Sailor on the Seas of Fate - Michael Moorcock [28]
"How did you convince them not to kill you, too?" Elric sought among the ruins of the fire for something to eat. He found some cheese and began to chew upon it.
"They had no captain or navigator, it seemed. None were real sailors at all, but coast-huggers, based upon this island. They were stranded here, you see, and had taken to piracy as a last resort, but were too terrified to risk the open sea. Besides, after the fight, they had no ship. We had managed to sink that as we fought. We sailed mine to this shore, but provisions were already low and they had no stomach for setting sail without full holds, so I pretended that I knew this coast (may the gods take my soul if I ever see it again after this business) and offered to lead them inland to a village they might loot. They had heard of no such village, but believed me when I said it lay in a hidden valley. That way I prolonged my life while I waited for the opportunity to be revenged upon them. It was a foolish hope, I know. Yet"—grinning—"as it happened, it was well-founded, after all! Eh?"
The black-bearded man glanced a little warily at Elric, uncertain of what the albino might say, hoping, however, for comradeship, though it was well known how haughty Melnibonéans were. Elric could tell that all these thoughts went through his new acquaintance's mind; he had seen many others make similar calculations. So he smiled openly and slapped the man on the shoulder.
"You saved my life, also, my friend. We are both fortunate."
The man sighed in relief and slung his ax upon his back. "Aye—lucky's the word. But shall our luck hold, I wonder?"
"You do not know the island at all?"
"Nor the waters, either. How we came to them I'll never guess. Enchanted waters, though, without question. You've seen the color of the sun?"
"I have."
"Well"—the seaman bent to remove a pendant from around the Pan Tangian's throat—"you'd know more about enchantments and sorceries than I. How came you here, Sir Melnibonéan?"
"I know not. I fled from some who hunted me. I came to a shore and could flee no further. Then I dreamed a great deal. When next I awoke I was on the shore again, but of this island."
"Spirits of some sort—maybe friendly to you—took you to safety, away from your enemies."
"That's just possible," Elric agreed, "for we have many allies among the elementals. I am called Elric and I am self-exiled from Melniboné. I travel because I believe I have something to learn from the folk of the Young Kingdoms. I have no power, save what you see...."
The black-bearded man's eyes narrowed in appraisal as he pointed at himself with his thumb. "I'm Smiorgan Baldhead, once a sea-lord of the Purple Towns. I commanded a fleet of merchantmen. Perhaps I still do. I shall not know until I return—if I ever do return."
"Then let us pool our knowledge and our resources, Smiorgan Baldhead, and make plans to leave this island as soon as we can."
Elric walked back to where he saw traces of the abandoned game, trampled into the mud and the blood. From among the dice and the ivory slips, the silver and the bronze coins, he found the gold Melnibonéan wheel. He picked it up and held it in his outstretched palm. The wheel almost covered the whole palm. In the old days, it had been the currency of kings.
"This was yours, friend?" he asked Smiorgan.
Smiorgan Baldhead looked up from where he was still searching the Pan Tangian for his stolen possessions. He nodded.
"Aye. Would you keep it as part of your share?"
Elric shrugged. "I'd rather know from whence it came. Who gave it you?"
"It was not stolen. It's Melnibonéan, then?"
"Yes."
"I guessed it."
"From whom did you obtain it?"
Smiorgan straightened up, having completed his search. He scratched at a slight wound on his forearm. "It was used to buy passage on our ship—before we were lost—before the raiders attacked us."
"Passage? By a Melnibonéan?"
"Maybe," said Smiorgan.