The Sleeping Sorceress (9 page)

“Moonglum!”

The little Eastlander grinned in relief and sheathed his swords. “I came here to aid you if I could, but I see you need no aid from me!”

“Not here. The Burning God is no more. I’ll tell you of that later. What became of you?”

“When I realized we were in a trap I ran for the door, deciding it would be best if one of us were free and I knew it was you they wanted. But then I saw the door opening and realized they had been waiting there all along.” Moonglum wrinkled his nose and dusted at the rags he still wore. “Thus I came to find myself lying at the bottom of one of those heaps of garbage littered about Urish’s hall. I dived into it and stayed there, listening to what passed. As soon as I could, I found this tunnel, planning to help you however I could.”

“And where are Urish and Theleb K’aarna now?”

“It appears that they go to make good Theleb K’aarna’s bargain with Urish. Urish was not altogether happy with the plan to lure you here for he fears your power—”

“He has reason to! Now!”

“Aye. Well, it seems that Urish had heard what we had heard, that the caravan for Tanelorn was on its way back to that city. Urish has knowledge of Tanelorn—though not much, I gather—and fosters an unreasoning hatred for the place, perhaps because it is the opposite of what Nadsokor is.”

“They plan to attack Rackhir’s caravan?”

“Aye—and Theleb K’aarna is to summon creatures from hell to ensure that their attack is successful. Rackhir has no sorcery to speak of, I believe.”

“He served Chaos once, but no more—those who dwell in Tanelorn can have no supernatural masters.”

“I gathered as much from the conversation.”

“When do they make this attack?”

“They have gone already—almost as soon as they had dealt with you. Urish is impatient.”

“It is unlike the beggars to make a direct attack on a caravan.”

“They do not always have a powerful wizard for an ally.”

“True.” Elric frowned. “My own powers of sorcery are limited without the Ring of Kings upon my hand. Its supernatural qualities identify me as a true member of the royal line of Melniboné—the line which made so many bargains with the elementals. First I must recover my ring and then we go at once to aid Rackhir.”

Moonglum glanced at the floor. “They said something of protecting Urish’s Hoard in his absence. There may be a few armed men in the hall.”

Elric smiled. “Now that we are prepared and now I have the strength of the Burning God in me, I think we shall be able to deal with a whole army, Moonglum.”

Moonglum brightened. “Then I’ll lead the way back to the hall. Come. This passage will take us to a door which is let into the side of the hall, near the throne.”

They began to run along the passage until they came at length to the door Moonglum had mentioned. Elric did not pause but drew his sword and flung the door open. It was only when he was in the hall that he stopped. Daylight now lit the gloomy place, but it was again deserted. No sword-bearing beggars awaited them.

Instead, there sat in Urish’s throne a fat, scaly thing of yellow and green and black. Brown bile dripped from its grinning snout and it raised one of its many paws in a mockery of a salute.

“Greetings,” it hissed, “and beware—for I am the guardian of Urish’s treasure.”

“A thing of hell,” Elric said. “A demon raised by Theleb K’aarna. He has been brewing his spells for a long time, methinks, if he can command so many foul servants.” He frowned and weighed Stormbringer in his hand but, oddly, the blade did not seem to hunger for battle.

“I warn thee,” hissed the demon, “I cannot be slain by a sword—not even that sword. It is my wardpact . . .”

“What is that?” whispered Moonglum, eyeing the demon warily.

“He is of a race of demons used by all with sorcerous power. He is a guardian. He will not attack unless himself attacked. He is virtually invulnerable to mortal weapons and, in his case, he has a ward against swords—be they supernatural or no. If we attempted to slay him with our swords, we should be struck down by all the powers of hell. We could not possibly survive.”

“But you have just destroyed a god! A demon is nothing compared with that!”

“A weak god,” Elric reminded him. “And this is a strong demon—for he is a representative of all demons who would mass with him to preserve his wardpact.”

“Is there no chance of defeating him?”

“If we are to help Rackhir, there is no reason for trying. We must get to our horses and try to warn the caravan. Later, perhaps, we can return and think of some sorcery which will aid us against the demon.” Elric bowed sardonically to the demon and returned his salute. “Farewell unlovely one. May your master not return to release you and thus ensure you squat in this filth for ever!”

The demon slobbered in rage. “My master is Theleb K’aarna—one of the most powerful sorcerers amongst your kind.”

Elric shook his head. “Not my kind. I shall be slaying him soon and you will be left there until I discover the means of destroying you.”

Somewhat pettishly, the demon folded its multitude of arms and closed its eyes.

Elric and Moonglum strode through the muck-strewn hall towards the door.

They were close to vomiting by the time they reached the steps leading into the forum. The rest of Elric’s potions had been taken when his purse was taken and they had no protection now against the stink. Moonglum spat on the steps as they descended into the square and then he looked up and drew his two swords in a cross-arm motion.

“Elric!”

Some dozen beggars were rushing at them, bearing an array of clubs, axes and knives.

Elric laughed. “Here’s a titbit for you, Stormbringer!” He drew his sword and began to swing the howling blade around his head, moving implacably towards the beggars. Almost immediately two of their number broke and ran, but the rest came in a rush at the pair.

Elric brought the sword lower and took a head from its shoulders and had bitten deep into the next man’s shoulder before the first’s blood had begun to spout.

Moonglum darted in with his two slim swords and engaged two of the beggars at the same time. Elric stabbed at another and the man screamed and danced, clutching at the blade which remorselessly drew out his soul and his life.

Stormbringer was singing a sardonic song now and three of the surviving beggars dropped their weapons and were off across the square as Moonglum neatly took both his opponents simultaneously in their hearts and Elric hacked down the rest of the rabble as they shouted and groaned for mercy.

Elric sheathed Stormbringer, looked down at the crimson ruin he had caused, wiped his lips as a man might who had just enjoyed a fine meal, caused Moonglum to shudder, and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“Come—let’s to Rackhir’s aid!”

As Moonglum followed the albino, he reflected that Elric had absorbed more than just the Burning God’s life-force in the encounter in the labyrinth. Much of the callousness of the Lords of Chaos was in him today.

Today Elric seemed a true warrior of ancient Melniboné.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

Things Which Are Not Women

The beggars had been too absorbed in their triumph over the albino and their plans for their attack on the caravan of Tanelorn to think to seek the mounts on which Elric and Moonglum had come to Nadsokor.

They found the horses where they had left them the previous night. The superb Shazaarian steeds were cropping the grass as if they had been waiting only a few minutes.

They climbed into their saddles and soon were riding as fast as the fleet horses could carry them—north-north-east to the point the caravan was logically due to reach.

Shortly after noon they had found it—a long sprawl of wagons and horses, awnings of gay, rich silks, brightly decorated harness, it stretched across the floor of a shallow valley. And surrounding it on all sides was the squalid and motley beggar army of King Urish of Nadsokor.

Elric and Moonglum reined in their horses when they reached the brow of the hill and they watched.

Theleb K’aarna and King Urish were not immediately visible and at last Elric saw them on the opposite hill. By the way in which the sorcerer was stretching out his arms to the deep blue sky Elric guessed he was already summoning the aid he had promised Urish.

Below Elric saw a flash of red and knew that it must be the scarlet garb of the Red Archer. Peering closer he saw one or two other shapes he recognized—Brut of Lashmar with his blond hair and his huge, burly body almost dwarfing his warhorse; Carkan, once of Pan Tang himself, but now dressed in the chequered cloak and fur cap of the barbarians of Southern Ilmiora. Rackhir himself had been a Warrior Priest from Moonglum’s country beyond the Weeping Waste, but all these men had forsworn their gods to go to live in peaceful Tanelorn where, it was said, even the greatest Lords of the Higher Worlds could not enter—Eternal Tanelorn, which had stood for uncountable cycles and would outlive the Earth herself.

Knowing nothing of Theleb K’aarna’s plan Rackhir was plainly not too worried by the appearance of the beggar rabble which was as poorly armed as those Elric and Moonglum had fought in Nadsokor.

“We must ride through their army to reach Rackhir now,” Moonglum said.

Elric nodded but he made no move. He was watching the distant hill where Theleb K’aarna continued his incantation, hoping that he might guess what kind of aid the sorcerer was summoning.

A moment later Elric yelled and spurred his horse down the hill at a gallop. Moonglum was almost as startled as the beggars as he followed his friend into the thick of the ragged horde, slashing this way and that with the longest of his swords.

Elric’s Stormbringer emitted black radiance as it carved a bloody path through the beggar army, leaving in its wake a mess of dismembered bodies, entrails and dead, horrified eyes.

Moonglum’s horse was splashed with blood to the shoulder and it snorted and balked at following the white-skinned demon with the howling black blade, but Moonglum, afraid that the beggar ranks would close, forced it on until at last they were both riding towards the caravan and someone was yelling Elric’s name.

It was Rackhir the Red Archer, clothed in scarlet from head to foot, with a red bone bow in his hand and a red quiver of crimson-fletched arrows on his back. On his head was a scarlet skull-cap decorated with a single scarlet feather. His face was weather-beaten and all but fleshless. He had fought with Elric before the Fall of Imrryr and together they had discovered the black swords. Rackhir had gone on to seek Tanelorn and find it at last.

Elric had not seen Rackhir since then. Now he noted an enviable look of peace in the archer’s eyes. Rackhir had once been a Warrior Priest in the Eastlands, serving Chaos, but now he served nothing but his tranquil Tanelorn.

“Elric! Have you come to help us send Urish and his beggars back to where they came from?” Rackhir was laughing, evidently pleased to see his old friend. “And Moonglum! When did you two meet? I have not seen thee since I left the Eastlands!”

Moonglum grinned. “Much has come to pass since those days, Rackhir.”

Rackhir rubbed at his aquiline nose. “Aye—so I’ve heard.”

Elric dismounted swiftly. “No time for reminiscence now, Rackhir. You’re in greater danger than you know.”

“What? When did the beggar rabble of Nadsokor offer anything to fear? Look how poorly armed they are!”

“They have a sorcerer with them—Theleb K’aarna of Pan Tang. See—that’s him on yonder hill.”

Rackhir frowned. “Sorcery. These days I’ve little guard against that. How good is the sorcerer, do you know?”

“He is one of the most powerful in Pan Tang.”

“And the wizards of Pan Tang almost equal your folk, Elric, in their skills.”

“I fear he more than equals me at present, for my Actorios Ring has been stolen from me by Urish.”

Rackhir looked strangely at Elric, noting something in the albino’s face which he had evidently not seen there when they last parted. “Well,” he said, “we shall have to defend ourselves as best we can . . .”

“If you cut loose your horses so that all your folk could be mounted we might be able to escape before Theleb K’aarna invokes whatever supernatural aid it is he seeks.” Elric nodded as the giant, Brut of Lashmar, rode up grinning at him. Brut had been a hero in Lashmar before he had disgraced himself.

Rackhir shook his head. “Tanelorn needs the provisions we carry.”

“Look,” said Moonglum quietly.

On the hill where Theleb K’aarna had been standing there had now appeared a billowing cloud of redness, like blood in clear water.

“He is successful,” Rackhir murmured. “Brut! Let all be mounted. We’ve no time to prepare further defenses, but we’ll have the advantage of being on horseback when they attack.”

Brut thundered off, yelling at the men of Tanelorn. They began to unharness the wagon horses and ready their weapons.

The cloud of redness above was beginning to disperse and out of it shapes were emerging. Elric tried to distinguish the shapes but could not at that distance. He climbed back into his saddle as the horsemen of Tanelorn now formed themselves into groups which would, when the attack came, race through the unmounted beggars striking swiftly and passing on. Rackhir waved to Elric and went to join one of these divisions. Elric and Moonglum found themselves at the head of a dozen warriors armed with axes, pikes and lances.

Then Urish’s voice cawed out over the waiting silence.

“Attack, my beggars! They are doomed!”

The beggar rabble began to move down the sides of the valley. Rackhir raised his sword as the signal to his men. Then the first groups of cavalry rode out from the caravan, straight at the advancing beggars.

Rackhir replaced his blade and took up his bow. From where he sat on his horse he began to send arrow after arrow into the beggar ranks.

There was shouting everywhere now as the warriors of Tanelorn met their foes, driving wedges everywhere in their mass.

Elric saw Carkan’s chequered cape in the midst of a sea of rags, filthy limbs, clubs and knives. He saw Brut’s great blond head towering over a cluster of human filth.

And Moonglum said: “Such creatures as these are unfit opponents for the warriors of Tanelorn.”

Elric pointed firmly up the hill. “Perhaps they’ll prefer their new foes.”

Moonglum gasped. “They are women!”

Elric drew Stormbringer from its scabbard. “They are not women. They are Elenoin. They come from the Eighth Plane—and neither are they human. You will see.”

“You recognize them?” “My ancestors fought them once.”

A strange, shrill ululation reached their ears now. It came from the hillside where Theleb K’aarna’s figure could again be seen. It came from the shapes which Moonglum was sure were women. Red-haired women whose tresses fell almost to their knees and covered their otherwise completely naked bodies. They danced down the hill towards the besieged caravan and they whirled about their heads swords which must have been over five feet long.

“Theleb K’aarna is clever,” Elric muttered. “The warriors of Tanelorn will hesitate before striking at women. And while they hesitate the Elenoin will rip and slash and slay them.”

Rackhir had already seen the Elenoin and he, too, recognized them for what they were. “Do not be deceived, men!” he called. “These creatures are demons!” He glanced across at Elric and there was a look of resignation on his face. He knew the power of the Elenoin. He spurred his horse towards the albino. “What can we do, Elric?”

Elric sighed. “What can mortals do against the Elenoin?”

“Have you no sorcery?”

“With the Ring of Kings I could summon the Grahluk, perhaps. They are the ancient enemies of the Elenoin. Theleb K’aarna has already made a gateway from the Eighth Plane.”

“Could you not try to call the Grahluk?” Rackhir begged.

“While I tried my sword would not be aiding you. I think Stormbringer is more use today than spells.”

Rackhir shuddered and turned his horse away to order his men to re-form their ranks. He knew now that they were all to die.

And now the beggars fell back, as horrified by the Elenoin as were the men of Tanelorn.

Still singing their shrill, chill song, the Elenoin lowered their swords and spread out along the hill, each one smiling at them.

“How can they . . .?” Then Moonglum saw their eyes. They were huge, orange, animal eyes. “Oh, by the gods!” And then he saw their teeth—long, pointed teeth which glinted like metal.

The horsemen of Tanelorn fell back to the wagons in a long, ragged line. Horror, despair, uncertainty was on every face save Elric’s—and on his face was a look of grim anger. His crimson eyes smouldered as he held Stormbringer across his saddle pommel and regarded the demon women, the Elenoin.

The singing grew louder until it made their ears fill with sharp pain and made their stomachs turn. The Elenoin raised their slender arms and began to whirl their long swords about their heads again, staring at them all the while through beastlike, insensate eyes—malicious, unblinking eyes.

Then Carkan of Pan Tang, his fur cap askew, his chequered cloak billowing, gave a strangled yell and urged his heavy horse at them, his own sword waving.

“Back, demons! Back, spawn of hell!”

“Aaaaaaaah!” gasped the Elenoin in anticipation. “Eeeeeeeh!” they sang.

And Carkan was suddenly in the midst of a dozen slender, slashing swords and he and his horse were cut all to tiny morsels of flesh which lay in a heap at the feet of the Elenoin. And their laughter filled the valley as some of them bent to pop the flesh into their fanged mouths.

A groan of horror and hatred went up from the ranks of Tanelorn then and screaming men, hysterical with fear and disgust, began to fling themselves at the Elenoin who laughed the more and whirled their sharp swords.

Stormbringer murmured as it seemed to hear the sounds of battle, but Elric did not move as he stared at the scene. He knew that the Elenoin would kill all as they had killed Carkan.

Moonglum moaned. “Elric—there must be some sorcery against them!”

“There is! But I cannot summon the Grahluk!” Elric’s chest was heaving and his brain was in turmoil. “I cannot, Moonglum!”

“For the sake of Tanelorn, you must try!”

Then Elric was riding forward, Stormbringer howling, riding at the Elenoin and screaming Arioch’s name as his ancestors had screamed it since the founding of Imrryr!

“Arioch! Arioch! Blood and souls for my Lord Arioch!”

He parried the whirling blade of an Elenoin and glared into the bestial eyes as Stormbringer sent a shudder down his arm. He struck and his own blow was parried by the demon that was not a woman.

Red hair swung and curled around his throat. He hacked at it and it loosened its grip. He thrust at the naked body and the Elenoin danced aside. Another whistling blow from the slim sword and he flung himself backwards to avoid it, toppling from his saddle and springing instantly to his feet to parry a second attack, gripped Stormbringer in both hands and stepped forward under the blade to plunge the Black Sword into the smooth belly. The Elenoin shouted with anger and green foulness billowed from the wound. The Elenoin fell, still glaring and snarling, still living. Elric chopped at the neck and the head sprang off, its hair thrashing at him. He dashed forward, picked up the head and began to run up the hill to where the beggars were gathered, watching the destruction of Tanelorn’s warriors. As he approached the beggars broke and began to run, but he caught one in the back with his blade. The man fell, tried to crawl on, but his twisted knees would not support him and he collapsed into the stained grass. Elric picked the wretch up and flung him over his shoulder. Then he turned and began to run down the hill back to the camp. The warriors of Tanelorn were fighting well, but half their number had already been slain by the Elenoin. Almost unbelievably there were also several Elenoin corpses on the field.

Elric saw Moonglum defending himself with both swords. He saw Rackhir, still mounted, shouting orders to his men. He saw Brut of Lashmar in the thick of the fight. But he ran on until he stood behind one of the wagons and had dropped both his bloody bundles to the ground. With his sword he split open the twitching body of the beggar and he gathered up the hair of the Elenoin and soaked it in the man’s blood.