Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [127]
Kargan nodded. “’Twould be a relief to us of the Purple Towns to know that we were not too strongly leagued with dark spirits, I must admit.”
Elric frowned. “I agree, of course. But our position is so weak that we must accept any help—be it black or white. I presume that there is dispute among the Masters of Chaos as to how far they should go—that is why some of my own help still comes from Chaos. This blade that hangs at my side, and the twin which Dyvim Slorm bears, are both evil. Yet they were forged by creatures of Chaos to bring an end, on Earth at least, to the Masters’ rule here. Just as my blood-loyalties are divided, so are the swords’ loyalties. We have no supernatural allies we can wholly rely upon.”
“I feel for you,” Kargan said gruffly, and it was obvious that he did. No man could envy Elric’s position or Elric’s destiny.
Orgon, Kargan’s cousin-in-law, said bluntly: “We’ll to bed now. Has your kinsman your full confidence?”
Elric glanced at Dyvim Slorm and smiled. “My full confidence—he knows as much as I about this business. He shall speak for me since he knows my basic plans.”
“Very well. We’ll confer with him tomorrow and, if we do not see you before we leave, do well for us on Sorcerers’ Isle.”
The sea-lords left.
Now, for the first time, the Regent of Vilmir spoke. His voice was clear and cool. “We, too, have confidence in you and your kinsman, Elric. Already we know you both for clever warriors and cunning planners. Vilmir has good cause to know it from your exploits in Bakshaan and elsewhere throughout our territories. We, I feel, have the good sense to bury old scores.” He turned to the merchant princes for confirmation and they nodded their agreement.
“Good,” Elric said. He addressed the gaunt-faced archer, Rackhir, his friend, whose legend almost equaled his own.
“You come as a spokesman of Tanelorn, Rackhir. This will not be the first time we have fought the Lords of Chaos.”
“True,” Rackhir nodded. “Most recently we averted a threat with certain aid from the Grey Lords—but Chaos had caused the gateways to the Grey Lords to be closed to mortals. We can offer you only our warriors’ loyalty.”
“We shall be grateful for that.” Elric paced the dais. There was no need to ask the senators of Karlaak and the other cities of Ilmiora, for they had agreed to support him, come what may, long before the other rulers were called.
The same was true of the bleak-faced band who made up the refugees from the West, headed by Viri-Sek, the winged youth from Myyrrhn, last of his line since all the other members of the ruling family had been slain by Jagreen Lern’s minions.
Just beyond the walls of Karlaak was a sea of tents and pavilions over which the banners of many nations waved sluggishly in the hot, moist wind. At this moment, Elric knew, the proud lords of the South were uprooting their standards and packing their tents, not looking at the war-battered warriors of Shazaar, Jharkor and Tarkesh who stared at them in puzzlement. Sight of those dull-eyed veterans should have decided the Southern nobles to ally themselves with the East, but evidently it had not.
Elric sighed and turned his back on the others to contemplate the great map of the world with its shaded dark areas.
“Now only a quarter is black,” he said softly to Moonglum. “But the dark tide spreads farther and faster and soon we may all be engulfed.”
“We’ll dam the flow—or try to—when it comes,” Moonglum said with attempted jauntiness. “But meanwhile your wife would spend some time with you before we leave. Let’s both to bed and trust our dreams are light!”
CHAPTER TWO
Two nights later they stood on the quayside in the city of Jadmar while a cold wind sliced its way inland.
“There she is,” Elric said, pointing down at the small boat rocking and bumping in the water below.
“A small craft,” Moonglum said dubiously. “She scarcely looks seaworthy.”
“She’ll stay