Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [146]
“None,” Gaf studied Elric’s eyes and made a small adjustment to his own. He sat back, satisfied.
Elric shuddered and turned away mumbling.
“You are very welcome here,” said Werther. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to meet one as essentially morbid and self-pitying as myself!”
Elric did not seem flattered.
“What can we do to make you feel at home?” asked Mistress Christia. She had changed her hair to a rather glossy blue in the hope, perhaps, that Elric would find it more attractive. “Is there anything you need?”
“Need? Aye. Peace of mind. Knowledge of my true destiny. A quiet place where I can be with Cymoril, whom I love.”
“What does this Cymoril look like?” Mistress Christia became just a trifle overeager.
“She is the most beautiful creature in the universe,” said Elric.
“It isn’t very much to go on,” said Mistress Christia. “If you could imagine a picture, perhaps? There are devices in the old cities which could visualize your thoughts. We could go there. I should be happy to fill in for her, as it were…”
“What? You offer me a simulacrum? Do you not think I should detect such witchery at once? Ah, this is loathsome! Slay me, if you will, or continue the torment. I’ll listen no longer!”
They were floating now, between high cliffs. On a ledge far below a group of time-travelers pointed up at them. One waved desperately.
“You’ve offended him, Mistress Christia,” said Werther pettishly. “You don’t understand how sensitive he is.”
“Yes I do.” She was aggrieved. “I was only being sympathetic.”
“Sympathy!” Elric rubbed at his long, somewhat pointed jaw. “Ha! What do I want with sympathy?”
“I never heard anyone who wanted it more.” Mistress Christia was kind. “You’re like a little boy, really, aren’t you?”
“Compared to the ancient Lords of Chaos, I am a child, aye. But my blood is old and cold, the blood of decaying Melniboné, as well you know.” And with a huge sigh the albino seated himself at the far end of the car and rested his head on his fist. “Well? What is your pleasure, my Lords and Ladies of Hell?”
“It is your pleasure we are anxious to achieve,” Werther told him. “Is there anything at all we can do? Some environment we can manufacture? What are you used to?”
“Used to? I am used to the crack of leathery dragon wings in the sweet, sharp air of the early dawn. I am used to the sound of red battle, the drumming of hoofs on bloody earth, the screams of the dying, the yells of the victorious. I am used to warring against demons and monsters, sorcerers and ghouls. I have sailed on magic ships and fought hand to hand with reptilian savages. I have encountered the Jade Man himself. I have fought side by side with the elementals, who are my allies. I have battled black evil…”
“Well,” said Werther, “that’s something to go on, at any rate. I’m sure we can…”
“Lord Elric won’t be staying,” began Una Persson politely. “You see—these fluctuations in the megaflow—not to mention his own destiny…He should not be here, at all, Werther.”
“Nonsense!” Werther flung a black velvet arm about the stiff shoulders of his new friend. “It is evident that our destinies are one. Lord Elric is as grief-haunted as myself!”
“How can you know what it is to be haunted by grief?” murmured the albino. His face was half-buried in Werther’s generous sleeve.
Mrs. Persson controlled herself. She rose from Werther’s air car and made for her own. “Well,” she said, “I must be off. I hope to see you later, everybody.”
They sang out their farewells.
Una Persson turned her beetle westward, towards Castle Canaria, the home of her old friend Lord Jagged.
She needed help and advice.
CHAPTER SIX
In Which Elric of Melniboné Resists the
Temptations of the Chaos Lords
Elric reflected on the subtle way in which laughing Lords of Chaos had captured him. Apparently, he was merely a guest and quite free to wander where he would in their realm. Actually, he was in their power as much as if they had chained him, for he could not flee this flying dragon and they had already demonstrated their