Michael Moorcock: Stormbringer

«Perhaps he thinks our time has come! » Elric yelled back as his runeblade drank another foe's life-force.

Tiring fast, they fought on until a new sound broke above the clash of arms-the sound of chariots and low, moaning cries.

Then they were sweeping into the melee black men with handsome features and thin, proud mouths, their magnificent bodies half-naked as their cloaks of white fox fur streamed behind them and their javelins were flung with terrible accuracy at the bewildered men of Pan Tang.

Elric sheathed his sword and remained ready to fight or flee. «This is the one-the white-faced one! » cried a black charioteer as he saw Elric. The chariots rolled to a halt, tall horses stamping and snorting. Elric rode up to the leader.

«I am grateful, » he said, half falling from his saddle in weariness. He turned the droop of his shoulders into a bow. «You appear to know me-you are the third I've met while on this quest who recognises me without my being able to return the compliment.»

The leader tugged the fox cape about his naked chest and smiled with his thin lips. «I'm named Sepiriz and you will know me soon enough. As for you, we have known of you for thousands of years. Elric are you not-last king of Melnibone?»

«That is true.»

«And you, » Sepiriz addressed Dyviro Slorm. «Are Elric's cousin. Together you represent the last of the pure line of Melnibone.»

«Aye, » Dyvim Slorm agreed, curiosity in his eyes.

«Then we have been waiting for you to pass this way. There was a prophecy...»

«You are the captors of Zarozinia?» Elric reached for his sword.

Sepiriz shook his head. «No, but we can tell you where she is. Calm yourself. Though I realise the agony of mind you must be suffering, I will be better able to explain all I know back in our own domain.»

«First tell us who you are, » Elric demanded.

Sepiriz smiled slightly. «You know us. I think-or at least you know of us. There was a certain friendship between your ancestors and our folk in the early years of the Bright Empire.» He paused a moment before continuing: «Have you ever heard legends, in Imrryr perhaps, of the Ten from the mountain? The ten who sleep in the mountain of fire?»

«Many times.» Elric drew in his breath. «Now I recognise you by description. But it is said that you sleep for centuries in the mountain of fire. Why are you roaming abroad in this manner?»

«We were driven by an eruption from our volcano home which had been dormant for two thousand years. Such movements of nature have been taking place an over the earth of late. Our time, we knew, had come to awaken again. We were servants of Fate-and our mission is strongly bound up with your destiny. We bear a message for you from Zarozinia's captor - and another from a different source. Would you return now, with us, to the Chasm of Nihrain and learn all we can tell you?»

Elric pondered for a moment, then he lifted his white face and said: «I am in haste to claim vengeance, Sepiriz. But if what you can tell me will lead me closer to claiming it. I’ll come.»

«Then come! » The black giant Jerked the reins of his horse and turned the chariot about.

It was a journey of a day and a night to the Chasm of Nihrain, a huge gaping fissure high in the mountains, a place avoided by all; it had supernatural significance for those who dwelt near the mountains.

The lordly Nihrain conversed little on the Journey and at last they were above the Chasm, driving their chariots down the steep path which wound into its dark depths.

About half a mile down no light penetrated, but they saw ahead of them flickering torches that illuminated part of the carved outline of an unearthly mural or betrayed a gaping opening in the solid rock. Then, as they guided their horses down further, they saw, in detail, the awe-inspiring city of Nihrain which outsiders had not glimpsed for many centuries. The last of the Nihrain now lived here; ten immortal men of a race older even than that of Melnibone which had a history of twenty thousand years.

Huge columns rose above them, hewn ages before from the living rock, giant statues and wide balconies, many-tiered. Windows a hundred feet high and sweeping steps cut into the face of the chasm. The Ten drove their yellow chariots through a mighty gate and into the caverns of Nihrain, carved to their entire extent with strange symbols and Stranger murals. Here slaves, wakened from a sleep of centuries to tend their masters, ran forward. Even these did not fully bear resemblance to the men that Elric knew.

Sepiriz gave the reins to a slave as Elric and Dyvim Slorm dismounted, staring about them in awe. He said: «Now-to my own chambers and there I'll inform you of what you wish to know-and what you must do.»

Led by Sepiriz, the kinsmen stalked impatiently through galleries and into a large chamber full of dark sculpture. A number of fires burned behind this hall, in big grates. Sepiriz folded his great body into a chair and bade them sit in two similar chairs, carved from solid blocks of ebony. When they were all seated before one of the fires, Sepiriz took a long breath, staring around the hall, perhaps remembering its earlier history.

Somewhat angered by this show of casualness, Elric said impatiently: «Forgive me, Sepiriz-but you promised to pass on your message to us.»

«Yes, » Sepiriz said, »but so much do I have to tell you that I must pause one moment to collect my thoughts.» He settled himself in the chair before continuing.

«We know where your wife, is, » he said at last, »and know also that she is safe. She will not be harmed since she is to be bargained for something which you possess.»

«Then tell me the whole story, » Elric demanded bleakly.

«We were friendly with your ancestors. Elric. And we were friendly with those they superseded, the ones who forged that blade you bear.»

Elric was interested in spite of his anxiety. For years he had attempted to rid himself of the runesword, but had never succeeded. All his efforts had failed and he still needed to carry it, although drugs now gave him most of his strength.

«Would you be rid of your sword, Elric?» Sepiriz said.

«Aye-it's well known.»

«Then listen to this tale.

«We know for whom and for what the blade-and its twin-were forged. They were made for a special purpose and for special men. Only Melniboneans may carry them, and of those only the blood of the royal line.»

«There is no hint of any special purpose for the swords in Melnibonean history or legend, » Elric said leaning forward.

«Some secrets are best kept fully guarded, » Sepiriz said calmly. «Those blades were forged to destroy a group of very powerful beings. Among them are the Dead Gods.»

«The Dead Gods-but, by their very name, you must know that they perished long ages ago.»

«They 'perished' as you say. In human terms they are dead. But they chose to die, chose to rid themselves of material shape and hurled their life-stuff into the blackness of eternity, for in those days they were full of fear.»

Elric had no real conception of what Sepiriz described but he accepted what the Nihrainian said and listened on.

«One of them has returned, » Sepiriz said.

«Why?»

«To get, at any cost, two things which endanger him and his fellow gods-wherever they may be they can still be harmed by these things.»

«They are...?»

«They have the earthly appearance of two swords, runecarved and sorcerous - Mournblade and Stormbringer.»

«This, » Elric touched his blade. «Why should the gods fear this? And the other went to Limbo with my cousin Yyrkoon whom I killed many years ago. It is lost»

«That is not true. We recovered it-that was part of Fate's purpose for us. We have it here in Nihrain. The blades were forged for your ancestors who drove the Dead Gods away by means of them. They were made by other unhuman smiths who were also enemies of the Dead Gods. These smiths were compelled to combat evil with evil, although they, themselves, were not pledged to Chaos, but to Law. They forged the swords for several reasons-ridding the world of the Dead Gods was but one! »