Elric of Melnibone by Michael Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock [Moorcock, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780575082700
Google: SIvEPQAACAAJ
Amazon: 1857987438
Publisher: Gollancz
Published: 1987-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Dyvim Tvar returned with Cymoril. The girl was pale but she was smiling. She ran into the throne room. ‘Elric!’

‘Cymoril! Are you harmed?’

Cymoril glanced at the crestfallen captain of her guard who had been brought with her. A look of disgust crossed her fine face. Then she shook her head. ‘No. I am not harmed.’

The captain of Cymoril’s guard was shaking with terror. He looked pleadingly at Yyrkoon as if hoping that his fellow prisoner could help him. But Yyrkoon continued to stare at the floor.

‘Have that one brought closer.’ Elric pointed at the captain of the guard. The man was dragged to the foot of the steps leading to the Ruby Throne. He moaned. ‘What a petty traitor you are,’ said Elric. ‘At least Yyrkoon had the courage to attempt to slay me. And his ambitions were high. Your ambition was merely to become one of his pet curs. So you betrayed your mistress and slew one of your own men. What is your name?’

The man had difficulty speaking, but at last he murmured, ‘It is Valharik, my name. What could I do? I serve the Ruby Throne, whoever sits upon it.’

‘So the traitor claims that loyalty motivated him. I think not.’

‘It was, my lord. It was.’ The captain began to whine. He fell to his knees. ‘Slay me swiftly. Do not punish me more.’

Elric’s impulse was to heed the man’s request, but he looked at Yyrkoon and then remembered the expression on Cymoril’s face when she had looked at the guard. He knew that he must make a point now, whilst making an example of Captain Valharik. So he shook his head. ‘No. I will punish you more. Tonight you will die here according to the traditions of Melnibone, while my nobles feast to celebrate this new era of my rule.’

Valharik began to sob. Then he stopped himself and got slowly to his feet, a Melnibonean again. He bowed low and stepped backward, giving himself into the grip of his guards.

‘I must consider a way in which your fate may be shared with the one you wished to serve,’ Elric went on. ‘How did you slay the young warrior who sought to obey Cymoril?’

‘With my sword. I cut him down. It was a clean stroke. But one.’

‘And what became of the corpse.’

‘Prince Yyrkoon told me to feed it to Princess Cymoril’s slaves.’

‘I understand. Very well, Prince Yyrkoon, you may join us at the feast tonight while Captain Valharik entertains us with his dying.’

Yyrkoon’s face was almost as pale as Elric’s. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The little pieces of Captain Valharik’s flesh which our Doctor Jest will carve from his limbs will be the meat on which you feast. You may give instructions as to how you wish the captain’s flesh prepared. We should not expect you to eat it raw, cousin.’

Even Dyvim Tvar looked astonished at Elric’s decision. Certainly it was in the spirit of Melnibone and a clever irony improving on Prince Yyrkoon’s own idea, but it was unlike Elric— or, at least, it was unlike the Elric he had known up until a day earlier.

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