Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [39]
They scrambled down the steeply sloping cliff-face and were soon on the shore, wading through the shallows for the ship, clambering up the slippery ropes which still hung over the sides and, at last, setting their feet with some relief upon the deck.
“I feel more secure already,” said Smiorgan. “This ship was my home for so long!” He searched through the scattered cargo until he found an unbroken wine-jar, carved off the seal and handed it to Elric. Elric lifted the heavy jar and let a little of the good wine flow into his mouth. As Count Smiorgan began to drink Elric was sure he saw another movement near the afterdeck, and he moved closer.
Now he was certain that he heard strained, rapid breathing—like the breathing of one who sought to stifle his need for air rather than be detected. They were slight sounds, but the albino's ears, unlike his eyes, were sharp. His hand ready to draw his sword, he stalked towards the source of the sound, Smiorgan now behind him.
She emerged from her hiding place before he reached her. Her hair hung in heavy, dirty coils about her pale face; her shoulders were slumped and her soft arms hung limply at her sides, and her dress was stained and ripped.
As Elric approached, she fell on her knees before him. “Take my life,” she said humbly, “but I beg you—do not take me back to Saxif D'Aan, though I know you must be his servant or his kinsman.”
“It's she!” cried Smiorgan in astonishment. “It's our passenger. She must have been in hiding all this time.”
Elric stepped forward, lifting up the girl's chin so that he could study her face. There was a Melnibonean cast about her features, but she was, to his mind, of the Young Kingdoms; she lacked the pride of a Melnibonean woman, too. “What name was that you used, girl?” he asked kindly. “Did you speak of Saxif D'Aan? Earl Saxif D'Aan of Melnibone?”
“I did, my lord.”
“Do not fear me as his servant,” Elric told her. “And as for being a kinsman, I suppose you could call me that, on my mother's side—or rather my great-grandmother's side. He was an ancestor. He must have been dead for two centuries, at least!”
“No,” she said. “He lives, my lord.”
“On this island?”
“This island is not his home, but it is in this plane that he exists. I sought to escape him through the Crimson Gate. I fled through the gate in a skiff, reached the town where you found me, Count Smiorgan, but he drew me back once I was aboard your ship. He drew me back and the ship with me. For that, I have remorse—and for what befell your crew. Now I know he seeks me. I can feel his presence growing nearer.”
“Is he invisible?” Smiorgan asked suddenly. “Does he ride a white horse?”
She gasped. “You see! He is near! Why else should the horse appear on this island?”
“He rides it?” Elric asked.
“No, no! He fears the horse almost as much as I fear him. The horse pursues him!”
Elric produced the Melnibonean gold wheel from his purse. “Did you take this from Earl Saxif D'Aan?”
“I did.”
The albino frowned.
“Who is this man, Elric?” Count Smiorgan asked. “You describe him as an ancestor—yet he lives in this world. What do you know of him?”
Elric weighed the large gold wheel in his hand before replacing it in his pouch. “He was something of a legend in Melnibone. His story is part of our literature. He was a great sorcerer—one of the greatest—and he fell in love. It's rare enough for Melniboneans to fall in love, as others understand the emotion, but rarer for one to have such feelings for a girl who was not even of our own race. She was half-Melnibonean, so I heard, but from à land which was, in those days, a Melnibonean possession, a western province close to Dharijor. She was bought by him in a batch of slaves he planned to use for some sorcerous experiment, but he singled her out, saving her from whatever fate it was the others suffered. He lavished his attention upon her, giving her everything. For her, he abandoned his practices, retired to live quietly away from Imrryr, and I think she showed him a certain