Elric of Melnibone - Michael Moorcock [60]
‘He must not die!’ said Elric. ‘I will not slay him to make sport for you!’
And through the black radiance ran Yyrkoon, snarling and snapping and whirling his runesword.
Again Stormbringer darted through an opening, and again Elric made the blade pull back and Yyrkoon was only grazed.
Stormbringer writhed in Elric’s hands.
Elric said: ‘You shall not be my master.’
And Stormbringer seemed to understand and become quieter, as if reconciled. And Elric laughed, thinking that he now controlled the runesword and that from now on the blade would do his bidding.
‘We shall disarm Yyrkoon,’ said Elric. ‘We shall not kill him.’
Elric rose to his feet.
Stormbringer moved with all the speed of a needle-thin rapier. It feinted, it parried, it thrust. Yyrkoon, who had been grinning in triumph, snarled and staggered back, the grin dropping from his sullen features.
Stormbringer now worked for Elric. It made the moves that Elric wished to make. Both Yyrkoon and Mournblade seemed disconcerted by this turn of events. Mournblade shouted as if in astonishment at its brother’s behaviour. Elric struck at Yyrkoon’s sword-arm, pierced cloth—pierced flesh—pierced sinew—pierced bone. Blood came, soaking Yyrkoon’s arm and dripping down onto the hilt of the sword. The blood was slippery. It weakened Yyrkoon’s grip on his runesword. He took it in both hands, but he was unable to hold it firmly.
Elric, too, took Stormbringer in both hands. Unearthly strength surged through him. With a gigantic blow he dashed Stormbringer against Mournblade where blade met hilt. The runesword few from Yyrkoon’s grasp. It sped across the Pulsing Cavern.
Elric smiled. He had defeated his own sword’s will and, in turn, had defeated the brother sword.
Mournblade fell against the wall of the Pulsing Cavern and for a moment was still.
A groan then seemed to escape the defeated runesword. A high-pitched shriek filled the Pulsing Cavern. Blackness flooded over the eery pink light and extinguished it.
When the light returned Elric saw that a scabbard lay at his feet. The scabbard was black and of the same alien craftsmanship as the runesword. Elric saw Yyrkoon. The prince was on his knees and he was sobbing, his eyes darting about the Pulsing Cavern seeking Mournblade, looking at Elric with fright as if he knew he must now be slain.
‘Mournblade?’ Yyrkoon said hopelessly. He knew he was to die.
Mournblade had vanished from the Pulsing Cavern.
‘Your sword is gone,’ said Elric quietly.
Yyrkoon whimpered and tried to crawl towards the entrance of the cavern. But the entrance had shrunk to the size of a small coin. Yyrkoon wept.
Stormbringer trembled, as if thirsty for Yyrkoon’s soul. Elric stooped.
Yyrkoon began to speak rapidly. ‘Do not slay me, Elric—not with that runeblade. I will do anything you wish. I will die in any other way.’
Elric said: ‘We are victims, cousin, of a conspiracy—a game played by gods, demons and sentient swords. They wish one of us dead. I suspect they wish you dead more than they wish me dead. And that is the reason why I shall not slay you here.’ He picked up the scabbard. He forced Stormbringer into it and at once the sword was quiet. Elric took off his old scabbard and looked around for Aubec’s sword, but that, too, was gone. He dropped the old scabbard and hooked the new one to his belt. He rested his left hand upon the pommel of Stormbringer and he looked not without sympathy upon the creature that was his cousin.
‘You are a worm, Yyrkoon. But is that your fault?’
Yyrkoon gave him a puzzled glance.
‘I wonder, if you had all your desire, would you cease to be a worm, cousin?’
Yyrkoon raised himself to his knees. A little hope began to show in his eyes.
Elric smiled and drew a deep breath. ‘We shall see,’ he said. ‘You must agree to wake Cymoril from her sorcerous slumber.’
‘You have humbled me, Elric,’ said Yyrkoon in a small, pitiful voice. ‘I will wake her. Or would...’
‘Can you not undo your spell?’
‘We cannot escape from the Pulsing Cavern. It is past the time...’
‘What’s this?’
‘I did not think