Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [193]
Now the remaining warriors were gathering under the stone arch of the entrance. Rackhir felt almost sorry for them as they looked in wonder at the cup O’Indura held. They could not believe it was being taken from them by the woman they had worshipped as its spirit. He nocked another arrow to his bow and shot an attacker through the throat. This did not stop the warrior at once. He came stumbling forward, bronze sword raised, his free hand reaching for the beaker, then his feet gradually moved faster and faster over the ground as his body fell and he died sprawling at Ronan’s feet. But more warriors were pouring from the entrance. Too many for him to fight in this natural arena.
The archer still did not wholly trust the Melnibonéan woman. He kept half an eye on her as he watched the warriors. He had no arrows left in his quiver. He felt a knot in his stomach, a sense of deep failure. Had he done all this just to become a meal for some predatory supernatural?
Then she was at his side again, clutching his arm and leading him backwards. “We have the Seed,” she said. “With it we can return to our home realm.” She reached into the beaker and took out something about the size of a walnut.
“What’s that?” He flung a battle-axe. A green-skinned warrior fell. How many more had filled that horrible chamber?
“The Seed,” she said. “Put it into your mouth. But be sure not to swallow.”
He could hardly believe what he heard. “Put that in my mouth? Why, by Krim, would I do that?”
“Have I failed you yet, Red Archer?”
“Why don’t you—?”
“I am not a man, nor a warrior. Nor am I human as you are human. Do it, Priest of Phum. You’ll not regret this!”
So, against all reason, he took the Seed and placed it gingerly in his mouth. He expected the taste to be unpleasant, but it was strangely sweet and delicate. He began to feel an entirely unfamiliar energy coursing through him. He recalled how he had felt, almost dying of thirst, as he crossed the Sighing Desert, questing for Tana Lorn. He had seen mirage after mirage as his fevered brain imposed its visions on the barren wastes. He was hallucinating again, surely?
He felt a sudden, euphoric kinship with the surrounding trees. He was one of them. He had more than two legs, more than two arms. He had instead countless numbers of sturdy roots and branches. And each branch ended in something like a weapon. He swung one of his branches, knowing at once that if he were hallucinating, then so were the green warriors. Clubbed, the man went flying back towards the entrance of the barrow. He swung again. Another warrior was sent hurtling backwards. He sensed that the silver Melnibonéan had climbed onto his back as he gradually moved out of the glade, killing and scattering warriors as a terrier killed rats, until at last their antagonists became afraid and followed them no longer. As he paused, resting, her long, warm fingers reached into his mouth. He thought to resist, but it was too late…
And he was a mortal man again, standing beside her as she replaced the Seed in the cup and then spat into it. Suddenly her other hand, which did not hold the cup, shot out and in it was her silver knife.
“So—you’d betray me, after all,” he growled, lurching to seize her wrist, but she was too swift for him. He yelled in sudden, extraordinary pain as the cold knife sliced through his wrist and she held the cup to catch his gushing blood. “You hell-bitch! I’ll—”
She grinned into his face. “You’ll do nothing. I am saving your life, Red Archer!”
With the speed of a striking snake she sliced through her own wrist and her blood mingled with his in the cup.
“The Seed needs our nourishment. It will take us home!