Elric of Melniboné Page 5

  The dull red semicircle of the sun showed above the black line of the distant water. There came a series of booming sounds from the forward decks of the flagship as the catapults released their fiery shot; there was a whistling scream, fading away, and it seemed that a dozen meteors leapt through the sky, hurtling towards the five galleys which were now little more than thirty ship-lengths away.

  Elric saw two galleys flare, but the remaining three began to sail a zig-zag course and avoided the fireballs which landed on the water and burned fitfully for a while before sinking (still burning) into the depths.

  More fireballs were prepared and Elric heard Yyrkoon shout from the other side of the bridge, ordering the slaves to greater exertions. Then the fleeing vessels changed their tactics, evidently realising that they could not save themselves for long, and, spreading out, sailed towards The Son of the Pyaray, just as the other ships had done in the sea-maze. It was not merely their courage that Elric admired but their manoeuvring skill and the speed at which they had arrived at this logical, if hopeless, decision.

  The sun was behind the southland ships as they turned. Three brave silhouettes drew nearer to the Melnibonean flagship as scarlet stained the sea, as if in anticipation of the bloodletting to come.

  Another volley of fireballs was flung from the flagship and the leading galley tried to tack round and avoid it, but two of the fiery globes spattered directly on its deck and soon the whole ship was alive with flame. Burning men leapt into the water. Burning men shot arrows at the flagship. Burning men fell slowly from their positions in the rigging. The burning men died, but the burning ship came on; someone had lashed the steering arm and directed the galley at The Son of the Pyaray. It crashed into the golden side of the battle-barge and some of the fire splashed on the deck where the main catapults were in position. A cauldron containing the fire-stuff caught and immediately men were running from all quarters of the ship to try to douse the flame. Elric grinned as he saw what the barbarians had done. Perhaps that ship had deliberately allowed itself to be fired. Now the majority of the flagship's complement was engaged with putting out the blaze—while the southland ships drew alongside, threw up their own grapples, and began to board.

  “’Ware boarders!” Elric shouted, long after he might have warned his crew. “Barbarians attack.”

  He saw Yyrkoon whirl round, see the situation, and rush down the steps from the bridge. “You stay there, my lord king,” he flung at Elric as he disappeared. “You are plainly too weary to fight.”

  And Elric summoned all that was left of his strength and stumbled after his cousin, to help in the defense of the ship.

  The barbarians were not fighting for their lives—they knew those to be taken already. They were fighting for their pride. They wanted to take one Melnibonean ship down with them and that ship must be the flagship itself. It was hard to be contemptuous of such men. They knew that even if they took the flagship the other ships of the golden fleet would soon overwhelm them.

  But the other ships were still some distance away. Many lives would be lost before they reached the flagship.

  On the lowest deck Elric found himself facing a pair of tall barbarians, each armed with a curved blade and a small, oblong shield. He lunged forward, but his armour seemed to drag at his limbs, his own shield and sword were so heavy that he could barely lift them. Two swords struck his helm, almost simultaneously. He lunged back and caught a man in the arm, rammed the other with his shield. A curved blade clanged on his backplate and he all but lost his footing. There was choking smoke everywhere, and heat, and the tumult of battle. Desperately he swung about him and felt his broadsword bite deep into flesh. One of his opponents fell, gurgling, with blood spouting from his mouth and nose. The other lunged. Elric stepped backwards, fell over the corpse of the man he had slain, and went down, his broadsword held out before him in one hand. And as the triumphant barbarian leapt forward to finish the albino, Elric caught him on the point of the broadsword, running him through. The dead man fell towards Elric who did not feel the impact, for he had already fainted. Not for the first time had his deficient blood, no longer enriched by drugs, betrayed him.

  He tasted salt and thought at first it was blood. But it was sea water. A wave had risen over the deck and momentarily revived him. He struggled to crawl from under the dead man and then he heard a voice he recognised. He twisted his head and looked up.

  Prince Yyrkoon stood there. He was grinning. He was full of glee at Elric's plight. Black, oily smoke still drifted everywhere, but the sounds of the fight had died.

  “Are—are we victorious, cousin?” Elric spoke painfully.

  “Aye. The barbarians are all dead now. We are about to sail for Imrryr.”

  Elric was relieved. He would begin to die soon if he could not get to his store of potions.

  His relief must have been evident, for Yyrkoon laughed. “It is as well the battle did not last longer, my lord, or we should have been without our leader.”

  “Help me up, cousin.” Elric hated to ask Prince Yyrkoon any favour, but he had no choice. He stretched out his empty hand. “I am fit enough to inspect the ship.”

  Yyrkoon came forward as if to take the hand, but then he hesitated, still grinning. “But, my lord, I disagree. You will be dead by the time this ship turns eastward again.”

  “Nonsense. Even without the drugs I can live for a considerable time, though movement is difficult. Help me up, Yyrkoon, I command you.”

  “You cannot command me, Elric. I am emperor now, you see.”

  “Be wary, cousin. I can overlook such treachery, but others will not. I shall be forced to...”

  Yyrkoon swung his legs over Elric's body and went to the rail. Here were bolts which fixed one section of the rail in place when it was not used for the gangplank. Yyrkoon slowly released the bolts and kicked the section of rail into the water.

  Now Elric's efforts to free himself became more desperate. But he could hardly move at all.

  Yyrkoon, on the other hand, seemed possessed of unnatural strength. He bent and easily flung the corpse away from Elric.

  “Yyrkoon,” said Elric, “this is unwise of you.”

  “I was never a cautious man, cousin, as well as you know.” Yyrkoon placed a booted foot against Elric's ribs and began to shove. Elric slid towards the gap in the rail. He could see the black sea heaving below. “Farewell, Elric. Now a true Melnibonean shall sit upon the Ruby Throne. And, who knows, might even make Cymoril his queen? It has not been unheard of...”

  And Elric felt himself rolling, felt himself fall, felt himself strike the water, felt his armour pulling him below the surface. And Yyrkoon's last words drummed in Elric's ears like the persistent booming of the waves against the sides of the golden battle-barge.

  Book Two

  Less certain of himself or his destiny than ever, the albino king must perforce bring his powers of sorcery into play, conscious that he has embarked upon a course of action by no means at one with his original conception of the way he wished to live his life. And now matters must be settled. He must begin to rule. He must become cruel. But even in this he will find himself thwarted.

  1.

  The Caverns of the Sea King

  Elric sank rapidly, desperately trying to keep the last of his breath in his body. He had no strength to swim and the weight of the armour denied any hope of his rising to the surface and being sighted by Magum Colim or one of the others still loyal to him.

  The roaring in his ears gradually faded to a whisper so that it sounded as if little voices were speaking to him, the voices of the water elementals with whom, in his youth, he had had a kind of friendship. And the pain in his lungs faded; the red mist cleared from his eyes and he thought he saw the face of his father, Sadric, of Cymoril and, fleetingly, of Yyrkoon. Stupid Yyrkoon: for all that he prided himself that he was a Melnibonean, he lacked the Melnibonean subtlety. He was as brutal and direct as some of the Young Kingdom barbarians he so much despised. And now Elric
began to feel almost grateful to his cousin. His life was over. The conflicts which tore his mind would no longer trouble him. His fears, his torments, his loves and his hatreds all lay in the past and only oblivion lay before him. As the last of his breath left his body, he gave himself wholly to the sea; to Straasha, Lord of all the Water Elementals, once the comrade of the Melnibonean folk. And as he did this he remembered the old spell which his ancestors had used to summon Straasha. The spell came unbidden into his dying brain.

  Waters of the sea, thou gave us birth

  And were our milk and mother both

  In days when skies were overcast

  You who were first shall be the last.

  Sea-rulers, fathers of our blood,

  Thine aid is sought, thine aid is sought,

  Your salt is blood, our blood your salt,

  Your blood the blood of Man.

  Straasha, eternal king, eternal sea

  Thine aid is sought by me;

  For enemies of thine and mine

  Seek to defeat our destiny, and drain away our sea.

  Either the words had an old, symbolic meaning or they referred to some incident in Melnibonean history which even Elric had not read about. The words meant very little to him and yet they continued to repeat themselves as his body sank deeper and deeper into the green waters. Even when blackness overwhelmed him and his lungs filled with water, the words continued to whisper through the corridors of his brain. It was strange that he should be dead and still hear the incantation.

  It seemed a long while later that his eyes opened and revealed swirling water and, through it, huge, indistinct figures gliding towards him. Death, it appeared, took a long time to come and, while he died, he dreamed. The leading figure had a turquoise beard and hair, pale green skin that seemed made of the sea itself and, when he spoke, a voice that was like a rushing tide. He smiled at Elric.

  Straasha answers thy summons, mortal. Our destinies are bound together. How may I aid thee, and, in aiding thee, aid myself?

  Elric's mouth was filled with water and yet he still seemed capable of speech (thus proving he dreamed).

  He said:

  “King Straasha. The paintings in the Tower of D'arputna—in the library. When I was a boy I saw them, King Straasha.”

  The sea-king stretched out his sea-green hands. “Aye. You sent the summons. You need our aid. We honour our ancient pact with your folk.”

  “No. I did not mean to summon you. The summons came unbidden to my dying mind. I am happy to drown, King Straasha.”

  “That cannot be. If your mind summoned us it means you wish to live. We will aid you.” King Straasha's beard streamed in the tide and his deep, green eyes were gentle, almost tender, as they regarded the albino.

  Elric closed his own eyes again. “I dream,” he said. “I deceive myself with fantasies of hope.” He felt the water in his lungs and he knew he no longer breathed. It stood to reason, therefore, that he was dead. “But if you were real, old friend, and you wished to aid me, you would return me to Melnibone so that I might deal with the usurper, Yyrkoon, and save Cymoril, before it is too late. That is my only regret—the torment which Cymoril will suffer if her brother becomes Emperor of Melnibone.”

  “Is that all you ask of the water elementals?” King Straasha seemed almost disappointed.

  “I do not even ask that of you. I only voice what I would have wished, had this been reality and I was speaking, which I know is impossible. Now I shall die.”

  “That cannot be, Lord Elric, for our destinies are truly intertwined and I know that it is not yet your destiny to perish. Therefore I will aid you as you have suggested.”

  Elric was surprised at the sharpness of detail of this fantasy. He said to himself. “What a cruel torment I subject myself to. Now I must set about admitting my death...”

  “You cannot die. Not yet.”

  Now it was as if the sea-king's gentle hands had picked him up and bore him through twisting corridors of a delicate coral pink texture, slightly shadowed, no longer in water. And Elric felt the water vanish from his lungs and stomach and he breathed. Could it be that he had actually been brought to the legendary plane of the elemental folk—a plane which intersected that of the earth and in which they dwelled, for the most part?

  In a huge, circular cavern, which shone with pink and blue mother-of-pearl, they came to rest at last. The sea-king laid Elric down upon the floor of the cavern, which seemed to be covered with fine, white sand which was yet not sand for it yielded and then sprang back when he moved.

  When King Straasha moved, it was with a sound like the tide drawing itself back over shingle. The sea-king crossed the white sand, walking towards a large throne of milky jade. He seated himself upon this throne and placed his green head on his green fist, regarding Elric with puzzled, yet compassionate eyes.

  Elric was still physically weak, but he could breathe. It was as if the sea water had filled him and then cleansed him when it was driven out. He felt clear-headed. And now he was much less sure that he dreamed.

  “I still find it hard to know why you saved me, King Straasha,” he murmured from where he lay on the sand.

  “The rune. We heard it on this plane and we came. That is all.”

  “Aye. But there is more to sorcery-working than that. There are chants, symbols, rituals of all sorts. Previously that has always been true.”

  “Perhaps the rituals take the place of urgent need of the kind which sent out your summons to us. Though you say you wished to die, it was evident you did not really want to die or the summoning would not have been so clear and have reached us so swiftly. Forget all this now. When you have rested, we shall do what you have requested of us.”

  Painfully, Elric raised himself into a sitting position. “You spoke earlier of ‘intertwined destinies’. Do you, then, know something of my destiny?”

  “A little, I think. Our world grows old. Once the elementals were powerful on your plane and the people of Melnibone all shared that power. But now our power wanes, as does yours. Something is changing. There are intimations that the Lords of the Higher Worlds are again taking an interest in your world. Perhaps they fear that the folk of the Young Kingdoms have forgotten them. Perhaps the folk of the Young Kingdoms threaten to bring in a new age, where gods and beings such as myself no longer shall have a place. I suspect there is a certain unease upon the planes of the Higher Worlds.”

  “You know no more?”

  King Straasha raised his head and looked directly into Elric's eyes. “There is no more I can tell you, son of my old friends, save that you would be happier if you gave yourself up entirely to your destiny when you understand it.”

  Elric sighed. “I think I know of what you speak, King Straasha. I shall try to follow your advice.”

  “And now that you have rested, it is time to return.”

  The sea-king rose from his throne of milky jade and flowed towards Elric, lifting him up in strong, green arms.

  “We shall meet again before your life ends, Elric. I hope that I shall be able to aid you once more. And remember that our brothers of the air and of fire will try to aid you also. And remember the beasts—they, too, can be of service to you. There is no need to suspect their help. But beware of gods, Elric. Beware of the Lords of the Higher Worlds and remember that their aid and their gifts must always be paid for.”

  These were the last words Elric heard the sea-king speak before they rushed again through the sinuous tunnels of this other plane, moving at such a speed that Elric could distinguish no details and, at times, did not know whether they remained in King Straasha's kingdom or had returned to the depths of his own world's sea.

  2.

  A New Emperor

  and an Emperor Renewed

  Strange clouds filled the sky and the sun hung heavy and huge and red behind them and the ocean was black as the golden galleys swept homeward before their battered flagship The Son of the Pyaray which moved slowly with dead slaves at her oars and
her tattered sails limp at their masts and smoke-begrimed men on her decks and a new emperor upon her war-wrecked bridge. The new emperor was the only jubilant man in the fleet and he was jubilant indeed. It was his banner now, not Elric's, which took pride of place on the flagmast, for he had lost no time in proclaiming Elric slain and himself ruler of Melnibone.

  To Yyrkoon, the peculiar sky was an omen of change, of a return to the old ways and the old power of the Dragon Isle. When he issued orders, his voice was a veritable croon of pleasure, and Admiral Magum Colim, who had ever been wary of Elric but who now had to obey Yyrkoon's orders, wondered if, perhaps, it would not have been preferable to have dealt with Yyrkoon in the manner in which (he suspected) Yyrkoon had dealt with Elric.

  Dyvim Tvar leaned on the rail of his own ship, Terhali's Particular Satisfaction, and he also paid attention to the sky, though he saw omens of doom, for he mourned for Elric and considered how he might take vengeance on Prince Yyrkoon; should it emerge that Yyrkoon had murdered his cousin for possession of the Ruby Throne.

  Melnibone appeared on the horizon, a brooding silhouette of crags, a dark monster squatting in the sea, calling her own back to the heated pleasures of her womb, the Dreaming City of Imrryr. The great cliffs loomed, the central gate to the sea-maze opened, water slapped and gasped as the golden prows disturbed it and the golden ships were swallowed into the murky dankness of the tunnels where bits of wreckage still floated from the previous night's encounter; where white, bloated corpses could still be seen when the brandlight touch them. The prows nosed arrogantly through the remains of their prey, but there was no joy aboard the golden battle-barges, for they brought news of their old emperor's death in battle (Yyrkoon had told them what had happened). Next night and for seven nights in all the Wild Dance of Melnibone would fill the streets. Potions and petty spells would ensure that no one slept, for sleep was forbidden to any Melnibonean, old or young, while a dead emperor was mourned. Naked, the Dragon Princes would prowl the city, taking any young woman they found and filling her with their seed for it was traditional that if an emperor died then the nobles of Melnibone must create as many children of aristocratic blood as was possible. Music-slaves would howl from the top of every tower. Other slaves would be slain and some eaten. It was a dreadful dance, the Dance of Misery, and it took as many lives as it created. A tower would be pulled down and a new one erected during those seven days and the tower would be called for Elric VIII, the Albino Emperor, slain upon the sea, defending Melnibone against the southland pirates.