Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [49]
And sometime around midnight, beneath a pale moon, his legs buckled and he fell sprawling in the sand and lay there while the remains of his sensibilities left him.
“Prince Elric. My Lord?”
The voice was rich, vibrant, almost amused. It was a woman’s voice and Elric recognized it. He did not move.
“Elric of Melniboné.”
He felt a hand on his arm. She was trying to pull him upright. Rather than be dragged he raised himself with some difficulty to a sitting position. He tried to speak, but at first no words would come from his mouth which was dry and full of sand. She stood there as the dawn rose behind her and brightened her long black hair framing her beautiful features. She was dressed in a flowing gown of blue, green and gold and she was smiling.
As he cleared the sand from his mouth he shook his head, saying at last: “If I am dead, then I am still plagued by phantoms and illusions.” “I am no more illusion than anything else in this world. You are not dead, my lord.”
“You are, in that case, many leagues from Castle Kaneloon, my lady. You have come from the other side of the world—from edge to edge.”
“I have been seeking you, Elric.”
“Then you have broken your word, Myshella, for when we parted you said that you would not see me again, that our fates had ceased to be twined.”
“I thought then that Theleb K’aarna was dead—that our mutual enemy had perished in the Noose of Flesh.” The sorceress spread her arms wide and it was almost as if the gesture summoned the sun, for it appeared over the horizon, suddenly. “Why did you walk thus in the desert, my lord?”
“I sought death.”
“Yet you know it is not your destiny to die in such a way.”
“I have been told as much but I do not know it, Lady Myshella. However,” he stumbled upright and stood swaying before her, “I am beginning to suspect that it is so.”
She came forward, bringing a goblet from beneath her robes. It was full to the brim with a cool, silvery liquid. “Drink,” she said.
He did not lift his hands towards the cup. “I am not pleased to see you, Lady Myshella.”
“Why? Because you are afraid to love me?”
“If it flatters you to think that—aye.”
“It does not flatter me. I know you are reminded of Cymoril and that I made the mistake of letting Kaneloon become that which you most desire—before I understood that it is also what you most fear.”
He lowered his head. “Be silent!”
“I am sorry. I apologized then. We drove away the desire and terror together for a little while, did we not?”
He looked up and she was staring intently into his eyes. “Did we not?”
“We did.” He took a deep breath and stretched out his hands for the goblet. “Is this some potion to sap my will and make me work for your interests?”
“No potion could do that. It will revive you, that is all.”
He sipped the liquid and immediately his mouth was clean and his head clear. He drained the goblet and he felt a glow of strength in all his limbs and vitals.
“Do you still wish to die?” she asked as she received back the cup, replacing it beneath her robes.
“If death will bring me peace.”
“It will not—not if you die now. That I know.”
“How did you find me here?”
“Oh, by a variety of means, some of them sorcerous. But my bird brought me to you.” She extended her right arm to point behind him.
He turned and there was the bird of gold and silver and brass which he himself had once ridden while in Myshella’s service. Its great metallic wings were folded but there was intelligence in its emerald eyes as it waited for its mistress.
“Have you come, then, to return me to Tanelorn?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I have come to tell you where you may discover our enemy Theleb K’aarna.”
He smiled. “He threatens you again?”
“Not directly.”
Elric shook sand from his cloak. “I know you well, Myshella. You would not interfere in my destiny unless it had again become in some way linked with your own. You have said that I am afraid to love you. That may be true, for I think I am afraid to love any woman. But you make use of love—the men to whom you give your love are men