Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [36]
“Shaarilla! Quickly—a rope!”
“There is no rope, Elric!” She was ripping off her top garment, frantically tearing it into strips.
Still Elric sank, his feet finding no purchase beneath them.
Shaarilla hastily knotted the strips of cloth. She flung the makeshift rope inexpertly towards the sinking albino. It fell short. Fumbling in her haste, she threw it again. This time his groping left hand found it. The girl began to haul on the fabric. Elric felt himself rise a little and then stop.
“It’s no good, Elric—I haven’t the strength.”
Cursing her, Elric shouted: “The horse—tie it to the horse!”
She ran towards one of the horses and looped the cloth around the pommel of the saddle. Then she tugged at the beast’s reins and began to walk it away.
Swiftly, Elric was dragged from the sucking bog and, still gripping Stormbringer, was pulled to the inadequate safety of the strip of turf.
Gasping, he tried to stand, but found his legs incredibly weak beneath him. He rose, staggered, and fell. Shaarilla knelt down beside him.
“Are you hurt?”
Elric smiled in spite of his weakness. “I don’t think so.”
“It was dreadful. I couldn’t see properly what was happening. You seemed to disappear and then—then you screamed that—that name!” She was trembling, her face pale and taut.
“What name?” Elric was genuinely puzzled. “What name did I scream?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter—but whatever it was—it saved you. You reappeared soon afterwards and fell into the marsh…”
Stormbringer’s power was still flowing into the albino. He already felt stronger.
With an effort, he got up and stumbled unsteadily towards his horse.
“I’m sure that the Mist Giant does not usually haunt this marsh—it was sent here. By what—or whom—I don’t know, but we must get to firmer ground while we can.”
Shaarilla said: “Which way—back or forward?”
Elric frowned. “Why, forward, of course. Why do you ask?”
She swallowed and shook her head. “Let’s hurry, then,” she said.
They mounted their horses and rode with little caution until the marsh and its cloak of mist was behind them.
Now the journey took on a new urgency as Elric realized that some force was attempting to put obstacles in their way. They rested little and savagely rode their powerful horses to a virtual standstill.
On the fifth day they were riding through barren, rocky country and a light rain was falling.
The hard ground was slippery so that they were forced to ride more slowly, huddled over the sodden necks of their horses, muffled in cloaks which only inadequately kept out the drizzling rain. They had ridden in silence for some time before they heard a ghastly cackling baying ahead of them and the rattle of hoofs.
Elric motioned towards a large rock looming to their right. “Shelter there,” he said. “Something comes towards us—possibly more enemies. With luck, they’ll pass us.” Shaarilla mutely obeyed him and together they waited as the hideous baying grew nearer.
“One rider—several other beasts,” Elric said, listening intently. “The beasts either follow or pursue the rider.”
Then they were in sight—racing through the rain. A man frantically spurring an equally frightened horse—and behind him, the distance decreasing, a pack of what at first appeared to be dogs. But these were not dogs—they were half-dog and half-bird, with the lean, shaggy bodies and legs of dogs but possessing birdlike talons in place of paws and savagely curved beaks which snapped where muzzles should have been.
“The hunting dogs of the Dharzi!” gasped Shaarilla. “I thought that they, like their masters, were long extinct!”
“I, also,” Elric said. “What are they doing in these parts? There was never contact between the Dharzi and the dwellers of this land.”
“Brought here—by something,