Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [117]
The Rose shouted suddenly, “You shall not bargain with us for that box, Gaynor!”
And Elric wondered why she had grown subtly more aggressive since they had entered those doors, as if she had rehearsed this moment, as if she knew exactly what she had to say and do.
“But I must, madam. I must!” Gaynor opened the box and drew out of it, between flickering blue finger and thumb, a great, lush crimson rose. He held it up by its dewy stem. It seemed to have been fresh-picked a moment earlier. A perfect rose. “The last living thing in your land, madam! Save yourself, of course. The only other survivor of that particularly enjoyable victory. Like you, madam, it has survived all that Chaos could do to it. Up to now …”
“It is not yours,” said Princess Tayaratuka. “It is what the Rose gave us when she first knew of our plight. It was hers to give us. And ours to return to her. The Eternal Rose.”
“Well, madam, it is mine now. To bargain with as I choose,” said Gaynor with a hint of arrogant impatience, as if to a child who has not understood what has been explained.
“You have no right to those treasures,” said Princess Mishiguya. “Give me back the briar rings, which are my part of our charge.”
“But the briar rings are not your property,” said Gaynor, “as well you know, madam. All these treasures were loaned to you, so that you could go onto the paths between the realms and seek Elric.”
“Then give them back to me,” said the Rose, stepping forward. “For they were, indeed, my treasures to loan or to bestow as I chose. They are the last treasures of my forgotten land. I brought them here, hoping to find peace from my tormented cravings. And then came Chaos and my hostesses’ need was greater than my own. But now they have the swords they sought. They did not have to bargain, after all, with Elric. There’s another sweet irony, prince. And we are here to reclaim those treasures. Give them up to us, Prince Gaynor, or we must take them by force.”
“By force, madam?” Gaynor’s laughter grew louder at this, and coarser, too. “You have no force to use against me! To use against Mashabak! I cannot yet control him, perhaps. But I can release him! I can release him into your realm, madam, and have him gobble it up in an instant, and all of us with it. Aye, and it would delight me to do so, madam, almost as much as it delights me to control such power. For would it not be my decision which brought about the conquests of unbridled Chaos? This blackthorn wand will set him free—with one tiny tap of its tip.” And he revealed the thin, black branch that was bound with brass and elinfleur. “I repeat, madam, you have no force to use against me. While I remain here and my wand remains there, we are all of us safe as Arioch himself was safe when he made this cage …”
And suddenly there came a squawling and a roiling and a braying from the sphere and Count Mashabak’s unlovely features were pressed there for a moment as he raved in response to his captor’s name, at his absolute loss of honour in becoming the prisoner of a mere demi-demon. So vast and angry was the life-force imprisoned there that Elric and his companions felt driven back by it; felt as if they might be snuffed into non-existence by the very sight of it.
“And you, Prince Elric,” yelled Gaynor the Damned above the cacophony of his recklessly captured prize, “you, too, have come to trade, no doubt. What? Will you have this? The skin your fierce friend left behind?” And he brandished the grey wolf’s pelt that was all that remained of the tormented Northerner.
But to Elric it was no trophy Gaynor held. The abandoned wolfskin meant that Esbern Snare had died a free mortal. “I echo all the sentiments expressed by my friends,” said Elric. “I do not trade with such as thee, Gaynor the Damned. There is no virtue left in thee.”
“Vice alone, Prince Elric. Vice alone, I must admit. But such creative, imaginative vice, eh? You have