Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [46]
“Turn about!” shouted Saxif D'Aan. “Back to Fhaligarn and swiftly, or your souls shall feed my fiercest demons!”
There came a peculiar, high-pitched neighing from the foaming water, as Smiorgan's ship, stern uppermost, gasped and was swallowed. Elric caught a glimpse of the white stallion, swimming strongly.
“Go below!” Saxif D'Aan ordered, indicating a hatchway. “The horse can smell the girl and thus is doubly difficult to lose.”
“Why do you fear it?” Elric asked. “It is only a horse. It cannot harm you.”
Saxif D'Aan uttered à laugh of profound bitterness. “Can it not, brother monarch? Can it not?”
As they carried the girl below, Elric was frowning, remembering a little more of the legend of Saxif D'Aan, of the girl he had punished so cruelly, and of her lover, Prince Carolak. The last he heard of Saxif D'Aan was the sorcerer crying:
“More sail! More sail!”
And then the hatches had closed behind them and they found themselves in an opulent Melnibonean day-cabin, full of rich hangings, precious metal, decorations of exquisite beauty and, to Count Smiorgan, disturbing decadence. But it was Elric, as he lowered the girl to a couch, who noticed the smell.
“Augh! It's the smell of a tomb—of damp and mould. Yet nothing rots. It is passing peculiar, friend Smiorgan, is it not?”
“I scarcely noticed, Elric.” Smiorgan's voice was hollow. “But I would agree with you on one thing. We are entombed. I doubt we'll live to escape this world now.”
CHAPTER SIX
An hour had passed since they had been forced aboard. The doors had been locked behind them, and it seemed Saxif D'Aan was too preoccupied with escaping the white stallion to bother with them. Peering through the lattice of a porthole, Elric could look back to where their ship had been sunk. They were many leagues distant already; yet he still thought, from time to time, that he saw the head and shoulders of the stallion above the waves.
Vassliss had recovered and sat pale and shivering upon the couch.
“What more do you know of that horse?” Elric asked her. “It would be helpful to me if you could recall anything you have heard.”
She shook her head. “Saxif D'Aan spoke little of it, but I gather he fears the rider more than he does the horse.”
“Ah!” Elric frowned. “I suspected it! Have you ever seen the rider?”
“Never. I think that Saxif D'Aan has never seen him, either. I think he believes himself doomed if that rider should ever sit upon the white stallion.”
Elric smiled to himself.
“Why do you ask so much about the horse?” Smiorgan wished to know.
Elric shook his head. “I have an instinct, that is all. Haifa memory. But I'll say nothing and think as little as I may, for there is no doubt Saxif D'Aan, as Vassliss suggests, has some power of reading the mind.”
They heard a footfall above, descending to their doors.
A bolt was drawn and Saxif D'Aan, his composure fully restored, stood in the opening, his hands in his golden sleeves.
“You will forgive, I hope, the peremptory way in which I sent you here. There was danger which had to be averted at all costs. As a result, my manners were not all that they should have been.”
“Danger to us?” Elric asked. “Or to you, Earl Saxif D'Aan?”
“In the circumstances, to all of us, I assure you.”
“Who rides the horse?” Smiorgan asked bluntly. “And why do you fear him?”
Earl Saxif D'Aan was master of himself again, so there was no sign of a reaction. “That is very much my private concern,” he said softly. “Will you dine with me now?”
The girl made a noise in her throat and Earl Saxif D'Aan turned piercing eyes upon her. “Gratyesha, you will want to cleanse yourself and make yourself beautiful again. I will see that facilities are placed at your disposal.”
“I am not Gratyesha,” she said. “I am Vassliss, the merchant's daughter.”
“You will remember,” he said. “In time, you will remember.” There was such certainty, such obsessive power, in his voice that even Elric experienced a frisson of awe. “The things will be brought to you, and you may use this cabin as