Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [170]
“Farewell and I thank you,” said the giant, turning, and he plodded back towards the entrance through which he had come.
As Mordaga disappeared, Moonglum dashed forward on fleet feet and followed him through the entrance before either Elric or Dyvim Slorm could cry out or stop him.
Then they heard a single shriek that seemed to echo away into eternity, a crash which shook the hall and then the footfall returning.
Moonglum reappeared in the entrance, a bloody sword in his hand.
“It was murder,” he said simply. “I admit it. I took him in the back before he was aware of it. It was a good, quick death and he died whilst happy. Moreover, it was a better death than any his minions tried to mete to us. It was murder, but it was necessary in my eyes.”
“Why?” said Elric, still mystified.
Grimly, Moonglum continued: “He had to perish as Fate decreed. We are servants of Fate now, Elric, and to divert it in any small way is to hamper its aims. But more than that, it was the beginning of my own vengeance taking. If Mordaga had not surrounded himself with such a host, Rackhir would not have died.”
Elric shook his head. “Blame me for that, Moonglum. The giant should not have perished for my own sword’s crime.”
“Someone had to perish,” said Moonglum steadfastly, “and since the prophecy contained Mordaga’s death, he was the one. Who else, here, could I kill, Elric?”
Elric turned away. “I wish it were I,” he sighed. He looked down at the great, round shield with its shifting amber arrows and its mysterious silver-green colour. He picked it up easily enough and placed it on his arm. It virtually covered his body from chin to ankles.
“Let’s make haste and leave this place of death and misery. The lands of Ilmiora and Vilmir await our aid—if they have not already wholly fallen to Chaos!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was in the mountains separating the Sighing Desert from the Weeping Waste that they first learned of the fate of the last of the Young Kingdoms. They came upon a party of six tired warriors led by Lord Voashoon, Zarozinia’s father.
“What has happened?” Elric asked anxiously. “Where is Zarozinia?”
“I know not if she’s lost, dead or captured, Elric. Our continent has fallen to Chaos.”
“Did you not seek for her?” Elric accused.
The old man shrugged. “My son, I have looked upon so much horror these past days that I am now bereft of emotion. I care for nothing but a quick release from all this. The day of mankind is over on the Earth. Go no further than here, for even the Weeping Waste is beginning to change before the crawling tide of Chaos. It is hopeless.”
“Hopeless! No! We still live—perhaps Zarozinia still lives. Did you hear nothing of her fate?”
“Only a rumour that Jagreen Lern had taken her aboard the leading Chaos ship.”
“She is on the seas?”
“No—those cursed craft sail land as well as sea, if it can be told apart these days. It was they who attacked Karlaak, with a vast horde of mounted men and infantry following behind. Confusion prevails—you’ll find nothing but your death back there, my son.”
“We shall see. I have some protection against Chaos at long last, plus my sword and my Nihrain steed.” He turned in the saddle to address his companions. “Well, will you stay here with Lord Voashoon or accompany me into the heart of Chaos?”
“We’ll come with you,” Moonglum said quietly, speaking for them both. “We’ve followed you until now and our fates are linked with yours in any case. We can do nought else.”
“Good. Farewell, Lord Voashoon. If you would do a service, ride over the Weeping Waste to Eshmir and the Unknown East where Moonglum’s homeland lies. Tell them what to expect, though they’re probably beyond rescue now.”
“I will try,” said Voashoon wearily, “and hope to arrive there before Chaos.”
Then Elric and his companions rode away, towards the massed hordes of Chaos