Elric of Melnibone - Michael Moorcock [61]
‘You have given too much for everything,’ said Elric. He went to the entrance and peered through. Rackhir waited on the other side. The Red Archer had an anxious expression. Elric said: ‘Warrior Priest of Phum, it seems that my cousin and I are trapped in here. The entrance will not part for us.’ Elric tested the warm, moist stuff of the wall. It would not open more than a tiny fraction. ‘It seems that you can join us or else go back. If you do join us, you share our fate.’
‘It is not much of a fate if I go back,’ said Rackhir. ‘What chances have you?’
‘One,’ said Elric. ‘I can invoke my patron.’
‘A Lord of Chaos?’ Rackhir made a wry face. ‘Exactly,’ said Elric. ‘I speak of Arioch.’
‘Arioch, eh? Well, he does not care for renegades from Phum.’
‘What do you choose to do?’
Rackhir stepped forward. Elric stepped back. Through the opening came Rackhir’s head, followed by his shoulders, followed by the rest of him. The entrance closed again immediately. Rackhir stood up and untangled the string of his bow from the stave, smoothing it. ‘I agreed to share your fate—to gamble all on escaping from this plane,’ said the Red Archer. He looked surprised when he saw Yyrkoon. ‘Your enemy is still alive?’
‘Aye.’
‘You are merciful indeed!’
‘Perhaps. Or obstinate. I would not slay him merely because some supernatural agency used him as a pawn, to be killed if I should win. The Lords of the higher Worlds do not as yet control me completely—nor will they if I have any power at all to resist them.’
Rackhir grinned. ‘I share your view—though I’m not optimistic about its realism. I see you have one of those black swords at your belt. Will that not hack a way through the cavern?’
‘No,’ said Yyrkoon from his place against the wall. ‘Nothing can harm the stuff of the Pulsing Cavern.’
‘I’ll believe you,’ said Elric, ‘for I do not intend to draw this new sword of mine often. I must learn how to control it first.’
‘So Arioch must be summoned.’ Rackhir sighed.
‘If that is possible,’ said Elric.
‘He will doubtless destroy me,’ said Rackhir, looking to Elric in the hope that the albino would deny this statement.
Elric looked grave. ‘I might be able to strike a bargain with him. It will also test something.’
Elric turned his back on Rackhir and on Yyrkoon. He adjusted his mind. He sent it out through vast spaces and complicated mazes. And he cried:
‘Arioch! Arioch! Aid me, Arioch!’
He had a sense of something listening to him. ‘Arioch!’
Something shifted in the places where his mind went.
‘Arioch...’
And Arioch heard him. He knew it was Arioch.
Rackhir gave a horrified yell. Yyrkoon screamed. Elric turned and saw that something disgusting had appeared near the far wall. It was black and it was foul and it slobbered and its shape was intolerably alien. Was this Arioch? How could it be? Arioch was beautiful. But perhaps, thought Elric, this was Arioch’s true shape. Upon this plane, in this peculiar cavern, Arioch could not deceive those who looked upon him.
But then the shape had disappeared and a beautiful youth with ancient eyes stood looking at the three mortals.
‘You have won the sword, Elric,’ said Arioch, ignoring the others. ‘I congratulate you. And you have spared your cousin’s life. Why so?’
‘More than one reason,’ said Elric. ‘But let us say he must remain alive in order to wake Cymoril.’
Arioch’s face bore a little, secret smile for a moment and Elric realised that he had avoided a trap. If he had killed Yyrkoon, Cymoril would never have woken again.
‘And what is this little traitor doing with you?’ Arioch turned a cold eye on Rackhir who did his best to stare back at the Chaos Lord.
‘He is my friend,’ said Elric. ‘I made a bargain with him. If he aided me to find the Black Sword, then I would take him back with