Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [49]
Elric sank back against the rail, opening his eyes in time to see Smiorgan being dragged slowly downward. With the last of his strength he flung himself forward, leaning far out to stab downwards with Stormbringer. The runesword sank cleanly into the demon's right eye. It roared, letting go of Smiorgan, striking at the blade which drew its energy from it, and as that energy passed into the blade and thence to Elric, the albino grinned a frightful grin so that, for a second, Smiorgan became more frightened of his friend than he had been of the demon. The demon began to dematerialize, its only means of escape from the sword which drank its life-force, but more of Saxif D'Aan's rogues were behind it, and their blades rattled as they sought the pair.
Elric swung himself back over the rail, balanced precariously on the yard as he slashed at their attackers, yelling the old battle-cries of his people. Smiorgan could do little but watch. He noted that Saxif D'Aan was no longer on deck and he shouted urgently to Elric:
“Elric! Saxif D'Aan. He seeks out the girl.”
Elric now took the attack to the pirates, and they were more than anxious to avoid the moaning runesword, some even leaping into the sea rather than encounter it. Swiftly the two leaped from yard to yard until they were again upon the deck.
“What does he fear? Why does he not use more sorcery?” panted Count Smiorgan, as they ran towards the cabin.
“I have summoned the one who rides the horse,” Elric told him. “I had so little time—and I could tell you nothing of it, knowing that Saxif D'Aan would read my intention in your mind, if he could not in mine!”
The cabin doors were firmly secured from the inside. Elric began to hack at them with the black sword.
But the doors resisted as they should not have resisted. “Sealed by sorcery and I've no means of unsealing it,” said the albino.
“Will he kill her?”
“I don't know. He might try to take her into some other plane. We must—”
Hoofs clattered on the deck and the white stallion reared behind them, only now it had a rider, clad in bright purple-and-yellow armour. He was bareheaded and youthful, though there were several old scars upon his face. His hair was thick and curly and blond and his eyes were a deep blue.
He drew tightly upon his reins, steadying the horse. He looked piercingly at Elric. “Was it you, Melnibonean, who opened the pathway for me?”
“It was.”
“Then I thank you, though I cannot repay you.”
“You have repaid me,” Elric told him, then drew Smiorgan aside as the rider leaned forward and spurred his horse directly at the closed doors, smashing through as though they were rotted cotton.
There came a terrible cry from within and then Earl Saxif D'Aan, hampered by his complicated robes of gold, rushed from the cabin, seizing a sword from the hand of the nearest corpse, darting Elric a look not so much of hatred but of bewildered agony as he turned to face the blond rider.
The rider had dismounted now and came from the cabin, one arm around the shivering girl, Vassliss, one hand upon the reins of his horse, and he said, sorrowfully:
“You did me a great wrong, Earl Saxif D'Aan, but you did Gratyesha an infinitely more terrible one. Now you must pay.”
Saxif D'Aan paused, drawing a deep breath, and when he looked up again, his eyes were steady, his dignity had returned.
“Must I pay in full?” he said.
“In full.”
“It is all I deserve,” said Saxif D'Aan. “I escaped my doom for many years, but I could not escape the knowledge of my crime. She loved me, you know. Not you.”
“She loved us both, I think. But the love she gave you was her entire soul and I should not want that from any woman.”
“You would be the loser, then.”
“You never knew how much she loved you.”
“Only—only afterwards …”
“I pity you, Earl Saxif D'Aan.” The young man gave the reins of his horse to the girl, and he drew his sword. “We are strange rivals, are we not?”
“You have been all these years