Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [63]
“How badly are you hurt?” Elric said anxiously. “Can you tell?”
“That trollspawn’s sword passed through my ribs, I think—no vitals were harmed.” Dyvim Tvar gasped and tried to smile. “I’m sure I’d know if he’d made more of the wound.”
Then he fell. And when Elric turned him, he looked into a dead and staring face. The Dragon Master, Lord of the Dragon Caves, would never tend his beasts again.
Elric felt sick and weary as he got up, standing over the body of his kinsman. Because of me, he thought, another fine man has died. But this was the only conscious thought he allowed himself for the meantime. He was forced to defend himself from the slashing swords of a couple of desert men who came at him in a rush.
The archers, their work done outside, came running through the breach in the gate and their arrows poured into the enemy ranks.
Elric shouted loudly: “My kinsman Dyvim Tvar lies dead, stabbed in the back by a desert warrior—avenge him brethren. Avenge the Dragon Master of Imrryr!”
A low moaning came from the throats of the Melnibonéans and their attack was even more ferocious than before. Elric called to a bunch of axemen who ran down from the battlements, their victory assured.
“You men, follow me. We can avenge the blood that Theleb K’aarna took!” He had a good idea of the geography of the castle.
Moonglum shouted from somewhere. “One moment, Elric, and I’ll join you!” A desert warrior fell, his back to Elric, and from behind him emerged a grinning Moonglum, his sword covered in blood from point to pommel.
Elric led the way to a small door, set into the main tower of the castle. He pointed at it and spoke to the axemen. “Set to with your axes, lads, and hurry!”
Grimly, the axemen began to hack at the tough timber. Impatiently, Elric watched as the wood chips started to fly.
The conflict was appalling. Theleb K’aarna sobbed in frustration. Kakatal, the Fire Lord, and his minions were having little effect on the Wind Giants. Their power appeared to be increasing if anything. The sorcerer gnawed his knuckles and quaked in his chamber while below him the human warriors fought, bled and died. Theleb K’aarna made himself concentrate on one thing only—total destruction of the Lasshaar forces. But he knew, somehow, even then, that sooner or later, in one way or another, he was doomed.
The axes drove deeper and deeper into the stout timber. At last it gave. “We’re through, my lord,” one of the axemen indicated the gaping hole they’d made.
Elric reached his arm through the gap and prised up the bar which secured the door. The bar moved upwards and then fell with a clatter to the stone flagging. Elric put his shoulder to the door and pushed.
Above them, now, two huge, almost-human figures had appeared in the sky, outlined against the night. One was golden and glowing like the sun and seemed to wield a great sword of fire. The other was dark blue and silver, writhing, smokelike, with a flickering spear of restless orange in his hand.
Misha and Kakatal clashed. The outcome of their mighty struggle might well decide Theleb K’aarna’s fate.
“Quickly,” Elric said. “Upwards!”
They ran up the stairs. The stairs which led to Theleb K’aarna’s chamber.
Suddenly the men were forced to stop as they came to a door of jet-black, studded with crimson iron. It had no keyhole,