Michael Moorcock: Stormbringer

«Aye, » said Elric thoughtfully, »that is an interesting riddle.»

The hag took a step towards him. «Soldiers came not a month gone-from Pan Tang they were. Devil Riders with their hunting tigers running with them. They despoiled the harvest and burnt even the forests that those who fled them might not eat game or berries here. I lived in this forest all my life, doing a little simple magic and prophecy for my needs. But when I saw the walls of flame soon to engulf me, I cried the name of a demon I knew—a thing from Chaos which, latterly, I had dared not summon. It came.

«Save me, » cried I, «And what would ye do in return?» said the demon. «Anything, » I quoth. Then bear this message for my masters,‘ it said. 'When the kinslayer known as Elric of Melnibone shall pass this way, tell him that there is one kinsman he shall not slay and he will be found in Sequaloris. If Brie loves his wife, he will play his role. If he plays it well, his wife shall be returned.» So I fixed the message in my mind and now give it thee as I swore.»

«Thanks, » said Elric, »and what did you give in the first place for the power to summon such a demon?»

«Why, my soul, of course. But it was an old one and not of much worth. Hell could be no worse than this existence.»

'Then why did you not let yourself burn, your soul un-bartered?»

«I wish to live, » said an wretch, smiling again. «Oh, life is good. My own life, perhaps, is squalid, yet the life around me that is what I love. But let me not keep you, my lord, for you have weightier matters on your mind.» Once more the wretch gave a mock bow as Elric rode off, puzzled, but encouraged. His wife still lived and was safe. But what bargain must he strike before he could get her back?

Savagely he goaded his horse into a gallop, heading for Sequaloris in Jbarkor. Behind him, faintly through the beating rain, he heard a cackling at once mocking and miserable.

Now his direction was not so vague, and he rode at great speed - but cautiously, avoiding the roving bands of invaders, until at length the arid plains gave way to the lusher wheatlands of the Sequa province of Jharfcor. Another day's ride and Elric entered the small walled city of Sequaloris which had so far not suffered attack. Here, he discovered preparations for war and learnt news that was of greater interest to him.

The Imrryrian mercenaries, led by Dyvim Storm, Elric's cousin and son of Dyvim Tvar, Elric's old friend, were due to arrive next day in Sequaloris.

There had been a certain enmity between Elric and the Imrryrians since the albino had been the direct cause of their need to leave the ruins of the Dreaming City and live as mercenaries. But those times were past, long since, and on two previous occasions he and the Imrryrians had fought on the same side. He was their leader by right and the tics of tradition were strong in the elder race. Elric prayed to Arioch that Dyvim Slorm would have come due to his wife's whereabouts.

At noon of the next day the mercenary army rode swaggering into the city. Elric met them dose to the city gate. The Imrryrian warriors were obviously weary from a long ride and were loaded with booty since, before Yishana sent for them, they had been raiding in Shazar dose to the Marshes of the Mist. They were different from any other race, these Imrryrians, with their tapering faces, slanting eyes and high cheekbones. They were pale and slim with long, soft hair drifting to their shoulders. The finery they wore was not stolen, but definitely Melnibonean in design; shimmering cloths of gold, blue and green, metals of delicate workmanship and intricately patterned. They carried lances with long, sweeping heads and there were slender swords at their sides. They sat arrogantly in their saddles, convinced of their superiority over other mortals, and were, as Elric, not quite human in their unearthly beauty.

He rode up to meet Dyvim Slorm, his own sombre clothes contrasting with theirs. He wore a tall-collared jacket of quilted leather, black and buckled in by a broad, plain belt at which hung a poignard and Stormbringer. His milk-white hair was held from his eyes by a fillet of black bronze and his breeks and boots were also black. All his black set off sharply his white skin and crimson, glowing eyes.

Dyvim Slorm bowed in his saddle, showing only slight surprise.

«Cousin Elric. So the omen was true.»

«What omen, Dyvim Slorm?»

«A falcon's - your name bird if I remember.» It had been customary for Melniboneans to identify newborn children with birds of their choice; thus Elric's was a falcon, hunting bird of prey.

«What did it tell you, cousin?» Elric asked eagerly.

«It gave a puzzling message. While we had barely gone from the Marshes of the Mist, it came and perched on my shoulder, and spoke in human tongue. It told me to come to Sequaloris and there I would meet my king. From Sequaloris we were to journey together to join Yishana»s army and the battle, whether won or lost, would resolve the direction of our linked destinies thereafter. Do you make sense of that, cousin?»

«Some» Elric frowned. «But come-I haw a place reserved for you at the inn. I will tell you all I know over wine-if we can find decent wine in this forsaken hamlet I need help, cousin; as much help as I can obtain' for Zarozinia has been abducted by supernatural agents and I have a feeling that this and the wars are but two elements in a greater play.»

«Then quickly, to the inn. My curiosity is further piqued. This matter increases in interest for me. First falcons and omens, now abductions and strife! What else, I wonder, are we to meet! »

With the Imrryrians straggling after them through the cobbled streets, scarcely a hundred warriors but hardened by their outlawed lift, Elric and Dyvim Slorm made their way to the inn and there, in haste, Elric outlined all he had learned.

Before replying, his cousin sipped his wine and carefully placed the cup upon the board, pursing his lips. «I have a feeling in my bones that we are puppets in some struggle between the gods. For all our blood and flesh and will, we can see none of the bigger conflict save for a few scarcely related details.»

«That may be so, » said Elric impatiently, »but I'm greatly angered at being involved and require my wife's release. I have no notion why we, together, must make the bargain for her return, neither can I guess what it is we have that those who captured her want. But, if the omens are sent by the same agents, then we had best do as we are told, for the meantime, until we can see matters more clearly. Then, perhaps, we can act upon our own volition.»

«That's wise, » Dyviro Slorm nodded, »and I'm with you in it» He smiled slightly and added: «Whether I like it or not, I fancy.»

Elric said: «Where lies the main army of Dharijor and Pan Tang? I heard it was gathering.»

«It has gathered-and marches closer. The impending battle will decide who rules the western lands. I'm committed to Yishana's aide, not only because she has employed us to aid her, but because I felt that if the warped lords of Pan Tang dominate these nations, then tyranny will come upon them and they will threaten the security of the whole world. It is a sad thing when a Melnibonean has to consider such problems.» He smiled ironically. «Aside from that, I like them not these sorcerous upstarts-they seek to emulate the Bright Empire.»

«Aye.» Elric said. They are an island culture, as ours was. They are sorcerers and warriors as our ancestors were. But their sorcery is less healthy than ever ours was. Our ancestors committed frightful deeds, yet it was natural to them. These newcomers, more human than we, have perverted their humanity whereas we never possessed it in the same degree. There will never be another Bright Empire, nor can their power last more than ten thousand years. This is a fresh age, Dyvim Slorm, in more man one way. The time of subtle sorcery is on the wane. Men an finding new means of harnessing natural power.»