the castle—a dozen of them. I fought them off and barred the way up to this tower, but they are hacking at the door now. I think they have been sent to destroy Myshella if they could. They were surprised to discover me here.”
Elric rose and looked carefully down at Myshella. The rune was finished and had been repeated almost through again when Moonglum had come in. She did not stir yet.
“Theleb K’aarna worked his sorcery from a distance,” Moonglum said. “Ensuring that Myshella would not resist him. But he did not reckon with us.”
He and Elric hurried from the room, down the steps to where a door was bulging and splintering beneath the weapons of those beyond.
“Stand back, Moonglum.”
Elric drew the crooning runesword, lifted it high and brought it against the door.
The door split and two oddly shaped skulls were split with it.
The remainder of the attackers fell back with cries of astonishment and horror as the white-faced reaver fell upon them, his huge sword drinking their souls and singing its strange, undulating song.
Down the stairs Elric pursued them. Into the hall where they bunched together and prepared to defend themselves from this demon with his hell-forged blade.
And Elric laughed.
And they shuddered.
And their weapons trembled in their hands.
“So you are the mighty Kelmain,” Elric sneered. “No wonder you needed sorcery to aid you if you are so cowardly. Have you not heard, beyond World’s Edge, of Elric Kinslayer?”
But the Kelmain plainly did not understand his speech, which was strange enough in itself, for he had spoken in the common tongue, known to all men.
These people had golden skins and eye-sockets that were almost square. Their faces, in all, seemed crudely carved from rock, all sharp angles and planes, and their armour was not rounded, but angular.
Elric bared his teeth in a smile and the Kelmain drew closer together.
Then he screamed with dreadful laughter and Moonglum stepped back and did not look at what took place.
The runesword swung. Heads and limbs were chopped away. Blood gouted. Souls were taken. The Kelmain’s dead faces bore expressions showing that before the life was drawn from them they had known the truth of their appalling fate.
And Stormbringer drank again, for Stormbringer was a thirsty hellsword.
And Elric felt his deficient veins swell with even more energy than that which he had taken earlier from Theleb K’aarna’s demon.
The hall shook with Elric’s insane mirth and he strode over the piled corpses and he went through the open gateway to where the great host waited.
And he shouted a name:
“Theleb K’aarna, Theleb K’aarna!”
Moonglum ran after him, calling for him to stop, but Elric did not heed him. Elric strode on through the snow, his sword dripping a red trail behind him.
Under a cold sun, the Kelmain were riding for the castle called Kaneloon and Elric went to meet them.
At their head, on slender horses, rode the dark-faced sorcerer of Pan Tang, dressed in flowing robes, and beside him was the prince of the Kelmain Host, Prince Umbda, in proud armour, bizarre plumes nodding on his helm, a triumphant smile on his strange, angular features.
Behind, the host dragged oddly fashioned war-gear which, for all its oddness, looked powerful—mightier than anything Lormyr could rally when the huge army fell upon her.
As the lone figure appeared and began to walk away from the walls of Castle Kaneloon, Theleb K’aarna raised his hand and stopped the host’s advance, reining in his own horse and laughing.
“Why, it is the jackal of Melniboné, by all the Gods of Chaos! He acknowledges his master at last and comes to deliver himself up to me!”
Elric came closer and Theleb K’aarna laughed on. “Here, Elric—kneel before me!”
Elric did not pause, seemed not to hear the Pan Tangian’s words.
Prince Umbda’s eyes were troubled and he said something in a strange tongue. Theleb K’aarna sniffed and replied in the
Elric rose and looked carefully down at Myshella. The rune was finished and had been repeated almost through again when Moonglum had come in. She did not stir yet.
“Theleb K’aarna worked his sorcery from a distance,” Moonglum said. “Ensuring that Myshella would not resist him. But he did not reckon with us.”
He and Elric hurried from the room, down the steps to where a door was bulging and splintering beneath the weapons of those beyond.
“Stand back, Moonglum.”
Elric drew the crooning runesword, lifted it high and brought it against the door.
The door split and two oddly shaped skulls were split with it.
The remainder of the attackers fell back with cries of astonishment and horror as the white-faced reaver fell upon them, his huge sword drinking their souls and singing its strange, undulating song.
Down the stairs Elric pursued them. Into the hall where they bunched together and prepared to defend themselves from this demon with his hell-forged blade.
And Elric laughed.
And they shuddered.
And their weapons trembled in their hands.
“So you are the mighty Kelmain,” Elric sneered. “No wonder you needed sorcery to aid you if you are so cowardly. Have you not heard, beyond World’s Edge, of Elric Kinslayer?”
But the Kelmain plainly did not understand his speech, which was strange enough in itself, for he had spoken in the common tongue, known to all men.
These people had golden skins and eye-sockets that were almost square. Their faces, in all, seemed crudely carved from rock, all sharp angles and planes, and their armour was not rounded, but angular.
Elric bared his teeth in a smile and the Kelmain drew closer together.
Then he screamed with dreadful laughter and Moonglum stepped back and did not look at what took place.
The runesword swung. Heads and limbs were chopped away. Blood gouted. Souls were taken. The Kelmain’s dead faces bore expressions showing that before the life was drawn from them they had known the truth of their appalling fate.
And Stormbringer drank again, for Stormbringer was a thirsty hellsword.
And Elric felt his deficient veins swell with even more energy than that which he had taken earlier from Theleb K’aarna’s demon.
The hall shook with Elric’s insane mirth and he strode over the piled corpses and he went through the open gateway to where the great host waited.
And he shouted a name:
“Theleb K’aarna, Theleb K’aarna!”
Moonglum ran after him, calling for him to stop, but Elric did not heed him. Elric strode on through the snow, his sword dripping a red trail behind him.
Under a cold sun, the Kelmain were riding for the castle called Kaneloon and Elric went to meet them.
At their head, on slender horses, rode the dark-faced sorcerer of Pan Tang, dressed in flowing robes, and beside him was the prince of the Kelmain Host, Prince Umbda, in proud armour, bizarre plumes nodding on his helm, a triumphant smile on his strange, angular features.
Behind, the host dragged oddly fashioned war-gear which, for all its oddness, looked powerful—mightier than anything Lormyr could rally when the huge army fell upon her.
As the lone figure appeared and began to walk away from the walls of Castle Kaneloon, Theleb K’aarna raised his hand and stopped the host’s advance, reining in his own horse and laughing.
“Why, it is the jackal of Melniboné, by all the Gods of Chaos! He acknowledges his master at last and comes to deliver himself up to me!”
Elric came closer and Theleb K’aarna laughed on. “Here, Elric—kneel before me!”
Elric did not pause, seemed not to hear the Pan Tangian’s words.
Prince Umbda’s eyes were troubled and he said something in a strange tongue. Theleb K’aarna sniffed and replied in the
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