Stormbringer - Michael Moorcock [64]
The Lords of Law were accoutred for war. They had made this apparent in their choice of earth-like garb. Fine metals and silks—or their like on this plane—gleamed on their perfect bodies. Slender weapons were at their sides and their overpoweringly beautiful faces seemed to glow with purpose. The tallest stepped forward.
"So, Sepiriz, you have brought the one whose destiny it is to aid us. Greetings, Elric of Melniboné. Though spawn of Chaos you be, we have cause to welcome you. I am the one whom your earthly mythology calls Donblas the Justice Maker."
Immobile, Elric said: "Hail, Lord Donblas. You are misnamed, I fear, for justice is nowhere present in the world."
"You speak of your world as if it were all worlds," Donblas smiled without rancour, though it appeared that he was unused to such impudence from a mortal. Elric was insouciant, for he had had too many dealings with the Dark Lords of the Higher Worlds to grant either side much deference. Also, his ancestors had been opposed to Donblas and all his brethren, and it was still hard to consider the White Lord an ally. "I see now how you have managed to defy our opponents," Lord Donblas continued with approval. "And I grant you that justice cannot be found on earth at this time. But I am named the Justice Maker and have still the will to make it when conditions change on your plane."
Elric did not look directly at Donblas, for the sight of his beauty was disturbing. "Then let's to work, my lord, and change the world as soon we may. Let's bring the novelty of justice to our sobbing world."
"Haste, mortal, is impossible here!" It was another White Lord speaking, his pale yellow surcoat rippling over the clear steel of breastplate and greaves, the single Arrow of Law emblazoned on it.
"I'd thought the breach to earth made," Elric frowned. "I'd thought this martial sight a sign that you prepared war against Chaos!"
"War is prepared—but not possible until the summons comes from earth."
"From earth! Has not earth screamed for your aid? Have we not worked sorceries and incantations to bring you to us? What further summons do you need?"
"The ordained one," said Lord Donblas firmly.
"The ordained one? Gods! (You'll pardon me, my lords.) Is further work required of me, then?"
"One last great task, Elric," said Sepiriz softly. "As I have told you, Chaos blocks the attempts of the White Lords to gain access to our world. The Horn of Fate must be blown thrice before this business is fully terminated. The first blast will wake the Dragons or Imrryr, the second will allow the White Lords entrance to the earthly plane, the third—" he paused.
"Yes, the third?" Elric was impatient.
"The third will herald the death of our world!"
"Where lies this mighty horn?"
"In one of several possible futures," said Sepiriz. "A device of this kind cannot be made in our phase, therefore it has had to be constructed in a phase where logic rules over sorcery. You must journey to the future and there locate the Horn of Fate."
"And how can I accomplish such a journey?"
Once again Lord Donblas spoke levelly. "We will give you the means. Equip yourself with sword and shield of Chaos, for they will be of some use to you, though not so powerful as in your world. Go you then to the highest point on the ruined Tower of B'all'nezbett in Imrryr and step off into space. You will not fall—unless what little power we retain on earth fails us."
"Comforting words, my Lord Donblas. Very well, I shall do as you decree, to satisfy my own curiosity if naught else."
Donblas shrugged. "This is only one of many future worlds—almost as much a shadow as your own—but you may not approve of it. You will notice its sharpness, its clearness of outline—that will indicate that Time has exerted no real influence upon it, that its structure has not been mellowed by many events. However, let me wish you safe passage, mortal, for I like you—and I have cause to thank you, too. Though you be of Chaos, you have within you several of the qualities