Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [186]
Elric lowered himself to the roof and began to edge down it until he came to the gap through which he had passed earlier.
Then suddenly he looked up as he heard a noise in the sky. There, his feet planted on air, stood grinning Jermays the Crooked. “I’ll be passing on, for I like not this world at all.” He chuckled. “It has been a pleasure to have had a part in this. Goodbye, Sir Champion. Remember me, the unfinished one, to the Lords of the Higher Worlds—and perhaps you could hint to them that the sooner they improve their memories or else their creative powers, the sooner I shall be happy.”
Elric said: “Perhaps you’d best be content with your lot, Jermays. There are disadvantages to stability, too.”
Jermays shrugged and vanished.
Slowly, all but spent, Elric descended the fractured wall and, with great relief, reached the first stair to stumble down the rest and run back to the Tower of D’a’rputna with the news of his success.
CHAPTER FOUR
The three thoughtful men left the city and went down to the Dragon Caves. On a new silver chain, the Horn of Fate was slung around Elric’s neck. He was dressed in black leather, with his head unprotected save for a golden circlet that kept his hair from his eyes. Stormbringer scabbarded at his side, the Chaos Shield on his back, he led his companions into the grottoes, to come eventually to the slumbering bulk of Flamefang the Dragon Leader. His lungs seemed to have insufficient capacity as he drew air into them and grasped the horn. Then he glanced at his friends, who regarded him expectantly, straddled his legs slightly and blew with all his strength into the horn.
The note sounded, deep and sonorous, and as it reverberated through the caverns, he felt all his vitality draining from him. Weaker and weaker he became until he sank to his knees, the horn still at his lips, the note failing, his vision dimming, his limbs shaking, and then he sprawled face down on the rock, the horn clattering beside him.
Moonglum dashed towards him and gasped as he saw the bulk of the leading dragon stir and one huge, unblinking eye, as cold as the Northern wastes, stare at him.
Dyvim Slorm yelled jubilantly: “Flamefang! Brother Flamefang, you wake!”
All about him he saw the other dragons stirring also, shaking their wings and straightening their slender necks, ruffling their horny crests. Moonglum felt smaller than usual as the dragons wakened. He began to feel nervous of the huge beasts, wondering how they would respond to the presence of one who was not a Dragon Master. Then he remembered the enervated albino and knelt beside Elric, touching his leathern-covered shoulder.
“Elric! D’you live?”
Elric groaned and tried to turn over onto his back. Moonglum helped him sit upright. “I’m weak, Moonglum—so weak I can’t rise. The horn took all my energy!”
“Draw your sword—it will supply what you need.”
Elric shook his head. “I’ll take your advice, though I doubt whether you’re right this time. That hero I slew must have been soulless, or else his soul was well-protected, for I gained nothing from him.”
His hand fumbled towards his hip and grasped Stormbringer’s hilt. With a tremendous effort, he drew it from the scabbard and felt a faint flowing leave it and enter him, but not enough to allow him any great exertion. He got up and staggered towards Flamefang. The monster recognized him and rustled its wings by way of welcome, its hard, solemn eyes seeming to warm slightly. As he moved round to pat its neck, he