The Sailor on the Sea of Fate Read online

  It took them the rest of the day and all of that night to discover where J'osui C'rein Reyr had hidden his boat.

  They pulled it down to the water in the diffused light of the morning and they inspected it.

  “It's a sturdy boat,” said Count Smiorgan approvingly. “By the look of it, it's made of that same strange material we saw in the library of R'lin K'ren A'a.” He climbed in and searched through the lockers.

  Elric was staring back at the city, thinking of a man who might have become his friend, just as Count Smiorgan had become his friend. He had no friends, save Cymoril, in Melnibone. He sighed.

  Smiorgan had opened several lockers and was grinning at what he saw there. “Pray the Gods I return safe to the Purple Towns—we have what I sought! Look, Elric! Treasure! We have benefited from this venture, after all!”

  “Aye...” Elric's mind was on other things. He forced himself to think of more practical matters. “But the jewels will not feed us, Count Smiorgan,” he said. “It will be a long journey home.”

  “Home?” Count Smiorgan straightened his great back, a bunch of necklaces in either fist. “Melnibone?”

  “The Young Kingdoms. You offered to guest me in your house, I recall.”

  “For the rest of your life, if you wish. You saved my life, friend Elric—now you have helped me save my honour.”

  “These past events have not disturbed you? You saw what my blade can do—to friends as well as enemies.”

  “We do not brood, we of the Purple Towns,” said Count Smiorgan seriously. “And we are not fickle in our friendships. You know an anguish, Prince Elric, that I'll never feel—never understand—but I have already given you my trust. Why should I take it away again? That is not how we are taught to behave in the Purple Towns.” Count Smiorgan brushed at his black beard and he winked. “I saw some cases of provisions amongst the wreckage of Avan's schooner. We'll sail round the island and pick them up.”

  Elric tried to shake the black mood from himself, but it was hard, for he had slain a man who had trusted him, and Smiorgan's talk of trust only made the guilt heavier.

  Together they launched the boat into the weed-thick water and Elric looked back once more at the silent forest and a shiver passed through him. He thought of all the hopes he had entertained on the journey up-river and he cursed himself for a fool.

  He tried to think back, to work out how he had come to be in this place, but too much of the past was confused with those singularly graphic dreams to which he was prone. Had Saxif D'Aan and the world of the blue sun been real? Even now, it faded. Was this place real? There was something dreamlike about it. It seemed to him he had sailed on many fateful seas since he had fled from Pikarayd. Now the promise of the peace of the Purple Towns was very dear to him.

  Soon the time must come when he must return to Cymoril and the Dreaming City, to decide if he was ready to take up the responsibilities of the Bright Empire of Melnibone, but until that moment he would guest with his new friend, Smiorgan, and learn the ways of the simpler, more direct folk of Menii.

  As they raised the sail and began to move with the current, Elric said to Smiorgan suddenly: “You trust me, then, Count Smiorgan?”

  The sealord was a little surprised by the directness of the question. He fingered his beard. “Aye,” he said at length, “as a man. But we live in cynical times, Prince Elric. Even the Gods have lost their innocence, have they not?”

  Elric was puzzled. “Do you think that I shall ever betray you-as-as I betrayed Avan, back there?”

  Smirogan shook his head. “It's not in my nature to speculate upon such matters. You are loyal, Prince Elric. You feign cynicism, yet I think I've rarely met a man so much in need of a little real cynicism.” He smiled. “Your sword betrayed you, did it not?”

  “To serve me, I suppose.”

  “Aye. There's the irony of it. Man may trust man, Prince Elric, but perhaps we'll never have a truly sane world until men learn to trust mankind. That would mean the death of magic, I think.”

  And it seemed to Elric, then, that his runesword trembled at his side, and moaned very faintly, as if it were disturbed by Count Smiorgan's words.