Elric of Melnibone - Michael Moorcock [12]
‘I repeat my offer to the emperor. His person is too valuable to risk in battle. My person—it is worthless. Let me command the warriors of both land and sea while the emperor may remain at the palace, untroubled by the battle, confident that it will be won and the southlanders trounced—perhaps there is a book he wishes to finish?’
Elric smiled. ‘Again I thank you for your concern, Prince Yyrkoon. But an emperor must exercise his body as well as his mind. I will command the warriors tomorrow.’
When Elric arrived back at his apartments it was to discover that Tanglebones had already laid out his heavy, black wargear. Here was the armour which had served a hundred Melnibonéan emperors; an armour which was forged by sorcery to give it a strength unequalled on the Realm of Earth, which could, so rumour went, even withstand the bite of the mythical runeblades, Stormbringer and Mournblade, which had been wielded by the wickedest of Melniboné’s many wicked rulers before being seized by the Lords of the Higher Worlds and hidden forever in a realm where even those Lords might rarely venture.
The face of the tangled man was full of joy as he touched each piece of armour, each finely balanced weapon, with his long, gnarled fingers. His seamed face looked up to regard Elric’s care-ravaged features. ‘Oh, my lord! Oh, my king! Soon you will know the joy of the fight!’
‘Aye, Tanglebones—and let us hope it will be a joy.’
‘I taught you all the skills—the art of the sword and the poignard—the art of the bow—the art of the spear, both mounted and on foot. And you learned well, for all they say you are weak. Save one, there’s no better swordsman in Melniboné.’
‘Prince Yyrkoon could be better than me,’ Elric said reflectively. ‘Could he not?’
‘I said “save one,” my lord.’
‘And Yyrkoon is that one. Well, one day perhaps we’ll be able to test the matter. I’ll bathe before I don all that metal.’
‘Best make speed, master. From what I hear, there is much to do.’
‘And I’ll sleep after I’ve bathed.’ Elric smiled at his old friend’s consternation. ‘It will be better thus, for I cannot personally direct the barges into position. I am needed to command the fray—and that I will do better when I’ve rested.’
‘If you think it good, lord king, then it is good.’
‘And you are astonished. You are too eager, Tanglebones, to get me into all that stuff and see me strut about in it as if I were Arioch himself...’
Tanglebones’s hand flew to his mouth as if he had spoken the words, not his master, and he was trying to block them. His eyes widened.
Elric laughed. ‘You think I speak bold heresies, eh? Well, I’ve spoken worse without any ill befalling me. On Melniboné, Tanglebones, the emperors control the demons, not the reverse.’
‘So you say, my liege.’
‘It is the truth.’ Elric swept from the room, calling for his slaves. The war-fever filled him and he was jubilant.
Now he was in all his black gear: the massive breastplate, the padded jerkin, the long greaves, the mail gauntlets. At his side was a five-foot broadsword which, it was said, had belonged to a human hero called Aubec. Resting on the deck against the golden rail of the bridge was the great round warboard, his shield, bearing the sign of the swooping dragon. And a helm was on his head; a black helm, with a dragon’s head craning over the peak, and dragon’s wings flaring backward above it, and a dragon’s tail curling down the back. All the helm was black, but within the helm there was a white shadow from which glared two crimson orbs, and from the sides of the helm strayed wisps of milk-white hair, almost like smoke escaping from a burning building. And, as the helm turned in what little light came from the lantern hanging at the base of the mainmast, the white shadow sharpened to reveal features—fine, handsome features—a straight nose, curved lips, up-slanting eyes. The face of Emperor Elric of Melniboné peered into the gloom of the maze as he listened for the first sounds of the sea-raider