Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [47]
Elric said, “I'll not leave her, Saxif D'Aan. She is too afraid.”
“She fears only the truth, brother.”
“She fears you and your madness.”
Saxif D'Aan shrugged insouciantly. “I shall leave first, then. If you would accompany me, my lords …” He strode from the cabin and they followed.
Elric said, over his shoulder, “Vassliss, you may depend upon my protection.” And he closed the cabin doors behind him.
Earl Saxif D'Aan was standing upon the deck, exposing his noble face to the spray which was flung up by the ship as it moved with supernatural speed through the sea.
“You called me mad, Prince Elric? Yet you must be versed in sorcery, yourself.”
“Of course. I am of the blood royal. I am reckoned knowledgable in my own world.”
“But here? How well does your sorcery work?”
“Poorly, I'll admit. The spaces between the planes seem greater.”
“Exactly. But I have bridged them. I have had time to learn how to bridge them.”
“You are saying that you are more powerful than am I?”
“It is a fact, is it not?”
“It is. But I did not think we were about to indulge in sorcerous battles, Earl Saxif D'Aan.”
“Of course. Yet, if you were to think of besting me by sorcery, you would think twice, eh?”
“I should be foolish to contemplate such a thing at all. It could cost me my soul. My life, at least.”
“True. You are a realist, I see.”
“I suppose so.”
“Then we can progress on simpler lines, to settle the dispute between us.”
“You propose a duel?” Elric was surprised.
Earl Saxif D'Aan's laughter was light. “Of course not—against your sword? That has power in all worlds, though the magnitude varies.”
“I'm glad that you are aware of that,” Elric said significantly.
“Besides,” added Earl Saxif D'Aan, his golden robes rustling as he moved a little nearer to the rail, “you would not kill me—for only I have the means of your escaping this world.”
“Perhaps we'd elect to remain,” said Elric.
“Then you would be my subjects. But, no—you would not like it here. I am self-exiled. I could not return to my own world now, even if I wished to do so. It has cost me much, my knowledge. But I would found a dynasty here, beneath the blue sun. I must have my wife, Prince Elric. I must have Gratyesha.”
“Her name is Vassliss,” said Elric obstinately.
“She thinks it is.”
“Then it is. I have sworn to protect her, as has Count Smiorgan. Protect her we shall. You will have to kill us all.”
“Exactly,” said Earl Saxif D'Aan with the air of a man who has been coaching a poor student towards the correct answer to a problem. “Exactly. I shall have to kill you all. You leave me with little alternative, Prince Elric.”
“Would that benefit you?”
“It would. It would put a certain powerful demon at my service for a few hours.”
“We should resist.”
“I have many men. I do not value them. Eventually, they would overwhelm you. Would they not?”
Elric remained silent.
“My men would be aided by sorcery,” added Saxif D'Aan. “Some would die, but not too many, I think.”
Elric was looking beyond Saxif D'Aan, staring out to sea. He was sure that the horse still followed. He was sure that Saxif D'Aan knew, also.
“And if we gave up the girl?”
“I should open the Crimson Gate for you. You would be honoured guests. I should see that you were borne safely through, even taken safely to some hospitable land in your own world, for even if you passed through the gate there would be danger. The storms.”
Elric appeared to deliberate.
“You have only a little time to make your decision, Prince Elric. I had hoped to reach my palace, Fhaligarn, by now. I shall not allow you very much longer. Come, make your decision. You know I speak the truth.”
“You know that I can work some sorcery in your world, do you not?”
“You summoned a few friendly elementals to your aid, I know. But at what cost? Would you challenge me directly?”
“It would be unwise of me,” said Elric.
Smiorgan was tugging at his sleeve. “Stop this useless talk. He knows that we have given our word to the girl and that