Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [10]
CHAPTER TWO
Elric was surprised by how shallow the water was and he wondered by what means such à large vessel could come so close to the shore. Shoulder-deep in the sea he reached up to grasp the ebony rungs of the ladder. He had great difficulty heaving himself from the water and was further hampered by the swaying of the ship and the weight of his runesword, but eventually he had clambered awkwardly over the side and stood on the deck with the water running from his clothes to the timbers and his body shivering with cold. He looked about him. Shining, red-tinted mist clung about the ship's dark yards and rigging, white mist spread itself over the roofs and sides of the two large cabins set fore and aft of the mast, and this mist was not of the same character as the mist beyond the ship. Elric, for a moment, had the fanciful notion that the mist traveled permanently wherever the ship traveled. He smiled to himself, putting the dreamlike quality of his experience down to lack of food and sleep. When the ship sailed into sunnier waters he would see it for the relatively ordinary vessel it was.
The blond warrior took Elric's arm. The man was as tall as Elric and massively built. Within his helm he smiled, saying:
“Let us go below.”
They went to the cabin forward of the mast and the warrior drew back a sliding door, standing aside to let Elric enter first. Elric ducked his head and went into the warmth of the cabin. A lamp of red-grey glass gleamed, hanging from four silver chains attached to the roof, revealing several more bulky figures, fully dressed in a variety of armours, seated about a square and sturdy sea-table. All faces turned to regard Elric as he came in, followed by the blond warrior who said:
“This is he.”
One of the occupants of the cabin, who sat in the farthest corner and whose features were completely hidden by the shadow, nodded. “Aye,” he said. “That is he.”
“You know me, sir?” said Elric, seating himself at the end of the bench and removing his sodden leather cloak. The warrior nearest him passed him a metal cup of hot wine and Elric accepted it gratefully, sipping at the spiced liquid and marveling at how quickly it dispersed the chill within him.
“In a sense,” said the man in the shadows. His voice was sardonic and at the same time had a melancholy ring, and Elric was not offended, for the bitterness in the voice seemed directed more at the owner than at any he addressed.
The blond warrior seated himself opposite Elric. “I am Brut,” he said, “once of Lashmar, where my family still holds land, but it is many a year since I have been there.”
“From the Young Kingdoms, then?” said Elric.
“Aye. Once.”
“This ship journeys nowhere near those nations?” Elric asked.
“I believe it does not,” said Brut. “It is not so long, I think, since I myself came aboard. I was seeking Tanelorn, but found this craft, instead.”
“Tanelorn?” Elric smiled. “How many must seek that mythical place? Do you know of one called Rackhir, once a Warrior Priest of Phum? We adventured together once. He left to look for Tanelorn.”
“I do not know him,” said Brut of Lashmar.
“And these waters,” said Elric, “do they lie far from the Young Kingdoms?”
“Very far,” said the man in the shadows.
“Are you from Elwher, perhaps?” asked Elric. “Or from any other of what we in the West call the Unmapped East?”
“Most of our lands are not on your maps,” said the man in the shadows. And he laughed. Again Elric found that he was not offended. And he was not particularly troubled by the mysteries hinted at by the man in the shadows. Soldiers of fortune, as he deemed these men to be, were fond of their private jokes and references; it was usually all that united them save a common willingness to hire their swords to whomever could pay.
Outside the anchor was rattling and the ship rolled. Elric heard the yard being lowered and he heard the smack of the sail as it was unfurled. He wondered how they hoped to leave the bay with