The Bane of the Black Sword - Michael Moorcock [57]
"But will they help us?"
"You must ask them."
"You are pledged to Eequor of Chaos," Rackhir observed, "and must aid her against us, is that not so?"
"Here," she smiled, "is a truce. I can only inform Chaos of what I learn of your plans and, if the Grey Lords aid you, must tell them how, if I can find out."
"You are frank, Sorana."
"Here there are subtler hypocrisies—and the subtlest lie of all is the full truth," she said, as they entered the area of tall tents and made their way towards a certain one.
In a different realm of the Earth, the huge horde careered across the grasslands of the North, screaming and singing behind the black-armoured horseman, their leader. Nearer and nearer they came to lonely Tanelorn, their motley weapons shining through the evening mists. Like a boiling tidal wave of insensate flesh, the mob drove on, hysterical with the hate for Tanelorn which Narjhan had placed in their thin hearts. Thieves, murderers, jackals, scavengers—a scrawny horde, but huge. . .
And in Tanelorn the warriors were grim-faced as their out-riders and scouts flowed into the city with messages and estimates of the beggar army's strength.
Brut, in the silver armour of his rank, knew that two full days had passed since Rackhir had left for the Sighing Desert. Three more days and the city would be engulfed by Narjhan's mighty rabble—and they knew there was no chance of halting their advance. They might have left Tanelorn to its fate, but they would not. Even weak Uroch would not. For Tanelorn the Mysterious had given them all a secret power which each believed to be his only, a strength which filled them where before they had been hollow men. Selfishly, they stayed—for to leave Tanelorn to her fate would be to become hollow again, and that they all dreaded.
Brut was the leader and he prepared the defence of Tanelorn—a defence which might just have held against the beggar army—but not against it and Chaos. Brut shuddered when he thought that if Chaos had directed its full force against Tanelorn, they would be sobbing in Hell at that moment.
Dust rose high above Tanelorn, sent flying by the hooves of the scouts' and messengers' horses. One came through the gate as Brut watched. He pulled his mount to a stop before the nobleman. He was the messenger from Kaarlak, by the Weeping Waste, one of the nearest major cities to Tanelorn.
The messenger gasped: "I asked Kaarlak for aid but, as we supposed, they had never heard of Tanelorn and suspected that I was an emissary from the beggar army sent to lead their few forces into a trap. I pleaded with the Senators, but they would do nothing."
"Was not Elric there—he knows Tanelorn?"
"No, he was not there. There is a rumour which says that he himself fights Chaos now, for the minions of Chaos captured his wife Zarozinia and he rides in pursuit of them. Chaos, it seems, gains strength everywhere in our realm."
Brut was pale.
"What of Jadmar—will Jadmar send warriors?" The messenger spoke urgently, for many had been sent to the nearer cities to solicit aid.
"I do not know," replied Brut, "and it does not matter now—for the beggar army is not three days march from Tanelorn and it would take two weeks for a Jadmarian force to reach us."
"And Rackhir?"
"I have heard nothing and he has not returned. I have the feeling he will not return. Tanelorn is doomed."
Rackhir and Lamsar bowed before the three small men who sat in the tent, but one of them said impatiently: "Do not humble yourselves before us, friends—we who are humbler than any." So they straightened their backs and waited to be further addressed.
The Grey Lords assumed humility, but this, it seemed, was their greatest ostentation, for it was a pride that they had. Rackhir realised that he would need to use subtle flattery and was not sure that he could, for he was a warrior, not a courtier or a diplomat. Lamsar, too, realised the situation and he said: