Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [158]
“Aye.” Elric drew breath to continue but was interrupted by a young man who rose from the end of the table. Like many locals, he had deep-brown skin and long black hair. He dressed simply, conservatively in black, while the collar and cuffs of his white shirt were exposed at throat and wrist. He carried a heavy, scabbarded sword of antique design.
“I am Hored Mevza, son of Councilor Menzi of the eighth ward. I have already volunteered to return with the new expedition, no matter how small.”
Elric guessed the handsome youth to be enamoured of the sisters. Moonglum did not smile when he enquired: “How many do you command, sir?”
“None.” Hored Mevza sat down again. “But perhaps a few of us can reach Soom where a larger party would be more readily detected.”
“True.” Elric looked enquiringly at the others.
“It’s as good a logic as any other,” said Duke Orogino. “I’m willing to put it to the test.”
Princess Semleedaor rose suddenly. “Then shall we to our beds, my friends? Will you be ready to begin moving upriver in the morning, Prince Elric, Sir Moonglum?”
Taken aback, but impressed by her decisiveness, Elric smiled. “If there are no objections to my joining your party, my lady, at least until we are all arrived at Soom.” Then he looked directly at Dyvim Mar, who said softly:
“I see no reason why you should betray us on this particular occasion, cousin. We have a good-sized boat in readiness. You will find us at the river harbour soon after sunrise.”
Elric bowed his head again. “I look forward to it.”
He fought to repress the sense of foreboding which filled him. Not since he had led the attack on his homeland had he felt so unwell. But he had no choice. He would free himself of the Black Sword’s power or die in the attempt. Besides, he felt an obscure compulsion to aid his kinsmen if he could. He knew it was guilt that drove him, but this time he would allow his guilt to rule. Careless as he was of the opinion of the world, which could not hate him more than he hated himself, he would follow these most unMelnibonéan urges. Part of him was curious to explore such feelings. Moreover, he found Princess Nahuaduar singularly attractive. He guessed that, were he to succeed and choose to take it, the fruit of the black flower would not be his only prize.
As they turned to leave, Princess Nahuaduar’s voice came sweet and clear from behind them. “Do you know what they call that black blossom, Prince Elric?”
“I have heard it called by several names, my lady.”
“The Blood Flower. They say it yields a sap which can be dried and from which a drink can be distilled that will give a sickly silverskin the strength he naturally lacks.”
When Elric looked back at her, he saw that she was smiling directly into his eyes. Again he offered her a brief bow. “I had heard that, too, madam. But, as one wanders the world, one comes across many unlikely tales. A man would be a fool to believe them all.”
CHAPTER THREE
Upriver
Elric and a grumbling Moonglum arrived at the river dock in the cool air of early morning when dew brightened every leaf and gaudy piece of wood. Cocks still crowed and the languid smoke of breakfast fires rose from a thousand chimneys. Carrying a long bundle under his arm, Elric paused in surprise, seeing five figures standing near a big singlemasted scarlet-painted boat anchored between several much larger inland barges which, they had been told, traded between Nassea-Tiki and the interior cities beyond Soom. Normally Soom was easily avoided, the river captains had said, but their traffic