The Weird of the White Wolf - Michael Moorcock [32]
“Your wings—you mean the Book might give you a spell so that you could grow wings!” Elric smiled ironically. “And that is why you seek the vessel of the world's mightiest wisdom!”
“If you were thought deformed in your own land—it would seem important enough to you,” she shouted defiantly.
Elric turned his face towards her, his crimson-irised eyes burning with a strange emotion. He put a hand to his dead white skin and a crooked smile twisted his lips. “I, too, have felt as you do,” he said quietly. That was all he said and Shaarilla dropped behind him again, shamed.
They rode on in silence until Moonglum, who had been riding discreetly ahead, cocked his overlarge skull on one side and suddenly drew rein.
Elric joined him. “What is it, Moonglum?”
“I hear horses coming this way,” the little man said. “And voices which are disturbingly familiar. More of those devil-dogs, Elric—and this time accompanied by riders!”
Elric, too, heard the sounds, now, and shouted a warning to Shaarilla.
“Perhaps you were right,” he called. “More trouble comes towards us.”
“What now?” Moonglum said, frowning.
“Ride for the mountains,” Elric replied, “and we may yet outdistance them.”
They spurred their steeds into a fast gallop and sped towards the hills.
But their flight was hopeless. Soon a black pack was visible on the horizon and the sharp birdlike baying of the devil-dogs drew nearer. Elric stared backward at their pursuers. Night was beginning to fall, and visibility was decreasing with every passing moment but he had a vague impression of the riders who raced behind the pack. They were swathed in dark cloaks and carried long spears. Their faces were invisible, lost in the shadow of the hoods which covered their heads.
Now Elric and his companions were forcing their horses up a steep incline, seeking the shelter of the rocks which lay above.
“We'll halt here,” Elric ordered, “and try to hold them off. In the open they could easily surround us.”
Moonglum nodded affirmatively, agreeing with the good sense contained in Elric's words. They pulled their sweating steeds to a standstill and prepared to join battle with the howling pack and their dark-cloaked masters.
Soon the first of the devil-dogs were rushing up the incline, their beak-jaws slavering and their talons rattling on stone. Standing between two rocks, blocking the way between with their bodies, Elric and Moonglum met the first attack and quickly dispatched three of the animals. Several more took the place of the dead and the first of the riders was visible behind them as night crept closer.
“Arioch!” swore Elric, suddenly recognising the riders. “These are the Lords of Dharzi—dead these ten centuries. We're fighting dead men, Moonglum, and the too-tangible ghosts of their dogs. Unless I can think of a sorcerous means to defeat them, we're doomed!”
The zombie-men appeared to have no intention of taking part in the attack for the moment. They waited, their dead eyes eerily luminous, as the devil-dogs attempted to break through the swinging network of steel with which Elric and his companion defended themselves. Elric was racking his brains—trying to dredge a spoken spell from his memory which would dismiss these living dead. Then it came to him, and hoping that the forces he had to invoke would decide to aid him, he began to chant:
'Let the Laws which govern all things
Not so lightly be dismissed;
Let the Ones who flaunt the Earth Kings
With a fresher death be kissed.'
Nothing happened. “I've failed.” Elric muttered hopelessly as he met the attack of a snapping devil-dog and spitted the thing on his sword.
But then—the ground rocked and seemed to seethe beneath the feet of the horses upon whose backs the dead men sat. The tremor lasted a few seconds and then subsided.
“The spell was not powerful enough,” Elric sighed.
The earth trembled again and small craters formed in the ground of the hillside upon which the dead Lords of Dharzi impassively waited. Stones crumbled and the horses stamped nervously. Then the earth rumbled.