Swords & Dark Magic (24 page)

“Salt?” asked Mister Fitz. “It is not salt, but powdered bone and chalk. I have been digging in the tomb of some ancient, vasty creatures. It has been most interesting. Though not, it is clear, as exciting as your reading.”

“Perhaps not,” said Sir Hereward. He lay back on the bed, and pointed at a long wooden case that lay on the floor near his saddlebag. “If you can spare yourself from your digging, what say you to a game of kings and fools?”

Mister Fitz’s pumpkin-size head slowly rotated on his ridiculously thin neck, and his blue eyes peered at Sir Hereward’s face.

“So soon after your last defeat? You are transparent, Here-ward, but I doubt you have found some real advantage. The better player always wins.”

“We shall see,” said Sir Hereward. “Please lay out the set, and if you would be so kind, call down for ale.”

“Oh, and put this back in its place,” said Sir Hereward, stripping the brassard from his arm. “I trust that I will not need it, at least until we reach Bazynghame?”

“Best keep it near,” said Mister Fitz, as he picked up the game box. “There is the small matter of what I was digging for—and what I have found…”

MICHAEL MOORCOCK was born in London, England. At the age of sixteen, he became editor of
Tarzan Adventures,
and later,
Sexton Black Library
. But it was his editorship of
New Worlds
magazine, from May 1964 to March 1971, during which he fostered the “New Wave,” perhaps the most important movement in the history of science fiction. Moorcock is best known, however, for his creation of the Multiverse and his influence on sword and sorcery (a subgenre he helped name, together with Fritz Leiber). His character, Elric of Melniboné, is one of the most influential fantasy antiheroes the genre has ever produced. Not only have the novels been in continuous print since the 1970s, but Elric has crossed over into comics, role-playing games, and rock and roll. Moorcock’s influence on sword and sorcery fiction is colossal and no anthology of same could hope to be complete without him. He and his wife, Linda, currently divide their time between Texas, France, and California.

RED PEARLS

An Elric Story

Michael Moorcock

For George Mann and G. H. Teed

Over the Edge

The sun, rimmed in copper now and bloated as if with blood, settled upon the horizon, casting long black shadows across the strangely made ship, the
Silela Li.
On deck, two priestesses of Xiombarg, in their elaborate quilted habits and glinting bronze crowns, stood at the ship’s rail, considering the view and listening to the distant hungry roar which greeted the coming of darkness with godlike glee. The women began to chant, performing their evening prayers, and it seemed to them that a great shadow in the form of a woman, the shape preferred by their deity, appeared in the sky overhead. As they completed their ritual, two men came up from the passenger quarters below. One was short, with a shock of startling red hair, a ruddy complexion, large blue eyes, and a wide, smiling mouth. He wore a thick padded jacket and deerskin britches tucked into soft boots. His tall companion was clad in black, silk and leather, hair the colour of milk, skin pale as the thinnest bleached linen. His long head with its tapering ears and slightly slanting brows was as remarkable as his sharp, glittering ruby-coloured eyes. Like his companion, he was unarmed. The women, lowering their hands, completed their ceremonies and turned, surprised to see the men, who bowed politely. The priestesses acknowledged the two and passed down the companionway, returning to their cabin below decks. The men replaced the women at the rail of the
Silela Li
. The disc of the sun was halfway below the water now, its light cutting a red road across the sea.

The tall man was well known in the North and West. He was Elric, sometimes called Kinslayer, former emperor of Melniboné, until lately the dominant power in the world; the short man was Moonglum of Elwher in the so-called unmapp’d East. They had been travelling companions for some time and had shared several adventures. Most recently, they had come from Nassea-Tikri, where they had found two more people who had complicated reasons for joining them but this evening had elected to stay below.

Moonglum grinned after the disappearing priestesses. “Xiombarg’s worshippers seem a little more comely in this part of the world. I’m beginning to regret that decision I made in the tavern.”

A faint smile from his friend. “I’m too closely bound to Xiombarg’s fellow Chaos Lord to wish any further entanglement with the Dukes and Duchesses of Entropy. And, if my knowledge of their beliefs is correct, I think you’ll find those two aren’t interested in sharing themselves with anyone but their patron and each other.”

“Ah.” Moonglum regarded the empty companionway with disappointment. “Elric, my friend, sometimes I wish you would not share your knowledge so freely with me.”

“I assure you, I’m sharing very little.” The albino dropped his gaze to inspect the lapping waters below.

Now the sun was almost gone, but the distant roar was somewhat louder, as if in triumph. And then the sun went down, leaving the ship in a grey-gold twilight. A strong wind blew suddenly, filling the ship’s enormous blue sails, and the oarsmen below rested their long oars. Unusually, they took the oars fully into the body of the ship. The two men heard the sound of wood banging against wood, of metal being drawn against metal as the rowlocks were firmly shut.

At this, both men reluctantly left the deck and descended the companionway to where their cabins were located. In the gangway they met the captain’s first officer, Ghatan, who saluted politely. “Make sure all’s watertight within your cabins, masters. We’ll be going over a couple of hours after moonrise. A bell will be sounded in the morning, when it’s safe to unbatten.”

“If we still live,” Moonglum muttered cheerfully.

The mate grinned back at him. “Indeed! Good night, masters. With luck you’ll wake in the World Above.”

Wishing them both good night, Elric entered his quarters. From overhead came a series of heavy thumps and the sound of rattling chains as the ship was tightened against the water.

His cabin was filled with a deep orange light emanating from a lantern hanging from the centre of the low ceiling. It showed a seated woman frowning over a small scroll. She looked up and smiled as the albino entered. Extremely beautiful, she was the black-haired Princess Nauhaduar of Uyt, who, these days, called herself simply Nauha. Her large, dark eyes reflected the light. Her lips were slightly parted in an intelligent smile. “So we have passed the point of no return, my lord.”

“It seems so.” Elric began to strip off his shirt, moving towards their wide bunk piled with quilts and furs. “Perhaps we’d do well to sleep now, before the real noise begins. Too late for you to consider returning to Uyt.”

She shrugged, replacing the scroll in its tubular case. “Never would I wish to miss this experience, my lord. After all, until you convinced me otherwise I shared the common view of our world as dish-shaped. I believed all other descriptions to be mere fool’s tales.”

“Aye. It’s as well so few believe the truth, for the reality would surely confuse them.” He spoke a little abstractedly, his mind on other matters.

“I am,” she said, “still confused.”

“The actuality will be demonstrated anon.” He was naked now, slim and muscular in all his strange, pale beauty. He picked up a pitcher and poured water into a bowl, washing languidly.

She, too, began to prepare for bed. Since she had thrown in her fate with Elric’s, the ennui to which she had become reconciled had disappeared. She felt it could never return now. Elric’s dreams rarely gave him a full night’s sleep, but even if the albino were to abandon her, she would never regret knowing him or, as she suspected, loving him. Kinslayer and traitor he might be, it had never mattered to her what he was or what she risked. Dark and light were inextricably combined in this strange half-human creature whose ancestors had ruled the world before her own race emerged from the mud of creation, whose terrible sword, now rolled in rough cloth and skin and stowed in the lower locker, seemed possessed of its own dark intelligence. She knew she should be afraid of it, as of him, and part of her reexperienced the horror she had already witnessed once, there in the forests of mysterious Soom, but the rest of her was drawn by curiosity to know more about the sword’s properties and the moody prince who carried it. He had warned her what kind of creature he was, yet she had insisted she come with him, leaving her own father and twin sister in Nassea-Tikri to accompany him, even though she abandoned all that was familiar and dear to her. Lying beside that hard, wonderful pale and vibrant body which already slept, she listened intently to the sounds of the ship and the sea. Timbers creaked and the thunder from the horizon grew louder. She sensed the galleon’s speed increasing, evidently borne on a rapid current. She had some notion of what to expect but longed to wake and question the albino. He continued to sleep, murmuring a little yet apparently at peace, and she could not rouse him. But was his apparent lack of concern feigned?

Faintly, from above, a deep-voiced bell sounded. The albino shivered, as if in response, still unwaking. The ship reared, rolling her against his body, reared once more, sending a vibrant shock through her. The
Silela Li
rocked, shuddered, her timbers moaning and straining as her hull dipped one way and then another, rolling from side to side so wildly that Nauha was forced to wrap her arms around her lover to steady herself. Elric moved as if to resist her, then woke for a moment. “Are we over?”

“Not yet.”

He closed his crimson eyes again. For a while they slept. Perhaps for hours, she could not tell.

Nauha awoke to a sense of the ship’s speed increasing. “Elric?”

She gasped as they were tossed cruelly about as if in a vast maelstrom. “Elric!”

Still he made no response. She wondered if he had died or lay in an enchantment, while, from the locker below, came a deep complaint from her lover’s sentient blade. The noise of the water grew into a deafening roar, drowning the grumblings of the black sword as the ship was borne at a steeper and steeper angle of descent:

Towards the edge of the world.

Strangers at Sea

Earlier, when Elric had told her where he was going and assured her he would leave her at the port from which she could return home, Nauha had asked him levelly if he were tired of her. “No,” he had said. “But I would not wish to put you at peril.”

She had no intention of parting from him. She had always wondered at the rumours concerning the doomed prince of ruins. Now she had the chance to discover at least a little of the truth. Moved as much by curiosity as by attraction to him, she gave herself up to the adventure as readily as she had given herself up to his urgent, alien body. Now she was ready to risk her life and her sanity, as she had been warned she must, to discover whatever lay beyond the edge of the world. The albino sorcerer had told her of the dangers, from which few voyagers ever returned. He had spoken quietly of all they might face. And then she had replied to him.

“While I care for life, my lord, I care not for life without risk or excitement.” She had laughed at his serious expression. Did she regret her decision now?

Still the ship gathered speed, trembling urgently from side to side. Every timber protesting, it dipped at an even steeper angle, rocking horribly, threatening to throw Nauha from the bunk. Again she clung to the albino. He murmured, “Cymoril,” and held her in those white arms with gentle strength. How could one so apparently sickly own such power? She moved against him. This was not the first time he had cried out the name of his betrothed, slain, albeit accidentally, by his own hand. In his sleep, he steadied her.

The ship bucked again. Now, suddenly, there was the sensation of falling, falling as the ship plunged over the edge, falling forever, it seemed, until with a massive crash, which made her feel every bone in her was smashed, the
Silela Li
struck an unyielding mass.

Nauha bit her lip. They had hit a reef. There could be no other explanation. The ship was breaking apart. The
Silela Li
moved rhythmically up and down as if in the grip of a monster. Nauha could no longer silence the long, full-throated scream which burst from her body. Certain that they were destroyed and were rapidly sinking, she reconciled herself for death, but Elric’s arms tightened a little more and, when she opened her eyes, she could see through the gloom that he was amused. Was this how he accepted their fate? Why was she reassured?

Then the water became strangely quiet. Were they sinking? The ship gentled into an easy forward motion. Elric closed his eyes. A faint smile touched his lips, as if he’d read her thoughts. Overhead she heard men’s urgent voices, full of relief, calling orders and responses. Suddenly Elric swung out of the bunk and began to unscrew the covers over the cabin’s only porthole, letting in silver light which made his body almost invisible to her. Cool, sweet air crept through the ship. Did she hear a seabird?

“Where are we?” Then she secretly cursed herself for her inanity. He did not answer but moved away from the porthole, becoming a shadow. Eventually he spoke. His voice was soft, his tone almost formally polite.

“We’re where you did not expect to be. On the underside of the world. Which the people who dwell here call the World Above. I’m not greatly experienced in this, but I think we had an easy transition. There are still several hours to dawn. Best sleep some more.” He touched her face, perhaps making a small spell, and she obeyed.

Later, dozing, she heard a tap at the cabin door and Moonglum called from the other side. Elric rose to answer, letting her cover herself before opening the door to the redheaded Elwherite, who stood there grinning, his arm around Cita Tine. She was pretty, with steady, daring eyes and a firm mouth. Moonglum had met her in the Steel Womb the night before they embarked. Cita Tine was short and sturdy, with a dancer’s figure and muscles. She had black hair and eyes, a dark skin typical of her people. She seemed most relieved of all. No doubt she too had expected to die as the ship fell. Now she breathed in the sweet, cool air blowing through the ship and she cocked her head merrily, hearing the oars being unshipped and thrust into choppy water. There came a snap as the wind took a sail. From somewhere came the smell of frying meat. Overhead a dozen voices called at once. Everyone aboard had an air of astonishment, of disbelief that they survived. Even Nauha’s moody lover was apparently more light-headed than usual as he made his excuses and called for warm water.