Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [83]
Yet Gaynor had lost too much already, faced too much horror, contemplated too many repellent fates, caused and observed too much suffering, to show any distress of his own. He drew himself up, his hands folded before him, and lowered his helmeted head in the slightest of acknowledgments. “Then I must call thee master now, Lord Arioch,” he said.
“Aye. Always thy true master. Always the master concerned for his slaves. I take a great interest in the activities of my little humans, for in so many ways their ambitions and dreams mirror those of the gods. Arioch was ever the Duke of Hell most mortals turn to when they have need of Chaos’s ministrations. And I love thee. But I love the folk of Melniboné most, and of these I love Sadric and Elric most of all.”
And Gaynor waited, his helm still slightly bowed, as if expecting some doom of singular and exquisite savagery.
“See how I protect my slaves,” Arioch continued, still invisible, his voice moving from one part of the valley to the next, yet always intimate, always amused. “The clock sustains their lives. Should any one of them, old or young, for a moment fail in their specific function, the whole structure will collapse. Thus do my creatures learn the true nature of interdependence. One peg in the wrong socket, one pail of water in the wrong sluice, one false step upon a treadmill, one hesitant hand upon a lever, and all are destroyed. To continue to live, they must work the clock, and each creature is responsible for the lives of all the rest. While my friend Count Mashabak up there would not, of course, be greatly harmed, there would be a certain pleasure for me in watching his little prison rolling about at random amongst the ruins. Do you see your ex-master, Gaynor? What was it he told you to seek?”
“A flower, master. A flower that has lived for thousands of years, since it was first plucked.”
“I wonder why Mashabak would not tell me that himself. I am pleased with thee, Gaynor. Wouldst thou serve me?”
“As thou wishest, master.”
“Sweet slave, I love thee again! Sweet, sweet, obedient slave! Oh, how I love thee!”
“And I love thee, master,” came Gaynor’s bitter response—a voice that had known millennia of defeat and frustrated longing. “I am thy slave.”
“My slave! My lovely slave! Wouldst thou not remove thine helm and reveal thy face to me?”
“I cannot, master. There is nothing to reveal.”
“As thou art nothing, Gaynor, save for the life I permit in thee. Save for the forces of the pit which empower thee. Save for the all-consuming greed which informs thee. Wouldst thou have me destroy thee, Gaynor?”
“If it pleases thee, master.”
“I think you should work for a while upon the clock. Would you serve me there, Gaynor? Or would you continue your quest?”
“As it pleases thee, Lord Arioch.”
Elric, sickened by this, found himself full of a peculiar self-loathing. Was it his fate, also, to serve Chaos as thoroughly as Gaynor served it—without even the remains of self-respect or will? Was this the final price one paid for all bargains with Chaos? And yet he knew his own doom was not the same, that he was still cursed with a degree of free will. Or was that merely an illusion with which Arioch softened the truth? He shuddered.
“And Elric, would you work upon the clock?”
“I would destroy thee first, Lord Arioch,” said the albino coolly, his hand upon the hilt of his hellsword. “My compacts with thee are of blood and ancient inheritance. I made no special bargain of my soul. ’Tis others’ souls, my lord, I dedicate to thee.”
He sensed within himself now some strength which even the Duke of Hell could not annihilate—some small part of his soul which remained his own. Yet, also, he saw a future where that tiny fragment of integrity could dissipate and leave him as empty of hope and self-respect as Gaynor the Damned …
His glance at the ex-Prince of the Universal held no contempt—only a certain understanding and affinity with the wretched creature