Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [34]
“This has the air of our death about it,” Rackhir said shivering.
The sea roared and tumbled, the sound of it increasing to a fury, daring them to go on towards it, welcoming them with wild temptation—offering them nothing but achievement—the achievement of death.
Lamsar said: “It is not my fate wholly to perish.” But then they were running back towards the forest, feeling that the strange sea was pouring up the beach towards them. They looked back and saw that it had gone no further, that the breakers were less wild, the sea more calm. Lamsar was a little way behind Rackhir.
The Red Archer gripped his hand and hauled him towards him as if he had rescued the old man from a whirlpool. They remained there, mesmerized, for a long time, while the sea called to them and the wind was a cold caress on their flesh.
In the bleak brightness of the alien shore, under a sun which gave no heat, their bodies shone like stars in the night and they turned towards the forest, quietly.
“Are we trapped, then, in this realm of Chaos?” Rackhir said at length. “If we meet someone, they will offer us harm—how can we ask our question?”
Then there emerged from the huge forest a great figure, naked and gnarled like the trunk of a tree, green as lime, but the face was jovial.
“Greetings, unhappy renegades,” it said.
“Where is the next Gate?” said Lamsar quickly.
“You almost entered it, but turned away,” laughed the giant. “That sea does not exist—it is there to stop travelers from passing through the gate.”
“It exists here, in the Realm of Chaos,” Rackhir said thickly.
“You could say so—but what exists in Chaos save the disorders of the minds of gods gone mad?”
Rackhir had strung his bone bow and fitted an arrow to the string, but he did it in the knowledge of his own hopelessness.
“Do not shoot the arrow,” said Lamsar softly. “Not yet.” And he stared at the arrow and muttered.
The giant advanced carelessly towards them, unhurried. “It will please me to exact the price of your crimes from you,” it said, “for I am Hionhurn the Executioner. You will find your death pleasant—but your fate unbearable.” And he came closer, his clawed hands outstretched.
“Shoot!” croaked Lamsar and Rackhir brought the bow-string to his cheek, pulled it back with might and released the arrow at the giant’s heart. “Run!” cried Lamsar, and in spite of their forebodings they ran back down the shore towards the frightful sea. They heard the giant groan behind them as they reached the edge of the sea and, instead of running into water, found themselves in a range of stark mountains.
“No mortal arrow could have delayed him,” Rackhir said. “How did you stop him?”
“I used an old charm—the Charm of Justice, which, when applied to any weapon, makes it strike at the unjust.”
“But why did it hurt Hionhurn, an immortal?” Rackhir asked.
“There is no justice in the world of Chaos—something constant and inflexible, whatever its nature, must harm any servant of the Lords of Chaos.”
“We have passed through the Third Gate,” Rackhir said, unstringing his bow, “and have the fourth and fifth to find. Two dangers have been avoided—but what new ones will we encounter now?”
“Who knows?” said Lamsar, and they walked on through the rocky mountain pass and entered a forest that was cool, even though the sun had reached its zenith and was glaring down through parts of the thick foliage. There was an air of ancient calm about the place. They heard unfamiliar bird-calls and saw tiny golden birds which were also new to them.
“There is something calm and peaceful about this place—I almost distrust it,” Rackhir said, but Lamsar pointed ahead silently.
Rackhir saw a large domed building, magnificent in marble and blue mosaic. It stood in a clearing of yellow grass and the marble caught the sun, flashing like fire.
They neared the domed construction and saw that it was supported by big marble columns set into a platform of milky