainland to discover that garrisons were abandoned as men fled away from the dreadful threat of Chaos. It was not until a day later that they came upon the first survivors of the land fighting, many of them with bodies twisted into terrible shapes by Chaos, struggling along a white road leading towards Jadmar, a city still free. From them they learned that half Ilmiora, parts of Vilmir and the tiny independent kingdom of Org had all fallen. Chaos was closing in, its shadow spreading more and more swiftly as its conquests increased.
It was with relief that Elric and his companions finally reached Karlaak to find it still free from attack. But reports placed the Chaos army less than two hundred miles away and coming nearer.
Zarozinia greeted Elric with troubled joy. “There were rumours you were dead—killed in the sea battle.”
“I cannot stay long. I have to go beyond the Sighing Desert.”
“I know.”
“You know? How?”
“Sepiriz was here. He left a gift in our stables for you. Four Nihrain horses.”
“A useful gift. They will carry us far more swiftly than any other beasts. But will that be swift enough? I hesitate to leave you here with Chaos encroaching at such a rate.”
“You must leave me, Elric. If all seems lost here, we shall flee to the Weeping Waste. Even Jagreen Lern can have scant interest in those barrens.”
“Promise me that you will.”
“I promise.”
Feeling a little more relieved, Elric took her by the hand. “I spent the most restful period of my life in this palace,” he said. “Let me spend this last night with you and perhaps we shall find a little of the old peace we once had—before I ride on to the sad giant’s lair.”
So they made love, but when they slept, their dreams were so full of dark portent that each wakened the other with their groans so that they lay side by side, clinging to one another until the dawn, when Elric rose, kissed her lightly, clasped her hand and then went to the stables where he found his friends waiting—around a fourth figure. It was Sepiriz.
“Sepiriz, thanks for your gift. They will probably make the difference between our being too late or not,” Elric said sincerely. “But why are you here now?”
“Because I can perform another small service before your main journey begins,” said the black seer. “All of you save Moonglum have retained weapons endowed with some special power. Elric and Dyvim Slorm have their runeblades, Rackhir, the Arrows of Law, which the sorcerer Lamsar gave him at the time of the Siege of Tanelorn—but Moonglum’s weapon has nothing save the skill of its bearer.”
“I think I prefer it thus,” retorted Moonglum. “I’ve seen what a charmed blade can take from a man.”
“I can give you nothing so strong—nor so evil—as Stormbringer,” Sepiriz said. “But I have a charm for your sword, a slight one that my contact with the White Lords has enabled me to use. Give me your sword, Moonglum.”
A trifle unwillingly,