Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [56]
The reptilian thing whimpered, dropped—and vanished.
Elric lay sprawled in the undergrowth, trembling the length of his aching body. He picked himself up slowly. All his energy had been drained from him. Stormbringer, too, seemed to have lost its vitality, but that, Elric knew would return and, in returning, bring him new strength.
But then he felt his whole frame tugged rigid. He was astounded. What was happening? His senses began to blank out. He had the feeling that he was staring down a long, black tunnel which stretched into nowhere. Everything was vague. He was aware of motion. He was traveling. How—or where, he could not tell.
For brief seconds he traveled, conscious only of an unearthly feeling of motion and the fact that Stormbringer, his life, was clutched in his right hand.
Then he felt hard stone beneath him and he opened his eyes—or was it, he wondered, that his vision returned?—and looked up at the gloating face above him.
“Theleb K’aarna,” he whispered hoarsely, “how did you effect this?”
The sorcerer bent down and, with gloved hands, tugged Stormbringer from Elric’s enfeebled grasp. He sneered. “I followed your commendable battle with my messenger, Lord Elric. When it was obvious that somehow you had summoned aid—I quickly conjured another spell and brought you here. Now I have your sword and your strength. I know that without it you are nothing. You are in my power, Elric of Melniboné.”
Elric gasped air into his lungs. His whole body was pain-racked. He tried to smile, but he could not. It was not in his nature to smile when he was beaten. “Give me back my sword.”
Theleb K’aarna gave a self-satisfied smirk. He chuckled. “Who talks of vengeance, now, Elric?”
“Give me my sword!” Elric tried to rise but he was too weak. His vision blurred until he could hardly see the gloating sorcerer.
“And what kind of bargain do you offer?” Theleb K’aarna asked. “You are not a well man, Lord Elric—and sick men do not bargain. They beg.”
Elric trembled in impotent anger. He tightened his mouth. He would not beg—neither would he bargain. In silence, he glowered at the sorcerer.
“I think that first,” Theleb K’aarna said, smiling, “I shall lock this away.” He hefted Stormbringer, which he had now sheathed, in his hand and turned towards a cupboard behind him. From his robes he produced a key with which he unlocked the cupboard and placed the runesword inside, carefully locking the door again when he had done so. “Then, I think, I’ll show our virile hero to his ex-mistress—the sister of the man he betrayed four years ago.”
Elric said nothing.
“After that,” Theleb K’aarna continued, “my employer Nikorn shall be shown the assassin who thought he could do what others failed to achieve.” He smiled. “What a day,” he chuckled. “What a day! So full. So rich with pleasure.”
Theleb K’aarna tittered and picked up a hand-bell. He rang it. A door behind Elric opened and two tall desert warriors strode in. They glanced at Elric and then at Theleb K’aarna. They were evidently amazed.
“No questions,” Theleb K’aarna snapped. “Take this refuse to the chambers of Queen Yishana.”
Elric fumed as he was hefted up between the two. The men were dark-skinned, bearded and their eyes were deep-set beneath shaggy brows. They wore the heavy wool-trimmed metal caps of their race, and their armour was not of iron but of thick, leather-covered wood. Down a long corridor they lugged Elric’s weakened body and one of them rapped sharply on a door.
Elric recognized Yishana’s voice bid them enter. Behind the desert men and their burden came a tittering, fussing sorcerer. “A present for you, Yishana,” he called.
The desert men entered. Elric could not see Yishana but he heard her gasp. “On the couch,” directed the sorcerer. Elric was deposited on yielding fabric.