Revenge of the Rose (35 page)

 
          
“Oh,
you are most welcome,” he said. He was half-crazed with delight at what he was
sure must soon be their acceptance of his sovereignty. “There is little need
for this display of challenges and insults, my friends, for I can surely solve
our differences!” The helm pulsed now with a scarlet fire, shot through with
veins of black. “Let us put an end to exuberant violence and settle these
matters as wiser folk should.”

 
          
“I
have heard your reasoning tone before, Gaynor,” said the Rose contemptuously, “when
you tried to make my sisters bargain for their honour or their lives. I do not
bargain with you, any more than did they!”

 
          
“Long
memories, sweet lady. I had forgotten such a trifle and so should you. It was
yesterday. I promise you a glorious rule in tomorrow!”

 
          
“What
can you promise that we could possibly value?” said Charion Phatt. “Your mind
is chiefly mysterious to me, but I know that you lie to us. You have all but
lost your grip upon this realm. The power which aided thee, aids thee no
longer! But you would make it aid thee, again …”

 
          
At
this the great pulsing ectoplasmic sphere behind Gaynor flared and shivered and
revealed, for an instant, three glaring eyes, tusks, drooling jaws and furious
claws, and Elric realized to his horror that Mashabak was
not
free, that Gaynor had somehow kept control of the prison,
appearing to do Count Mashabak’s bidding while scheming to take the power of a
Chaos Lord for himself!

 
          
Arioch
had been banished from this plane, dragged through the dimensions by the last
brave action of Esbern Snare, and Gaynor had been more audacious than any of
them could imagine—he had determined that
he
should take the place of Arioch, rather than freeing his master! But though he
held the Chaos Lord prisoner, he had no means of harnessing his power, of using
it for his own ends. Was this why, with his leechblade, he had sought to steal
the energy of Stormbringer and its sister swords?

 
          
“Aye,”
said Gaynor, reading his enemy’s expression. “I had planned to gain the
necessary power by other means. But I am a practical immortal, as thou must
understand by now, and if I must bargain—why I shall happily go to market with
thee!”

 
          
“You
have nothing I need, Gaynor,” said Elric coldly.

 
          
But
the ex-Prince of the Universal was already mocking him, holding up one of the
objects he had placed there and jeering softly. “Do you not want this, Prince
Elric? Is this not what you have sought for so long? Across the realms, sir?
With such considerable impatience, sir?”

 
          
And
Elric saw that it was the box of black rosewood, its gnarled surfaces all
carved with black roses. Even from here he could smell its wonderful perfume.
His father’s soulbox.

 
          
And
again Gaynor jeered, louder now. “It was stolen by one of your sorcerer
ancestors, given to your mother, then your father (who conceived his
extraordinary deception once he understood what it was!), whose servant lost
it! It was purchased, I believe, for a few groats by its owner in Menii. A
pirate auction. Some small irony is to be enjoyed, I’d say …”

 
          
The
Rose shouted suddenly, “You shall not bargain with us for that box, Gaynor!”

 
          
And
Elric wondered why she had grown subtly more aggressive since they had entered
those doors, as if she had rehearsed this moment, as if she knew exactly what
she had to say and do.

 
          
“But
I must, madam. I must!” Gaynor opened the box and drew out of it, between
flickering blue finger and thumb, a great, lush crimson rose. He held it up by
its dewy stem. It seemed to have been fresh-picked a moment earlier. A perfect
rose. “The last living thing in your land, madam! Save yourself, of course. The
only other survivor of that particularly enjoyable victory. Like you, madam, it
has survived all that Chaos could do to it. Up to now …”

 
          
“It
is not yours,” said Princess Tayaratuka. “It is what the Rose gave us when she
first knew of our plight. It was hers to give us. And ours to return to her.
The Eternal Rose.”

 
          
“Well,
madam, it is mine now. To bargain with as
I
choose,” said Gaynor with a hint of arrogant impatience, as if to a child who
has not understood what has been explained.

 
          
“You
have no right to those treasures,” said Princess Mishiguya. “Give me back the briar
rings, which are my part of our charge.”

 
          
“But
the briar rings are not your property,” said Gaynor, “as well you know, madam.
All these treasures were loaned to you, so that you could go onto the paths
between the realms and seek Elric.”

 
          
“Then
give them back to me,” said the Rose, stepping forward. “For they were, indeed,
my treasures to loan or to bestow as I chose. They are the last treasures of my
forgotten land. I brought them here, hoping to find peace from my tormented
cravings. And then came Chaos and my hostesses’ need was greater than my own.
But now they have the swords they sought. They did not have to bargain, after
all, with Elric. There’s another sweet irony, prince. And we are here to
reclaim those treasures. Give them up to us, Prince Gaynor, or we must take
them by force.”

 
          
“By
force, madam?” Gaynor’s laughter grew louder at this, and coarser, too. “You
have no force to use against me! To use against Mashabak! I cannot yet control
him, perhaps. But I can
release
him!
I can release him into your realm, madam, and have him gobble it up in an
instant, and all of us with it. Aye, and it would delight me to do so, madam,
almost as much as it delights me to control such power. For would it not be
my
decision which brought about the
conquests of unbridled Chaos? This blackthorn wand will set him free—with one
tiny tap of its tip.” And he revealed the thin, black branch that was bound
with brass and elinfleur. “I repeat, madam, you have no force to use against
me. While I remain here and my wand remains there, we are all of us safe as
Arioch himself was safe when he made this cage …”

 
          
And
suddenly there came a squawling and a roiling and a braying from the sphere and
Count Mashabak’s unlovely features were pressed there for a moment as he raved
in response to his captor’s name, at his absolute loss of honour in becoming
the prisoner of a mere demi-demon. So vast and angry was the life-force
imprisoned there that Elric and his companions felt driven back by it; felt as
if they might be snuffed into non-existence by the very sight of it.

 
          
“And
you, Prince Elric,” yelled Gaynor the Damned above the cacophony of his
recklessly captured prize, “you, too, have come to trade, no doubt. What? Will
you have this? The skin your fierce friend left behind?” And he brandished the
grey wolf’s pelt that was all that remained of the tormented Northerner.

 
          
But
to Elric it was no trophy Gaynor held. The abandoned wolfskin meant that Esbern
Snare had died a free mortal. “I echo all the sentiments expressed by my
friends,” said Elric. “I do not trade with such as thee, Gaynor the Damned.
There is no virtue left in thee.”

 
          
“Vice
alone, Prince Elric. Vice alone, I must admit. But such creative,
imaginative
vice, eh? You have yet to
hear your choices. I want your swords, you see.”

 
          
“They
are our bond-blades,” said Princess Mishiguya. “They are ours by blood and by
right. They are ours to conquer thee and drive thee from our realm. Never shalt
thou take them, Gaynor the Damned!”

 
          
“But
I offer you those treasures you borrowed and lost, madam. I’ll speak plain. I
want four swords such as the four you have between you. I have here
six
Objects of Power. I will trade them
all for the swords! Is that not generous? Even foolish?”

 
          
“You
are insane, Gaynor,” said Princess Shanug’a. “The swords are our inheritance.
They are our duty.”

 
          
“But
it’s
your
duty, madam, surely, to
give back what you have borrowed? However, think upon that for a little. Now I
am going to offer Elric his sweet old father’s soul!” And he laid caressing
steel upon the rosewood.

 
          
Angry
at Arioch’s betrayal of his secret, Elric could scarcely speak. Gaynor knew the
true value of the soulbox and what it meant to Sadric’s son!

 
          
“Would
you be united—or would you be free?” Gaynor asked him, savouring every syllable
of this temptation; understanding exactly what he offered the albino.

 
          
With
a wordless oath, Elric lunged towards the altar but Gaynor motioned edgily with
his wand and almost touched the ectoplasmic membrane where Count Mashabak
roared and flexed his claws, his eyes seeming fierce enough to burn through
those mystic walls and let him come rushing out, to devour, to warp, to make of
this realm one screaming extrusion of tormented life.

 
          
“Your
father’s soul, Prince Elric, in return for that sword of yours. You know which
you would rather have, surely? Come, Prince Elric, that’s not a decision you
must brood upon. Take the bargain. It releases you. It will free you from all
thy dooms, sweet prince …”

 
          
And
Elric felt the lure of it, the tempting prospect of being free for ever from
his hellblade, from that unwanted symbiosis upon which he had grown to rely, of
being free from the threat of his father’s soul eternally merging with his own,
of being able to help his father reach his mother in the Forest of Souls, where
neither Law, nor Chaos, nor the Cosmic Balance had dominion.

 
          
“Your
father’s soul, Elric, for you to set free. The ending of his suffering and your
own. You do not need the sword to live. You did not need its power to find it,
to brave those ordeals, and others. Let me have the sword, Elric. And I shall
give you all these treasures …”

 
          
“You
want the sword so that you can control the demon with it,” said Elric. “Do you
have a spell which will give you such power? Perhaps you do, Prince Gaynor. But
the spell alone is not sufficient. You must be able to frighten Count Mashabak—”

 
          
Again
that raging din, that squawling and screeching and threatening …

 
          
“—and
you think you can do that with Stormbringer. But you would need more than
Stormbringer, Prince Gaynor, to achieve such control!” And again Elric
reflected on the wild audacity of Gaynor the Damned, who sought to tame a Lord
of Hell to his own bidding!

 
          
“True,
sweet prince.” Prince Gaynor’s tone was softer again, and amused. “But happily
I have more than your sword. The Rose knows of the spell I mean …”

 
          
And
the Rose lifted her head and she spat at him, which made him laugh all the more
merrily. “Ah, how lovers learn to regret those little confidences …”

 
          
Which
brought a sudden understanding to Elric and a fresh sympathy for the woman, the
last of her kind, and the particular nature of her moral burden.

 
          
“Give
me the blade, Prince Elric.” Gaynor stretched out the gauntleted left hand in
which he held the soulbox. In his right hand, the blackthorn wand hovered near
the ectoplasmic membrane. “There is nought to lose.”

 
          
“I
would only gain, I think,” said Elric, “if you were to let me go free with that
thing.”

 
          
“Of
course. Who would be harmed?”

 
          
But
Elric knew the answer to the question. His companions would be harmed. This
realm would be harmed. Many more would be harmed once Gaynor controlled Count
Mashabak. He did not know exactly how the Prince of the Damned intended to use
the weapon to control the Lord of Chaos, but it was clear there was such a
means. Once, long ago, the Rose had confided her secret, her knowledge of such
a powerful old sorcery.