Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [126]
“Oh, no!” Hozel turned to the other Southern monarchs. “What say you, my peers? Shall we lend them our ships and warriors to protect their shores as well as ours?”
“Not when they are so ungratefully spurned,” Jerned murmured. “Let Jagreen Lern expend his energies upon them. When he looks towards the South he will be weakened, and we shall be ready for him!”
“You are fools!” Elric cried urgently. “Stand with us or we’ll all perish! The Lords of Chaos are behind the Theocrat. If he succeeds in his ambitions it will mean more than conquest by a human schemer—it will mean that we shall all be subjected to the horror of total anarchy, on the Earth and above it. The human race is threatened!”
Hozel stared hard at Elric and smiled. “Then let the human race protect itself and not fight under an unhuman leader. ’Tis well-known that the men of Melniboné are not true men at all.”
“Be that as it may.” Elric lowered his head and lifted a thin, white hand to point at Hozel. The king shivered and held his ground with obvious effort. “But I know more than that, Hozel of Argimiliar. I know that the men of the Young Kingdoms are only the gods’ first mouldings—shadow-things who precede the race of real men, even as we preceded you. And I know more! I know that if we do not vanquish both Jagreen Lern and his supernatural allies, then men will be swept from the boiling face of a maddened planet, their destiny unfulfilled!”
Hozel swallowed and spoke, his voice trembling.
“I’ve seen your muttering kind in the market places, Elric. Men who prophesy all kinds of dooms that never take place—mad-eyed men such as you. But we do not let them live in Argimiliar. We fry them slowly, finger by finger, inch by inch until they admit their omens are fallacious! Perhaps we’ll have that opportunity, yet!”
He swung about and half-ran from the hall. For a moment the other Southern monarchs stood staring irresolutely after him.
Elric said urgently: “Heed him not, my lords. I swear on my life that my words are true!”
Jerned said softly, half to himself: “That could mean little. There are rumours you’re immortal.”
Moonglum came close to his friend and whispered: “They are unconvinced, Elric. ’Tis plain they’re not our men.”
Elric nodded. To the Southern nobles he said: “Know this: Though you foolishly reject my offer of an alliance, the day will come when you will regret your decision. I have been insulted in my own palace, my friends have been insulted and I curse you for the upstart fools you are. But when the time comes for you to learn the error of this decision I swear that we shall aid you, if it is in our power. Now go!”
Disconcerted, the Southerners straggled from the hall in silence.
Elric turned to Kargan Sharpeyes. “What have you decided, sea-lord?”
“We stand with you,” Kargan said simply. “My brother Smiorgan Baldhead always spoke well of you and I remember his words rather than the rumours which followed his death under your leadership. Moreover,” he smiled broadly, “it is in our nature to believe that whatever a Southern weakling decides must therefore be wrong. You have the Purple Towns as allies—and our ships, though fewer than the combined fleets of the South, are smooth-sailing fighting ships and well-equipped for war.”
“I must warn you that we stand little chance without Southern aid,” Elric said gravely.
“I’m doubtful if they’d have been more than an encumbrance with their guile and squabblings,” Kargan replied. “Besides—have you no sorcery to help us in this?”
“I plan to seek some tomorrow,” Elric told him. “Moonglum and myself will be leaving my cousin Dyvim Slorm in charge here while we go to Sorcerers’ Isle, beyond Melniboné. There, among the hermit practitioners of the White Arts, I might find means of contacting the Lords of Law. I, as you know, am half-sworn to Chaos, though I fight it, and am finding increasingly that my own demon-god is somewhat loath to aid me these days.