Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [143]
Elric cursed. “By Arioch, I hope they send you all to the bottom!”
Jagreen Lern pursed his lips, mockingly. “By whom? Arioch? Do you not remember what ensued in my own palace? Arioch cannot be invoked. Not by you—not by me. Your stinking spells saw to that.”
He turned to an unseen lieutenant. “Bind him and bring him on deck. You know what to do with him.”
Two warriors dropped into the hold and grasped the still-weak Elric, tying his arms and legs and manhandling him onto the deck. He gasped as the sun’s glare struck his eyes.
“Prop him up so he may see all,” Jagreen Lern ordered.
The warriors obeyed, and Elric was lifted to a standing position, seeing Jagreen Lern’s huge, black flagship with its silken deck canopies flapping in a steady westerly breeze, its three banks of straining oarsmen and its tall ebony mast, bearing a sail of dark red.
Beyond the ship’s rails, Elric saw a massive fleet surging in the flagship’s wake. As well as the vessels of Pan Tang and Dharijor, there were many from Jharkor, Shazaar and Tarkesh, but on every scarlet sail the Merman blazon of Pan Tang was painted.
Despair filled Elric, for he knew that the Southlands, however strong, could not match a fleet like this.
“We have been at sea for only three days,” said Jagreen Lern, “but thanks to a witch-wind, we’re almost at our destination. A scout ship has recently reported that the Lormyrian navy, hearing rumours of our superior seapower, is sailing to join with us. A wise move of King Montan—for the moment, at any rate. I’ll make use of him for the time being and, when his usefulness is over, I’ll kill him for a treacherous turncoat.”
“Why do you tell me all this?” Elric whispered, his teeth gritted against the pain that came with any slight movement of his face or body.
“Because I want you to witness for yourself the defeat of the South. The merchant princes sail against us—and we shall easily crush them. I want you to know that what you sought to avert will come to pass. After we have subdued the South and sucked her of her treasures, we’ll vanquish the Isle of the Purple Towns and press forward to sack Vilmir and Ilmiora. That will be an easy matter, don’t you agree? We have allies other than those you defeated.”
When Elric did not reply, Jagreen Lern gestured impatiently to his men.
“Tie him to the mast so that he may get a good view of the battle. I’ll put a protective charm around his body, for I do not want him to be killed by a stray arrow and cheat me of my full vengeance.”
Elric was borne up and roped to the mast, but he was scarcely aware of it, for his head lolled on his right shoulder, only semi-conscious.
The massive fleet plunged onwards, certain of victory.
By mid-afternoon, Elric was aroused from his stupor by the shout of the helmsman.
“Sail to the south-east! Lormyrian fleet approaches!”
With impotent anger, Elric saw the fifty two-masted ships, their bright sails contrasting with the sombre scarlet of Jagreen Lern’s vessels, come into line with the others.
Lormyr, though a smaller power than Argimiliar, had a larger navy. Elric judged that King Montan’s treachery had cost the South more than a quarter of its strength.
Now he knew there was absolutely no hope for the South and that Jagreen Lern’s certainty of victory was well-founded.
Night fell and the huge fleet lay at anchor. A guard came to feed Elric a mushy porridge containing another dose of the drug. As he revived, his anger increased, and Jagreen Lern paused by the mast on two occasions, taunting him savagely.
“Soon after dawn we shall meet the Southern fleet,” Jagreen Lern smiled, “and by noon what is left of it will float as bloody driftwood behind us as we press on to establish our reign over those nations who so foolishly relied on their seapower as defense.”
Elric remembered how he had warned the kings of the Southlands that this was likely to happen if