The Weird of the White Wolf - Michael Moorcock [44]
Peace, he thought, was all he sought. Yet even peace in death was denied him. It was in this mood that he continued to brood until his reverie was broken by a soft scratching at the door.
Immediately his expression hardened. His crimson eyes took on a guarded look, his shoulders lifted so that when he stood up he was all cool arrogance. He placed the cup on the table and said lightly:
“Enter!”
A woman entered, swathed in a dark red cloak, unrecognisable in the gloom of the room. She closed the door behind her and stood there, motionless and unspeaking.
When at length she spoke, her voice was almost hesitant, though there was some irony in it, too.
“You sit in darkness, Lord Elric, I had thought to find you asleep ...”
“Sleep, madam, is the occupation that bores me most. But I will light a torch if you find the darkness unattractive.” He went to the table and removed the cover from the small bowl of charcoal which lay there. He reached for a thin wooden spill and placed one end in the bowl, blowing gently. Soon the charcoal glowed, and the taper caught, and he touched it to a reed torch that hung in a bracket on the wall above the table.
The torch flared and sent shadows skipping around the small chamber. The woman drew back her cowl and the light caught her dark, heavy features and the masses of black hair which framed them. She contrasted strongly with the slender, aesthetic albino who stood a head taller, looking at her impassively.
She was unused to impassive looks and the novelty pleased her.
“You sent for me, Lord Elric—and you see I am here.” She made a mock curtsey.
“Queen Yishana,” he acknowledged the curtsey with a slight bow. Now that she confronted him, she sensed his power—a power that perhaps attracted even more strongly than her own. And yet, he gave no hint that he responded to her. She reflected that a situation she had expected to be interesting might, ironically, become frustrating. Even this amused her.
Elric, in turn, was intrigued by this woman in spite of himself. His jaded emotions hinted that Yishana might restore their edge. This excited him and perturbed him at once.
He relaxed a little and shrugged. “I have heard of you, Queen Yishana, in other lands than Jharkor. Sit down if you wish.” He indicated a bench and seated himself on the edge of the bed.
“You are more courteous than your summons suggested,” she smiled as she sat down, crossed her legs, and folded her arms in front of her. “Does this mean that you will listen to a proposition I have?”
He smiled back. It was a rare smile for him, a little grim, but without the usual bitterness. “I think so. You are an unusual woman, Queen Yishana. Indeed, I would suspect that you had Melnibonéan blood if I did not know better.”
“Not all your Young Kingdom 'upstarts' are quite as unsophisticated as you believe, my lord.”
“Perhaps.”
“Now that I see you at last, face to face, I find your dark legend a little hard to credit in parts—and yet, on the other hand,” she put her head on one side and regarded him frankly, “it would seem that the legends speak of a less subtle man than the one I see before me.”
“That is the way with legends.”
“Ah,” she half-whispered, “what a force we could be together, you and I...”
“Speculation of that sort irritates me, Queen Yishana. What is your purpose in coming here?”
“Very well, I did not expect you to listen, even.”
“I'll listen—but expect nothing more.”
“Then listen. I think the story will be appreciated, even by you.”
Elric listened and, as Yishana had suspected, the tale she told began to catch his interest...
Several months ago, Yishana told Elric, peasants in the Gharavian province of Jharkor began to talk of some mysterious riders who were carrying off young men and women from the villages.
Suspecting bandits, Yishana had sent a detachment of her White Leopards, Jharkor's