Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [72]
“The horses,” grunted Elric. “If it’s safe, try to get them.”
There were still seven natives standing and Moonglum groaned as a cleaver sliced flesh from his left arm, retaliated, pierced the man’s throat, turned slightly and sheared off another’s face. They pressed forward, taking the attack to the incensed foe. His left hand covered with his own blood, Moonglum painfully pulled his long poignard from its sheath and held it with his thumb along the handle, blocked an opponent’s swing, closed in and killed him with a ripping upward thrust of the dagger, the action of which caused his wound to pound with agony.
Elric held his great runesword in both hands and swung it in a semi-circle, hacking down the howling misshapen things. Zarozinia darted towards the horses, leapt onto her own and led the other two towards the fighting men. Elric smote at another and got into his saddle, thanking his own forethought to leave the equipment on the horses in case of danger. Moonglum quickly joined him and they thundered out of the clearing.
“The saddle-bags,” Moonglum called in greater agony than that created by his wound. “We’ve left the saddle-bags!”
“What of it? Don’t press your luck, my friend.”
“But all our treasure’s in them!”
Elric laughed, partly in relief, partly from real humour. “We’ll retrieve them, friend, never fear.”
“I know you, Elric. You’ve no value for the realities.”
But even Moonglum was laughing as they left the enraged men of Org behind them and slowed to a canter.
Elric reached and hugged Zarozinia. “You have the courage of your noble clan in your veins,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied, pleased with the compliment, “but we cannot match such swordmanship as that displayed by you and Moonglum. It was fantastic.”
“Thank the blade,” he said shortly.
“No. I will thank you. I think you place too much reliance upon that hell weapon, however powerful it is.”
“I need it.”
“For what?”
“For my own strength and, now, to give strength to you.”
“I’m no vampire,” she smiled, “and need no such fearful strength as that supplies.”
“Then be assured that I do,” he told her gravely. “You would not love me if the blade did not give me what I need. I am like a spineless sea-thing without it.”
“I do not believe that, but will not dispute with you now.”
They rode for a while without speaking.
Later, they stopped, dismounted, and Zarozinia put herbs that Elric had given her upon Moonglum’s wounded arm and began to bind it.
Elric was thinking deeply. The forest rustled with macabre, sensuous sounds. “We’re in the heart of Troos,” he said, “and our intention to skirt the forest has been forestalled. I have it in mind to call on the King of Org and so round off our visit.”
Moonglum laughed. “Shall we send our swords along first? And bind our own hands?” His pain was already eased by the herbs which were having quick effect.
“I mean it. We owe, all of us, much to the men of Org. They slew Zarozinia’s uncle and cousins, they wounded you and they now have our treasure. We have many reasons for asking the king for recompense. Also, they seem stupid and should be easy to trick.”
“Aye. The king will pay us back for our lack of common sense by tearing our limbs off.”
“I’m in earnest. I think we should go.”
“I’ll agree that I’d like our wealth returned to us. But we cannot risk the lady’s safety, Elric.”
“I am to be Elric’s wife, Moonglum. Therefore if he visits the King of Org, I shall come too.”
Moonglum lifted an eyebrow. “A quick courtship.”
“She speaks the truth, however. We shall all go to Org—and sorcery will protect us from the king’s uncalled-for wrath.”
“And still you wish for death and vengeance, Elric,” shrugged Moonglum, mounting.