Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [157]
“And my sword will be at your service, Lord Arioch.”
“Will it, Elric?”
Elric was surprised by this doubting tone. He had always served Chaos, as his ancestors had. “Why should I turn against you? Law has no attractions for one such as Elric of Melniboné.”
The Duke of Hell was silent.
“And there is the bargain,” added Elric. “Return me to my own realm, Lord Arioch, so that I might keep it.”
Arioch sighed. “I am reluctant.”
“I demand it,” bravely said the albino.
“Oho!” Arioch was amused. “Well, mortal, I’ll reward your courage and I’ll punish your insolence. The reward will be that you are returned whence you came, before you called on Chaos in your battle with that pathetic wizard. The punishment is that you will recall every incident that occurred since then—but only in your dreams. You will be haunted by the puzzle for the rest of your life—and you will never for a moment be able to express what mystifies you.”
Elric smiled. “I am already haunted by a curse of that kind, my lord.”
“Be that as it may, I have made my decision.”
“I accept it,” said the albino, and he sheathed his sword, Stormbringer.
“Then come with me,” said Arioch, Duke of Hell. And he drifted forward, took Elric by the arm, and lifted them both high into the sky, floating over distorted scenes, half-formed dream-worlds, the whims of the Lords of Chaos, until they came to a gigantic rock shaped like a skull. And through one of the eye-sockets Lord Arioch bore Elric of Melniboné. And down strange corridors that whispered and displayed all manner of treasures. And up into a landscape, a desert in which grew many strange plants, while overhead could be seen a land of snow and mountains, equally alien. And from his robes Arioch, Duke of Hell, produced a wand and he bade Elric to take hold of the wand, which was hot to the touch and glittered, and he placed his own slender hand at the other end, and he murmured words which Elric could not understand and together they began to fade from the landscape, into the darkness of limbo where many eyes accused them, to an island in a grey and storm-tossed sea; an island littered with destruction and with the dead.
Then Arioch, Duke of Hell, laughed a little and vanished, leaving the Prince of Melniboné sprawled amongst corpses and ruins while heavy rain beat down upon him.
And in the scabbard at Elric’s side, Stormbringer stirred and murmured once more.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In Which There is a Small Celebration at the End of Time
Werther de Goethe and the Duke of Queens blinked their eyes and found that they could move their heads. They stood in a large, pleasant room full of charts and ancient instruments. Mistress Christia was there, too.
Una Persson was smiling as she watched golden light fade from the sky. The city had disappeared, hardly any the worse for its existence. She had managed to save the two friends without a great deal of fuss, for the citizens had still been bewildered by what had happened to them. Because of the megaflow distortion, the Morphail Effect would not manifest itself. They would never understand where they had been or what had actually happened.
“Who on earth was that fellow who turned up?” asked the Duke of Queens. “Some friend of yours, Mrs. Persson? He’s certainly no sportsman.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t agree. You could call him the ultimate sportsman,” she said. “I am acquainted with him, as a matter of fact.”
“It’s not Jagged in disguise is it?” said Mistress Christia who did not really know what had gone on. “This is Jagged’s castle—but where is Jagged?”
“You are aware how mysterious he is,” Una answered. “I happened to be here when I saw that Werther and the Duke were in trouble in the city and was able to be of help.”
Werther scowled (a very good copy of Elric’s own scowl). “Well, it isn’t good enough.”
“It was a jolly adventure while it lasted, you must admit,” said the Duke of Queens.
“It wasn’t meant to be jolly,” said Werther. “It was meant to be significant.”
Lord Jagged entered the room. He