Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [96]
All of which was accepted graciously but with lifted hand. “We do not yet know what we must do,” she said and then she raised herself to her feet, the velvet robe falling in folds upon the marble couch, and, lifting her marvelous head, pursed her lips in a whistle.
There came the sound of padded feet upon those marble floors and a hot panting, as if the Rose had summoned the Hounds of Hell to aid them; then into the hall bounded three huge dogs—great wolf-hounds with lolling red tongues and fangs of pre-human heritage—a white hound, a blue-grey hound and a pale golden hound, ready, it seemed, to do battle with any enemy, pursue any prey. And they grouped at the Rose’s side and looked up into her face as if ready to obey her slightest order.
But then one of the dogs glanced to one side and saw Elric. Immediately it became agitated, growling softly and attracting the attention of the other two hounds, until Elric began to wonder if these were not some close relatives of Esbern Snare who did not approve of the werewolf’s act of sacrifice on Elric’s behalf.
Next they were up and moving towards the albino while the Rose cried out in surprise; cried for them to return to heel.
But they would not.
Elric did not fear the great hounds as they approached him. Indeed, there was something about them which reassured him. But he was deeply puzzled.
Now they came closer, prowling around him, sniffing, quizzing, with the soft growls forever being exchanged between them until at last they seemed satisfied and returned, passively, to the Rose’s side.
The Rose was mystified. “I was about to explain,” she said, “why we must wait before we take further action. These hounds are the three sisters. I put a glamour on them to protect them from Gaynor’s sorcery, as well as to give them a means of defending themselves, for they are spent, you see, of magic and all ingenuity. They have failed in their quest.”
“What was that quest?” asked Elric softly, stepping from behind the others and looking with a new curiosity at the dogs, who returned his gaze with a kind of abstracted longing.
“It was for thee,” said the golden hound as she rose from all fours and in a single flowing motion became a woman clad in silk the colour that her fur had been, and her face was of that long, refined sort which Elric recognized at once as belonging to his own people. Grey-blue fur turned to grey-blue silk, white to white, until all three sisters were standing there before him, tiny figures, yet unmistakably of Melnibonéan stock. “It was for thee, Elric of Melniboné, that we sought,” they said again.
They had black hair framing their exquisite features like helmets, large slanting violet eyes, fair skin like the palest brass, their lips were perfect bows—
—and they had spoken to him alone. They had used the old High Speech of Melniboné which even Wheldrake found hard to understand.
Confronted by this unexpected turn of events, Elric had taken an unwitting step backward. Then he steadied himself, bowed briefly and discovered himself, in spite of all he’d ever sworn, making the old blood greeting of the Bright Empire’s ruling families. “I am bonded to thee and thine interests …”
“… and we to thine, Elric of Melniboné,” said the golden woman. “I am the Princess Tayaratuka and these are my sisters, also of the Caste, Princess Mishiguya and Princess Shanug’a. Prince Elric, we have hunted thee through millennia and across a thousand Spheres!”
“I have hunted thee only a few hundred years and perhaps five hundred Spheres,” said Elric modestly, “but it seems I am the tail that chases the weasel …”
“When Mad Jack Porker staked his leg!” cried Ma Phatt from where she enjoyed the luxury of a fresh couch and luxurious linen. “We have been chasing one another in circles, then? See! I knew there was a pattern to it! Somewhere, there is always a pattern to it. Dongle-my-dingle, the lad’s lost his jingle. It’s the famous race, you know. Porker’s Trial by Accident. His last dash was pure heroism. Everyone said so. Ladies and gentlemen, they are nailing our feet