Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [190]
CHAPTER THREE
The Original Seed
Later that morning Ronan awoke to a rustling in the trees and reached for his bow, but then he realized the sound was made by birds, a black flock with strange, golden eyes, which hopped along the lower branches, heads to one side as they regarded him, he thought, with a certain hunger.
The forest had not moved. Waking, the silver woman, O’Indura, stretched and wiped her hands in the dew. She yawned, pushing back her long hair to expose the slightly pointed, delicate ears of her race. Rackhir-called-Ronan knew the appearance of Melnibonéans. They appeared on bas-reliefs in the temples of Phum. In the daylight her almost translucent skin seemed to shine and he drew a sharp breath when he saw her full beauty. She turned and smiled at him, as if she knew she had entranced him.
From his purse the archer-priest took a packet of dried sheep meat and offered some to her, but she shook her head, patiently waiting for him to chew the tough stuff before she stepped closer to him across the dark green turf.
“Tonight the moon will still be strong enough to move the forest,” she said. “So we must do what we can during the day. Come nightfall, it will be more dangerous. We should act quickly. I will lead you to the Place of the Seed.” She stretched out her hand.
Rackhir took the soft fingers in his own hard, suspicious grasp. He wondered how many warriors like him had been lured to their deaths or worse by this sorceress…
“Tell me,” he said, as she led him past all the corpses of those he had slain in last night’s battle. They were black with the same golden-eyed birds which filled the trees, no doubt waiting their own turn to feast. “Tell me, lady. How many others sought to help you find this seed?”
“Oh, I forget,” she replied. “A score, maybe. Two score?”
“And they have all perished?”
“They were not archer-priests of Phum,” she told him. Her reply gave him little comfort as he padded beside her, looking hard at the old trunks and wondering if they had any means of harming him. More than once, he felt he saw a branch move in an unnatural way, but when he stared back, there seemed nothing amiss.
“Who are these warriors who move with the forest?” he asked her. “What’s their bargain with it?”
“They guard and feed the Seed and for this they are repaid with a form of life. Did you pass through a village a night or so ago?”
“I did.”
“Few of those villagers lived. They became the most recent Feast of Blood. It was my fault, I fear. I saw you from the trees and thought to seek your help. I had hoped the forest would not follow, that I could reach you before my form faded to nothing. But the forest did follow. And she dined, sparing some who elected to serve her and were amongst the warriors who attacked you.” O’Indura’s voice broke and she stopped speaking, lowering her head. But Rackhir had seen what he thought was genuine agony in her eyes. For the first time, he let himself be convinced by what she told him.
The undergrowth grew thick and the two of them were forced to use their captured broadswords to cut a way through. A path became faintly visible beneath the shrubs and saplings.
“We are almost at the Barrow of the Seed,” she murmured. “A few days ago this path was cleared. That’s how quickly the forest grows when it has blood to feed it.”
And then they had passed through a narrow gap and entered a gloomy glade, an arena of heaped earthworks in which red clay lay exposed from the turf like the wounds of battle and on which low bushes grew, like patches of hair.
“This is the Barrow,” she said. “Now we go underground.”
But Rackhir hesitated, every instinct in him refusing further movement. Surely, once he descended into the earth, into the very bowels of this beast that adopted the appearance of a forest, he would be trapped for ever?
“I am