Elric: The Stealer of Souls
- Автор: Муркок Майкл
- Серия: Chronicles of the Last Emperor of Melnibone #1
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «Elric: The Stealer of Souls». Краткое содержание книги:
–from the Foreword by Alan Moore, creator of V for Vendetta
The beholders gasped as a cloud of golden smoke formed near the roof and began to metamorphose into the shape of a great horse bearing a rider which all recognized as Terarn Gashtek. The barbarian leader leaned forward, glaring at the image.
"What's this?"
A map showing great land areas and seas seemed to unroll beneath the horse's hoofs. "The Western lands," cried Drinij Bara. "I make a prophecy."
"What is it?"
The ghostly horse began to trample the map. It split and flew into a thousand smoky pieces. Then the image of the horseman faded, also, into fragments.
"Thus will the mighty Flame Bringer rend the bountiful nations of the West," shouted Drinij Bara.
The barbarians cheered exultantly, but Elric smiled thinly. The Eastern wizard was mocking Terarn Gashtek and his men.
The smoke formed into a golden globe which seemed to blaze and vanish.
Terarn Gashtek laughed. "A good trick, magic-maker-and a true prophecy. You have done your work well. Take him back to his kennel!"
As Drinij Bara was dragged away, he glanced questioningly at Elric but said nothing.
Later that night, as the barbarians drank themselves into a stupor, Elric and Moonglum slipped out of the tent and made their way to the place where Drinij Bara was imprisoned.
They reached the small hut and saw that a warrior stood guard at the entrance. Moonglum produced a skin of wine and, pretending drunkenness, staggered towards the man. Elric stayed where he was.
"What do you want, Outlander?" growled the guard.
"Nothing my friend, we are trying to get back to our own tent, that's all. Do you know where it is?"
"How should I know?"
"True-how should you? Have some wine-it's good-from Terarn Gashtek's own supply."
The man extended a hand. "Let's have it."
Moonglum took a swig of the wine. "No, I've changed my mind. It's too good to waste on common warriors."
"Is that so?" The warrior took several paces towards Moonglum.
"We'll find out won't we? And maybe we'll mix some of your blood with it to give it flavour, my little friend."
Moonglum backed away. The warrior followed.
Elric ran softly towards the tent and ducked into it to find Drinij Bara, wrists bound, lying on a pile of uncured hides. The sorcerer looked up.
"You-what do you want?"
"We've come to aid you, Drinij Bara."
"Aid me? But why? You're no friend of mine. What would you gain? You risk too much."
"As a fellow sorcerer, I thought I'd help you," Elric said.
"I thought you were that. But, in my land, sorcerers are not so friendly to one another-the opposite, in fact."
"I'll tell you the truth-we need your aid to halt the barbarian's bloody progress. We have a common enemy. If we can help you regain your soul, will you help?"
"Help-of course. All I do is plan the way I'll avenge myself. But for my sake be careful-if he suspects that you're here to aid me, he'll slay the cat and slay us, too."
"We'll try to bring the cat to you. Will that be what you need?"
"Yes. We must exchange blood, the cat and I, and my soul will then pass back into my own body."
"Very well, I'll try to-" Elric turned, hearing voices outside.
"What's that?"
The sorcerer replied fearfully. "It must be Terarn Gashtek-he comes every night to taunt me."
"Where's the guard?" The barbarian's harsh voice came closer as he entered the little tent. "What's…?" He saw Elric standing above the sorcerer.
His eyes were puzzled and wary. "What are you doing here, Westerner-and what have you done with the guard?"
"Guard?" said Elric, "I saw no guard. I was looking for my own tent and heard this cur cry out, so I entered. I was curious, anyway, to see such a great sorcerer clad in filthy rags and bound so."
Terarn Gashtek scowled. "Any more of such unwary curiosity my friend, and you'll be discovering what your own heart looks like. Now, get hence-we ride on in the morning."
Elric pretended to flinch and stumbled hurriedly from the tent.
A lone man in the livery of an Official Messenger of Karlaak goaded his horse southwards. The mount galloped over the crest of a hill and the messenger saw a village ahead. Hurriedly he rode into it, shouting at the first man he saw.
"Quickly, tell me-know you ought of Dyvim Slorm and his Imrryrian mercenaries? Have they passed this way?"
"Aye-a week ago. They went towards Rignariom by Vilmir's border, to offer their services to the Ilmioran Pretender."
"Were they mounted or on foot?"
"Both."
"Thanks, friend," cried the messenger behind him and galloped out of the village in the direction of Rignariom.
The messenger from Karlaak rode through the night-rode along a recently made trail. A large force had passed that way. He prayed that it had been Dyvim Slorm and his Imrryrian warriors.
In the sweet-smelling garden city of Karlaak, the atmosphere was tense as the citizens waited for news they knew they could not expect for some time. They were relying on both Elric and on the messenger.
If only one were successful, there would be no hope for them. Both had to be successful. Both.
Chapter Three
The tumbling sound of moving men cut through the weeping morning and the hungry voice of Terarn Gashtek lashed at them to hurry.
Slaves packed up his tent and threw it into a wagon. He rode forward and wrenched his tall war-lance from the soft earth, wheeled his horse and rode westwards, his captains, Elric and Moonglum among them, behind him.
Speaking the Western tongue, Elric and Moonglum debated their problem. The barbarian was expecting them to lead him to his prey, his outriders were covering wide distances so that it would be impossible to lead him past a settlement. They were in a quandary for it would be disgraceful to sacrifice another township to give Karlaak a few days' grace, yet…
A little later two whooping outriders came galloping up to Terarn Gashtek.
"A town, lord! A small one and easy to take!"
"At last-this will do to test our blades and see how easy Western flesh is to pierce. Then we'll aim at a bigger target." He turned to Elric:
"Do you know this town?"
"Where does it lie?" asked Elric thickly.
"A dozen miles to the south-west," replied the outrider.
In spite of the fact that the town was doomed, Elric felt almost relieved. They spoke of the town of Gorjhan.
"I know it," he said.
Cavim the Saddler, riding to deliver a new set of horse furniture to an outlying farm, saw the distant riders, their bright helmets caught by a sudden beam of sunlight. That the riders came from off the Weeping Waste was undoubtable-and he recognized menace in their massed progress.
He turned his mount about and rode with the speed of fear, back the way he had come to the town of Gorjhan.
The flat, hard mud of the street trembled beneath the thudding hoofs of Cavim's horse and his high, excited shout knifed through shuttered windows.
"Raiders come! 'Ware the raiders! "
Within a quarter of an hour, the head-men of the town had met in hasty conference and debated whether to run or to fight. The older men advised their neighbours to flee the raiders, other younger men preferred to stay ready, armed to meet a possible attack. Some argued that their town was too poor to attract any raider.
The townspeople of Gorjhan debated and quarreled and the first wave of raiders came screaming to their walls.
With the realization that there was no time for further argument came the realization of their doom, and they ran to the ramparts with their pitiful weapons.