Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [44]
“Gods!” murmured Smiorgan. “I've rarely seen such a collection of scum, and I thought I'd encountered most kinds in my voyages. How can such a man bear to be in their company?”
“Perhaps it suits his sense of irony,” Elric suggested.
Earl Saxif D'Aan reached their deck and stood looking up at them to where they still positioned themselves, on the poop deck. He gave a slight bow. His features were controlled and only his eyes suggested something of the intensity of emotion dwelling within him, particularly as they fell upon the girl in Elric's arms.
“I am Earl Saxif D'Aan of Melnibone, now of the Islands beyond the Crimson Gate. You have something with you which is mine. I would claim it from you.”
“You mean the Lady Vassliss of Jharkor?” Elric said, his voice as steady as Saxif D'Aan's.
Saxif D'Aan seemed to note Elric for the first time. A slight frown crossed his brow and was quickly dismissed. “She is mine,” he said. “You may be assured that she will come to no harm at my hands.”
Elric, seeking some advantage, knew that he risked much when he next spoke, in the High Tongue of Melnibone, used between those of the blood royal. “Knowledge of your history does not reassure me, Saxif D'Aan.”
Almost imperceptibly, the golden man stiffened and fire flared in his grey-blue eyes. “Who are you, to speak the Tongue of Kings? Who are you, who claims knowledge of my past?”
“I am Elric, son of Sadric, and I am the four-hundred-and-twenty-eighth emperor of the folk of R'lin K'ren A'a, who landed upon the Dragon Isle ten thousand years ago. I am Elric, your emperor, Earl Saxif D'Aan, and I demand your fealty.” And Elric held up his right hand, upon which still gleamed a ring set with a single Actorios stone, the Ring of Kings.
Earl Saxif D'Aan now had firm control of himself again. He gave no sign that he was impressed. “Your sovereignty does not extend beyond your own world, noble emperor, though I greet you as a fellow monarch.” He spread his arms so that his long sleeves rustled. “This world is mine. All that exists beneath the blue sun do I rule. You trespass, therefore, in my domain. I have every right to do as I please.”
“Pirate pomp,” muttered Count Smiorgan, who had understood nothing of the conversation but had gathered something of what passed by the tone. “Pirate braggadocio. What does he say, Elric?”
“He convinces me that he is not, in your sense, a pirate, Count Smiorgan. He claims that he is ruler of this plane. Since there is apparently no other, we must accept his claim.”
“Gods! Then let him behave like a monarch and let us sail safely out of his waters!”
“We may—if we give him the girl.”
Count Smiorgan shook his head. “I'll not do that. She's my passenger, in my charge. I must die rather than do that. It is the code of the sea-lords of the Purple Towns.”
“You are famous for your adherence to that code,” Elric said. “As for myself, I have taken this girl into my protection and, as hereditary emperor of Melnibone, I cannot allow myself to be browbeaten.”
They had conversed in a murmur, but, somehow, Earl Saxif D'Aan had heard them.
“I must let you know,” he said evenly, in the common tongue, “that the girl is mine. You steal her from me. Is that the action of an emperor?”
“She is not a slave,” Elric said, “but the daughter of a free merchant in Jharkor. You have no rights upon her.”
Earl Saxif D'Aan said, “Then I cannot open the Crimson Gate for you. You must remain in my world for ever.”
“You have closed the gate? Is it possible?”
“To me.”
“Do you know that the girl would rather die than be captured by you, Earl Saxif D'Aan? Does it give you pleasure to instill such fear?”
The golden man looked directly into Elric's eyes as if he made some cryptic challenge. “The gift of pain has ever been a favourite gift among our folk, has it not? Yet it is another gift I offer her. She calls herself Vassliss of Jharkor, but she does not know herself. I know her. She is Gratyesha,