Stormbringer, p.55
Stormbringer, page 55
“Here,” she smiled, “is a truce. I can only inform Chaos of what I learn of your plans and, if the Grey Lords aid you, must tell them how, if I can find out.”
“You are frank, Sorana.”
“Here there are subtler hypocrisies—and the subtlest lie of all is the full truth,” she said, as they entered the area of tall tents and made their way towards a certain one.
* * *
In a different realm of the Earth, the huge horde careered across the grasslands of the North, screaming and singing behind the black-armoured horseman, their leader. Nearer and nearer they came to lonely Tanelorn, their motley weapons shining through the evening mists. Like a boiling tidal wave of insensate flesh, the mob drove on, hysterical with the hate for Tanelorn which Narjhan had placed in their thin hearts. Thieves, murderers, jackals, scavengers—a scrawny horde, but huge…
And in Tanelorn the warriors were grim-faced as their outriders and scouts flowed into the city with messages and estimates of the beggar army’s strength.
Brut, in the silver armour of his rank, knew that two full days had passed since Rackhir had left for the Sighing Desert. Three more days and the city would be engulfed by Narjhan’s mighty rabble—and they knew there was no chance of halting their advance. They might have left Tanelorn to its fate, but they would not. Even weak Uroch would not. For Tanelorn the Mysterious had given them all a secret power which each believed to be his only, a strength which filled them where before they had been hollow men. Selfishly, they stayed—for to leave Tanelorn to her fate would be to become hollow again, and that they all dreaded.
* * *
Brut was the leader and he prepared the defence of Tanelorn—a defence which might just have held against the beggar army—but not against it and Chaos. Brut shuddered when he thought that if Chaos had directed its full force against Tanelorn, they would be sobbing in hell at that moment.
Dust rose high above Tanelorn, sent flying by the hoofs of the scouts’ and messengers’ horses. One came through the gate as Brut watched. He pulled his mount to a stop before the nobleman. He was the messenger from Karlaak, by the Weeping Waste, one of the nearest major cities to Tanelorn.
The messenger gasped: “I asked Karlaak for aid but, as we supposed, they had never heard of Tanelorn and suspected that I was an emissary from the beggar army sent to lead their few forces into a trap. I pleaded with the Senators, but they would do nothing.”
“Was not Elric there—he knows Tanelorn?”
“No, he was not there. There is a rumour which says that he himself fights Chaos now, for the minions of Chaos captured his wife Zarozinia and he rides in pursuit of them. Chaos, it seems, gains strength everywhere in our realm.”
Brut was pale.
“What of Jadmar—will Jadmar send warriors?” The messenger spoke urgently, for many had been sent to the nearer cities to solicit aid.
“I do not know,” replied Brut, “and it does not matter now—for the beggar army is not three days’ march from Tanelorn and it would take two weeks for a Jadmarian force to reach us.”
“And Rackhir?”
“I have heard nothing and he has not returned. I have the feeling he’ll not return. Tanelorn is doomed.”
* * *
Rackhir and Lamsar bowed before the small men who sat in the tent, but one of them said impatiently: “Do not humble yourselves before us, friends—we who are humbler than any.” So they straightened their backs and waited to be further addressed.
The Grey Lords assumed humility, but this, it seemed, was their greatest ostentation, for it was a pride that they had. Rackhir realised that he would need to use subtle flattery and was not sure that he could, for he was a warrior, not a courtier or a diplomat. Lamsar, too, realised the situation and he said:
“In our pride, lords, we have come to learn the simpler truths which are only truths—the truths which you can teach us.”
The speaker gave a self-deprecating smile and replied: “Truth is not for us to define, guest, we can but offer our incomplete thoughts. They might interest you or help you to find your own truths.”
“Indeed, that is so,” Rackhir said, not wholly sure with what he was agreeing, but judging it best to agree. “And we wondered if you had any suggestions on a matter which concerns us—the protection of our Tanelorn.”
“We would not be so prideful as to interfere with our own comments. We are not mighty intellects,” the speaker replied blandly, “and we have no confidence in our own decisions, for who knows that they may be wrong and based on wrongly assessed information?”
“Indeed,” said Lamsar, judging that he must flatter them with their own assumed humility, “and it is lucky for us, lords, that we do not confuse pride with learning—for it is the quiet man who observes and says little who sees the most. Therefore, though we realise that you are not confident that your suggestions or help would be useful, nonetheless we, taking example from your own demeanour, humbly ask if you know of any way in which we might rescue Tanelorn?”
* * *
Rackhir had hardly been able to follow the complexities of Lamsar’s seemingly unsophisticated argument, but he saw that the Grey Lords were pleased. Out of the corner of his eye he observed Sorana. She was smiling to herself and it seemed evident, by the characteristics of that smile, that they had behaved in the right way. Now Sorana was listening intently and Rackhir cursed to himself that the Lords of Chaos would know of everything and might, even if they did gain the Grey Lords’ aid, still be able to anticipate and stop any action they took to save Tanelorn.
The speaker conferred in a liquid speech with his fellows and said finally: “Rarely do we have the privilege to entertain such brave and intelligent men. How may our insignificant minds be put to your advantage?”
Rackhir realised quite suddenly, and almost laughed, that the Grey Lords were not very clever after all. Their flattery had got them the help they required. He said:
“Narjhan of Chaos heads a huge army of human scum—a beggar army—and is sworn to tear down Tanelorn and kill her inhabitants. We need magical aid of some kind to combat one so powerful as Narjhan and defeat the beggars.”
“But Tanelorn cannot be destroyed…” said a Grey Lord. “She is Eternal…” said another. “But this manifestation…” murmured the third. “Ah, yes…”
“There are beetles in Kaleef,” said a Grey Lord who had not spoken before, “which emit a peculiar venom.”
“Beetles, lord?” said Rackhir.
“They are the size of mammoths,” said the third Lord, “but can change their size—and change the size of their prey if it is too large for their gullets.”
“As for that matter,” the first speaker said, “there is a chimera which dwells in mountains south of here—it can change its shape and contains hate for Chaos since Chaos bred it and abandoned it with no real shape of its own.
“Then there are four brothers of Himerscahl who are endowed with sorcerous power,” said the second lord, but the first interrupted him:
“Their magic is no good outside our own dimension,” he said. “I had thought, however, of reviving the Blue Wizard.”
“Too dangerous and, anyway, beyond our powers,” said his companion.
They continued to debate for a while, and Rackhir and Lamsar said nothing, but waited.
Eventually the first speaker said:
“The Boatmen of Xerlerenes, we have decided, will probably be best equipped to aid you in defence of Tanelorn. You must go to the mountains of Xerlerenes and find their lake.”
“A lake,” said Lamsar, “in a range of mountains, I see.”
“No,” the lord said, “their lake lies above the mountains. We will find someone to take you there. Perhaps they will aid you.”
“You can guarantee nothing else?”
“Nothing—it is not our business to interfere. It is up to them to decide whether they will aid you or not.”
“I see,” said Rackhir, “thank you.”
How much time had passed since he had left Tanelorn? How much time before Narjhan’s beggar army reached the city? Or had it already done so?
Suddenly he thought of something, looked for Sorana, but she had left the tent.
“Where lies Xerlerenes?” Lamsar was asking.
“Not in our realm,” one of the Grey Lords replied, “come we will find you a guide.”
* * *
Sorana spoke the necessary word which took her immediately into the blue half-world with which she was so familiar. There were no other colours in it, but many, many shades of blue. Here she waited until Eequor noticed her presence. In the timelessness, she could not tell how long she had waited.
* * *
The beggar horde came to an undisciplined and slow halt at a sign from its leader. A voice rang hollowly from the helm that was always closed.
“Tomorrow, we march against Tanelorn—the time we have anticipated is almost upon us. Make camp now. Tomorrow shall Tanelorn be punished and the stones of her little houses will be dust on the wind.”
The million beggars cackled their glee and wetted their scrawny lips. Not one of them asked why they had marched so far, and this was because of Narjhan’s power.
* * *
In Tanelorn, Brut and Zas the One-handed discussed the nature of death in quiet, over-controlled tones. Both were filled with sadness, less for themselves than for Tanelorn, soon to perish. Outside, a pitiful army tried to place a cordon around the town but failed to fill the gaps between men, there were so few of them. Lights in the houses burned as if for the last time, and candles guttered moodily.
* * *
Sorana, sweating as she always did after such an episode, returned to the plane occupied by the Grey Lords and discovered that Rackhir, Lamsar and their guide were preparing to leave. Eequor had told her what to do—it was for her to contact Narjhan. The rest the Lords of Chaos would accomplish. She blew her ex-lover a kiss as he rode from the camp into the night. He grinned at her defiantly, but when his face was turned from her he frowned and they went in silence into the Valley of the Currents where they entered the realm where lay the Mountains of Xerlerenes. Almost as soon as they arrived, danger presented itself.
Their guide, a wanderer called Timeras, pointed into the night sky which was spiked by the outlines of crags.
“This is a world where the air elementals are dominant,” he said. “Look!”
Flowing downwards in an ominous sweep they saw a flight of owls, great eyes gleaming. Only as they came nearer did the men realise that these owls were huge, almost as large as a man. In the saddle Rackhir strung his bow. Timeras said:
“How could they have learned of our presence so soon?”
“Sorana,” Rackhir said, busy with the bow, “she must have warned the Lords of Chaos and they have sent these dreadful birds.” As the first one homed in, great claws grasping, great beak gaping, he shot it in its feathery throat and it shrieked and swept upwards. Many arrows fled from his humming bowstring to find a mark while Timeras drew his sword and slashed at them, ducking as they whistled downwards.
* * *
Lamsar watched the battle but took no part, seemed thoughtful at a time when action was desired of him.
He mused: “If the spirits of air are dominant in this realm, then they will resent a stronger force of other elementals,” and he racked his brain to remember a spell.
Rackhir had but two arrows left in his quiver by the time they had driven the owls off. The birds had not been used, evidently, to a prey which fought back and had put up a poor fight considering their superiority.
“We can expect more danger,” said Rackhir somewhat shakily, “for the Lords of Chaos will use other means to try and stop us. How far to Xerlerenes?”
“Not far,” said Timeras, “but it’s a hard road.”
They rode on, and Lamsar rode behind them, lost in his own thoughts.
Now they urged their horses up a steep mountain path and a chasm lay below them, dropping, dropping, dropping. Rackhir, who had no love for heights, kept as close to the mountainside as was possible. If he had had gods to whom he could pray, he would have prayed for their help then.
* * *
The huge fish came flying—or swimming—at them as they rounded a bend. They were semi-luminous, big as sharks but with enlarged fins with which they planed through the air like rays. They were quite evidently fish. Timeras drew his sword, but Rackhir had only two arrows left and it would have been useless against the airfish to have shot them, for there were many of them.
But Lamsar laughed and spoke in a high-pitched, staccato speech. “Crackhor—pishtasta salaflar!”
Huge balls of flame materialised against the black sky—flaring balls of multicoloured fire which shaped themselves into strange, warlike forms and streamed towards the unnatural fish.
The flame-shapes seared into the big fish and they shrieked, struck at the fireballs, burned, and fell flaming down the deep gorge.
“Fire elementals!” Rackhir exclaimed.
“The spirits of the air fear such beings,” Lamsar said calmly.
The flame-beings accompanied them the rest of the way to Xerlerenes and were with them when dawn came, having frightened away many other dangers which the Lords of Chaos had evidently sent against them.
* * *
They saw the boats of Xerlerenes in the dawn, at anchor on a calm sky, fluffy clouds playing around their slender keels, their huge sails furled.
“The boatmen live aboard their vessels,” Timeras said, “for it is only their ships which deny the laws of nature, not they.”
Timeras cupped his hands about his mouth and called through the still mountain air: “Boatmen of Xerlerenes, freemen of the air, guests come with a request for aid!”
A black and bearded face appeared over the side of one of the red-gold vessels. The man shielded his eyes against the rising sun and stared down at them. Then he disappeared again.
At length a ladder of slim thongs came snaking down to where they sat their horses on the tops of the mountains. Timeras grasped it, tested it and began to climb. Rackhir reached out and steadied the ladder for him. It seemed too thin to support a man but when he had it in his hands he knew that it was the strongest he had ever known.
Lamsar grumbled as Rackhir signalled for him to climb, but he did so and quite nimbly. Rackhir was the last, following his companions, climbing up through the sky high above the crags, towards the ship that sailed on the air.
The fleet comprised some twenty or thirty ships and Rackhir felt that with these to aid him, there was good chance to rescue Tanelorn—if Tanelorn survived. Narjhan would, anyway, be aware of the nature of the aid he sought.
* * *
Starved dogs barked the morning in and the beggar horde, waking from where they had sprawled on the ground, saw Narjhan already mounted, but talking to a newcomer, a girl in black robes that moved as if in a wind—but there was no wind. There was a jewel at her long throat.
When he had finished conversing with the newcomer, Narjhan ordered a horse be brought for her and she rode slightly behind him when the beggar army moved on—the last stage of their hateful journey to Tanelorn.
When they saw lovely Tanelorn and how it was so poorly guarded, the beggars laughed, but Narjhan and his new companion looked up into the sky.
“There may be time,” said the hollow voice, and gave the order to attack.
Howling, the beggars broke into a run towards Tanelorn. The attack had started.
* * *
Brut rose in his saddle and there were tears flowing down his face and glistening in his beard. His huge war-axe was in one gauntleted hand and the other held a spiked mace across the saddle before him.
Zas the One-handed gripped the long and heavy broadsword with its pommel of a rampant golden lion pointed downwards. This blade had won him a crown in Andlermaigne, but he doubted whether it would successfully defend his peace in Tanelorn. Beside him stood Uroch of Nieva, pale-faced but angry as he watched the ragged horde’s implacable approach.
Then, yelling, the beggars met with the warriors of Tanelorn and, although greatly outnumbered, the warriors fought desperately for they were defending more than life or love—they were defending that which had told them of a reason for living.
Narjhan sat his horse aside from the battle, Sorana next to him, for Narjhan could take no active part in the battle, could only watch and, if necessary, use magic to aid his human pawns or defend his person.
The warriors of Tanelorn, incredibly, held back the roaring beggar horde, their weapons drenched with blood, rising and falling in that sea of moving flesh, flashing in the light of the red dawn.
Sweat now mingled with the salt tears in Brut’s bristling beard and with agility he leapt clear of his black horse as the screaming beast was cut from under him. The noble war-cry of his forefathers sang on his breath and, although in his shame he had no business to use it, he let it roar from him as he slashed about him with biting war-axe and rending mace. But he fought hopelessly for Rackhir had not come and Tanelorn was soon to die. His one fierce consolation was that he would die with the city, his blood mingling with its ashes.
Zas, also, acquitted himself very well before he died of a smashed skull. His old body twitched as trampling feet stumbled over it as the beggars made for Uroch of Nieva. The gold-pommelled sword was still gripped in his single hand and his soul was fleeing for limbo as Uroch, too, was slain fighting.
Then the Ships of Xerlerenes suddenly materialised in the sky and Brut, looking upward for an instant, knew that Rackhir had come at last—though it might be too late.
Narjhan, also, saw the ships and was prepared for them.
They skimmed through the sky, the fire elementals which Lamsar had summoned flying with them. The spirits of air and flame had been called to rescue weakening Tanelorn…
