Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [118]
“They are our bond-blades,” said Princess Mishiguya. “They are ours by blood and by right. They are ours to conquer thee and drive thee from our realm. Never shalt thou take them, Gaynor the Damned!”
“But I offer you those treasures you borrowed and lost, madam. I’ll speak plain. I want four swords such as the four you have between you. I have here six Objects of Power. I will trade them all for the swords! Is that not generous? Even foolish?”
“You are insane, Gaynor,” said Princess Shanug’a. “The swords are our inheritance. They are our duty.”
“But it’s your duty, madam, surely, to give back what you have borrowed? However, think upon that for a little. Now I am going to offer Elric his sweet old father’s soul!” And he laid caressing steel upon the rosewood.
Angry at Arioch’s betrayal of his secret, Elric could scarcely speak. Gaynor knew the true value of the soulbox and what it meant to Sadric’s son!
“Would you be united—or would you be free?” Gaynor asked him, savouring every syllable of this temptation; understanding exactly what he offered the albino.
With a wordless oath, Elric lunged towards the altar but Gaynor motioned edgily with his wand and almost touched the ectoplasmic membrane where Count Mashabak roared and flexed his claws, his eyes seeming fierce enough to burn through those mystic walls and let him come rushing out, to devour, to warp, to make of this realm one screaming extrusion of tormented life.
“Your father’s soul, Prince Elric, in return for that sword of yours. You know which you would rather have, surely? Come, Prince Elric, that’s not a decision you must brood upon. Take the bargain. It releases you. It will free you from all thy dooms, sweet prince …”
And Elric felt the lure of it, the tempting prospect of being free for ever from his hellblade, from that unwanted symbiosis upon which he had grown to rely, of being free from the threat of his father’s soul eternally merging with his own, of being able to help his father reach his mother in the Forest of Souls, where neither Law, nor Chaos, nor the Cosmic Balance had dominion.
“Your father’s soul, Elric, for you to set free. The ending of his suffering and your own. You do not need the sword to live. You did not need its power to find it, to brave those ordeals, and others. Let me have the sword, Elric. And I shall give you all these treasures …”
“You want the sword so that you can control the demon with it,” said Elric. “Do you have a spell which will give you such power? Perhaps you do, Prince Gaynor. But the spell alone is not sufficient. You must be able to frighten Count Mashabak—”
Again that raging din, that squawling and screeching and threatening …
“—and you think you can do that with Stormbringer. But you would need more than Stormbringer, Prince Gaynor, to achieve such control!” And again Elric reflected on the wild audacity of Gaynor the Damned, who sought to tame a Lord of Hell to his own bidding!
“True, sweet prince.” Prince Gaynor’s tone was softer again, and amused. “But happily I have more than your sword. The Rose knows of the spell I mean …”
And the Rose lifted her head and she spat at him, which made him laugh all the more merrily. “Ah, how lovers learn to regret those little confidences …”
Which brought a sudden understanding to Elric and a fresh sympathy for the woman, the last of her kind, and the particular nature of her moral burden.
“Give me the blade, Prince Elric.” Gaynor stretched out the gauntleted left hand in which he held the soulbox. In his right hand, the blackthorn wand hovered near the ectoplasmic membrane. “There is nought to lose.”
“I would only gain, I think,” said Elric, “if you were to let me go free with that thing.”
“Of course. Who would be harmed?”
But Elric knew the answer to the question. His companions would be harmed. This realm would be harmed. Many more would be harmed once Gaynor controlled Count Mashabak. He did not know exactly how the Prince of the Damned intended to use the weapon to control the Lord of Chaos, but