Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [189]
“They dare not. Their superstitions have made me their goddess. They believe that if I die, so will the forest die. And if the forest dies, so will they.”
Rackhir wondered privately if there was more to what she said. What if the forest could only move when she moved? What if she herself sought villages whose inhabitants would feed these unholy trees.
She moved a step or two closer. “We are all of a supernatural piece, you see, Sir Rackhir.”
When she used his true name, the archer’s suspicion of her increased. He had heard of the wiles of these humanlike, alien people who ruled over the so-called Young Kingdoms of the West. He had been taught not to trust them, that reptilian blood, the blood of the ancient dragon folk called the Ph’oorn, ran in their veins, that they had the power to converse with serpents. Yet she was very beautiful and he wanted very much to believe her. He looked hard into her blue-grey eyes. She stared back frankly. He could do nothing, he realized, but believe her.
“Lady, I would rescue you from this if I could,” he said.
“And I would be rescued. We both belong to the same realm. Believe me, I have waited for centuries in the hope that such a one as you would come to the Roaming Forest and save me, make me real again.”
“How may I do that, lady?”
“There is only one way I know. You must find the Original Seed and destroy it. That will have the effect of destroying both the forest and its natives and opening up the moonbeam path which, with my guidance, we can cross back to our own realm again.”
“And have you tried yourself to find and destroy this seed?”
“Of course. And you are not the only man—or, indeed, woman—whose help I have sought. All died or were otherwise destroyed in pursuit of the Original Seed.”
“And why should I have any better chance of succeeding?”
“Because you are a Warrior Priest of Phum and I am an Imperial Princess of Melniboné.”
Rackhir had discovered the corpse of his horse. What kind of barbarians slew a horse for no good reason? A valuable horse? He stood over the beast, frowning. His saddle bags were untouched. There had been no attempt to rob him. What had they wanted? He turned, putting this question to O’Indura.
“They wanted your blood,” she said. “They wanted your blood to feed the Seed. That was why they fought so cautiously and why you defeated so many with such relative ease. They killed the horse to hamper your escape.”
This made sense to Rackhir. Then another question came to him. “Do you live amongst these people?”
“I do not. I have to maintain their superstition, their fear of me, or they would use my blood, too, to feed the Seed. Yet they believe I am the spirit of the Seed. Its personification, if you like. With a variety of allies I have made many attempts to get close to it, but it lies deep underground, in a chamber I have never been able to negotiate and it is guarded by the creature who lured me here in the first place, whose language I spoke, a monstrous three-eyed serpent, one bite from which entails an agonized death. She claimed to be the forest’s victim, but now I understand she is its life.”
“You do not make the prospect attractive,” he declared.
“I have no intention of doing so. You are still able to leave this forest and you would best leave while the moon is hidden. I, however, cannot do so, as I’ve explained. Unless I can make a moonbeam road to lead us out of here, I am trapped for ever. If you go, go soon. For you can be sure that, while the moon stays high, the forest will follow you now that it has your scent.”
Rackhir sighed. Thinking deeply, he went from corpse to corpse, skillfully removing his arrows, wiping them and replacing them in his quiver. How he longed for home. And he knew he must believe most of her story, since she spoke the common tongue of his world. For some odd reason his spirits were lifting. He turned to the silver princess, a strange battle-humour playing over his handsome features.
“Very well, lady. I am mightily tired of this island and