Stormbringer - Michael Moorcock [59]
"Zarozinia!" He ducked into the dark place and there he saw her.
Chaos had warped her. Only her head, the same beautiful head was left.
But her lovely body was dreadfully changed. Now it resembled the body of a huge white worm.
"Did Jagreen Lern do this?"
"He and his ally."
"How have you retained your sanity?"
"By waiting for you. I have something to do that required me to keep my wits." The worm-body undulated towards him.
"No—stand back," he cried, disgusted against his will. He could hardly bear to look at her. But she did not heed him. The worm-body threshed forward and impaled itself on his sword. "There," cried her head. "Take my soul into you, Elric, for I am useless to myself and you now! Carry my soul with yours and we shall be forever together."
"No! You are wrong!" He tried to withdraw the thirsty runeblade, but it was impossible. And, unlike any other sensation he had ever received from it, this was almost gentle. Warm and pleasant, bringing with it her youth and innocence, his wife's soul flowed into his and he wept. "Oh, Zarozinia. Oh, my love!"
So she died, her soul blending with his as, years earlier, the soul of his first love, Cymoril, had been taken. He did not look at the dreadful worm-body, did not glance at her face, but walked slowly from the cabin.
Though he was moved to an aching sadness, Stormbringer seemed to chuckle as he resheathed it.
But now, as he left the cabin, it appeared that the deck was disintegrating, flowing apart. Sepiriz had been right. The destruction of Pyaray also meant the destruction of his ghastly fleet. Jagreen Lern had evidently made good his escape and Elric, in his present mood, did not feel ready to pursue him. He was only regretful that the fleet had achieved its purpose before he had been able to destroy it. Sword and shield both aiding him in their ways, he leapt from the ship to the pulsating ground and ran for the Nihrain steed which was rearing up and flailing with its hooves to protect itself from a group of gibbering Chaos creatures. He drew his runesword again and drove into them, quickly dispersing them and mounting the Nihrain stallion. Then, the tears still flowing down his white face, he rode wildly from the Camp of Chaos, leaving the Ships of Hell breaking apart behind him. At least these would threaten the world no more and a blow had been struck against Chaos. Now only the horde itself remained to be dealt with—and the dealing would not be so easy.
Fighting off the warped things which clawed at him, he finally rejoined his friends, said nothing to them but wheeled his horse to lead the way over the shaking earth towards Melniboné, where the last stand against Chaos could be prepared, the last battle fought and his destiny completed.
And in his mind as he rode, he seemed to hear Zarozinia's youthful voice whispering comfort as, still sobbing, he galloped away from that Camp of Chaos.
Part Three
DOOMED LORD'S PASSING
For the Mind of Man alone is free to explore the lofty vastness of the cosmic infinite, to transcend ordinary consciousness, or roam the subterranean corridors of the human brain with its boundless dimensions. And universe and individual are linked, the one mirrored in the other, and each contains the other.
—The Chronicle of the Black Sword
One
The Dreaming City no longer dreamed in splendour. The tattered towers of Imrryr were blackened husks, tumbled rags of masonry standing sharp and dark against a sullen sky. Once, Elric's vengeance had brought fire to the city, and the fire had brought ruin.
Streaks of cloud, like sooty smoke, whispered across the pulsing sun so that the shouting, red-stained waters beyond Imrryr were soiled by shadow, and they seemed to become quieter as if hushed by the black scars that rode across their ominous turbulence.
Upon a confusion of fallen masonry, a man stood watching the waves. A tall man, broad-shouldered, slender at hip, a man with slanting brows, pointed, lobeless ears, high cheekbones and crimson, moody eyes in a dead white ascetic