Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [119]
“Or would you join your sire for ever, Elric of Melniboné?” The tone from within the helm was cooler now, more evidently threatening. “I would even share my new power with you. Your sword shall be the stick I’ll use to goad Mashabak to my bidding …”
Elric yearned to agree with Gaynor the Damned. If he had been a true Melnibonéan, even one like his father, he would have thought no more of the matter and given up the sword in return for the soulbox. But through whatever ties of character, blood and disposition they were, his loyalty was for his fellows and he would not consign one more human creature to the mercies of Chaos.
And so he refused.
Which brought a yell of rage from the ex-Prince of the Universal and he cried out that Elric was a fool, that he might have saved something from these realms, but now they would be entirely devoured by angry Mashabak …
… when there came a creaking and a groaning and a scattering of plaster and bits of stone, of candle-wax and falling flambeaux, as some ancient bilge-system, some trap-door in the hull, began to creak open from above and through the gap came a questioning croak.
It was Khorghakh the toad. It was the navigating monster from the ship, pushing its way through. It sniffed and turned its head. It saw Charion. Whereupon it gave a grunt of satisfaction and began swiftly to clamber down the carved walls while Elric, taking advantage of Gaynor’s inattention, chopped suddenly across the makeshift altar and struck the wand from the prince’s hand, then thrust at him again, while Gaynor grabbed for his own sword and flung a blow at the albino’s head.
But now Stormbringer sent up such a fearful keening, a sharp, specific utterance of rage, that there came a gasp of pain from within the helm—a helm that had not known pain for millennia. Gaynor brought up his sword to try to block the runeblade, but staggered.
Then Elric drew back the point of his hellsword and drove it directly at that place in Gaynor’s armour which would have hidden his heart—and the Lord of the Damned howled with sudden agony as he was lifted upward, like a lobster on a spike, his arms and legs flailing, roaring his rage as Count Mashabak still roared his—suspended, helpless upon Stormbringer’s point—
“Where is there a hell that could effect thy just punishment, Gaynor the Damned?” said Elric through clenching teeth.
And the Rose said softly:
“I know of such a place, Elric. You must summon your patron demon. Summon Arioch to this realm!”
“Madam, you are mad!”
“You must trust me here. Arioch’s power will be weak. It has not had time to build. But you must speak to him.”
“What good can Arioch do us in this? Will you return his prisoner to him?”
“Call him,” she said. “This is the way that it should be. You must call him, Elric. Only by doing that can any harmony be achieved again.”
And so Elric, with his enemy Prince Gaynor squirming like a spider on a stick in front of him, called out the name of his patron Duke of Hell, a creature who had betrayed him, who had attempted to extinguish him for ever.
“Arioch! Arioch! Come to thy servant, Lord Arioch. I beg thee.”
Meanwhile the toad had reached the floor and was lumbering towards Charion, towards its lost love, and there was a kind of soft affection in its face as Mistress Phatt approached it, stroking its huge hands, patting its scales, while from above came a thin voice:
“We were in time, it seems! The toad found this entrance for us.” And through the ruptured trapdoor came Ernest Wheldrake’s head, looking down at them with some concern. “I was afraid we should be late.”
Charion Phatt was patting the toad’s enraptured head and laughing. “You did not tell us you had gone to bring extra help, my love!”
“I thought it best to make no promises. But I bring further good news.” He looked at the route by which the toad had clambered, from carving to carving, to the floor and he shook his head. “I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can.