The blade shrieked out of its scabbard, a black fire gleaming along its length and alien power flowing from it into Elric's arm and through his body. A weird, unholy light leapt into Elric's crimson eyes and his mouth was wrenched into a hideous grin as he forced the frightened horse further into the skulking mist.
'Arioch, Lord of the Seven Darks, be with me now! ' Elric yelled as he made out the shifting shape ahead of him. It was white, like the mist, yet somehow darker. It stretched high above Elric's head. It was nearly eight feet tall and almost as broad. But it t was still only an outline, Seeming to have no face or limbs only movement: darting, malevolent movement! But Arioch, his patron god, chose not to hear. Elric could feel his horse's great heart beating between his legs as the beast plunged forward under its rider's iron control. Shaarilla was screaming something behind him, but he could not hear the words. Elric hacked at the white shape, but his sword met only mist and it howled angrily. The fear-crazed horse would go no further and Elric was forced to dismount.
'Keep hold of the steed, ' he shouted behind him to Shaarilla and moved on light feet towards the darting shape which hovered ahead of him, blocking his path.
Now he could make out some of its saliencies.
Two eyes, the colour of thin, yellow wine, were set high in the thing's body, though it had no separate head. A mouthing, obscene slit, filled with fangs, lay just beneath the eyes. It had no nose or ears that Eltic could see. Four appendages sprang from its upper parts and its lower body slithered along the ground, unsupported by any limbs. Elric's eyes ached as he looked at it. It was incredibly disgusting to behold and its amorphous body gave off a stench of death and decay. Fighting down his fear, the albino inched forward warily, his sword held high to parry any thrust the thing might make with its arms. Elric recognized it from a description in one of his grimoires. It was a Mist Giant possibly the only Mist Giant, Bellbane. Even the wisest wizards were uncertain how many existed one or many. It was a ghoul of the swamp-lands which fed off the souls and the blood of men and beasts. But the Marshes of this Mist were Par to the east of Bellbane's reputed haunts.
Elric ceased to wonder why so few animals inhabited that stretch of the swamp. Overhead the sky was beginning to darken.
Stormbringer throbbed in Elric's grasp as he called the names of the ancient Demon-Gods of his people. The nauseous ghoul obviously recognized the names, For an instant, it wavered backwards. Eltic made his legs move towards the thing. Now he saw that the ghoul was not white at all. But it had no colour to it that Elric could recognise. There was a suggestion of orangeness dashed with sickening greenish yellow, but he did not see the colours with his eyes he only sensed the alien, unholy tinctures.
Then Elric rushed towards the thing, shouting the names which now had no meaning to his surface consciousness.’Balaan Marthim! Aesma! Alastor! Saebos! Verdelet! Nizilfkm! Haborym! Haborym of the Fires Which Destroy! ' His whole mind was torn in two. Part of him wanted to run, to hide, but he .had no control over the power which now gripped him and pushed him to meet the horror.
His sword blade hacked and slashed at the shape. It was like trying to cut through water sentient, pulsating water. But Stormbringer had effect. The whole shape of the ghoul quivered as if in dreadful pain. Elric felt himself plucked into the air and his vision went. He could see nothing-do nothing but hack and cut at the thing which now held him.
Sweat poured from him as, blindly, he fought on.
Pain which was hardly physical a deeper, horrifying pain, filled his being as he howled now in agony and struck continually at the yielding bulk which embraced him and was pulling him slowly towards its gaping maw. He struggled and writhed in the obscene grasp of the thing. With powerful arms, it was holding him, almost lasciviously, drawing him closer as a rough lover would draw a girl. Even the mighty power intrinsic in the runesword did not seem enough to kill the monster. Though its efforts were somewhat weaker than earlier, it still drew Elric nearer to the gnashing, slavering mouth-slit. Elric cried the names again, while Stormbringer danced and sang an evil song in his right hand. In agony, Elric writhed, praying, begging and promising, but still he was drawn inch by inch towards the grinning maw.
Savagely, grimly, he fought and again he screamed for Arioch. A mind touched his sardonic, powerful, evil and he knew Arioch responded at last! Almost imperceptibly, the Mist Giant weakened. Elric pressed his advantage and the knowledge that the ghoul was losing its strength gave him more power. Blindly, agony piercing every nerve of his body, he struck and struck, Then, quite suddenly, he was falling.
He seemed to fall for hours, slowly, weightlessly until he landed upon a surface which yielded beneath him. He began to sink.
Far off, beyond time and space, he heard a distant voice calling to him. He did not want to hear it; he was content to lie where he was as the cold, comforting stuff in which he lay dragged him slowly into itself.
Then some sixth sense made him realise that it was Shaarilla's voice calling him and he forced himself to make sense out of her words.
‘Elric the marshy You're in the marsh. Don't move!’
He smiled to himself. Why should he move? Down he was sinking, slowly, calmly down into the welcoming marsh ... Had there been another time like this; another marsh? With a mental jolt, full awareness of the situation came back to him and he jerked his eyes open.
Above him was mist. To one side a pool of unnamable colouring was slowly evaporating, giving off a foul odour. On the other side he could lust make out a human form, gesticulating wildly. Beyond the human form were the barely discernible shapes of two horses. Shaarilla was there. Beneath him . Beneath him was the marsh.
Thick, stinking slime was sucking him downwards as he lay spread-eagled upon it, half-submerged already. Stormbringer was still in his right hand. He could just see it if he turned his head. Carefully, he tried to lift the top half of his body from the sucking morass. He succeeded, only to feel his legs sink deeper. Sitting upright, he shouted to the girl.
'Shaarilla! Quickly-a rope! '
'There is no rope, Elric! ' She was ripping off her top garment, frantically tearing it into strips.
Still Elric sank, his feet finding no purchase beneath them.
Shaarilla hastily knotted the strips of cloth. She flung the makeshift rope inexpertly towards the sinking albino. It fell short. Fumbling in her haste, she threw it again. This time his groping left hand found it. The girl began to haul on the fabric. Elric felt himself rise a little and then stop.
'It's no good, Elric I haven't the strength.'
Cursing her, Elric shouted: 'The horse tie it to the horse! '
She ran towards one of the horses and looped the cloth around the pommel of the saddle. Then she tugged at the beast's reins and began to walk it away.
Swiftly, Elric was dragged from the sucking bog and, still gripping Stormbringer was pulled to the inadequate safety of the strip of turf.
Gasping, he tried to stand, but found his legs incredibly weak beneath him. He rose; staggered, and fell. Shaarilla knelt down beside him.
'Are you hurt?'
Elric smiled in spite of his weakness. 'I don't think SO.'
'It was dreadful. I couldn't see properly what was happening. You seemed to disappear and then-then you screamed that that name! ' She was trembling, her face pale and taut.