CHAPTER FOUR
Punishment of the Burning God

“By Narjhan’s droppings he’s cold!”

Elric heard the rasping voice of one of the beggars who carried him. He was still weak but some of the beggars’ body heat had transferred itself to him and the chill of his bones was now by no means as intense.

“Here’s the portal.”

Elric forced his eyes open.

He was upside down but could see ahead of him through the gloom.

Something shimmered there.

It looked like the iridescent skin of some unearthly animal stretched across the arch of the tunnel.

He was jerked backwards as the beggars swung his body and hurled it towards the shimmering skin.

He struck it.

It was viscous.

It clung to him and he felt it was absorbing him. He tried to struggle but was still far too weak. He was sure that he was being killed.

But after long minutes he was through it and had struck stone and lay gasping in the blackness of the tunnel.

This must be the labyrinth of which Urish had spoken.

Trembling, he tried to rise, using his scabbarded sword as a support. It took him some time to get up but at last he could lean against the curving wall.

He was surprised. The stones seemed to be hot. Perhaps it was because he was so cold and in reality the stones were of normal heat?

Even this speculation seemed to weary him. Whatever the nature of the heat it was welcome. He pressed his back harder against the stones.

As their heat passed into his body he felt a sensation almost of ecstacy and he drew a deep breath. Strength was returning slowly.

“Gods,” he murmured, “even the snows of the Lormyrian steppe could not compare with such a great cold.”

He drew another deep breath and coughed.

Then he realised that the drug he had swallowed was beginning to wear off.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat out saliva. Something of the stink of Nadsokor had entered his nostrils.

He stumbled back towards the portal. The peculiar stuff still shimmered there. He pressed his hand against it and it gave reluctantly but then held firm. He leant his whole weight on it but it would still not give any further. It was like a particularly tough membrane but it was not flesh. Was this the stuff with which the Lords of Law had sealed off the tunnel, entrapping their enemy, the Lord of Chaos? The only light in the tunnel came from the membrane itself.

“By Arioch, I’ll turn the tables on the Beggar King,” Elric murmured. He threw back his rags and put his hand on Stormbringer’s pommel. The blade purred as a cat might purr. He drew the sword from its scabbard and it began to sing a low, satisfied song. Now Elric hissed as its power flowed up his arm and into his body. Stormbringer was giving him the strength he needed but he knew that Stormbringer must be paid soon, must taste blood and souls and thus replenish its energy. He aimed a great blow at the shimmering wall. “I’ll hack down this portal and release the Burning God upon Nadsokor! Strike true, Stormbringer! Let flame come to devour the filth that is this city!”

But Stormbringer howled as it bit into the membrane and it was held fast. No rent appeared in the stuff. In stead Elric had to tug with all his might to get the sword free. He withdrew, panting.

“The portal was made to withstand the efforts of Chaos,” Elric murmured. “My sword’s useless against it. And so, unable to go back I must, perforce, go forward.” Stormbringer in hand he turned and began to make his way along the passage. He took one turn and then another and then a third and the light had disappeared completely. He reached for his pouch where his flint and tinder were kept, but the beggars had cut that from his belt as they carried him. He decided to retrace his steps. But by now he was deeply within the labyrinth and he could not find the portal.

“No portal but no God, it seems. Mayhap there’s another exit from this place. If it’s blocked by a door of wood, then Stormbringer will soon carve me a path to freedom.”

And so he pressed further into the labyrinth, taking a hundred twists and turns in the darkness before he paused again.

He had noticed that he was growing warmer. Now, instead of feeling horribly cold, he felt uncomfortably hot. He was sweating. He removed some of the upper layers of his rags and stood in his own shirt and breeks. He had begun to thirst.

Another turning and he saw light ahead.

“Well, Stormbringer, perhaps we are free after all!”

He began to run towards the source of the light. But it was not daylight, neither was it the light from the portal. This was firelight of brands, perhaps.

He could see the sides of the tunnel quite clearly in the firelight. Unlike the masonry in the rest of Nadsokor, this was free of filth a plain, grey stone stained by the red light.

The source of the light was around the next bend. But the heat had grown greater and his flesh stung as the sweat sprang from his pores.

“AAH!”

A great voice suddenly filled the tunnel as Elric rounded the bend and saw the fire leaping not thirty yards distant.

“AAH! AT LAST!”

The voice came from the fire.

And Elric knew he had found the Burning God.

“I have no quarrel with you, my lord of Chaos!” he called. “I, too, serve Chaos!”

“But I must eat,” came the voice. “CHECKALAKH MUST EAT!”

“I am poor food for one such as you,” Elric said reasonably, putting both his hands around Stormbringer’s hilt and taking a step backward.

“Aye, beggar, that thou art but thou art the only food they send!”

“I’m no beggar!”

“Beggar or not, Checkalakh will devour thee!”

The flames shook and a shape began to be made of them. It was a human shape but comprised entirely of flame. Flickering hands of fire stretched out towards Elric.

And Elric turned.

And Elric ran.

And Checkalakh, the Burning God, came fast as a flash fire behind him.

Elric felt pain in his shoulder and he smelled burning cloth. He increased his speed, having no notion of where he ran.

And still the Burning God pursued him.

“Stop, mortal! It is futile! Thou canst not escape Checkalakh of Chaos!”

Elric shouted back in desperate humour. “I’ll be no one’s roast pork!” His step began to falter. “Not not even a god’s!”

Like the roar of flames up a chimney, Checkalakh replied, “Do not defy me, mortal! It is an honour to feed a god!”

Both the heat and the effort of running were exhausting Elric. A plan of sorts had formed in his brain when he had first encountered the Burning God. That was why he had started to run.

But now, as Checkalakh came on, he was forced to turn.

“Thou art somewhat feeble for so mighty a Lord of Chaos,” he panted, readying his sword.

“My long sojourn here has weakened me,” Checkalakh replied, “else I would have caught thee ere now! But catch thee I will! And devour thee I must!”

Stormbringer whined its defiance at the enfeebled Chaos God and blade struck out at flaming head and gashed the god’s right cheek so that paler fire flickered there and something ran up the black blade and into Elric’s heart so that he trembled in a mixture of terror and joy as some of the Burning God’s lifeforce entered him.

Eyes of flame stared at the Black Sword and then at Elric. Brows of flame furrowed and Checkalakh halted.

“Thou art no ordinary beggar, ‘tis true!”

“I am Elric of Melnibone and I bear the Black Sword. Lord Arioch is my master a more powerful entity than you, Lord Checkalakh.”

Something akin to misery passed across the god’s fiery countenance. “Aye there are many more powerful than me, Elric of Melnibone.”

Elric wiped sweat from his face. He drew in great gulps of burning air. “Then why why not combine your strength with mine. Together we can tear down the portal and take vengeance on those who have conspired to bring us together.”

Checkalakh shook his head and little tongues of fire fell from it. “The portal will only open when I am dead. So it was decreed when Lord Donblas of Law imprisoned me here. Even if we were successful in destroying the portal it would result in my death. Therefore, most powerful of mortals, I must fight thee and eat thee.”

And again Elric began to run, desperately seeking the portal, knowing that the only light he could hope to find in the labyrinth came from the Burning God himself. Even if he were to defeat the god, he would still be trapped in the complex maze.

And then he saw it. He was back at the place where he had been thrown through the membrane.

“It is only possible to enter my prison through the portal, not leave it!” called Checkalakh.

“I’m aware of that!” Elric took a firmer grip on Stormbringer and turned to face the thing of flame.

Even as his sword swung back and forth, parrying every attempt of the Burning God’s to seize him, Elric felt sympathy for the creature. He had come in answer to the summonings of mortals and he had been imprisoned for his pains.

But Elric’s clothes had begun to smoulder now and even though Stormbringer supplied him with energy every time it struck Checkalakh the heat itself was beginning to overwhelm him. He sweated no more. Instead his skin felt dry and about to split. Blisters were forming on his white hands. Soon he would be able to hold the blade no longer.

“Arioch!” he breathed. “Though this creature be a fellow Lord of Chaos, aid me to defeat him!”

But Arioch lent him no extra strength. He had already learned from his patron demon that greater things were being planned on and above the Earth and that Arioch had little time for even the most favourite of his mortal charges.

Yet, from habit, still Elric murmured Arioch’s name as he swept the sword so that it struck first Checkalakh’s burning hands and then his burning shoulder and more of the god’s energy entered him.

It seemed to Elric that even Stormbringer was beginning to burn and the pain in his blistered hands grew so great that it was at last the only sensation of which he was aware. He staggered back against the iridescent membrane and felt its fleshlike texture on his back. The ends of his long hair were beginning to smoke and large areas of his clothes had completely charred.

Was Checkalakh failing, though? The flames burned less brightly and there was an expression of resignation beginning to form on the face of fire.

Elric drew on his pain as his only source of strength and he made the pain take the sword and bring it back over his head and he made the pain bring Stormbringer down in a massive blow aimed at the god’s head.

And even as the blow descended the fire began to die. Then Stormbringer had struck and Elric yelled as an enormous wave of energy poured into his body and knocked him backwards so that the sword fell from his hand and he felt that his flesh could not contain what it now held. He rolled, moaning, on the floor and he kicked at the air, raising his twisted, blistered hands to the roof as if in supplication to some being who had the power to stop what was happening to him. There were no tears in his eyes, for it seemed that even his blood had begun to boil out of him.

“Arioch! Save me!” He was shuddering, screaming. “Arioch! Stop this thing happening to me!”

He was full of the energy of a god and the mortal frame was not meant to contain so much force. “Aaaah! Take it from me!”

He became aware of a calm, beautiful face looking down upon him as he writhed. He saw a tall man much taller than himself and he knew that this was no mortal at all, but a god.

“It is over!” said a pure, sweet voice. And, though the creature did not move, soft hands seemed to caress him and the pain began to diminish and the voice continued to speak.

“Long centuries ago, I, Lord Donblas the Justice Maker, came to Nadsokor to free it from the grip of Chaos. But I came too late. Evil brought more evil, as evil will, and I could not interfere too much with the affairs of mortals, for we of Law have sworn to let mankind make its own destiny if that is possible. Yet the Cosmic Balance swings now like the pendulum of a clock with a broken spring and terrible forces are at work on the Earth. Thou, Elric, art a servant of Chaos yet thou hast served Law more than once. It has been said that the destiny of mankind rests within thee and that may be true. Thus, I aid thee though I do so against mine own oath. . . .”

And Elric closed his eyes and felt at peace for the first time that he remembered.

The pain had gone, but great energy still filled him. When he opened his eyes again there was no beautiful face looking down on him and the scintillating membrane which had covered the archway had disappeared. Nearby Stormbringer lay and he sprang up and seized the sword, returning it to his scabbard. He noticed that the blisters had left his hands and that even his clothes were no longer charred.

Had he dreamed it all or most of it?

He shook his head. He was free. He was strong. He had his sword with him. Now he would return to the hall of King Urish and take his vengeance both on Nadsokor’s ruler and Theleb K’aarna.

He heard a footfall and withdrew into the shadows. Light filtered into the tunnel from gaps in the roof and it was plain that at this point it was close to the surface. A figure appeared and he recognised it at once.

“Moonglum!”

The little Eastlander grinned in relief and sheathed his swords. “I came here to aid you if I could, but I see you need no aid from me!”

“Not here. The Burning God is no more. I’ll tell you of that later. What became of you?”

“When I realised we were in a trap I ran for the door, deciding it would be best if one of us were free and I knew it was you they wanted. But then I saw the door opening and realised they had been waiting there all along.” Moonglum wrinkled his nose and dusted at the rags he still wore. “Thus I came to find myself lying at the bottom of one of those heaps of garbage littered about Urish’s hall. I dived into it and stayed there, listening to what passed. As soon as I could, I found this tunnel; planning to help you however I could.”

“And where are Urish and Theleb K’aarna now?”

“It appears that they go to make good Theleb K’aarna’s bargain with Urish. Urish was not altogether happy with the plan to lure you here for he fears your power “

“He has reason to! Now!”

“Aye. Well, it seems that Urish had heard what we had heard, that the caravan for Tanelorn was on its way back to that city. Urish has knowledge of Tanelorn though not much, I gather and fosters an unreasoning hatred for the place, perhaps because it is the opposite of what Nadsokor is.”

“They plan to attack Rackhir’s caravan?”

“Aye and Theleb K’aarna is to summon creatures from Hell to ensure that their attack is successful. Rackhir has no sorcery to speak of, I believe,”

“He served Chaos once, but no more those who dwell in Tanelorn can have no supernatural masters.”

“I gathered as much from the conversation.”

“When do they make this attack?”

“They have gone already almost as soon as they had dealt with you. Urish is impatient.”

“It is unlike the beggars to make a direct attack on a caravan.”

“They do not always have a powerful wizard for an ally.”

“True.” Elric frowned. “My own powers of sorcery are limited without the Ring of Kings upon my hand. Its supernatural qualities identify me as a true member of the Royal Line of Melnibone the line which made so many bargains with the elementals. First I must recover my ring and then we go at once to aid Rackhir.”

Moonglum glanced at the floor. “They said something of protecting Urish’s Hoard in his absence. There may be a few armed men in the hall.”

Elric smiled. “Now that we are prepared and now I have the strength of the Burning God in me, I think we shall be able to deal with a whole army, Moonglum.”

Moonglum brightened. “Then I’ll lead the way back to the hall. Come. This passage will take us to a door which is let into the side of the hall, near the throne.”

They began to run along the passage until they came at length to the door Moonglum had mentioned. Elric did not pause but drew his sword and flung the door open. It was only when he was in the hall that he stopped. Daylight now lit the gloomy place, but it was again deserted. No sword-bearing beggars awaited them.

Instead, there sat in Urish’s throne a fat, scaly thing of yellow and green and black. Brown bile dripped from its grinning snout and it raised one of its many paws in a mockery of a salute.

“Greetings,” it hissed, “and beware for I am the guardian of Urish’s treasure.”

“A thing of Hell,” Elric said. “A demon raised by Theleb K’aarna. He has been brewing his spells for a long time, methinks, if he can command so many foul servants.” He frowned and weighed Stormbringer in his hand but, oddly, the blade did not seem to hunger for battle.

“I warn thee,” hissed the demon, “I cannot be slain by a sword not even that sword. It is my wardpact. . . .”

“What is that?” whispered Moonglum, eying the demon warily.

“He is of a race of demons used by all with sorcerous power. He is a guardian. He will not attack unless himself attacked. He is virtually invulnerable to mortal weapons and, in his case, he has a ward against swords be they supernatural or no. If we attempted to slay him with our swords, we should be struck down by all the powers of Hell. We could not possibly survive.”

“But you have just destroyed a god! A demon is nothing compared with that!”

“A weak god,” Elric reminded him. “And this is a strong demon for he is a representative of all demons who would mass with him to preserve his wardpact.”

“Is there no chance of defeating him?”

“If we are to help Rackhir, there is no reason for trying. We must get to our horses and try to warn the caravan. Later, perhaps, we can return and think of some sorcery which will aid us against the demon.”

Elric bowed sardonically to the demon and returned his salute. “Farewell unlovely one. May your master not return to release you and thus ensure you squat in this filth forever!”

The demon slobbered in rage. “My master is Theleb K’aarna one of the most powerful sorcerers amongst your kind.”

Elric shook his head. “Not my kind. I shall be slaying him soon and you will be left there until I discover the means of destroying you.”

Somewhat pettishly, the demon folded its multitude of arms and closed its eyes.

Elric and Moonglum strode through the muckstrewn hall towards the door.

They were close to vomiting by the time they reached the steps leading into the forum. The rest of Elric’s potions had been taken when his purse was taken and they had no protection now against the stink. Moonglum spat on the steps as they descended into the square and then he looked up and drew his two swords in a cross-arm motion.

“Elric!”

Some dozen beggars were rushing at them, bearing an array of clubs, axes and knives.

Elric laughed. “Here’s a titbit for you, Stormbringer!” He drew his sword and began to swing the howling blade around his head, moving implacably towards the beggars. Almost immediately two of their number broke and ran, but the rest came in a rush at the pair.

Elric brought the sword lower and took a head from its shoulders and had bitten deep into the next man’s shoulder before the first’s blood had begun to spout.

Moonglum darted in with his two slim swords and engaged two of the beggars at the same time. Elric stabbed at another and the man screamed and danced, clutching at the blade which remorselessly drew out his soul and his life.

Stormbringer was singing a sardonic song now and three of the surviving beggars dropped their weapons and were off across the square as Moonglum neatly took both his opponents simultaneously in their hearts and Elric hacked down the rest of the rabble as they shouted and groaned for mercy.

Elric sheathed Stormbringer, looked down at the crimson ruin he had caused, wiped his lips as a man might who had just enjoyed a fine meal, caused Moonglum to shudder, and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“Come let’s to Rackhir’s aid!”

As Moonglum followed the albino, he reflected that Elric had absorbed more than just the Burning God’s life force in the encounter in the labyrinth. Much of the callousness of the Lords of Chaos was in him today.

Today Elric seemed a true warrior of ancient Melnibone.