Stormbringer - Michael Moorcock [47]
"That cursed hellspawn still cheats me," Elric grimaced. "Here's payment for your information—" Without mercy for one of the men who had wasted and enslaved two continents, Elric stuck his blade through the ornate armour and, delicately, with all the old malevolence of his sorcerer ancestors, tickled the man's heart before finishing him.
He looked around for Kargan, but couldn't see him. He was probably dead already. Then he noted that the Chaos fleet had turned back. At first he thought it was because Straasha had at last brought aid, but then he saw that the remnants of his fleet was fleeing. Jagreen Lern was victorious. Their plans, their formations, their courage—none of these had been capable of withstanding the horrible warpings of Chaos. And now the dreadful fleet was bearing down on the two flagships, locked together by their grapples. There was no chance of cutting one of them free before the fleet arrived. Elric yelled to Dyvim Slorm whom he saw running towards him from the other end of the deck, Moonglum's body over his shoulder, his face alarmed.
"Over the side! Over, for your lives—and swim as far as you can away from here!"
Others, from both sides, were already leaping into the bloody water. Elric sheathed his sword and dived. The sea was cold, for all the warm blood in it, and he gasped as he swam in the direction of Moonglum's red head, which he could see ahead and, close to it, Dyvim Slorm's honey-coloured hair. He turned once and saw that the very timbers of the two ships had begun to melt, to twist and curl in weird patterns as the Ships of Hell arrived. He felt relieved he had not been aboard. He reached his companions.
"A short-term escape this," said Dyvim Slorm, spitting water from his mouth. "What now, Elric?"
Elric swam closer and helped his cousin support Moonglum. The little man was beginning to awaken, staring vacantly about him.
Everywhere, the Chaos ships were disrupting nature. Soon their influence would engulf them, too.
Dyvim Slorm was staring upwards.
The sun was setting and heavy black clouds hung against a sharp, metallic-blue sky, stretching over the horizon. But this was not attracting Dyvim Slorm's attention. From out of the clouds a golden globe had appeared, moving swiftly towards them. It hovered over their heads and then darted downwards. Elric yelled and put up his hands in defence as the flashing shape descended. He felt intensely cold, then warm.
And then he and his friends were lying in a circular chamber and standing over them, a grave expression on his black, aquiline face, was Sepiriz the seer.
"You three are not meant to die here or in the manner you feared," he said calmly.
There was a feeling of motion, as if the sphere was moving.
"I have so few carriages of this type that I can only use them when pressed," Sepiriz was saying to the startled trio. "We are bound for the Isle of the Purple Towns—for the Fortress of Evening where I will tell you my news."
Elric said hopelessly: "But the fleet is vanquished, the East has no great strength. Jagreen Lern is victorious. Our fight is lost."
Sepiriz shrugged. "I hope not, Elric. It is true that Jagreen Lern's strength has increased even more than I expected—but the efforts of my brothers to contact the White Lords are achieving some result."
"Are the White Lords willing to aid us?"
"They have always been so willing—but they have not yet made a sufficient breach in the defences that Chaos has set up around this planet. And we here have so few weapons against Chaos that it will be hard for us to weaken their power here."
"I have one weapon against Chaos, at least, in my blade here—or so you tell me."
"Not enough, that bodkin—you still have no protection against the Dark Lords. That is what I have to tell you of—a personal armament for yourself to help in your struggle, though you'll have to win it from its present possessor."
"Who owns it?"
"A giant who broods in eternal misery in a great castle on the edge of the world, beyond the Sighing Desert. Mordaga is his name