“It is.” Elric drew his brows together. “Therefore it might be wise to consider destroying the mirror. But what would happen then, I wonder?”
Arioch raised his beautiful hand. “Although I have answered further questions which are, one could argue, part of the same question, I will answer no more. It could be in your interest to destroy the mirror, but it might be better to consider other means of countering its effects, for it does, I remind you, contain many memories, some of which have been imprisoned for thousands of years. Now I must go. And you must go—to the lands of Oin and Yu which lie several months' journey from here, to the south and well beyond Lormyr. They are best reached by the Ship Which Sails Over Both Land and Sea. Farewell, Elric.”
And a fly buzzed for a moment upon the wall before vanishing.
Elric rushed from the room, shouting for his slaves.
5.
The Ship Which
Sails Over Land and Sea
“And how many dragons still sleep in the caverns?” Elric paced the gallery overlooking the city. It was morning, but no sun came through the dull clouds which hung low upon the towers of the Dreaming City. Imrryr's life continued unchanged in the streets below, save for the absence of the majority of her soldiers who had not yet returned home from their fruitless quests and would not be home for many months to come.
Dyvim Tvar leaned on the parapet of the gallery and stared unseeingly into the streets. His face was tired and his arms were folded on his chest as if he sought to contain what was left of his strength.
“Two perhaps. It would take a great deal to wake them and even then I doubt if they'd be useful to us. What is this ‘Ship Which Sails Over Land and Sea’ which Arioch spoke of?”
“I've read of it before—in the Silver Grimoire and in other tomes. A magic ship. Used by a Melnibonean hero even before there was Melnibone and the empire. But where it exists, and if it exists, I do not know.”
“Who would know?” Dyvim Tvar straightened his back and turned it on the scene below.
“Arioch?” Elric shrugged. “But he would not tell me.”
“What of your friends the Water Elementals. Have they not promised you aid? And would they not be knowledgeable in the matter of ships?”
Elric frowned, deepening the lines which now marked his face. “Aye—Straasha might know. But I'm loath to call on his aid again. The Water Elementals are not the powerful creatures that the Lords of Chaos are. Their strength is limited and, moreover, they are inclined to be capricious, in the manner of the elements. What is more, Dyvim Tvar, I hesitate to use sorcery, save where absolutely imperative...”
“You are a sorcerer, Elric. You have but lately proved your greatness in that respect, involving the most powerful of all sorceries, the summoning of a Chaos Lord—and you still hold back? I would suggest, my lord king, that you consider such logic and that you judge it unsound. You decided to use sorcery in your pursuit of Prince Yyrkoon. The die is already cast. It would be wise to use sorcery now.”
“You cannot conceive of the mental and physical effort involved...”
“I can conceive of it, my lord. I am your friend. I do not wish to see you pained—and yet...”
“There is also the difficulty, Dyvim Tvar, of my physical weakness,” Elric reminded his friend. “How long can I continue in the use of these overstrong potions that now sustain me? They supply me with energy, aye—but they do so by using up my few resources. I might die before I find Cymoril.”
“I stand rebuked.”
But Elric came forward and put his white hand on Dyvim Tvar's butter-coloured cloak. “But what have I to lose, eh? No. You are right. I am a coward to hesitate when Cymoril's life is at stake. I repeat my stupidities—the stupidities which first brought this pass upon us all. I'll do it. Will you come with me to the ocean?”
“Aye.”
Dyvim Tvar began to feel the burden of Elric's conscience settling upon him also. It was a peculiar feeling to come to a Melnibonean and Dyvim Tvar knew very well that he liked it not at all.
Elric had last ridden these paths when he and Cymoril were happy. It seemed a long age ago. He had been a fool to trust that happiness. He turned his white stallion's head towards the cliffs and the sea beyond them. A light rain fell. Winter was descending swiftly on Melnibone.
They left their horses on the cliffs, lest they be disturbed by Elric's sorcery-working, and clambered down to the shore. The rain fell into the sea. A mist hung over the water little more than five ship lengths from the beach. It was deathly still and, with the tall, dark cliffs behind them and the wall of mist before them, it seemed to Dyvim Tvar that they had entered a silent netherworld where might easily be encountered the melancholy souls of those who, in legend, had committed suicide by a process of slow self-mutilation. The sound of the two men's boots on shingle was loud and yet was at once muffled by the mist which seemed to suck at noise and swallow it greedily as if it sustained its life on sound.
“Now,” Elric murmured. He seemed not to notice the brooding and depressive surroundings. “Now I must recall the rune which came so easily, unsummoned, to my brain not many months since.” He left Dyvim Tvar's side and went down to the place where the chill water lapped the land and there, carefully, he seated himself, cross-legged. His eyes stared, unseeingly, into the mist.
To Dyvim Tvar the tall albino appeared to shrink as he sat down. He seemed to become like a vulnerable child and Dyvim Tvar's heart went out to Elric as it might go out to a brave, nervous boy, and Dyvim Tvar had it in mind to suggest that the sorcery be done with and they seek the lands of Oin and Yu by ordinary means.
But Elric was already lifting his head as a dog lifts its head to the moon. And strange, thrilling words began to tumble from his lips and it became plain that, even if Dyvim Tvar did speak now, Elric would not hear him.
Dyvim Tvar was no stranger to the High Speech—as a Melnibonean noble he had been taught it as a matter of course—but the words seemed nonetheless strange to him, for Elric used peculiar inflections and emphases, giving the words a special and secret weight and chanting them in a voice which ranged from bass groan to falsetto shriek. It was not pleasant to listen to such noises coming from a mortal throat and now Dyvim Tvar had some clear understanding of why Elric was reluctant to use sorcery. The Lord of the Dragon Caves, Melnibonean though he was, found himself inclined to step backward a pace or two, even to retire to the cliff-tops and watch over Elric from there, and he had to force himself to hold his ground as the summoning continued.
For a good space of time the rune-chanting went on. The rain beat harder upon the pebbles of the shore and made them glisten. It dashed most ferociously into the still, dark sea, lashed about the fragile head of the chanting, pale-haired figure, and caused Dyvim Tvar to shiver and draw his cloak more closely about his shoulders.
“Straasha—Straasha—Straasha...”
The words mingled with the sound of the rain. They were now barely words at all but sounds which the wind might make or a language which the sea might speak.
“Straasha . . .”
Again Dyvim Tvar had the impulse to move, but this time he desired to go to Elric and tell him to stop, to consider some other means of reaching the lands of Oin and Yu.
“Straasha!”
There was a cryptic agony in the shout.
“Straasha!”
Elric's name formed on Dyvim Tvar's lips, but he found that he could not speak it.
“Straasha!”
The cross-legged figure swayed. The word became the calling of the wind through the Caverns of Time.
“Straasha!”
It was plain to Dyvim Tvar that the rune was, for some reason, not working and that Elric was using up all his strength to no effect. And yet there was nothing the Lord of the Dragon Caves could do. His tongue was frozen. His feet seemed frozen. His feet seemed frozen to the ground.
He looked at the mist. Had it crept closer to the shore? Had it taken on a strange, almost luminous
, green tinge? He peered closely.
There was a massive disturbance of the water. The sea rushed up the beach. The shingle crackled. The mist retreated. Vague lights flickered in the air and Dyvim Tvar thought he saw the shining silhouette of a gigantic figure emerging from the sea and he realised that Elric's chant had ceased.
“King Straasha,” Elric was saying in something approaching his normal tone. “You have come. I thank you.”
The silhouette spoke and the voice reminded Dyvim Tvar of slow, heavy waves rolling beneath a friendly sun.
“We elementals are concerned, Elric, for there are rumours that you have invited Chaos Lords back to your plane and the elementals have never loved the Lords of Chaos. Yet I know that if you have done this it is because you are fated to do it and therefore we hold no enmity against you.”
“The decision was forced upon me, King Straasha. There was no other decision I could make. If you are therefore reluctant to aid me, I shall understand that and call on you no more.”
“I will help you, though helping you is harder now, not for what happens in the immediate future but what is hinted will happen in years to come. Now you must tell me quickly how we of the water can be of service to you.”
“Do you know ought of the Ship Which Sails Over Land and Sea? I need to find that ship if I am to fulfil my vow to find my love, Cymoril.”
“I know much of that ship, for it is mine. Grome also lays claim to it. But it is mine. Fairly, it is mine.”
“Grome of the Earth?”
“Grome of the Land Below the Roots. Grome of the Ground and all that lives, under it. My brother. Grome. Long since, even as we elementals count time, Grome and I built that ship so that we could travel between the realms of Earth and Water whenever we chose. But we quarrelled (may we be cursed for such foolishness) and we fought. There were earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanic eruptions, typhoons and battles in which all the elementals joined, with the result that new continents were flung up and old ones drowned. It was not the first time we had fought each other, but it was the last. And finally, lest we destroy each other completely, we made a peace. I gave Grome part of my domain and he gave me the Ship Which Sails Over Land and Sea. But he gave it somewhat unwillingly and thus it sails the sea better than it sails the land, for Grome thwarts its progress whenever he can. Still, if the ship is of use to you, you shall have it.”
“I thank you, King Straasha. Where shall I find it?”
“It will come. And now I grow weary, for the further from my own realm I venture, the harder it is to sustain my mortal form. Farewell, Elric—and be cautious. You have a greater power than you know and many would make use of it to their own ends.”
“Shall I wait here for the Ship Which Sails Over Land and sea?”
“No...” the Sea King's voice was fading as his form faded. Grey mist drifted back where the silhouette and the green lights had been. The sea again was still. “Wait. Wait in your tower... It will come...”
A few wavelets lapped the shore and then it was as if the king of the Water Elementals had never been there at all. Dyvim Tvar rubbed his eyes. Slowly at first he began to move to where Elric still sat. Gently he bent down and offered the albino his hand. Elric looked up in some surprise. “Ah, Dyvim Tvar. How much time has passed?”
“Some hours, Elric. It will soon be night. What little light there is begins to wane. We had best ride back for Imrryr.”
Stiffly Elric rose to his feet, with Dyvim Tvar's assistance. “Aye...” he murmured absently. “The Sea King said...”
“I heard the Sea King, Elric. I heard his advice and I heard his warning. You must remember to heed both. I like too little the sound of this magic boat. Like most things of sorcerous origin, the ship appears to have vices as well as virtues, like a double-bladed knife which you raise to stab your enemy and which, instead, stabs you...”
“That must be expected where sorcery is concerned. It was you who urged me on, my friend.”
“Aye,” said Dyvim Tvar almost to himself as he led the way up the cliff-path towards the horses. “Aye. I have not forgotten that, my lord king.”
Elric smiled wanly and touched Dyvim Tvar's arm. “Worry not. The summoning is over and now we have the vessel we need to take us swiftly to Prince Yyrkoon and the lands of Oin and Yu.”
“Let us hope so.” Dyvim Tvar was privately sceptical about the benefits they would gain from the Ship Which Sails Over Land and Sea. They reached the horses and he began to wipe the water off the flanks of his own roan. “I regret,” he said, “that we have once again allowed the dragons to expend their energy on a useless endeavour. With a squadron of my beasts, we could do much against Prince Yyrkoon. And it would be fine and wild, my friend, to ride the skies again, side by side, as we used to.”
“When all this is done and Princess Cymoril brought home, we shall do that,” said Elric, hauling himself wearily into the saddle of his white stallion. “You shall blow the Dragon Horn and our dragon brothers will hear it and you and I shall sing the Song of the Dragon Masters and our goads shall flash as we straddle Flamefang and his mate Sweetclaw. Ah, that will be like the days of old Melnibone, when we no longer equate freedom with power, but let the Young Kingdoms go their own way and be certain that they let us go ours!”
Dyvim Tvar pulled on his horse's reins. His brow was clouded. “Let us pray that day will come, my lord. But I cannot help this nagging thought which tells me that Imrryr's days are numbered and that my own life nears its close...”
“Nonsense, Dyvim Tvar. You'll survive me. There's little doubt of that, though you be my elder.”
Dyvim Tvar said, as they galloped back through the closing day: “I have two sons. Did you know that, Elric?”
“You have never mentioned them.”
“They are by old mistresses.”
“I am happy for you.”
“They are fine Melniboneans.”
“Why do you mention this, Dyvim Tvar?” Elric tried to read his friend's expression.
“It is that I love them and would have them enjoy the pleasures of the Dragon Isle.”
“And why should they not?”
“I do not know.” Dyvim Tvar looked hard at Elric. “I could suggest that it is your responsibility, the fate of my sons, Elric.”
“Mine?”
“It seems to me, from what I gathered from the Water Elemental's words, that your decisions could decide the fate of the Dragon Isle. I ask you to remember my sons, Elric.”
“I shall, Dyvim Tvar. I am certain they shall grow into superb Dragon Masters and that one of them shall succeed you as Lord of the Dragon Caves.”
“I think you miss my meaning, my lord emperor.”
And Elric looked solemnly at his friend and shook his head. “I do not miss your meaning, old friend. But I think you judge me harshly if you fear I'll do ought to threaten Melnibone and all she is.”
“Forgive me, then.” Dyvim Tvar lowered his head. But the expression in his eyes did not change.
In Imrryr they changed their clothes and drank hot wine and had spiced food brought. Elric, for all his weariness, was in better spirits than he had been for many a month. And yet there was still a tinge of something behind his surface mood which suggested he encouraged himself to speak gaily and put vitality into his movements. Admittedly, thought Dyvim Tvar, the prospects had improved and soon they would be confronting Prince Yyrkoon. But the dangers ahead of them were unknown, the pitfalls probably considerable. Still, he did not, out of sympathy for his friend, want to dispel Elric's mood. He was glad, in fact, that Elric seemed in a more positive frame of mind. There was talk of the equipment they would need in their expedition to the mysterious lands of Yu and Oin, speculation concerning the capacity of the Ship Which Sails Over Land and Sea—how many men it would take, what provisions they should put aboard and so on.
When Elric went to his bed, he did not walk with the dragging tiredness which had previously accompanied his step and again, bidding him goodnig
ht, Dyvim Tvar was struck by the same emotion which had filled him on the beach, watching Elric begin his rune. Perhaps it was not by chance that he had used the example of his sons when speaking to Elric earlier that day, for he had a feeling that was almost protective, as if Elric were a boy looking forward to some treat which might not bring him the joy he expected.
Dyvim Tvar dismissed the thoughts, as best he could, and went to his own bed. Elric might blame himself for all that had occurred in the question of Yyrkoon and Cymoril, but Dyvim Tvar wondered if he, too, were not to blame in some part. Perhaps he should have offered his advice more cogently—more vehemently, even—earlier and made a stronger attempt to influence the young emperor. And then, in the Melnibonean manner, he dismissed such doubts and questions as pointless. There was only one rule—seek pleasure however you would. But had that always been the Melnibonean way? Dyvim Tvar wondered suddenly if Elric might not have regressive rather than deficient blood. Could Elric be a reincarnation of one of their most distant ancestors? Had it always been in the Melnibonean character to think only of oneself and one's own gratification?
And again Dyvim Tvar dismissed the questions. What use was there in questions, after all? The world was the world. A man was a man. Before he sought his own bed he went to visit both his old mistresses, waking them up and insisting that he see his sons, Dyvim Slorm and Dyvim Mav and when his sons, sleepy-eyed, bewildered, had been brought to him, he stared at them for a long while before sending them back. He had said nothing to either, but he had brought his brows together frequently and rubbed at his face and shaken his head and, when they had gone, had said to Niopal and Saramal, his mistresses, who were as bewildered as their offspring, “Let them be taken to the Dragon Caves tomorrow and begin their learning.”
“So soon, Dyvim Tvar?” said Niopal.