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
Dyvim Slorm nodded and swung off his mount. The beast stirred restlessly and drew back the lips of its tapering snout to reveal teeth as thick as a man's arm, as long as a sword. Its forked tongue flickered and it turned its huge, cold eyes to regard Elric.
Elric sang to it in the old Melnibonean speech, took the goad and the Dragon Horn from Dyvim Slorm and carefully climbed into the high saddle at the base of the dragon's neck. He placed his booted feet into the great silver stirrups.
"Now, fly, dragon brother," he sang, "up, up and have your venom ready."
He heard the snap of displaced air as the wings began to beat and then the great beast was clear of the ground and soaring upwards into the grey and brooding sky.
The other four dragons followed the first and, as he gained height, sounding specific notes on the horn to give them directions, he drew his sword from its scabbard.
Centuries before, Elric's ancestors had ridden their dragon steeds to conquer the whole of the Western World. There had been many more dragons in the Dragon Caves in those days. Now only a handful remained, and of those only the youngest had slept sufficiently long to be awakened.
High in the wintry sky climbed the huge reptiles and Elric's long white hair and stained black cloak flew behind him as he sang the exultant Song of the Dragon Masters and urged his charges westwards.
Thoughts of love, of peace, of vengeance even were lost in that reckless sweeping across the glowering skies which hung over that ancient Age of the Young Kingdoms. Elric, archetypal, proud and disdainful in his knowledge that even his deficient blood was the blood of the Sorcerer Kings of Melnibone, became detached.
He had no loyalties then, no friends and, if evil possessed him, then it was a pure, brilliant evil, untainted by human drivings.
High soared the dragons until below them was the heaving black mass, marring the landscape, the fear-driven horde of barbarians who, in their ignorance, had sought to conquer the lands beloved of Elric of Melnibone.
"Ho, dragon brothers-loose your venom-burn-burn! And in your burning cleanse the world!"
Stormbringer joined in the wild shout and, diving, the dragons swept across the sky, down upon the crazed barbarians, shooting streams of combustible venom which water could not extinguish, and the stink of charred flesh drifted upwards through the smoke and flame so that the scene became a scene of hell-and proud Elric was a Lord of Demons reaping awful vengeance.
He did not gloat, for he had done only what was needed, that was all. He shouted no more but turned his dragon mount back and upward, sounding his horn and summoning the other reptiles to him. And as he climbed, the exultation left him and was replaced by cold horror.
I am still a Melnibonean, he thought, and cannot rid myself of that whatever else I do. And, in my strength I am still weak, ready to use this cursed blade in any small emergency. With a shout of loathing, he flung the sword away, flung it into space. It screamed like a woman and went plummeting downwards towards the distant earth.
"There," he said, "it is done at last." Then, in calmer mood, he returned to where he had left his friends and guided his reptilian mount to the ground.
Dyvim Slorm said: "Where is the sword of your forefathers, King Elric?" But the albino did not answer, just thanked his kinsman for the loan of the dragon leader. Then they all remounted the dragons and flew back towards Karlaak to tell them the news.
Zarozinia saw her lord riding the first dragon and knew that Karlaak and the Western World were saved, the Eastern World avenged.
His stance was proud but his face was grave as he went to meet her outside the city. She saw in him a return of an earlier sorrow which he had thought forgotten. She ran to him and he caught her in his arms, holding her close but saying nothing.
He bade farewell to Dyvim Slorm and his fellow Imrryrians and, with Moonglum and the messenger following at a distance, went into the city and thence to his house, impatient of the congratulations which the citizens showered upon him.
"What is it, my lord?" Zarozinia said as, with a sigh, he sprawled wearily upon the great bed. "Can speaking help?"
"I'm tired of swords and sorcery, Zarozinia, that is all. But at last I have rid myself once and for all of that hellblade which I had thought my destiny to carry always."
"Stormbringer you mean?"
"What else?"
She said nothing. She did not tell him of the sword which, apparently of its own volition, had come screaming into Karlaak and passed into the armoury to hang, in its old place, in darkness there.
He closed his eyes and drew a long, sighing breath.
"Sleep well, my lord," she said softly. With tearful eyes and a sad mouth she lay herself down beside him.
She did not welcome the morning.
But before Elric there was Sojan, first in the fanzines and then professionals. Here is the second appearance of Sojan, my first serialfantasy hero, in Tarzan Weekly . I make no apologies for its shortcomings or failures of prescience, etc. I was young, largely obliviousto my good fortune and thoroughly enjoying myself. But not quiteas sophisticated as I liked to think…
MISSION TO ASNO!
(1957)
MOTORS PURRING, CAPTAINS shouting orders, the rustle of the canvas gun-covers being drawn back, gay flags, flashing steel, flying cloaks of many hues; a Hatnorian war-fleet rose rapidly into the sky.
On the deck of the flagship stood a tall, strong figure-that of Sojan, nicknamed "Shieldbearer," second in command to the great War Lord of Hatnor himself-Nornos Kad.
At his side was a long broadsword, upon his back his round shield; his right hand rested on the butt of his heavy air-pistol-an incredibly powerful weapon. Clad in a jerkin of sky-blue, a divided kilt of deep crimson and boots of dark leather, over his shoulder his leathern war-harness, he was the typical example of a Zylorian mercenary, whose love of bright garb was legendary.
The great war-fleet was destined for Asno-a country far to the north of Hatnor where the king, so the spies told, was raising an army of mercenaries to attack Yundrot-a colony of the Hatnorian Empire.
To stop a major war, Nornos Kad decided to send a mighty fleet to crush the attack before it started. Having other business, he assigned Sojan to take his place and instructed him to completely wipe out any signs of an attack.
Only too pleased at the chance of battle, Sojan had readily assented and was now on his way-the entire fleet under his command.
Soon the fleet was winging its way over Asno-a land of snow and ice, fierce beasts, great tracts of uninhabited ice-fields-uninhabited, that is, by civilized beings.
In another hour it would be over Boitil, the capital city.
"Gunners, take your positions!" Sojan roared through cupped hands and picking up a megaphone-for there was no radio on
Zylor-shouted the same orders, which went from ship to ship until every gunner was seated in his seat, guns loaded and ready for firing.
"Drop two hundred feet!" Sojan roared again to the steersman, and repeated these orders to the other captains, who in turn shouted them to their own steersmen.