Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [125]
But would even this be sufficient, Elric wondered, to wipe out the growing menace from the Westlands?
His white albino’s face was stern, his red eyes troubled as he addressed the men he had caused to come here.
“As you know, my lords, the threat of Pan Tang and Dharijor is not likely to remain confined to the Western Continent for much longer. Though barely two months have passed since their victory was achieved, they are already marshaling a great fleet aimed at crushing the power of those kings dependent, largely, on their ships for livelihood and defense.”
He glanced at the sea-lords of the Purple Towns and the kings of the Southern Continent.
“We of the East, it seems, are not regarded as so much of a danger to their immediate plans and, if we did not unite now, they would have a greater chance of success by conquering first the Southern seapower and then the scattered cities of the East. We must form an alliance which can match their strength.”
“How do you know this is their plan, Elric?”
The voice was that of Hozel of Argimiliar, a proud-faced man inclined it was said to fits of insanity, the inbred offspring of a dozen incestuous unions.
“Spies, refugees—and supernatural sources. They have all reported it.”
“Even without these reports, we could be sure that this is, indeed, their plan,” growled Kargan Sharpeyes, spokesman for the sea-lords. He looked directly at Hozel with something akin to contempt. “And Jagreen Lern of Pan Tang might also seek allies amongst the Southerners. There are some who would rather capitulate to a foreign conqueror than lose their soft lives and easily earned treasure.”
Hozel smiled coldly at Kargan. “There are some, too, whose animal suspicions might cause them to make no move against the Theocrat until it was too late.”
Elric said hastily, aware of age-old bitternesses between the hardy sea-lords and their softer neighbours: “But worst of all they would be best aided by internal feuds in our ranks, brothers. Hozel—take it for granted that I speak truly and that my information is exact.”
Montan, Lord of Lormyr, his face, beard and hair all shaded grey, said haughtily: “You of the North and East are weak. We of the South are strong. Why should we lend you our ships to defend your coasts? I do not agree with your logic, Elric. It will not be the first time it has led good men astray—to their deaths!”
“I thought we had agreed to bury old disputes!” Elric said, close to anger, for the guilt of what he had done was still in him.
“Aye,” nodded Kargan. “A man who can’t forget the past is a man who cannot plan for the future. I say Elric’s logic is good!”
“You traders were always too reckless with your ships and too gullible when you heard a smooth tongue. That’s why you now envy our riches.” Young Jerned of Filkhar smiled in his thin beard, his eyes on the floor.
Kargan fumed. “Too honest, perhaps, is the word you should have used, Southerner! Belatedly our forefathers learned how the fat Southlands were cheating them. Their forefathers raided your coasts, remember? Maybe we should have continued their practice! Instead, we settled, traded—and your bellies swelled from the profits of our sweat! Gods! I’d not trust the word of a Southern—”
Elric leaned forward to interrupt, but was interrupted himself by Hozel who said impatiently: “The fact is this. The Theocrat is more likely to concentrate his first attacks on the East. For these reasons: The Eastlands are weak. The Eastlands are poorly defended. The Eastlands are closer to his shores and therefore more accessible. Why should he risk his recently united strength on the stronger Southlands, or risk a more hazardous sea-crossing?”
“Because,” Elric said levelly, “his ships will be magic-aided and distance will not count. Because the South is richer and will supply him with metals, food—”
“Ships and men!” spat Kargan.
“So! You think we already plan treachery!” Hozel glanced first at Elric and then at Kargan. “Then why summon us here in the first place?”
“I did not say that,” Elric