Elric of Melnibone - Michael Moorcock [16]
6
Pursuit: A Deliberate Treachery
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LIKE HAUGHTY Leviathans the great golden battle-barges swam through the wreckage of the reaver fleet. A few ships burned and a few were still sinking, but most had sunk into the unplumbable depths of the channel. The burning ships sent strange shadows dancing against the dank walls of the sea-caverns, as if the ghosts of the slain offered a last salute before departing to the sea-depths where, it was said, a Chaos king still ruled, crewing his eerie fleets with the souls of all who died in conflict upon the oceans of the world. Or perhaps they went to a gentler doom, serving Straasha, Lord of the Water Elementals, who ruled the upper reaches of the sea.
But a few had escaped. Somehow the southland sailors had got past the massive battle-barges, sailed back through the channel and must even now have reached the open sea. This was reported to the flagship where Elric, Magum Colim and Prince Yyrkoon now stood together again on the bridge, surveying the destruction they had wreaked.
‘Then we must pursue them and finish them,’ said Yyrkoon. He was sweating and his dark face glistened; his eyes were alight with fever. ‘We must follow them.’
Elric shrugged. He was weak. He had brought no extra drugs with him to replenish his strength. He wished to go back to Imrryr and rest. He was tired of bloodletting, tired of Yyrkoon and tired, most of all, of himself. The hatred he felt for his cousin was draining him still further—and he hated the hatred; that was the worst part. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Let them go.’
‘Let them go? Unpunished? Come now, my lord king! That is not our way!’ Prince Yyrkoon turned to the aging admiral. ‘Is that our way, Admiral Magum Colim?’
Magum Colim shrugged. He, too, was tired, but privately he agreed with Prince Yyrkoon. An enemy of Melniboné should be punished for daring even to think of attacking the Dreaming City. Yet he said: ‘The emperor must decide.’
‘Let them go,’ said Elric again. He leant heavily against the rail. ‘Let them carry the news back to their own barbarian land. Let them say how the Dragon Princes defeated them. The news will spread. I believe we shall not be troubled by raiders again for some time.’
‘The Young Kingdoms are full of fools,’ Yyrkoon replied. ‘They will not believe the news. There will always be raiders. The best way to warn them will be to make sure that not one southlander remains alive or uncaptured.’
Elric drew a deep breath and tried to fight the faintness which threatened to overwhelm him. ‘Prince Yyrkoon, you are trying my patience...’
‘But, my emperor, I think only of the good of Melniboné. Surely you do not want your people to say that you are weak, that you fear a fight with but five southland galleys?’
This time Elric’s anger brought him strength. ‘Who will say that Elric is weak? Will it be you, Yyrkoon?’ He knew that his next statement was senseless, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. ‘Very well, let us pursue these poor little boats and sink them. And let us make haste. I am weary of it all.’
There was a mysterious light in Yyrkoon’s eyes as he turned away to relay the orders.
The sky was turning from black to grey when the Melnibonéan fleet reached the open sea and turned its prows south towards the Boiling Sea and the southern continent beyond. The barbarian ships would not sail through the Boiling Sea—no mortal ship could do that, it was said—but would sail around it. Not that the barbarian ships would even reach the edges of the Boiling Sea, for the huge battle-barges were fast-sailing vessels. The slaves who pulled the oars were full of a drug which increased their speed and their strength for a score or so of hours, before it slew them. And now the sails billowed out, catching the breeze. Golden mountains, skimming rapidly over the sea, these ships; their method of construction was a secret lost even to the Melnibonéans (who had forgotten so much of their lore).