Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [155]
For a moment the city seemed to retreat. The golden light faded. The city remained, some distance away, swaying a little as if on a gentle tide, a couple of thousand feet above the ground, the grey moon below it.
“That’s what I call megaflow distortion,” said Una Persson in that inappropriately facetious tone adopted by those who are deeply frightened.
“I recognize the period.” Jagged drew a telescope from his robes. “Second Candlemaker’s Empire, mainly based in Arcturus. This is a village by their standards. After all, Earth was merely a rural park during that time.” He retreated into academe, his own response to fear.
Una craned her head. “Isn’t that some sort of vehicle heading towards the city. From the moon—good heavens, they’ve spotted it already. Are they going to try to put the whole thing into a menagerie?”
Jagged had the advantage of the telescope. “I think not.” He handed her the instrument.
Through it she saw a scarlet and black chariot borne by what seemed to be some form of flying fairground horses. In the chariot, armed to the teeth with lances, bows, spears, swords, axes, morningstars, maces and almost every other barbaric hand-weapon, clad in quasi-mythological armour, were Werther de Goethe, the Duke of Queens and Elric of Melniboné.
“They’re attacking it!” she said faintly. “What will happen when the two groups intersect?”
“Three groups,” he pointed out. “Untangling that in a few hours is going to be even harder.”
“And if we fail?”
He shrugged. “We might just as well give ourselves up to the biggest chronoquake the universe has ever experienced.”
“You’re exaggerating,” she said.
“Why not? Everyone else is.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Attack on the Citadel of the Skies
“Melniboné! Melniboné!” cried the albino as the chariot circled over the spires and turrets of the city. They saw startled faces below. Strange engines were being dragged through the narrow streets.
“Surrender!” Elric demanded.
“I do not think they can understand us,” said the Duke of Queens. “What a find, eh? A whole city from the past!”
Werther had been reluctant to embark on an adventure not of his own creation, but Elric, realizing that here at last was a chance of escape, had been anxious to begin. The Duke of Queens had, in an instant, aided the albino by producing costumes, weapons, transport. Within minutes of the city’s appearance, they had been on their way.
Exactly why Elric wished to attack the city, Werther could not make out, unless it was some test of the Melnibonéan’s to see if his companions were true allies or merely pretending to have befriended him. Werther was learning a great deal from Elric, much more than he had ever learned from Mongrove, whose ideas of angst were only marginally less notional than Werther’s own.
A broad, flat blue ray beamed from the city. It singed one wheel of the chariot.
“Ha! They make sorcerous weapons,” said Elric. “Well, my friends. Let us see you counter with your own power.”
Werther obediently imitated the blue ray and sent it back from his fingers, slicing the tops off several towers. The Duke of Queens typically let loose a different coloured ray from each of his extended ten fingers and bored a hole all the way through the bottom of the city so that fields could be seen below. He was pleased with the effect.
“This is the power of the Gods of Chaos!” cried Elric, a familiar elation filling him as the blood of old Melniboné was fired. “Surrender!”
“Why do you want them to surrender?” asked the Duke of Queens in some disappointment.
“Their city evidently has the power to fly through the dimensions. If I became its lord I could force it to return to my own plane,” said Elric reasonably.
“The Morphail Effect…” began Werther, but realized he was spoiling the spirit of the game. “Sorry.”
The blue ray came again, but puttered out and faded before it reached them.
“Their power is gone!” cried Elric. “Your sorcery defeats them, my lords. Let us land