Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [76]
Elric called: “We’d appreciate a song, minstrel.”
“Then you’ll have the song of the Three Kings in Darkness, strangers, and hear the ghastly story of the Kings of Org.”
“No!” shouted Gutheran, leaping from his place, but Veerkad was already singing:
“Three Kings in Darkness lie,
Gutheran of Org, and I,
Under a bleak and sunless sky—
The third Beneath the Hill.
When shall the third arise?
Only when another dies…”
“Stop!” Gutheran got up in an obviously insane rage and stumbled across the table, trembling in terror, his face blanched, striking at the blind man, his brother. Two blows and the minstrel fell, slumping to the floor and not moving. “Take him out! Do not let him enter again.” The king shrieked and foam flecked his lips.
Hurd, sober for a moment, jumped across the table, scattering dishes and cups and took his father’s arm.
“Be calm, father. I have a new plan for our entertainment.”
“You! You seek my throne. ’Twas you who goaded Veerkad to sing his dreadful song. You know I cannot listen without…” He stared at the door. “One day the legend shall be realized and the Hill-King shall come. Then shall I, you and Org perish.”
“Father,” Hurd was smiling horribly, “let the female visitor dance for us a dance of the gods.”
“What?”
“Let the woman dance for us, father.”
Elric heard him. By now the drug must have worn off. He could not afford to show his hand by offering his companions further doses. He got to his feet.
“What sacrilege do you speak, prince?”
“We have given you entertainment. It is the custom in Org for our visitors to give us entertainment also.”
The hall was filled with menace. Elric regretted his plan to trick the men of Org. But there was nothing he could do. He had intended to exact tribute from them in the name of the gods, but obviously these mad men feared more immediate and tangible dangers than any the gods might represent.
He had made a mistake, put the lives of his friends in danger as well as his own. What should he do? Zarozinia murmured: “I have learned dances in Ilmiora where all ladies are taught the art. Let me dance for them. It might placate them and bedazzle them to make our work easier.”
“Arioch knows our work is hard enough now. I was a fool to have conceived this plan. Very well, Zarozinia, dance for them, but with caution.” He shouted at Hurd: “Our companion will dance for you, to show you the beauty that the gods create. Then you must pay the tribute, for our masters grow impatient.”
“The tribute?” Gutheran looked up. “You mentioned nothing of tribute.”
“Your recognition of the gods must take the form of precious stones and metals, King Gutheran. I thought you to understand that.”
“You seem more like common thieves than uncommon messengers, my friends. We are poor in Org and have nothing to give away to charlatans.”
“Beware of your words, king!” Elric’s clear voice echoed warningly through the hall.
“We’ll see the dance and then judge the truth of what you’ve told us.”
Elric seated himself, grasped Zarozinia’s hand beneath the table as she arose, giving her comfort.
She walked gracefully and confidently into the centre of the hall and there began to dance. Elric, who loved her, was amazed at her splendid grace and artistry. She danced the old, beautiful dances of Ilmiora, entrancing even the thickskulled men of Org and, as she danced, a great golden Guest Cup was brought in.
Hurd leaned across his father and said to Elric: “The Guest Cup, lord. It is our custom that our guests drink from it in friendship.”
Elric nodded, annoyed at being disturbed in his watching of the wonderful dance, his eyes fixed on Zarozinia as she postured and glided. There was silence in the hall.
Hurd handed him the cup and absently he put it to his lips; seeing this Zarozinia danced onto the table and began to weave along it to where Elric sat. As he took the first sip, Zarozinia cried out and, with her foot, knocked the cup from his hand. The wine splashed onto Gutheran and Hurd who half rose, startled. “It was drugged, Elric.