Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [82]
Drinij Bara was bound by more than strips of leather, that was why he cursed, for Drinij Bara was a sorcerer who could not normally be held in such a manner. If he had not succumbed to his weakness for wine and women just before the Flame Bringer had come down on the town in which he was staying, he would not have been trussed so, and Terarn Gashtek would not now have Drinij Bara’s soul.
Drinij Bara’s soul reposed in the body of a small, black-and-white cat—the cat which Terarn Gashtek had caught and carried with him always, for, as was the habit of Eastern sorcerers, Drinij Bara had hidden his soul in the body of the cat for protection. Because of this he was now slave to the Lord of the Mounted Hordes, and had to obey him lest the man slay the cat and so send his soul to hell.
It was not a pleasant situation for the proud sorcerer, but he did not deserve less.
There was on the pale face of Elric of Melniboné some slight trace of an earlier haunting, but his mouth smiled and his crimson eyes were at peace as he looked down at the young, black-haired woman with whom he walked in the terraced gardens of Karlaak.
“Elric,” said Zarozinia, “have you found your happiness?”
He nodded. “I think so. Stormbringer now hangs amid cobwebs in your father’s armoury. The drugs I discovered in Troos keep me strong, my eyesight clear, and need to be taken only occasionally. I need never think of traveling or fighting again. I am content, here, to spend my time with you and study the books in Karlaak’s library. What more would I require?”
“You compliment me overmuch, my lord. I would become complacent.”
He laughed. “Rather that than you were doubting. Do not fear, Zarozinia, I possess no reason, now, to journey on. Moonglum, I miss, but it was natural that he should become restless of residence in a city and wish to revisit his homeland.”
“I am glad you are at peace, Elric. My father was at first reluctant to let you live here, fearing the black evil that once accompanied you, but three months have proved to him that the evil has gone and left no fuming berserker behind it.”
Suddenly there came a shouting from below them, in the street a man’s voice was raised and he banged at the gates of the house.
“Let me in, damn you, I must speak with your master.”
A servant came running: “Lord Elric—there is a man at the gates with a message. He pretends friendship with you.”
“His name?”
“An alien one—Moonglum, he says.”
“Moonglum! His stay in Elwher has been short. Let him in!”
Zarozinia’s eyes held a trace of fear and she held Elric’s arm fiercely. “Elric—pray he does not bring news to take you hence.”
“No news could do that. Fear not, Zarozinia.” He hurried out of the garden and into the courtyard of the house. Moonglum rode hurriedly through the gates, dismounting as he did so.
“Moonglum, my friend! Why the haste? Naturally, I am pleased to see you after such a short time, but you have been riding hastily—why?”
The little Eastlander’s face was grim beneath its coating of dust and his clothes were filthy from hard riding.
“The Flame Bringer comes with sorcery to aid him,” he panted. “You must warn the city.”
“The Flame Bringer? The name means nothing—you sound delirious, my friend.”
“Aye, that’s true, I am. Delirious with hate. He destroyed my homeland, killed my family, my friends and now plans conquests in the West. Two years ago he was little more than an ordinary desert raider but then he began to gather a great horde of barbarians around him and has been looting and slaying his way across the Eastern lands. Only Elwher has not suffered from his attacks, for the city was too great for even him to take. But he has turned two thousand miles of pleasant country into a burning waste.