The Weird of the White Wolf (elric saga)

by Michael Moorcock

  The answer was simple. The golem would only fear something as strong or stronger than itself. He must use cunning.

  He ran for the upturned table with the golem after him, leaped over the table and wheeled as the golem stumbled but did not, as he'd hoped, fall. However, the golem was slowed by its encounter, and Aubec took advantage of this to rush for the door through which the golem had entered. It opened.

  He was in a twisting corridor, darkly shadowed, not unlike the labyrinth he had first found in Kaneloon. The door closed, but he could find nothing to bar it with. He ran up the corridor as the golem tore the door open and came lumbering swiftly after him. The corridor writhed about in all directions, and, though he could not always see the golem, he could hear it and had the sickening fear that he would turn a corner at some stage and run straight into it.

  He did not but he came to a door and, upon opening it and passing through it, found himself again in the hall of Castle Kaneloon.

  He almost welcomed this familiar sight as he heard the golem, its metal parts screeching, continue to come after him. He needed another shield, but the part of the hall in which he now found himself had no wall-shields only a large, round mirror of bright, clear-polished metal. It would be too heavy to be much use, but he seized it, tugging it from its hook. It fell with a clang and he hauled it up, dragging it with him as he stumbled away from the go lem which had emerged into the room once more.

  Using the chains by which the mirror had hung, he gripped it before him and, as the golem's speed increased and the monster rushed upon him, he raised this makeshift shield.

  The golem shrieked.

  Malador was astounded. The monster stopped dead and cowered away from the mirror. Malador pushed it towards the golem and the thing turned its back and fled, with a metallic howl, through the door it had entered by.

  Relieved and puzzled, Malador sat down on the floor and studied the mirror. There was Certainly nothing magical about it, though its quality was good. He grinned and said aloud:

  'The creature's afraid of something. It is afraid of itself'

  He threw back his head and laughed loudly in his relief. Then he frowned. 'Now to find the sorcerers who created him and take vengeance on them' He pushed himself to his feet, twisted the chains of the mirror more securely about his arm and went to another door, concerned lest the golem complete its circuit of the maze and return through the door. This door would not budge, so he lifted his sword and hacked at the latch for a few moments until it gave.

  He strode into a well-lit passage with what appeared to be another room at its far end the door open.

  A musky scent came to his nostrils as he progressed along the passage the scent that reminded him of Eloarde and the comforts of Klant. When he reached the circular chamber, he saw that it was a bedroom a woman's bedroom full of the perfume he had smelled in the passage. He controlled the direction his mind took, thought of loyalty and Klant, and went to another door which led off from the room. He lugged it open and discovered a stone staircase winding upward. This he mounted, passing windows that seemed glazed with emerald or ruby, beyond which shadow-shapes flickered so that he knew he was on the side of the castle overlooking Chaos.

  The staircase seemed to lead up into a tower, and when he finally reached the small door at its top he was feeling out of breath and paused before entering. Then he pushed the door open and went in. A huge window was set in one wall, a window of clear glass through which he could see the ominous stuff of Chaos leaping. A woman stood by this window as if awaiting him.

  'You are indeed a champion, Earl Aubec, ' said she with a smile that might have been ironic.

  'How do you know my name?'

  'No sorcery gave it me, Earl of Malador you shouted it loudly enough when you first saw the hall in its true shape.'

  'Was not that, then, sorcery, ' he said ungraciously, 'the labyrinth, the demons even the valley? Was not the golem made by sorcery? Is not this whole cursed castle of a sorcerous nature?'

  She shrugged. 'Gall it so if you'd rather not have the truth. Sorcery, in your mind at least, is a crude thing which only hints at the true powers existing in the universe.'

  He did not reply, being somewhat impatient of such statements. He had learned, by observing the philosophers of Klant, that mysterious words often disguised commonplace things and ideas. Instead, he looked at her sulkily and over-frankly.

  She was fair, with green-blue eyes and a light complexion. Her long robe was of a similar colour to her eyes. She was, in a secret sort of way, very beautiful as the heroes who had earlier won over the dangers of Kaneloon. And then, she thought, she knew what to say.

  'Think, Earl Aubec, ' she whispered. 'Think new lands for your queen's Empire! '

  He frowned.

  'Why not extend the Empire's boundaries farther?' she continued. 'Why not make new territories?'

  She watched him anxiously as he took off his helm and scratched his heavy, bald head.

  'You have made a point at last, ' he said dubiously. 'Think of the honours you would receive in Klant if you succeeded in winning not merely Kaneloon-but that which lies beyond! '

  Now he rubbed is chin. 'Aye, ' he said, 'Aye . .:

  His great brows frowned deeply.

  'New plains, new mountains, new seas-new populations, even whole cities full of people fresh-sprung and yet with the memory of generations of ancestors behind them! All this can be done by you, Earl of Malador for Queen Eloarde and Lormyr! '

  He smiled faintly, his imagination fired at last.

  'Aye! If I can defeat such dangers here then I can do the same out there! It will be the greatest adventure in history! My name will become a legend-Malador, Master of Chaos! '

  She gave him a tender look, though she had half cheated him.

  He swung his sword up on to his shoulder, . 'I'll try this, lady.'

  She and he stood together at the window, watching the Chaos-stuff whispering and rolling for eternity before them. To her it had never been wholly familiar, for it changed all the time. Now its tossing colours were predominantly red and black. Tendrils of mauve and orange spiraled out of this and writhed away.

  Weird shapes flitted about in it, their outlines never clear, never quite recognizable.

  He said to her: 'The Lords of Chaos rule this territory. What will they have to say?'

  'They can say nothing, do little. Even they have to obey the Law of the Cosmic Balance which ordains that if man can stand against Chaos, then it shall be his to order and make Lawful. Thus the Earth grows, slowly.'

  'How do I enter it?’

  She took the opportunity to grasp his heavily muscled arm and point through the window. 'See-there a causeway leads down from this tower to the cliff.' She glanced at him sharply. 'Do you see it?'

  'Ah-yes I had not, but now I do. Yes, a causeway.'

  Standing behind him, she smiled a little to herself.

  'I will remove the barrier, ' she said.

  He straightened his helm on his head. 'For Klant and Eloarde and only those do I embark upon this adventure.'

  She moved towards the wall and raised the window. He did not look at her as he strode down the causeway into the multicoloured mist.

  As she watched him disappear, she smiled to herself. How easy it was to beguile the strongest man by pretending to go his way! He might add lands to his Empire, but he might find their populations unwilling to accept Eloarde as their Empress. In fact, if Aubec did his work well, then he would be creating more of a threat to Klant than ever Kaneloon had been.

  Yet she admired him, she was attracted to him, perhaps, because he was not so accessible, a little more than she had been to that earlier hero who had claimed Aubec's own land from Chaos barely two hundred years before. Oh, he had been a man! But he, like most before him, had needed no other persuasion than the promise of her body. Earl Aubec's weakness had lain in his strength, she thought. By now he had vanished into the heaving mists.

  She felt a trifle sad t
hat this time the execution of the task given her by the Lords of Law had not brought her the usual pleasure.

  Yes perhaps, she thought, she felt a more subtle pleasure in his steadfastness and the means she had used to convince him.

  For centuries had the Lords of Law entrusted her with Kaneloon and its secrets. But the progress was slow, for there were few heroes who could survive Kaneloon's dangers few who could defeat self created perils. Yet, she decided with a slight smile on her lips, the task had its various rewards. She moved into another chamber to prepare for the transition of the castle to the new edge of the world.

  Thus were the seeds sewn of the Age of the Young Kingdoms, the Age of Men, which was to produce the downfall of Melnibone.

  Book One

  THE DREAMING CITY

  Which tells how Elric came back to Imrryr, what he did there, and how, at last, his weird fell upon him...

  ONE

  ‘What's 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 he'll come?'

  'It's said that he's 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. 'That's so for all your irony, Yaris. He'll come.' He spoke as a man does when he wishes to reassure himself.

  There were six men, now, around the fire. The sixth was Smiorgan Count 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 eyes smouldered morosely 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 woollen 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.' 'You're 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, stating 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 patricianfeatured Vilmirian, Naclon. 'Let's hear what you have to say, lad, if it's worth hearing.'

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

  'Well! ' Smiorgan was impatient. 'What d'you say, Yaris?'

  'I say that we should start now and' waste no more time waiting on Elric's pleasure! He's laughing at us in some tavern a hundred miles from here or else plotting with the Dragon Princes to trap us. For years we have planned this raid. We have little time in which to strike our 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 fortune to vanquish the greatest merchant city in the world to reap immeasurable riches or horrible death at the hands of the Dragon Princes, if we wait overlong. Let's 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, Carefully-distastefully eyeing the taut-featured youth.

  'We could not reach Imrryr without Elric's knowledge of the maze-channels which lead to its secret ports. If Elric will not join us then our endeavour will be fruitless hopeless. We need him. We must wait for him or else give up our plans and return to our homelands.'

  'At least I'm willing to take a risk, ' yelled Yaris, anger lancing from his slanting eyes. 'You're getting old all of you. Treasures are not won by care and forethought but by swift slaying and reckless attack.'

  'Fool! ' Dharmit's voice rumbled around the fireflooded hall. He laughed wearily. 'I spoke thus in my youth and lost a fine fleet soon after. Cunning and Elric's knowledge will win us Imrryr that and the mightiest fleet to sail the Sighing Sea since Melnibone's banners fluttered over all the nations of the Earth. Here we are the most powerful Sea Lords in the world, masters, every one of us, of more than a hundred swift vessels. Our names are feared and famous our fleets ravage the coasts of a score of lesser nations. We hold power! ' He clenched his great fist and shook it in Yaris' face. His tone became more level and he smiled viciously, glaring at the youth and choosing his words with precision.

  'But all this is worthless meaningless without the power which Elric has. That is the power of knowledge of 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 peace and 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 Elric we know it, and he knows it. That's 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. Yaris' confidence fled from him as he met the eyes of Elric of Melnibon. They were old eyes in a fine featured, youthful face. Crimson eyes which stared into eternity. Yaris shuddered, turned his back on Elric, preferring to look into the bright glare of the fire.

  Elric smiled warmly as Count Smiorgan gripped his shoulder. There was a certain friendship between the two. He nodded condescendingly to the other four and walked with lithe grace towards the fire. Yaris stood aside and let him pass. Elric was tall, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped. He wore his long hair bunched and pinned at the nape of his neck and, for an obscure reason, affected the dress of a Southern barbarian. He had long, knee-length boots of soft doe-leather, a breastplate of strangely wrought silver, a jerkin of chequered blue and white linen, britches of scarlet wool and a cloak of rustling green velvet. At his hip rested his runesword of black iron-the feared Stormbringer, forged by ancient and alien sorcery.

  His bizarre dress was tasteless and gaudy, and did not match his sensitive face and long-fingered, almost delicate hands, yet he flaunted it since it emphasized the fact that he did not belong in any company that he was an outsider and an outcast. But, in reality, he had little need to wear such outlandish gear for his eyes and skin were enough to mark him.

  Elric, Last Lord of Melniborne, was a pure albino who drew his power from a secret and terrible source.

  Smiorgan sighed. 'Well, Elric, when do we raid Imrryr?' Elric shrugged. 'As soon as you like; I care not. Give me a little time in which to do certain things.'

  'Tomorrow? Shall we sail tomorrow?' Yaris said hesitantly, conscious of the strange power dormant in the man he had earlier accused of treachery.

  Elric smiled, dismissing the youth's statement.

  'Three days' time' he said. 'Three or more'.

  'Three days! But Imrryr will be warned of our presence by then! ' Fat, cautious Fadan spoke.

  'I'll see that your fleet's not found, ' Elric promised. 'I have to go to Imrryr first and return.'

  'You won't do the journey in three days the fastest ship could not make it.' Smiorgan gaped.

  'I'll be in the Dreaming City in less than a day, ' Elric said softly, with finality.

  Smiorgan shrugged. 'If you say so, I'll believe it-but why this necessity to visit the city ahead of the raid?'

  'I have my own compunctions, Count Smiorgan. But worry not, I shan't betray you. I'll lead the raid myself, be sure of that.' His dead-white face was lighted eerily by the fire and his red eyes smouldered. One lean hand firmly
gripped the hilt of his runesword and he appeared to breathe more heavily.

  'Imrryr fell, in spirit, five hundred years ago-she will fall completely soon for ever! I have a little debt to settle. This is my only reason for aiding you. As you know I have made only a few conditions-that you raze the city to the ground and a certain man and woman are not harmed. I refer to my cousin Yyrkoon and his sister Cymoril...'

  Yaris' thin lips felt uncomfortably dry. Much of his blustering manner resulted from the early death of his father. The old sea-king had died leaving young Yaris as the new ruler of his lands and his fleets. Yaris was not at all certain that he was capable of commanding such a vast kingdom and tried to appear more confident than he actually felt. Now he said: 'How shall we hide the fleet, Lord Elric?'

  The Melnibonean acknowledged the question. I'll hide it for you, ' he promised.’I go now to do this-but make sure all your men are off the ships first-will you see to it, Smiorgan?'

  'Aye, ' rumbled the stocky count.

  He and Elric departed from the hall together, leaving five men behind; five men who sensed an air of icy doom hanging about the overheated hall.

  'How could he hide such a mighty fleet when we, who know this fjord better than any, could find nowhere?' Dharmit of Jharkor said bewilderedly.

  None answered him.

  They waited, tensed and nervous, while the fire flickered and died untended. Eventually Smiorgan returned, stamping noisily on the boarded floor.

  There was a haunted haze of fear surrounding him; an almost tangible aura, and he was shivering, terribly. Tremendous, racking undulations swept up his body and his breath came short.

  'Well? Did Elrlc hide the fleet all at once? What did he do?' Dharmit spoke impatiently, choosing not to heed Smiorgan's ominous condition.

  'He has hidden it.' That was all Smiorgan said, and his voice was thin, like that of a sick man, weak from fever.