Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [40]
“Let the Laws which govern all things
Not so lightly be dismissed;
Let the Ones who flaunt the Earth Kings
With a fresher death be kissed.”
Nothing happened. “I’ve failed.” Elric muttered hopelessly as he met the attack of a snapping devil-dog and spitted the thing on his sword.
But then—the ground rocked and seemed to seethe beneath the feet of the horses upon whose backs the dead men sat. The tremor lasted a few seconds and then subsided.
“The spell was not powerful enough,” Elric sighed.
The earth trembled again and small craters formed in the ground of the hillside upon which the dead Lords of Dharzi impassively waited. Stones crumbled and the horses stamped nervously. Then the earth rumbled.
“Back!” yelled Elric warningly. “Back—or we’ll go with them!” They retreated—backing towards Shaarilla and their waiting horses as the ground sagged beneath their feet. The Dharzi mounts were rearing and snorting and the remaining dogs turned nervously to regard their masters with puzzled, uncertain eyes. A low moan was coming from the lips of the living dead. Suddenly, a whole area of the surrounding hillside split into cracks, and yawning crannies appeared in the surface. Elric and his companions swung themselves on to their horses as, with a frightful multivoiced scream, the dead lords were swallowed by the earth, returning to the depths from which they had been summoned.
A deep unholy chuckle arose from the shattered pit. It was the mocking laughter of the earth elemental King Grome, taking his rightful subjects back into his keeping. Whining, the devil-dogs slunk towards the edge of the pit, sniffing around it. Then, with one accord, the black pack hurled itself down into the chasm, following its masters to whatever unholy doom awaited it.
Moonglum shuddered. “You are on familiar terms with the strangest people, friend Elric,” he said shakily and turned his horse towards the mountains again.
They reached the black mountains on the following day and nervously Shaarilla led them along the rocky route she had memorized. She no longer pleaded with Elric to return—she was resigned to whatever fate awaited them. Elric’s obsession was burning within him and he was filled with impatience—certain that he would find, at last, the ultimate truth of existence in the Dead Gods’ Book. Moonglum was cheerfully skeptical, while Shaarilla was consumed with foreboding.
Rain still fell and the storm growled and crackled above them. But, as the driving rainfall increased with fresh insistence, they came, at last, to the black, gaping mouth of a huge cave.
“I can lead you no further,” Shaarilla said wearily. “The Book lies somewhere beyond the entrance to this cave.”
Elric and Moonglum looked uncertainly at one another, neither of them sure what move to make next. To have reached their goal seemed somehow anti-climactic—for nothing blocked the cave entrance—and nothing appeared to guard it.
“It is inconceivable,” said Elric, “that the dangers which beset us were not engineered by something, yet here we are—and no-one seeks to stop us entering. Are you sure that this is the right cave, Shaarilla?”
The girl pointed upwards to the rock above the entrance. Engraved in it was a curious symbol which Elric instantly recognized.
“The sign of Chaos!” Elric exclaimed. “Perhaps I should have guessed.”
“What does it mean, Elric?” Moonglum asked.
“That is the symbol of everlasting disruption and anarchy,” Elric told him. “We are standing in territory presided over by the Lords of Entropy or one of their minions. So that is who our enemy is! This can only mean one thing—the Book is of extreme importance to the order of