Michael Moorcock - Elric (Fantasy Masterworks 17)

Elric

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CONTENTS

To the memory of E. J. Carnell,
who originally asked for these stories,
and for Betsy Mitchell and John Davey,
who created this edition

THE STEALER OF SOULS

For my mother.

This is the first of a new series of stories by a new author to our pages. Unlike many central characters, Elric is puny on his own, but as a wanderer in another place and time he has the power of sorcery to boost his strength.

John Carnell, SCIENCE FANTASY No. 47, June 1961

THE DREAMING CITY

INTRODUCTION

F OR TEN THOUSAND years did the Bright Empire of Melnibon flourishruling the world. Ten thousand years before history was recordedor ten thousand years after history had ceased to be chronicled. For that span of time, reckon it how you will, the Bright Empire had thrived. Be hopeful, if you like, and think of the dreadful past the Earth has known, or brood upon the future. But if you would believe the unholy truththen Time is an agony of Now, and so it will always be.

Ravaged, at last, by the formless terror called Time, Melnibon fell and newer nations succeeded her: Ilmiora, Sheegoth, Maidahk, Saaleem. Then memory began: Ur, India, China, Egypt, Assyria, Persia, Greece, and Romeall these came after Melnibon. But none lasted ten thousand years.

And none dealt in the terrible mysteries, the secret sorceries of old Melnibon. None used such power or knew how. Only Melnibon ruled the Earth for one hundred centuriesand then she, shaken by the casting of frightful runes, attacked by powers greater than men; powers who decided that Melnibons span of ruling had been overlongthen she crumbled and her sons were scattered. They became wanderers across an Earth which hated and feared them, siring few offspring, slowly dying, slowly forgetting the secrets of their mighty ancestors. Such a one was the cynical, laughing Elric, a man of bitter brooding and gusty humour, proud prince of ruins, lord of a lost and humbled people; last son of Melnibons sundered line of kings.

Elric, the moody-eyed wanderera lonely man who fought a world, living by his wits and his runesword Stormbringer. Elric, last Lord of Melnibon, last worshipper of its grotesque and beautiful godsreckless reaver and cynical slayertorn by great griefs and with knowledge locked in his skull which would turn lesser men to babbling idiots. Elric, moulder of madnesses, dabbler in wild delights

CHAPTER ONE

Whats the hour? The black-bearded man wrenched off his gilded helmet and flung it from him, careless of where it fell. He drew off his leathern gauntlets and moved closer to the roaring fire, letting the heat soak into his frozen bones.

Midnight is long past, growled one of the other armoured men who gathered around the blaze. Are you still sure hell come?

Its said that hes a man of his word, if that comforts you. It was a tall, pale-faced youth who spoke. His thin lips formed the words and spat them out maliciously. He grinned a wolf-grin and stared the new arrival in the eyes, mocking him.

The newcomer turned away with a shrug. Thats sofor all your irony, Yaris. Hell come. He spoke as a man does when he wishes to reassure himself. There were six men, now, around the fire. The sixth was SmiorganCount Smiorgan Baldhead of the Purple Towns. He was a short, stocky man of fifty years with a scarred face partially covered with a thick, black growth of hair. His morose eyes smouldered and his lumpy fingers plucked nervously at his rich-hilted longsword. His pate was hairless, giving him his name, and over his ornate, gilded armour hung a loose woolen cloak, dyed purple.

Smiorgan said thickly, He has no love for his cousin. He has become bitter. Yyrkoon sits on the Ruby Throne in his place and has proclaimed him an outlaw and a traitor. Elric needs us if he would take his throne and his bride back. We can trust him.

Youre full of trust tonight, count, Yaris smiled thinly, a rare thing to find in these troubled times. I say this He paused and took a long breath, staring at his comrades, summing them up. His gaze flicked from lean-faced Dharmit of Jharkor to Fadan of Lormyr who pursed his podgy lips and looked into the fire.

Speak up, Yaris, petulantly urged the patrician-featured Vilmirian, Naclon. Lets hear what you have to say, lad, if its worth hearing.

Yaris looked towards Jiku the dandy, who yawned impolitely and scratched his long nose.

Well! Smiorgan was impatient. What dyou say, Yaris?

I say that we should start now and waste no more time waiting on Elrics pleasure! Hes laughing at us in some tavern a hundred miles from hereor else plotting with the Dragon Princes to trap us. For years we have planned this raid. We have little time in which to strikeour fleet is too big, too noticeable. Even if Elric has not betrayed us, then spies will soon be running eastwards to warn the Dragons that there is a fleet massed against them. We stand to win a fantastic fortuneto vanquish the greatest merchant city in the worldto reap immeasurable richesor horrible death at the hands of the Dragon Princes, if we wait overlong. Lets bide our time no more and set sail before our prize hears of our plan and brings up reinforcements!

You always were too ready to mistrust a man, Yaris. King Naclon of Vilmir spoke slowly, carefullydistastefully eyeing the taut-featured youth. We could not reach Imrryr without Elrics knowledge of the maze-channels which lead to its secret ports. If Elric will not join usthen our endeavour will be fruitlesshopeless. We need him. We must wait for himor else give up our plans and return to our homelands.

At least Im willing to take a risk, yelled Yaris, anger lancing from his slanting eyes. Youre getting oldall of you. Treasures are not won by care and forethought but by swift slaying and reckless attack.

Fool! Dharmits voice rumbled around the fire-flooded hall. He laughed wearily. I spoke thus in my youthand lost a fine fleet soon after. Cunning and Elrics knowledge will win us Imrryrthat and the mightiest fleet to sail the Dragon Sea since Melnibons banners fluttered over all the nations of the Earth. Here we arethe most powerful sea-lords in the world, masters, every one of us, of more than a hundred swift vessels. Our names are feared and famousour fleets ravage the coasts of a score of lesser nations. We hold power! He clenched his great fist and shook it in Yariss face. His tone became more level and he smiled viciously, glaring at the youth and choosing his words with precision.

But all this is worthlessmeaninglesswithout the power which Elric has. That is the power of knowledgeof dream-learned sorcery, if I must use the cursed word. His fathers knew of the maze which guards Imrryr from sea-attack. And his fathers passed that secret on to him. Imrryr, the Dreaming City, dreams in peaceand will continue to do so unless we have a guide to help us steer a course through the treacherous waterways which lead to her harbours. We need Elricwe know it, and he knows it. Thats the truth!

Such confidence, gentlemen, is warming to the heart. There was irony in the heavy voice which came from the entrance to the hall. The heads of the six sea-lords jerked towards the doorway.