The Weird of the White Wolf - Michael Moorcock [13]
Elric stood over the eunuch's bloated body and tugged his sword from the corpse's skull, wiping the mixture of blood and brains on his late opponent's cloak. Tanglebones had wisely vanished. Elric could hear the clatter of sandalled feet rushing up the stairs. He pushed the door open and entered the room which was lit by two small candles placed at either end of a wide, richly tapestried bed. He went to the bed and looked down at the raven-haired girl who lay there.
Elric's mouth twitched and bright tears leapt into his strange red eyes. He was trembling as he turned back to the door, sheathed his sword and pulled the bolts into place. He returned to the bedside and knelt down beside the sleeping girl. Her features were as delicate and of a similar mould as Elric's own, but she had an added, exquisite beauty. She was breathing shallowly, in a sleep induced not by natural weariness but by her own brother's evil sorcery.
Elric reached out and tenderly took one fine-fingered hand in his. He put it to his lips and kissed it.
“Cymoril,” he murmured, and an agony of longing throbbed in that name. “Cymoril—wake up.”
The girl did not stir, her breathing remained shallow and her eyes remained shut. Elric's white features twisted and his red eyes blazed as he shook in terrible and passionate rage. He gripped the hand, so limp and nerveless, like the hand of a corpse; gripped it until he had to stop himself for fear that he would crush the delicate fingers.
A shouting soldier began to beat at the door.
Elric replaced the hand on the girl's firm breast and stood up. He glanced uncomprehendingly at the door.
A sharper, colder voice interrupted the soldier's yelling.
“What is happening—has someone tried to see my poor sleeping sister?”
“Yyrkoon, the black hellspawn,” said Elric to himself.
Confused babblings from the soldier and Yyrkoon's voice raised as he shouted through the door. “Whoever is in there—you will be destroyed a thousand times when you are caught. You cannot escape. If my good sister is harmed in any way—then you will never die, I promise you that. But you will pray to your Gods that you could!”
“Yyrkoon, you paltry rabble—you cannot threaten one who is your equal in the dark arts. It is I, Elric—your rightful master. Return to your rabbit hole before I call down every evil power upon, above, and under the Earth to blast you!”
Yyrkoon laughed hesitantly. “So you have returned again to try to waken my sister. Any such attempt will not only slay her—it will send her soul into the deepest hell—where you may join it, willingly!”
“By Arnara's six breasts—you it will be who samples the thousand deaths before long.”
“Enough of this.” Yyrkoon raised his voice. “Soldiers—I command you to break this door down—and take that traitor alive. Elric—there are two things you will never again have—my sister's love and the Ruby Throne. Make what you can of the little time available to you, for soon you will be grovelling to me and praying for release from your soul's agony!”
Elric ignored Yyrkoon's threats and looked at the narrow window to the room. It was just large enough for a man's body to pass through. He bent down and kissed Cymoril upon the lips, then he went to the door and silently withdrew the bolts.
There came a crash as a soldier flung his weight against the door. It swung open, pitching the man forward to stumble and fall on his face. Elric drew his sword, lifted it high and chopped at the warrior's neck. The head sprang from its shoulders and Elric yelled loudly in a deep, rolling voice.
“Arioch! Arioch! I give you blood and souls—only aid me now! This man I give you, mighty King of Hell—aid your servant, Elric of Melniboné!”
Three soldiers entered the room in a bunch. Elric struck at one and sheared off half his face. The man screamed horribly.
“Arioch, Lord of the Darks—I give you blood and souls. Aid me, evil