The Weird of the White Wolf - Michael Moorcock [43]
Theleb K'aarna continued to scowl at her. “How can that decadent spell-singer help you where I cannot?” he muttered, sitting down on the bed and stroking her bejewelled foot.
Yishana was not a young woman, neither was she pretty. Yet there was an hypnotic quality about her tall, full body, her lush black hair, and her wholly sensuous face. Few of the men she had singled out for her pleasure had been able to resist her.
Neither was she sweet-natured, just, wise, nor self-sacrificing. The historians would append no noble soubriquet to her name. Still, there was something so self-sufficient about her, something denying the usual standards by which a person was judged, that all who knew her admired her, and she was well-loved by those she ruled—loved rather as a wilful child is loved, yet loved with firm loyalty.
Now she laughed quietly, mockingly at her sorcerer lover.
“You're probably right, Theleb K'aarna, but Elric is a legend—the most spoken-of, least-known man in the world. This is my opportunity to discover what others have only speculated on—his true character.”
Theleb K'aarna made a pettish gesture. He stroked his long black beard and got up, walking to a table bearing fruit and wine. He poured wine for them both. “If you seek to make me jealous again, you are succeeding, of course. I hold little hope for your ambition. Elric's ancestors were half-demons—his race is not human and cannot be judged by our yardsticks. To us, sorcery is learned after years of study and sacrifice—to Elric's kind, sorcery is intuitive—natural. You may not live to learn his secrets. Cymoril, his beloved cousin, died on his blade—and she was his betrothed!”
“Your concern is touching.” She lazily accepted the goblet he handed to her. “But I'll continue with my plan, none the less. After all, you can hardly claim to have had much success in discovering the nature of this citadel!”
“There are subtleties I have not properly plumbed as yet!”
“Then perhaps Elric's intuition will provide answers where you fail,” she smiled. Then he got up and looked through the window at the sky where the full moon hung in a clear sky over the spires of Dhakos. “Yolan is late. If all went properly, he should have brought Elric here by now.”
“Yolan was a mistake. You should not have sent such a close friend of Darmit's. For all we know, he's challenged Elric and killed him!”
Again she couldn't resist laughter. “Oh, you wish too hard—it clouds your reason. I sent Yolan because I knew he would be rude to the albino and perhaps weaken his usual insouciance—arouse his curiosity. Yolan was a kind of bait to bring Elric to us!”
“Then possibly Elric sensed this?”
“I am not overly intelligent, my love—but I think my instincts rarely betray me. We shall see soon.”
A little later there was a discreet scratch at the door and a handmaiden entered.
“Your Highness, Count Yolan has returned.”
“Only Count Yolan?” There was a smile on Theleb K'aarna's face. It was to disappear in a short while as Yishana left the room, garbed for the street.
“You are a fool!” he snarled as the door slammed. He flung down his goblet. Already he had been unsuccessful in the matter of the citadel and, if Elric displaced him, he could lose everything. He began to think very deeply, very carefully.
THREE
* * *
Though he claimed lack of conscience, Elric's tormented eyes belied the claim as he sat at his window, drinking strong wine and thinking on the past. Since the sack of Imrryr, he had quested the world, seeking some purpose to his existence, some meaning to his life.
He had failed to find the answer