"No!" His scream was anguished, unbelieving. "No!" Tears flowed down his contorted face as he ran his hands through the fine dust. With a groan which racked his whole being, he fell forward, his face hitting the disintegrated parchment. Time had destroyed the Book-untouched, possibly forgotten, for three hundred centuries.
Even the wise and powerful gods who had created it had perished- and now its knowledge followed them into oblivion.
They stood on the slopes of the high mountain, staring down into the green valleys below them. The sun shone and the sky was clear and blue. Behind them lay the gaping hole which led into the stronghold of the Lords of Entropy.
Elric looked with sad eyes across the world and his head was lowered beneath a weight of weariness and dark despair. He had not spoken since his companions had dragged him sobbing from the chamber of the Book. Now he raised his pale face and spoke in a voice tinged with self-mockery, sharp with bitterness-a lonely voice: the calling of hungry seabirds circling cold skies above bleak shores.
"Now," he said, "I will live my life without ever knowing why I live it-whether it has purpose or not. Perhaps the Book could have told me. But would I have believed it, even then? I am the eternal skeptic-never sure that my actions are my own, never certain that an ultimate entity is not guiding me.
"I envy those who know. All I can do now is to continue my quest and hope, without hope, that before my span is ended, the truth will be presented to me."
Shaarilla took his limp hands in hers and her eyes were wet.
"Elric-let me comfort you."
The albino sneered bitterly. "Would that we'd never met, Shaarilla of the Dancing Mist. For a while, you gave me hope-I had thought to be at last at peace with myself. But, because of you, I am left more hopeless than before. There is no salvation in this world-only malevolent doom. Goodbye."
He took his hands away from her grasp and set off down the mountainside.
Moonglum darted a glance at Shaarilla and then at Elric. He took something from his purse and put it in the girl's hand.
"Good luck," he said, and then he was running after Elric until he caught him up.
Still striding, Elric turned at Moonglum's approach and despite his brooding misery said: "What is it, friend Moonglum? Why do you follow me?"
"I've followed you thus far, Master Elric, and I see no reason to stop," grinned the little man. "Besides, unlike yourself, I'm a materialist. We'll need to eat, you know."
Elric frowned, feeling a warmth growing within him. "What do you mean, Moonglum?"
Moonglum chuckled. "I take advantage of situations of any kind, where I may," he answered. He reached into his purse and displayed something on his outstretched hand which shone with a dazzling brilliancy. It was one of the jewels from the cover of the Book. "There are more in my purse," he said, "And each one worth a fortune." He took Elric's arm.
"Come Elric-what new lands shall we visit so that we may change these baubles into wine and pleasant company?"
Behind them, standing stock still on the hillside, Shaarilla stared miserably after them until they were no longer visible. The jewel Moonglum had given her dropped from her fingers and fell, bouncing and bright, until it was lost amongst the heather. Then she turned- and the dark mouth of the cavern yawned before her.
In this third Elric story the forces of Wind and Fire meet onopposing sides in a cataclysmic battle to decide the fate of oneparticular sorcerer. The previous stories in this series were "TheDreaming City" (No. 47), and "While the Gods Laugh" (No. 49).
- John Carnell, SCIENCE FANTASY No. 51, February 1962
THE STEALER OF SOULS
Chapter One
IN A CITY called Bakshaan, which was rich enough to make all other cities of the north-east seem poor, in a tall-towered tavern one night, Elric, Lord of the smoking ruins of Melnibone, smiled like a shark and dryly jested with four powerful merchant princes whom, in a day or so, he intended to pauperize.
Moonglum the Outlander, Elric's companion, viewed the tall albino with admiration and concern. For Elric to laugh and joke was rare-but that he should share his good humour with men of the merchant stamp, that was unprecedented. Moonglum congratulated himself that he was Elric's friend and wondered upon the outcome of the meeting. Elric had, as usual, elaborated little of his plan to Moonglum.
"We need your particular qualities as swordsman and sorcerer, Lord Elric, and will, of course, pay well for them." Pilarmo, overdressed, intense and scrawny, was main spokesman for the four.
"And how shall you pay, gentlemen?" enquired Elric politely, still smiling.
Pilarmo's colleagues raised their eyebrows and even their
spokesman was slightly taken aback. He waved his hand through the smoky air of the tavern-room which was occupied only by the six men.
"In gold-in gems," answered Pilarmo.
"In chains," said Elric. "We free travelers need no chains of that sort."
Moonglum bent forward out of the shadows where he sat, his expression showing that he strongly disapproved of Elric's statement.
Pilarmo and the other merchants were plainly astonished, too.
"Then how shall we pay you?"
"I will decide that later," Elric smiled. "But why talk of such things until the time-what do you wish me to do?"
Pilarmo coughed and exchanged glances with his peers. They nodded. Pilarmo dropped his tone and spoke slowly:
"You are aware that trade is highly competitive in this city, Lord Elric. Many merchants vie with one another to secure the custom of the people. Bakshaan is a rich city and its populace is comfortably off, in the main."
"This is well known," Elric agreed; he was privately likening the well-to-do citizens of Bakshaan to sheep and himself to the wolf who would rob the fold. Because of these thoughts, his scarlet eyes were full of a humour which Moonglum knew to be malevolent and ironic.
"There is one merchant in this city who controls more warehouses and shops than any other," Pilarmo continued. "Because of the size and strength of his caravans, he can afford to import greater quantities of goods into Bakshaan and thus sell them for lower prices. He is virtually a thief-he will ruin us with his unfair methods." Pilarmo was genuinely hurt and aggrieved.
"You refer to Nikorn of Ilmar?" Moonglum spoke from behind Elric.
Pilarmo nodded mutely.
Elric frowned. "This man heads his own caravans-braves the dangers of the desert, forest and mountain. He has earned his position."
"That is hardly the point," snapped fat Tormiel, beringed and powdered, his flesh aquiver.
"No, of course not." Smooth-tongued Kelos patted his colleague's arm consolingly. "But we all admire bravery, I hope." His friends nodded. Silent Deinstaf, the last of the four, also coughed and wagged his hairy head. He put his unhealthy fingers on the jeweled hilt of an ornate but virtually useless poignard and squared his shoulders. "But," Kelos went on, glancing at Deinstaf with approval, "Nikorn takes no risks selling his goods cheaply-he's killing us with his low prices."
"Nikorn is a thorn in our flesh," Pilarmo elaborated unnecessarily.
"And you gentlemen require myself and my companion to remove this thorn," Elric stated.
"In a nutshell, yes." Pilarmo was sweating. He seemed more than a trifle wary of the smiling albino. Legends referring to Elric and his dreadful, doom-filled exploits were many and elaborately detailed. It was only because of their desperation that they had sought his help in this matter. They needed one who could deal in the nigromantic arts as well as wield a useful blade. Elric's arrival in Bakshaan was potential salvation for them.