Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [42]
“How far are we from the gate?”
“I am not sure.”
At that moment, there came a terrible noise from below, as if something sought to stave in the timbers of the ship.
“It's in the forward hatches!” cried Smiorgan. “See what it is, friend Elric! But take care, man!”
Cautiously Elric prised back one of the hatch covers and peered into the murky fastness of the hold. The noise of stamping and thumping continued on, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the source.
The white horse was there. It whinnied as it saw him, almost in greeting.
“How did it come aboard?” Elric asked. “I saw nothing. I heard nothing.”
The girl was almost as white as Elric. She sank to her knees beside the hatch, burying her face in her arms.
“He has us! He has us!”
“There is still a chance we can reach the Crimson Gate in time,” Elric reassured her. “And once in my own world, why, I can work much stronger sorcery to protect us.”
“No,” she sobbed, “it is too late. Why else would the white horse be here? He knows that Saxif D'Aan must soon board us.”
“He'll have to fight us before he shall have you,” Elric promised her.
“You have not seen his men. Cut-throats all. Desperate and wolfish! They'll show you no mercy. You would be best advised to hand me over to Saxif D'Aan at once and save yourselves. You'll gain nothing from trying to protect me. But I'd ask you a favour.”
“What's that?”
“Find me a small knife to carry, that I may kill myself as soon as I know you two are safe.”
Elric laughed, dragging her to her feet. “I'll have no such melodramatics from you, lass! We stand together. Perhaps we can bargain with Saxif D'Aan.”
“What have you to barter?”
“Very little. But he is not aware of that.”
“He can read your thoughts, seemingly. He has great powers!”
“I am Elric of Melnibone. I am said to possess a certain facility in the sorcerous arts, myself.”
“But you are not as single-minded as Saxif D'Aan,” she said simply. “Only one thing obsesses him—the need to make me his consort.”
“Many girls would be flattered by the attention—glad to be an empress with a Melnibonean emperor for a husband.” Elric was sardonic.
She ignored his tone. “That is why I fear him so,” she said in a murmur. “If I lost my determination for a moment, I could love him. I should be destroyed! It is what she must have known!”
CHAPTER FIVE
The gleaming galleon, sails and sides all gilded so that it seemed the sun itself pursued them, moved rapidly upon them while the girl and Count Smiorgan watched aghast and Elric desperately attempted to recall his elemental allies, without success.
Through the pale blue light the golden ship sailed relentlessly in their wake. Its proportions were monstrous, its sense of power vast, its gigantic prow sending up huge, foamy waves on both sides as it sped silently towards them.
With the look of a man preparing himself to meet death, Count Smiorgan Baldhead of the Purple Towns unslung his battle-axe and loosened his sword in its scabbard, setting his little metal cap upon his bald pate. The girl made no sound, no movement at all, but she wept.
Elric shook his head and his long, milk-white hair formed a halo around his face for a moment. His moody crimson eyes began to focus on the world around him. He recognized the ship; it was of a pattern with the golden battle-barges of Melnibone—doubtless the ship in which Earl Saxif D'Aan had fled his homeland, searching for the Crimson Gate. Now Elric was convinced that this must be that same Saxif D'Aan and he knew less fear than did his companions, but considerably greater curiosity. Indeed, it was almost with nostalgia that he noted the ball of fire, like a natural comet, glowing with green light, come hissing and spluttering towards them, flung by the ship's forward catapult. He half expected to see a great dragon wheeling in the sky overhead, for it was with dragons and gilded battle-craft like these that Melnibone had once conquered the world.
The fireball fell