To Rescue Tanelorn (29 page)

Theleb K’aarna scowled. For all his skill in the black arts, he was a fool in love; and Yishana, sprawled on her fur-rich bed, knew it. It pleased her to have power over a man who could destroy her with a simple incantation if it were not for his love-weakness. Though Theleb K’aarna stood high in the hierarchy of Pan Tang, it was clear to her that she was in no danger from the sorcerer. Indeed, her intuition informed her that this man who loved to dominate others also needed to be dominated. She filled this need for him—with relish.

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 bejeweled 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 willful 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, nonetheless. 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 she got up and looked through the window 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 Dharmit’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.

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 in the Dead Gods’ Book. He had failed to love Shaarilla, the wingless woman of Myyrrhn, failed to forget Cymoril, who still inhabited his nightmares. And there were memories of other dreams—of a fate he dare not think upon.

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, unrecognizable 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 finest fighting men, to the province to put down the brigands.

None of the White Leopards had returned. A second expedition had found no trace of them but, in a valley close to the town of Thokora, they had come upon a strange citadel. Descriptions of the citadel were confused. Suspecting that the White Leopards had attacked and been defeated, the officer in charge had used discretion, left a few men to watch the citadel and report anything they saw, and returned at once to Dhakos. One thing was certain—the citadel had not been in the valley a few months before.

Yishana and Theleb K’aarna had led a large force to the valley. The men left behind had disappeared but, as soon as he saw the citadel, Theleb K’aarna had warned Yishana not to attack.

“It was a marvelous sight, Lord Elric,” Yishana continued. “The citadel scintillated with shining, rainbow colours—colours that were constantly altering, changing. The whole building looked unreal—sometimes it stood out sharply; sometimes it seemed misty, as if about to vanish. Theleb K’aarna said its nature was sorcerous, and we did not doubt him. Something from the Realm of Chaos, he said, and that seemed likely.” She got up.

She spread her hands. “We are not used to large-scale manifestations of sorcery in these parts. Theleb K’aarna was familiar enough with sorcery—he comes from the City of Screaming Statues on Pan Tang, and such things are seen frequently—but even he was taken aback.”

“So you withdrew,” Elric prompted impatiently.

“We were about to—in fact Theleb K’aarna and myself were already riding back at the head of the army when the music came…It was sweet, beautiful, unearthly, painful—Theleb K’aarna shouted to me to ride as swiftly as I could away from it. I dallied, attracted by the music, but he slapped the rump of my horse and we rode, fast as dragons in flight, away from there. Those nearest us also escaped—but we saw the rest turn and move back towards the citadel, drawn by the music. Nearly two hundred men went back—and vanished.”

“What did you do then?” Elric asked as Yishana crossed the floor and sat down beside him. He moved to give her more room.

“Theleb K’aarna has been trying to investigate the nature of the citadel—its purpose and its controller. So far, his divinations have told him little more than he guessed: that the Realm of Chaos has sent the citadel to the Realm of Earth and is slowly extending its range. More and more of our young men and women are being abducted by the minions of Chaos.”

“And these minions?” Yishana had moved a little closer, and this time Elric did not move away.

“None who has sought to stop them has succeeded—few have lived.”

“And what do you seek of me?”

“Help.” She looked closely into his face and reached out a hand to touch him. “You have knowledge of both Chaos and Law—old knowledge, instinctive knowledge if Theleb K’aarna is right. Why, your very gods are Lords of Chaos.”

“That is exactly true, Yishana—and because our patron gods are of Chaos, it is not in my interest to fight against any one of them.”

Now he moved towards her and he was smiling, looking into her eyes. Suddenly, he took her in his arms. “Perhaps you will be strong enough,” he said enigmatically, just before their lips met. “And as for the other matter—we can discuss that later.”

In the deep greenness of a dark mirror, Theleb K’aarna saw something of the scene in Elric’s room and he glowered impotently. He tugged at his beard as the scene faded for the tenth time in a minute. None of his mutterings could restore it. He sat back in his chair of serpent skulls and planned vengeance. That vengeance could take time maturing, he decided; for, if Elric could be useful in the matter of the citadel, there was no point in destroying him yet…

Next afternoon, three riders set off for the town of Thokora. Elric and Yishana rode close together; but the third rider, Theleb K’aarna, kept a frowning distance. If Elric was at all embarrassed by this display on the part of the man he had ousted in Yishana’s affections, he did not show it.