Elric of Melnibone - Michael Moorcock [25]
‘Be grateful, cousin, that for a few hours you were totally powerful, that you enjoyed domination over all the folk of Melniboné.’
Yyrkoon said in a small, puzzled voice: ‘How did you escape? You had no time for making a sorcery, no strength for it. You could barely move your limbs and your armour must have dragged you deep to the bottom of the sea so that you should have drowned. It is unfair, Elric. You should have drowned.’
Elric shrugged, ‘I have friends in the sea. They recognise my royal blood and my right to rule if you do not.’
Yyrkoon tried to disguise the astonishment he felt. Evidently his respect for Elric had increased, as had his hatred for the albino emperor. ‘Friends.’
‘Aye,’ said Elric with a thin grin.
‘I—I thought, too, you had vowed not to use your powers of sorcery.’
‘But you thought that a vow which was unbefitting for a Melnibonéan monarch to make, did you not? Well, I agree with you. You see, Yyrkoon, you have won a victory, after all.’
Yyrkoon stared narrowly at Elric, as if trying to divine a secret meaning behind Elric’s words. ‘You will bring back the Chaos Lords?’
‘No sorcerer, however powerful, can summon the Chaos Lords or, for that matter, the Lords of Law, if they do not wish to be summoned. That you know. You must know it, Yyrkoon. Have you not, yourself, tried? And Arioch did not come, did he? Did he bring you the gift you sought—the gift of the two black swords?’
‘You know that?’
‘I did not. I guessed. Now I know.’
Yyrkoon tried to speak but his voice would not form words, so angry was he. Instead, a strangled growl escaped his throat and for a few moments he struggled in the grip of his guards.
Dyvim Tvar returned with Cymoril. The girl was pale but she was smiling. She ran into the throne room. ‘Elric!’
‘Cymoril! Are you harmed?’
Cymoril glanced at the crestfallen captain of her guard who had been brought with her. A look of disgust crossed her fine face. Then she shook her head. ‘No. I am not harmed.’
The captain of Cymoril’s guard was shaking with terror. He looked pleadingly at Yyrkoon as if hoping that his fellow prisoner could help him. But Yyrkoon continued to stare at the floor.
‘Have that one brought closer.’ Elric pointed at the captain of the guard. The man was dragged to the foot of the steps leading to the Ruby Throne. He moaned. ‘What a petty traitor you are,’ said Elric. ‘At least Yyrkoon had the courage to attempt to slay me. And his ambitions were high. Your ambition was merely to become one of his pet curs. So you betrayed your mistress and slew one of your own men. What is your name?’
The man had difficulty speaking, but at last he murmured, ‘It is Valharik, my name. What could I do? I serve the Ruby Throne, whoever sits upon it.’
‘So the traitor claims that loyalty motivated him. I think not.’
‘It was, my lord. It was.’ The captain began to whine. He fell to his knees. ‘Slay me swiftly. Do not punish me more.’
Elric’s impulse was to heed the man’s request, but he looked at Yyrkoon and then remembered the expression on Cymoril’s face when she had looked at the guard. He knew that he must make a point now, whilst making an example of Captain Valharik. So he shook his head. ‘No. I will punish you more. Tonight you will die here according to the traditions of Melniboné, while my nobles feast to celebrate this new era of my rule.’
Valharik began to sob. Then he stopped himself and got slowly to his feet, a Melnibonéan again. He bowed low and stepped backward, giving himself into the grip of his guards.
‘I must consider a way in which your fate may be shared with the one you wished to serve,’ Elric went on. ‘How did you slay the young warrior who sought to obey Cymoril?’
‘With my sword. I cut him down. It was a clean stroke. But one.’
‘And what became of the corpse?’
‘Prince Yyrkoon told me to feed it to Princess Cymoril’s slaves.’
‘I understand. Very well, Prince Yyrkoon,