Three
«We talk only of defeat! » roared Kargan of the Purple Towns, beating upon the table with his fist. His beard seemed to bristle with rage.
Dawn had found all but a few of the captain' retiring through weariness. Kargan' Moonglum, Elric's cousin Dyvim Slonn and moon-faced Dralab of Tarkesh. remained in the chamber, pondering tactics.
Elric answered him calmly: «We talk of defeat, Kargan, because we must be prepared for that eventuality. It seems likely, does it not? We must, if defeat seems imminent, flee our enemies, conserving our force for another attack on Jagreen Lern. We shall not have the forces to fight another major battle, so we must use our better knowledge of currents, winds and terrain to fight him from ambush on sea or land. Thus we can perhaps demoralise his warriors and take considerably more of them than they can of us.»
«Aye-I see the logic, » Kargan rumbled unwillingly, evidently disturbed by this talk for, if the major battle was lost, then lost also would be the Isle of the Purple Towns, bastion against Chaos for the Ilminly nations of Vumir and Ilmiora.
Moonglum shifted his position, granting slightly. «And if they drive us back, men back we must go, beading rather than breaking, and returning from other directions to attack and confuse them. Ifs in my mind that well have to move more rapidly than we'll be able to, since we'd be tired and with few provisions...» He grinned faintly. «Ah, forgive me for my pessimism. Ill-placed, I fear.»
«No, » Brie said. «We must face all this or be caught unawares. You are right. And to allow for ordered retreat, I have already sent detachments to the Signing Desert and the Weeping Waste to bury large quantities of food and such dungs as extra arrows, lances and so forth. If we are forced back as far as the barrens, we'll likely fare better than Jagreen Lern, assuming that it takes him time to extend the area of Chaos and that his allies from the Higher Worlds are not overwhelmingly powerful.»
«You spoke of realism...» said Dyvim Slonn, pursing his curving lips and raising a slanting eyebrow.
«Aye - but some things cannot be faced or considered-for if we are totally engulfed by Chaos at the outset, then well nave no need of plans. So we plan for the other eventuality, you see.»
Kargan let out his breath and rose from the table. There's no more to discuss, » he said. «All to bed. We must be ready to sail with the noon tide tomorrow.»
They all gave signs of assent and chairs scraped as they pushed them back and left the chamber.
Bereft of human occupants, the chamber was silent save for the sputtering of the lamps and the rustle of the maps and, papers as they were stirred by a warm wind.
It was late in the morning when Elric arose and found Zarozinia already up and dressed in a skirt and bodice of doth-of-gold with a long black-trimmed cloak of silver flowing from her shoulders and spreading to the floor.
He washed, shaved and ate the dish of herb-flavoured fruit she handed him.
«Why have you arrayed yourself in such finery?» he asked.
«To bid you goodbye from the harbour, » she said.
«If you spoke truth last night, then you'd best be dressed in funeral red.» he smiled and then, relenting, clasped her to him. He gripped her tightly, desperately, before standing back from her and taking her chin in his hand raised her face to stare down into it «In these tragic times, » he said, «there's little room for love-play and kind words. Love must be deep and strong, manifesting itself in our actions. Seek no courtly words from me, Zarozinia, but remember earlier nights when the only turbulence was our pulse-beats blending.»
He was clad, himself, in Melnibonean war regalia, with a breastplate of shiny black metal, a high-collared jerkin of black velvet, black feather breeks covered to the knee by his boots, also of black leather. Over his back was pushed a cloak of deep red, and on one thin, white finger, was the Ring of Kings, the single rare actorious stone set in silver.
His long white hair hung loose down to his shoulders, kept from his eyes by a bronze circlet in which were set other precious charm stones of peryx, mio and golden otredos. Stormbringer was sheathed at his left hip and an ebony handled poignard dangled at his right. Upon the table, among the open books, a tapering black helm, engraved with old runes, lay, its crown gradually rising into a spike, standing almost two feet from the base. At this base, dominating the eye-slits, was a tiny replica of a spread-winged dragon, with a gaping snout, a reminder that, as when as being Emperors of the Bright Empire, Elric's ancestors were Dragon Masters over all that remained of the dragon kind. Brie, himself, was chief master-though now only his cousin Dyvim Slorm knew the dragon speech and spells, the rest having perished in various ways since the Sack of Imrryr years before when Elric, turned renegade, had led the attack upon the Dreaming City.
Now he picked up the helm and fitted it over his head so that it covered the top half of his face, only his red eyes gleaming from its shadows. He refrained from pulling the side wings about his lower face but for the meantime, left them sweeping back from the bottom of the helmet.
Noting her silence, he said, with a heart already heavy, «Come, my love, let's to the harbour to astound these undercivillised allies of ours with our elegance. Have no fear not I shall live to survive this day's battle-for Fate has not finished with me yet and protects me as a mother would her cub-so that I might witness further misery until such a day when ifs over for all time.»
Together, they left the Fort of Evening, riding on magical Nihrain horses, down to the harbour where the other Sealords and captains were already assembled beneath the bright sun.
All were dressed in their finest martial glory, though none could notch Elric. Old racial memories were awakened in many when they saw him and they were troubled, fearing him without knowing why, for their ancestors had had great cause to fear the Bright Emperors in the days when Melnibone ruled the world and a man accoutred as Elric commanded a Imrryrian eldritch warriors. Now a bare handful of Imrryrians greeted him as he rode along the quayside, noting the ships riding at anchor with their coloured banners and heraldic devices lifting proudly in the breeze.
Dyvim Slonn was equipped in a close-fitting dragon helm, its protecting pieces fashioned to represent the entire bead of a dragon, scaled in red and green and silver. His armour was lacquered yellow, though the rest of his dress was black, like Elric’s. At his side was Stormbringer's sister-sword Mournblade.
As Elric rode up to the group, Dyvim Slonn turned his heavily armoured head towards the open sea. There was little inkling of encroaching Chaos on the calm water or in the dear sky.
«At least well have good weather on our way to meet Jagreen Lern, » Dyvim Slorm said.
«A small mercy.» Elric smiled faintly. «Is there any more news of their numbers?»
«Before the spy who returned yesterday died he said there 'were at least four thousand warships, ten thousand transports-and perhaps twenty of the Chaos ships. They'll be the ones to watch since we've no idea what powers they have.»
Elric nodded. Their own fleet comprised some five thousand warships, many equipped with catapults and other heavy war-engines. The transports, though they turned the odds, in numbers, to a far superior figure, would be slow, unwieldy. and of not much use in a pitched sea-battle. Also, if the battle were won, they could be dealt with later, for they would obviously follow in the rear of Jagreen Lern's warned So, for all Jagreen Lern's numerical strength, there would be a good chance of winning a sea-fight under ordinary conditions. The disturbing factor was the presence of the supernatural ships. The spy's description had been vague. Elric needed more objective information-information he would be unlikely to receive now, until the fleets joined in battle.