Revenge of the Rose (30 page)

 
          
Now
he had returned, and demonstrated that the palace was no longer proof against
him. He had entered and threatened the sisters at sword-point, demanding their
now-legendary Three Treasures which they had carried back with them to return
to the one who had loaned them. Gaynor’s plan was to force the sisters out of
the palace and into the cavern, at the eastern entrance of which his Chaos pack
waited, unable themselves to enter that unlikely place.

 
          
With
Koropith Phatt’s skills stretched to snapping, and almost overwhelmed by a
desperate urgency as the young Phatt sensed the sisters’ danger, the Rose at
last broke through into this realm—barely in time to place a protective glamour
on the sisters and challenge Gaynor, whom she drove back into the palace by her
sword-play and her witchcraft. But he, in turn, had found a source of sorcery
and had eventually left her for dead, escaping back to his stronghold as Elric
and the others arrived.

 
          
“We
were prepared for nothing but death,” said Princess Shanug’a, “until this
moment. I wonder what has brought us together now? And
why
should it bring us together at this moment? Do you have a hint
of that, Master Phatt? Are we all moved by the hand of some manipulative
Destiny?”

 
          
“It
can only be the Balance,” said Fallogard Phatt with nodding certainty.

 
          
But
Elric said nothing. He knew that Stormbringer did not serve the Balance, and,
were it not for the runesword, he would not now be here—ready to help the
sisters. But did the sword know what they required of it?

 
          
Then,
suddenly, Elric was struck by a terrifying thought. What if he had already
served the sword’s purpose so that Stormbringer no longer had use of the
symbiosis on which the albino had come to rely? While this notion filled him
with panic, he also loathed himself for his dependency upon the blade. He
unhooked its scabbard from his belt and, volunteering what he had earlier
refused Gaynor, offered it to the sisters.

 
          
“Here
is the sword you sought, my kinswomen.” He offered it without question, either
in expression or gesture, without hesitation or any sign of reluctance. Honour
required nothing else.

 
          
Princess
Tayaratuka stepped forward and, bowing, received the sword in both her little
hands. Her muscles flexed with the blade’s weight, but she did not flinch. She
was considerably stronger than she appeared to be.

 
          
“We
have our Rune,” she said. “We have always had it. Since our people first came
here and made this world their own. Even when the dragons left, we were not afraid,
for we had our Rune. The Rune of Final Resort, it was called by some. But we
had no sword. For the Rune of Final Resort must be spoken in conjunction with a
ritual and a certain object. First it is required that the Black Sword be
present: then he who wields the Sword must join us in the rune-calling. Then we
must know the names of certain entities which must be summoned. All these
things must come together at the same time. This is the pattern we must make,
to mirror that which already exists and so create a duality which, in turn,
releases the raw life-force of the multiverse. And only then, if we are
accurate in our delicate weaving, will we revive the allies we seek against
Chaos—the power to drive Mashabak and Gaynor and all their minions from our
realm! If we are successful in this, Prince Elric, we are prepared to offer you
one of three reclaimed treasures …” She glanced towards the Rose, but
Wheldrake was quoting excitedly—

 
          
“The
first of these treasures of Radinglay,
Was a rosewood box with roses ’graved,

 
          
While
the second was that maiden’s dower,
A fresh-pick’d summer rose in flower.

 
          
The
third of these treasures were briar rings three,
To make fast the Kind of the Cold Country.”

 
          
“Exactly,”
said Princess Mishiguya with something of a lifted eyebrow, as if she had
scarcely expected her tale to be the subject of a minstrel’s repertoire.

 
          
“He
has,” said Charion Phatt by way of apology for her near-betrothed, “something
of a memory for verse …”

 
          
“Especially,”
said Wheldrake, bridling at what he interpreted as snobbery, “my own!
Disapprove, if you like. I’m adrift in my own rhymes and rhythms.” And he
mumbled another stanza or two to himself.

 
          
Princess
Mishiguya was gracious. The Rose also came to the poet’s defense. “Without
Master Wheldrake’s cadences and remembered names we should even now be
separated,” she said. “His talents have proved of subtle usefulness to us all.”

 
          
“Should
we succeed,” said Elric, replying, “I would accept your promise of a gift. For,
I must admit, my own fate is somewhat bound up with one of those Objects of
Power you have carried so long …”

 
          
“Not
knowing which of the three you would accept. We did not even know you to be our
kin—though it should have occurred to us. Sadly, of course, we no longer have
those borrowed gifts in our possession …”

 
          
“The
gifts are not redeemed!” said the Rose in sudden agitation. “We hid them from
Gaynor …”

 
          
“You
were able to protect us,” said Princess Tayaratuka, “but not your treasures.
Gaynor raped them from their hiding place before he fled back to
The Ship That Was
. Those Objects of
Power, lady, are already in the hands of Chaos. I thought you understood that.”

 
          
The
Rose sat slowly down upon a bench. Something like a groan escaped her. She
waved them on. “Which makes your ritual all the more important to us …”

 
          
And
Elric, following behind the women as they bore his sword into the depths of the
palace where the ritual must take place, knew that both his own and his father’s
soul must now be truly doomed.

 
          
Rituals
of Blood; Rituals of Iron. Three Sisters of the Sword. Six Swords Against Chaos
.

 
          
Through
cloisters of pink-and-red mosaic, down avenues of flowering bushes lit by
glowing, refracted sunshine from hidden skylights, past galleries of paintings
and sculpture, the four moved steadily. “This has a hint of Melniboné and yet
is not Melniboné,” said Elric thoughtfully.

 
          
Princess
Tayaratuka was almost offended. “There is nothing of your Melniboné here, I
hope. We have no strain in us of that warlike line. We are of those Vadhagh who
fled the Mabden when Chaos aided them …”

 
          
“We
of Melniboné determined we should flee no more,” said Elric quietly. He had no
quarrel with his ancestors’ determined learning of the arts of battle lest they
be scattered again. It was what such easy logic led to that he feared.

 
          
“I
intended no criticism,” said the princess. “We prefer, if necessary, to wander,
rather than imitate the ways of those who would destroy us …”

 
          
“But
now,” said Princess Shanug’a, “we must do battle with Chaos, to defend what is
ours.”

 
          
“I
did not say that we would not fight,” her sister said firmly, “I said that we
would not resort to the building of empires. These are two distinct things.”

 
          
“I
understand you, my lady,” said the albino, “and I accept that difference. I
have no liking for my people’s penchant for empirebuilding.”

 
          
“Well,
my lord, there are many other ways to achieve security,” said Princess
Mishiguya a little mysteriously, even sharply, as they continued their way
through the lovely apartments and galleries of this most civilized of
settlements.

 
          
Princess
Tayaratuka still carried the great sword, though with a certain effort. Even
when Elric offered to take the weight for a while she refused, as if this were
her duty.

 
          
Now
a corridor widened into another triangular cloister which surrounded a cool
rose garden open to the dark blue sky above. At the centre of the garden was a
fountain. The base of the fountain was carved with all manner of odd and
grotesque creatures, somewhat out of keeping with the general style, and the
plinth rose up in a three-sided column to where it widened into a large bowl
around which were carved the sinuous shapes of dragons and maidens engaged in
some cryptic dance. Silvery water still sprayed from the fountain and Elric
felt that it was a kind of blasphemy to bring the Black Sword to a place of
such peace.

 
          
“This
is the Garden of the Rune,” said the Princess Mishiguya. “It lies at the very
centre of our realm, our land; at the centre of this palace. This was the first
garden built by the Vadhagh when they came here.” She took a deep breath of the
ancient rosy scent. She held it as if it might be her last.

 
          
Princess
Tayaratuka set the scabbarded runesword upon a bench and went to put her hands
in the cool water, pouring it over her head almost as if she sought a blessing.
Princess Shanug’a walked to the far end of the first of the three galleries and
returned almost immediately bearing a cylinder of pale gold set with rubies
which she handed now to Princess Mishiguya who drew from the cylinder another
tube, of finely carved ivory bound with gold, and this tube she handed to
Princess Tayaratuka who, in turn, drew from that a rod of engraved grey stone
whose dark blue runes twisted and writhed as if alive and were like those same
runes Stormbringer bore. Elric had seen such things on only one other object,
the sword Mournblade, which his cousin had sought to bear against him, the
sister sword to Stormbringer. Dimly, he recalled other tales of runic objects,
but he had studied little in such areas. Did they have qualities in common?

 
          
Princess
Tayaratuka was holding up the stone cylinder now, wondering at the shifting
runes as if she had never seen them alive before, and her lips moved as she
read them, forming words she had been taught in a time before she had learned
to read any ordinary alphabet. This was her inheritance, this Rune of
Power …

 
          
“Only
three virgins born of the same mother and the same father at the same time may
know the Ritual of the Rune,” said Shanug’a in a whisper. “But the Rune cannot
be completed until we have seen the Black Sword’s runes and read those aloud in
the Garden of the Rune. All these things must happen at once. Then, if we have
spoken the Rune correctly, and if the magic has not faded in the centuries
since it was distilled then perhaps we shall regain those things with which our
ancestors brought us to this realm.”

 
          
Princess
Mishiguya went to the bench where the hellsword rested, almost passively, and
she picked it up and took it to the fountain where her sister, Shanug’a,
waited, the water flowing over her and seeming to merge with the silken gown
she wore, and Shanug’a took the sword’s grip in both her little hands and
pulled deliberately so that bit by bit the blade emerged from the scabbard, the
angry scarlet runes glowing already along the black metal, and a song escaped
the sword that was unlike anything Elric had heard before. In all other hands,
even perhaps Gaynor’s, the unscabbarded hellsword would have resisted, turned
upon the one who sought to hold it and almost certainly killed them. Important
sorcery was needed to hold the Black Sword even for a short while. Yet now it
sang a song so strange and so sweet, high and unhappy, full of longing and
unfulfilled hungers, that Elric was momentarily terrified. He had never
suspected such qualities in the sword.

 
          
Even
as Stormbringer continued its strange, unlikely song, Princess Shanug’a raised
it high in the air and brought the tip down into the centre of the oddly carved
bowl so that suddenly the fountain ceased to gush and at once there was a
silence in the rose garden.

 
          
A
stillness came to the sky above, as if the dark-blue light froze; a stillness
in the garden, as if every flower and bud waited; a stillness in that
triangular cloister, as if the very stones held themselves in readiness for
some momentous event.

 
          
Even
the three sisters seemed frozen in the attitudes of their ritual.

 
          
Awed
by the scene, Elric felt he intruded and it occurred to him to withdraw, as if
he were not required here, but Princess Tayaratuka was turning to him, smiling—offering
him the runestone as it writhed and glowed in her palm.

 
          
“It
is for you to read,” she said. “Only you, of all the creatures in the
multiverse, have this power. That is why we sought you so eagerly. You must
read our Rune—as we read the Black Sword’s. Thus shall we begin the weaving of
this powerful magic. This is what we have been trained to do, almost since
birth. You must believe us and trust us, Prince Elric.”

 
          
“I
have sworn the blood-bond,” said Elric simply. He would do whatever they
required of him, even if it meant his death, the enslavement of his immortal
soul, the prospect of a hellish eternity. He would trust them without question.

 
          
The
monstrous battle-blade stood upright in the bowl, the song still escaping it,
the runes still flickering up and down its radiant black metal. It was almost
as if it were about to speak, to transform itself into another shape, possibly
its true shape. And Elric felt a chill in his soul and it seemed for a second
that he looked into his future, to some predetermined doom for which this was a
kind of rehearsal. Then he disciplined his mind and contemplated the task at
hand.

 
          
One
sister now stood on each side of the column, looking up at the sword. Their
voices began to chant in unison, until it was no longer possible to distinguish
their cadences from the sword’s …

 
          
 … Then
Elric found that he was lifting up the runestone in his two hands stretched
before him and his lips began to form wordless, beautiful sounds …

 
          
They
had sought him for his sword; but they had sought him also for this unique
gift. Only Elric of Melniboné, of all living mortals, had the power and the
skills to read such potent symbols, to voice them as they must be voiced,
matching each part of a note to each nuance of the rune. This rune, the sisters
knew by heart, but the rune that blazed upon the Black Sword they themselves
had to read. Thus they combined all their resources, all their talents, into
the reading of a double rune, the mightiest of all Runes of Power.

 
          
The
runesong rose in volume and became increasingly complicated—

 
          
—for
now the four adepts were rune-weaving—folding their spells in and out of time,
moving their voices beyond the audible range, making the air crease and shiver
into thousands of strands which they wove and threaded—

 
          
—weaving
the runes into a thing of impossible strength, making the very atmosphere
bubble and dance, while all around now the shrubs and flowers swayed, as if
adding their own rhythms and cadences to the runesong.

 
          
Everything
was alive with a thousand different qualities, blending and separating,
changing and transforming. Colours ran through the air like rivers. Eruptions
of nameless forces came and went around them, while the bowl and the sword and
the runestone seemed to become the only constancies in that double triangle.

 
          
Elric
now understood how this was a place of enormously concentrated psychic energy.
From this source, he guessed, they had drawn the power with which they had so
far resisted Chaos—enough at least to protect a few settlements like these. But
with the power of the Black Sword combined, the Garden of the Rune was becoming
something infinitely mightier than anything it could have become on its own.

 
          
 … 
to shatter the Sword of Alchemy and make the
One power Three
 …

 
          
Elric
realized he was hearing a story woven in amongst the runes, almost an
incidental to the ritual they performed. It was a story of how these people
were led by a dragon through the dimensions—a dragon which had dwelled once
within a sword. Such legends were common to his folk and doubtless referred to
some long-forgotten part of their wandering history. At last they had come to
this land, which was uninhabited by human folk. So they made it their own,
building to follow the existing contours of the earth, its forests and rivers.
But first they had built the Garden of the Rune. For through their considerable
sorcery they had changed and hidden the power which, they believed, was the result
of their salvation and any future salvation for their descendants.

 
          
The
runesong went on. The story continued. Into the fountain were built what the
song called ‘the tools of last resort’. The princesses’ ancestors passed the
runestone down from mother to daughter since they believed no man capable of
carrying the secret.

 
          
Only
against Chaos could these tools of last resort be used, and only then when all
else had failed them. They could only be used in combination with another great
Object of Power. The borrowed Objects of Power which the sisters had held, and
with which they had intended to bargain for Elric’s help, ignorant of how close
a kinsman he was, were not strong enough for the work.