Elric of Melnibone - Michael Moorcock [62]
‘That is impossible. Rackhir is an exile here. That is his punishment.’
‘He comes back with me,’ said Elric. And now he unhooked the scabbard holding Stormbringer from his belt and he held the sword out before him. ‘Or I do not take the sword with me. Failing that, we all three remain here for eternity.’
‘That is not sensible, Elric. Consider your responsibilities.’
‘I have considered them. That is my decision.’
Arioch’s smooth face had just a tinge of anger. ‘You must take the sword. It is your destiny.’
‘So you say. But I now know that the sword may only be borne by me. You cannot bear it, Arioch, or you would. Only I—or another mortal like me—can take it from the Pulsing Cavern. Is that not so?’
‘You are clever, Elric of Melniboné.’ Arioch spoke with sardonic admiration. ‘And you are a fitting servant of Chaos. Very well—that traitor can go with you. But he would be best warned to tread warily. The Lords of Chaos have been known to bear malice...’
Rackhir said hoarsely: ‘So I have heard, My Lord Arioch.’
Arioch ignored the archer. ‘The man of Phum is not, after all, important. And if you wish to spare your cousin’s life, so be it, It matters little. Destiny can contain a few extra threads in her design and still accomplish her original aims.’
‘Very well then,’ said Elric. ‘Take us from this place.’
‘Where to?’
‘Why, to Melniboné, if you please.’
With a smile that was almost tender Arioch looked down on Elric and a silky hand stroked Elric’s cheek. Arioch had grown to twice his original size. ‘Oh, you are surely the sweetest of all my slaves,’ said the Lord of Chaos.
And there was a whirling. There was a sound like the roar of the sea. There was a dreadful sense of nausea. And three weary men stood on the floor of the great throne room in Imrryr. The throne room was deserted, save that in one corner a black shape, like smoke, writhed for a moment and then was gone.
Rackhir crossed the floor and seated himself carefully upon the first step to the Ruby Throne. Yyrkoon and Elric remained where they were, staring into each other’s eyes. Then Elric laughed and slapped his scabbarded sword. ‘Now you must fulfil your promises to me, cousin. Then I have a proposition to put to you.’
‘It is like a market place,’ said Rackhir, leaning on one elbow and inspecting the feather in his scarlet hat. ‘So many bargains!’
5
The Pale King’s Mercy
* * *
YYRKOON STEPPED BACK from his sister’s bed. He was worn and his features were drawn and there was no spirit in him as he said: ‘It is done.’ He turned away and looked through the window at the towers of Imrryr, at the harbour where the returned golden battle-barges rode at anchor, together with the ship which had been King Straasha’s gift to Elric. ‘She will wake in a moment,’ added Yyrkoon absently.
Dyvim Tvar and Rackhir the Red Archer looked inquiringly at Elric who kneeled by the bed, staring into the face of Cymoril. Her face grew peaceful as he watched and for one terrible moment he suspected Prince Yyrkoon of tricking him and of killing Cymoril. But then the eyelids moved and the eyes opened and she saw him and she smiled. ‘Elric? The dreams... You are safe?’
‘I am safe, Cymoril. As are you.’
‘Yyrkoon...?’
‘He woke you.’
‘But you swore to slay him...’
‘I was as much subject to sorcery as you. My mind was confused. It is still confused where some matters are concerned. But Yyrkoon is changed now. I defeated him. He does not doubt my power. He no longer lusts to usurp me.’
‘You are merciful, Elric.’ She brushed raven hair from her face.
Elric exchanged a glance with Rackhir.
‘It might not be mercy which moves me,’ said Elric. ‘It might merely be a sense of fellowship with Yyrkoon.’
‘Fellowship? Surely you cannot feel... ?’
‘We are both mortal. We were both victims of a game played between the Lords of the Higher Worlds. My loyalty must, finally, be to my own kind—and that is why I ceased to hate Yyrkoon.’
‘And that is mercy,’ said Cymoril.
Yyrkoon walked towards the door. ‘May I leave, my lord emperor?’
Elric thought he detected