Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [45]
“How can it be that she does not know her own name?”
“She is reincarnated—soul and flesh are identical—that is how I know. And I have waited, Emperor of Melnibone, for many scores of years for her. Now I shall not be cheated of her.”
“As you cheated yourself, two centuries past, in Melnibone?”
“You risk much with your directness of language, brother monarch!” There was a hint of a warning in Saxif D'Aan's tone, a warning much fiercer than any implied by the words.
“Well”—Elric shrugged—“you have more power than we do. My sorcery works poorly in your world. Your ruffians outnumber us. It should not be difficult for you to take her from us.”
“You must give her to me. Then you may go free, back to your own world and your own time.”
Elric smiled. “There is sorcery here. She is no reincarnation. You'd bring your lost love's spirit from the netherworld to inhabit this girl's body. Am I not right? That is why she must be given freely, or your sorcery will rebound upon you—or might—and you would not take the risk.”
Earl Saxif D'Aan turned his head away so that Elric might not see his eyes. “She is the girl,” he said, in the High Tongue. “I know that she is. I mean her soul no harm. I would merely give it back its memory.”
“Then it is stalemate,” said Elric.
“Have you no loyalty to a brother of the royal blood?” Saxif D'Aan murmured, still refusing to look at Elric.
“You claimed no such loyalty, as I recall, Earl Saxif D'Aan. If you accept me as your emperor, then you must accept my decisions. I keep the girl in my custody. Or you must take her by force.”
“I am too proud.”
“Such pride shall ever destroy love,” said Elric, almost in sympathy. “What now, King of Limbo? What shall you do with us?”
Earl Saxif D'Aan lifted his noble head, about to reply, when from the hold the stamping and the snorting began again. His eyes widened. He looked questioningly at Elric, and there was something close to terror in his face.
“What's that? What have you in the hold?”
“A mount, my lord, that is all,” said Elric equably.
“A horse? An ordinary horse?”
“A white one. A stallion, with bridle and saddle. It has no rider.”
At once Saxif D'Aan's voice rose as he shouted orders for his men. “Take those three aboard our ship. This one shall be sunk directly. Hurry! Hurry!”
Elric and Smiorgan shook off the hands which sought to seize them and they moved towards the gangplank, carrying the girl between them, while Smiorgan muttered, “At least we are not slain, Elric. But what becomes of us now?”
Elric shook his head. “We must hope that we can continue to use Earl Saxif D'Aan's pride against him, to our advantage, though the gods alone know how we shall resolve the dilemma.”
Earl Saxif D'Aan was already hurrying up the gangplank ahead of them.
“Quickly,” he shouted. “Raise the plank!”
They stood upon the decks of the golden battle-barge and watched as the gangplank was drawn up, the length of rail replaced.
“Bring up the catapults,” Saxif D'Aan commanded. “Use lead. Sink that vessel at once!”
The noise from the forward hold increased. The horse's voice echoed over ships and water. Hoofs smashed at timber and then, suddenly, it came crashing through the hatch-covers, scrambling for purchase on the deck with its front hoofs, and then standing there, pawing at the planks, its neck arching, its nostrils dilating, and its eyes glaring, as if ready to do battle.
Now Saxif D'Aan made no attempt to hide the terror on his face. His voice rose to a scream as he threatened his rascals with every sort of horror if they did not obey him with utmost speed. The catapults were dragged up and huge globes of lead were lobbed onto the decks of Smiorgan's ship, smashing through the planks like arrows through parchment so that almost immediately the ship began to sink.
“Cut the grappling hooks!” cried Saxif D'Aan, wrenching a blade from the hand of one of his men and sawing at the nearest rope. “Cast loose—quickly!”
Even as Smiorgan's ship groaned and roared like a drowning beast, the ropes were