Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [169]
Stormbringer turned in Elric’s hand, howling its satiated glee and clove down at Rackhir. Seeing his fate, the Red Archer sobbed and sought to avoid the blow. But it landed in his shoulder blade and sheared down to his breastbone. “Elric!” he cried. “Not my soul, too!”
And so died the hero Rackhir the Red Archer, famous in the Eastlands as the saviour of Tanelorn. Cloven by a treacherous blade. By the friend whose life he had saved, long ago when they had first met near the city of Ameeron.
And Elric laughed until realization came and he tugged his sword away though it was too late. The stolen energy still pulsed in him, but his great grief no longer gave it the same control over him. Tears streamed down Elric’s tortured face and a great, racking groan came from him.
“Ah, Rackhir—will it ever cease?”
On opposite sides of the slain-strewed field, his two remaining companions stood regarding him. Dyvim Slorm had done with killing, but only because there was none left to kill. He gasped, staring around him half in bewilderment. Moonglum glared at Elric with horrified eyes which yet held a gleam of sympathy for his friend, for he knew well Elric’s doom and knew that the life of one close to Elric was coveted by Stormbringer.
“There was no gentler hero than Rackhir,” he said, “no man more desirous of peace and order than him.” Then he shuddered.
Elric raised himself to his feet and turned to look at the huge castle of granite and bluestone which waited in enigmatic silence as if for his next action. On the battlements of the topmost turret he could make out a figure which could only be the giant.
“I swear by your stolen soul, Rackhir, that what you wished to come to pass shall come to pass, though I, a thing of Chaos, achieve it. Law will triumph and Chaos will be driven back! Armed with sword and shield of Chaos forging I shall do battle with every fiend of hell if needs be. Chaos was the indirect cause of your death. And Chaos will be punished for it. But first, we must take the shield.”
Dyvim Slorm, not realizing quite what had happened, shouted in exultation to his kinsman. “Elric—let’s visit the sad giant now!”
But Moonglum, coming up to gaze down on the ruined body of Rackhir, murmured: “Aye, Chaos is the cause, Elric. I’ll join in your vengeance with a will so long as,” he shuddered, “I’m spared from the attentions of your hellblade.”
Together, three abreast, they marched through the open portal of Mordaga’s castle and were immediately in a rich and barbarically furnished hall.
“Mordaga!” Elric cried. “We have come to fulfill a prophecy!”
They waited impatiently, until at last a bulky figure came through a great arch at the end of the vast hall. Mordaga was as tall as two men, but his back was bent. He had long, curling black hair and was clad in a deep blue smock belted at the waist. Upon his great feet were simple leather sandals. His black eyes were full of a sorrow such as Moonglum had only seen before in Elric’s eyes.
Upon the sad giant’s arm was a round shield which bore upon it the eight amber arrows of Chaos. It was of a silvery green colour and very beautiful. He had no other weapons.
“I know the prophecy,” he said in a voice that was like a lonely, roaring wind. “But still I must seek to avert it. Will you take the shield and leave me in peace, human? I do not want death.”
Elric felt a kind of sympathy for sad Mordaga and he knew something of what the fallen god must feel at this moment. “The prophecy says death,” he said softly.
“Take the shield,” Mordaga lifted it off his mighty arm and held it towards Elric. “Take the shield and change fate this once.”
Elric nodded. “I will.”
With a tremendous sigh, the giant deposited the Chaos Shield upon the floor.
“For thousands of years I have lived in the shadow of that prophecy,” he said, straightening his back. “Now, though I die in old age, I shall die in peace and, though once I did not think so, I shall welcome such a death after all this time, I think.”
“The whole