Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [81]
Dyvim Tvar spoke up again:
“No dragons,” he said.
“What?” Yyrkoon whirled. “What?”
“No dragons, prince. They will not be awakened. The dragons sleep in their caverns, exhausted by their last engagement on your behalf.”
“Mine?”
“You would use them in our conflict with the Vilmirian pirates. I told you that I would prefer to save them for a larger engagement. But you flew them against the pirates and you burned their little boats and now the dragons sleep.”
Yyrkoon glowered. He looked up at Elric. “I did not expect . . .”
Elric raised his hand. “We need not use our dragons until such a time as we really need them. This attack from the southlander fleet is nothing. But we will conserve our strength if we bide our time. Let them think we are unready. Let them enter the maze. Once the whole hundred are through, we close in, blocking off all routes in or out of the maze. Trapped, they will be crushed by us.”
Yyrkoon looked pettishly at his feet, evidently wishing he could think of some flaw in the plan. Tall, old Admiral Magum Colim in his sea-green armour stepped forward and bowed. “The golden battle-barges of Imrryr are ready to defend their city, my liege. It will take time, however, to manoeuvre them into position. It is doubtful if all will fit into the maze at once.”
“Then sail some of them out now and hide them around the coast, so that they can wait for any survivors that may escape our attack,” Elric instructed him.
“A useful plan, my liege.” Magum Colim bowed and sank back into the crowd of his peers.
The debate continued for some time and then they were ready and about to leave. But then Prince Yyrkoon bellowed once more:
“I repeat my offer to the emperor. His person is too valuable to risk in battle. My person—it is worthless. Let me command the warriors of both land and sea while the emperor may remain at the palace, untroubled by the battle, confident that it will be won and the southlanders trounced—perhaps there is a book he wishes to finish?”
Elric smiled. “Again I thank you for your concern, Prince Yyrkoon. But an emperor must exercise his body as well as his mind. I will command the warriors tomorrow.”
When Elric arrived back at his apartments it was to discover that Tanglebones had already laid out his heavy, black war-gear. Here was the armour which had served a hundred Melnibonéan emperors; an armour which was forged by sorcery to give it a strength unequaled on the Realm of Earth, which could, so rumour went, even withstand the bite of the mythical runeblades, Stormbringer and Mournblade, which had been wielded by the wickedest of Melniboné’s many wicked rulers before being seized by the Lords of the Higher Worlds and hidden for ever in a realm where even those lords might rarely venture.
The face of the tangled man was full of joy as he touched each piece of armour, each finely balanced weapon, with his long, gnarled fingers. His seamed face looked up to regard Elric’s care-ravaged features. “Oh, my lord! Oh, my king! Soon you will know the joy of the fight!”
“Aye, Tanglebones—and let us hope it will be a joy.”
“I taught you all the skills—the art of the sword and the poignard—the art of the bow—the art of the spear, both mounted and on foot. And you learned well, for all they say you are weak. Save one, there’s no better swordsman in Melniboné.”
“Prince Yyrkoon could be better than me,” Elric said reflectively. “Could he not?”
“I said ‘save one,’ my lord.”
“And Yyrkoon is that one. Well, one day perhaps we’ll be able to test the matter. I’ll bathe before I don all that metal.”
“Best make speed, master. From what I hear, there is much to do.”
“And I’ll sleep after I’ve bathed.” Elric smiled at his old friend’s consternation. “It will be better thus, for I cannot personally direct the barges into position. I am needed to