"Kings In Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

Kings in Darkness

Michael Moorcock and James Cawthorn

Stories of sword-and-sorcery hit their peak in the early sixties. The two last great series to appear were the Elric stories by Michael Moorcock and the Dilvish stories by Roger Zelazny. In the late 1950s Moorcock (b. 1939), along with his friend James Cawthorn, worked together in developing an outline for a possible new Conan series which Hans Stefan Santesson, editor of Fantastic Universe, had requested, following the success of new Conan stories in that magazine. In the end that project fell through, but Moorcock's English editor, John Cornell, was interested in the stories for Science Fantasy. Moorcock reworked them into a series about a doomed albino prince, called Elric, who draws his strength from his sword, Stormbringer, which devours the souls of those it kills. The first run of stories was collected in The Stealer of Souls (1963). In the next volume, Stormbringer (1965), Moorcock killed off Elric in a cataclysmic finale, but, as with all of Moorcock's characters, who are but reflections of the Eternal Champion in the Multiverse, Elric returned for many more adventures, the latest of which is The Dreamthief's Daughter (2001). The following is the only one of the early stories worked on jointly with artist and critic James Cawthorn (b. 1929) who has collaborated with Moorcock on other projects.

Three Kings in Darkness lie, Gutheran of Org, and I, Under a bleak and sunless sky— The third Beneath the Hill.

— Song of Veerkad

1

IT WAS ELRIC, LORD OF THE LOST AND sundered Empire of Melnibone, who rode like a fanged wolf from a trap - all slavering madness and mirth. He rode from Nadsokor, City of Beggars, and there was hate in his wake. The citizens had judged him rightly for what he was - a nigromancer of superlative powers. Now they hounded him and also the grotesque little man who rode laughing at Elric's side: Moonglum the Outlander, from Elwher and the unmapped east.

The flames of brands devoured the velvet of the night as the yelling, ragged throng pushed their bony nags in pursuit of the pair.

Starvelings and tattered jackals that they were, there was strength in their gaudy numbers and long knives and bone bows glinted in the brandlight. They were too strong for a couple of men to fight, too few to represent serious danger in a hunt, so Elric and Moonglum had chosen to leave the city without dispute and now sped towards the full and rising moon which stabbed its sickly beams through the darkness to show them the disturbing waters of the Varkalk River and a chance of escape from the incensed mob.

They had half a mind to stand and face the mob, since the Varkalk was their only alternative. But they knew well what the beggars would do to them, whereas they were uncertain what would become of them once they had entered the river. The horses reached the sloping banks of the Varkalk and reared, with hooves lashing.

Cursing, the two men spurred the steeds and forced them down towards the water. Into the river the horses plunged, snorting and spluttering. Into the river which led a roaring course towards the hell-spawned Forest of Troos which lay within the borders of Org, country of necromancy and rotting, ancient evil.

Elric blew water away from his mouth and coughed. "They'll not follow us to Troos, I think," he shouted at his companion.

Moonglum said nothing. He only grinned, showing his white teeth and the unhidden fear in his eyes. The horses swam strongly with the current and behind them the ragged mob shrieked in frustrated bloodlust while some of their number laughed and jeered.

"Let the forest do our work for us!"

Elric laughed back at them, wildly, as the horses swam on down the dark, straight river, wide and deep, towards a sun-starved morning, cold and spiky with ice. Scattered, slim-peaked crags loomed on either side of the flat plain, through which the river ran swiftly. Green-tinted masses of jutting blacks and browns spread colour through the rocks and the grass was waving on the plain as if for some purpose. Through the dawnlight, the beggar crew chased along the banks, but eventually gave up their quarry to return, shuddering, to Nadsokor.

When they had gone, Elric and Moonglum made their mounts swim towards the banks and climb them, stumbling, to the top where rocks and grass had already given way to sparse forest land which rose starkly on all sides, staining the earth with sombre shades. The foliage waved jerkily, as if alive - sentient.

It was a forest of malignantly erupting blooms, blood-coloured and sickly mottled. A forest of bending, sinuously smooth trunks, black and shiny; a forest of spiked leaves of murky purples and gleaming greens - certainly an unhealthy place if judged only by the odour of rotting vegetation which was almost unbearable, impinging as it did upon the fastidious nostrils of Elric and Moonglum.

Moonglum wrinkled his nose and jerked his head in the direction they had come. "Back now?" he enquired. "We can avoid Troos and cut swiftly across a corner of Org to be in Bakshaan in just over a day. What say you, Elric?"

Elric frowned. "I don't doubt they'd welcome us in Bakshaan with the same warmth we received in Nadsokor. They'll not have forgotten the destruction we wrought there - and the wealth we acquired from their merchants. No, I have a fancy to explore the forest a little. I have heard tales of Org and its unnatural forest and should like to investigate the truth of them. My blade and sorcery will protect us, if necessary."

Moonglum sighed. "Elric - this once, let us not court the danger."

Elric smiled icily. His scarlet eyes blazed out of his dead white skin with peculiar intensity. "Danger? It can bring only death."

"Death is not to my liking, just yet," Moonglum said. "The fleshpots of Bakshaan, or if you prefer - Jadmar — on the other hand…"

But Elric was already urging his horse onward, heading for the forest. Moonglum sighed and followed.

Soon dark blossoms hid most of the sky, which was dark enough, and they could see only a little way in all directions. The rest of the forest seemed vast and sprawling; they could sense this, though sight of most of it was lost in the depressing gloom.

Moonglum recognized the forest from descriptions he had heard from mad-eyed travellers who drank purposefully in the shadows of Nadsokor's taverns.