Elric of Melnibone - Michael Moorcock [6]
‘Elric? Would you stop so near to Imrryr?’
He smiled back at her, over his shoulder. ‘For the moment. Our flight was hasty. I would collect my thoughts before we ride on.’
‘How did you sleep last night?’
‘Well enough, Cymoril, though I must have dreamed without knowing it, for there were—there were little intimations in my head when I awoke. But then, the meeting with Yyrkoon was not pleasant...’
‘Do you think he plots to use sorcery against you?’
Elric shrugged. ‘I would know if he brought a large sorcery against me. And he knows my power, I doubt if he would dare employ wizardry.’
‘He has reason to believe you might not use your power. He has worried at your personality for so long—is there not a danger he will begin to worry at your skills? Testing your sorcery as he has tested your patience?’
Elric frowned. ‘Yes, I suppose there is that danger. But not yet, I should have thought.’
‘He will not be happy until you are destroyed, Elric.’
‘Or is destroyed himself, Cymoril.’ Elric stooped and picked one of the flowers. He smiled. ‘Your brother is inclined to absolutes, is he not? How the weak hate weakness.’
Cymoril took his meaning. She dismounted and came towards him. Her thin gown matched, almost perfectly, the colour of the flowers through which she moved. He handed her the flower and she accepted it, touching its petals with her perfect lips. ‘And how the strong hate strength, my love. Yyrkoon is my kin and yet I give you this advice—use your strength against him.’
‘I could not slay him. I have not the right.’ Elric’s face fell into familiar, brooding lines.
‘You could exile him.’
‘Is not exile the same as death to a Melnibonéan?’
‘You, yourself, have talked of travelling in the lands of the Young Kingdoms.’
Elric laughed somewhat bitterly. ‘But perhaps I am not a true Melnibonéan. Yyrkoon has said as much—and others echo his thoughts.’
‘He hates you because you are contemplative. Your father was contemplative and no one denied that he was a fitting emperor.’
‘My father chose not to put the results of his contemplation into his personal actions. He ruled as an emperor should. Yyrkoon, I must admit, would also rule as an emperor should. He, too, has the opportunity to make Melniboné great again. If he were emperor, he would embark on a campaign of conquest to restore our trade to its former volume, to extend our power across the earth. And that is what the majority of our folk would wish. Is it my right to deny that wish?’
‘It is your right to do what you think, for you are the emperor. All who are loyal to you think as I do.’
‘Perhaps their loyalty is misguided. Perhaps Yyrkoon is right and I will betray that loyalty, bring doom to the Dragon Isle?’ His moody, crimson eyes looked directly into hers. ‘Perhaps I should have died as I left my mother’s womb. Then Yyrkoon would have become emperor. Has Fate been thwarted?’
‘Fate is never thwarted. What has happened has happened because Fate willed it thus—if, indeed, there is such a thing as Fate and if men’s actions are not merely a response to other men’s actions.’
Elric drew a deep breath and offered her an expression tinged with irony. ‘Your logic leads you close to heresy, Cymoril, if we are to believe the traditions of Melniboné. Perhaps it would be better if you forgot your friendship with me.’
She laughed. ‘You begin to sound like my brother. Are you testing my love for you, my lord?’
He began to remount his horse. ‘No, Cymoril, but I would advise you to test your love yourself, for I