Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [160]
“Lady?”
“I wonder what it is that brings so many exiles from the Dragon Isle to these shores?”
Elric shrugged. As was common, Moonglum spoke for him. “I would imagine they need employment, my lady, and soldiering is the thing they know best, now they have no empire to defend.”
“But the women? Are they soldiers, too?”
At this, Dyvim Mar growled: “There are few women. The reavers either slew them or took them as prizes. Then—” He lowered his eyes. “Then our dragons pursued the reaver ships.”
“And?” She genuinely did not know the answer. Dyvim Mar turned away.
“They died aboard those ships,” said Moonglum. Then Elric spoke: “My cousin would want you to know that it was as a result of my betrayal. They had sworn they would take only inanimate treasure. Perhaps we were all betrayed, one way or another, that day.” Instinctively, his hand had gone to his black sword, Stormbringer, so tightly bound to its scabbard.
“We are from the Uyt, as you know, and have no direct experience of events surrounding your nation’s sudden fall but I heard—a noble woman, was there not, to whom one of your princes was betrothed? I seem to recall a tale …”
“I doubt it’s a tale my lord the emperor would care to hear retold,” interrupted Dyvim Mar bitterly. And Elric stood up suddenly, finding some work in the bow of the boat. In spite of Moonglum’s warning glance, Princess Nahuaduar called after him. “There’s a sword involved in that story, too, my lord.”
He sighed, his eyes clouding as he drew his brows together. “Lady, you’ll have heard no doubt that my betrothed died by my own sword …”
“Is that why you keep it so thoroughly bound?” With slender fingers, she gestured towards Stormbringer.
“Oh, ’tis best you ask no more questions concerning this sword, your highness.” He pretended further interest in the boat’s equipment. On both distant banks of the river, under the blaze of the noonday sun, the dark jungle moved slowly by. “Indeed, it is in none of our interests for me to release this sword.”
Enquiringly, she looked up directly into his own ruby eyes. “Then why carry it?”
“To placate my own patron, I suppose.” His returning gaze was as direct as her own. “Be warned, lady. Few have ever been glad to have such questions fully answered.”
Nahuaduar made to speak again. Then her twin called from where she sat in the prow. Semleedaor pointed to their left, to a long sand bar on which several large crocodiles basked. Among them was an object reflecting the sun. Metal washed by the river and polished by the sand. A large piece of armour. As they drew nearer, Moonglum recognized it as a breastplate of Melnibonéan workmanship, similar to that worn by Dyvim Mar. The two kinsmen turned away, frowning.
“Was it here?” Princess Semleedaor’s voice was sympathetic.
Dyvim Mar shook his head. “Further upstream. It must have been dragged down this far by the current. And perhaps by those reptiles …” He lifted his head and stared into the middle-distance.
Duke Orogino murmured: “I never knew a people so racked by guilt. And yet which never knew a moment’s self-doubt before their diaspora.” He spoke ostensibly to an embarrassed Hored Mevza, who pretended to stare down into the water.
For some little time the party sailed on in silence. The heat had caused the men to discard much of their own armour. The sluggish water was thick with strange leaves, boughs and exotic, brightly coloured blossoms. The two women murmured together, but as evening came and the sun sat atop the silhouetted jungle, the atmosphere aboard became significantly more relaxed. Duke Orogino and Hored Mevza fell into a political conversation. The notion of a republic was foreign to the duke. He found it difficult to understand how such a thing functioned. He was used to the state embodied in the person of a king, reflecting and exemplifying his nation’s virtues. A nation run by a set of institutions and elected officials seemed to him to be a