“My sister married him,” she answered softly, while Elric frowned at his lover’s rather sudden interruption.
Lady Fernrath waved away any imagined rudeness but leaned towards the albino. “So, Elric, is Yyrkoon emperor now?”
“I killed him. My father named me his successor but Yyrkoon was uneasy with the decision. And he disapproved of my betrothal.”
“Your betrothed was not high-born?”
“She was his sister. I killed her also.”
“You loved her?”
“After a fashion.” His expression became unreadable. “I am surprised you had not heard. Most of my world knows the story so well…”
“I had not understood you to be such close relatives.” There was some relief in Nauha’s voice.
“Aye,” said Lady Fernrath, sipping with relish a glass of grey-green wine. “None closer. Blood relatives.”
On hearing this, a mysterious expression passed across Princess Nauha’s face but was quickly controlled. Elric, noticing this, seemed for a moment amused.
Then suddenly the princess felt as if a gate had shut against her. She followed them up onto the terrace to dine as the moon came out. The marble and alabaster took on a greenish tinge, touched with gold, and even Lady Fernrath’s features offered a faint reflection of colour, but not, Princess Nauha noticed, Elric’s.
As soon as Nauha was able, she blamed the change of environment for her tiredness. Then she, too, graciously begged their pardon, saying she was poor company and could see they had much to talk about on family matters. She did not add how the fact that they had increasingly dropped into High Melnibonéan speech as the evening grew older had decidedly helped give that impression.
All went according to the best protocol, but afterwards, in her room, the Uyt princess allowed herself one small growl of rage until her maid had gone and, weeping, she took hopelessly to her bed and lay upon it, staring at the oddly ornamented ceiling, trying to control her wounded feelings. She knew he would not even consider explaining himself when he joined her. She would be lucky, she thought, if she ever saw him again. This took her mind from her own anger and made her recall that she also feared for him.
Princess Nauha had studied the occult under Uyt’s wisest scholars and knew a witch when she smelt one. She was very glad she had brought her swords with her and that they were with her armour in her luggage. She might at least save her own life, she thought, but she was not sure she would be needed to save the albino’s. Did the fool understand he was in danger? Or—realisation came suddenly—was she the only visitor in danger here?
Was it coincidence that Elric had brought her with him to Hizss? He had told her nothing of this relative—if relative was all she was—had told her of no plans to visit. Clearly, he had known she would be here. He had hinted at something only a short time before they reached the port. Had he some disgusting plan for the three of them? Or did the sorceress mean to bewitch them both? Or had Elric been bewitched since the moment he had decided to take ship for the edge of the world?
Nauha carefully inspected the room and the garden beyond for ways out of the grounds. Then she took out her armour and laid it upon the floor. Then she polished her sword and dagger, ensuring they would slip easily from their scabbards.
Then she lay down again. She controlled her breathing, forcing herself to think as coolly as she could. A little more relaxed, she next began to wonder if the wine had not been over-strong. There was nothing sinister about the night, after all. Indeed it was beautiful, as were the city and the house. Yet why had all the ports they had seen, she wondered, been so heavily fortified? But not this one?
She drew a long, deep breath. It was stupid to brood on all this, particularly now her swords were stowed close to hand. She was perfectly well prepared to take on any danger that might present itself. She was certain that clean steel could cope with any ordinary foreign witchery.
The Phoorn’s Bargain
“I heard you had found the White Sword,” Elric said to Lady Fernrath as soon as they were alone together.
She laughed easily, with genuine humour. “And that’s why you are here?”
He saw no purpose in lying. “You have it? Oh, I see from your eyes that you do. Or know where it is, at least.” He spoke with quiet humour. But he could feel intimations of what he feared, his energy slipping slowly away and little to replenish it, save Stormbringer.
This time she made no reply. She lay back on her couch and stared up at the stars. Then, after a while, she said: “You have heard of the Eyes of Hemric, otherwise known as the Eyes of the Skaradin?”
“An even vaguer legend than that of the White Sword. Hemric? Skaradin? Some serpent from your world’s hinterland?”
“I know where they can be found. I do not need to search for them, young prince. They are, however, the blade’s price.” She turned in the moonlight and looked at him, suddenly hungry for something. Her eyes had taken on a deeper, harder green, even her voice had changed timbre, was oddly accented. “Red pearls. But you need not win them for me, my lord. They are, however, the price of the blade.” She moved restlessly on her couch. “Blood pearls, they call them…There are two. I desire them…I desire…Do you remember when we first met, Prince Elric?”
“I remember my dreamquest. I was scarcely more than a boy. My father sent me to seek you and bring back my mother’s jade dagger.”
“Oh, Elric, you were a comely lad when I saw you surrounded by three of those golden warriors from another plane entirely, who used to inhabit these parts. We drew so much more energy from those alien places. So much material…You had no famous sword at that time. I gave you the jade dagger…”
“You did not ask me then to pay you for it.”
She smiled reminiscently. “Oh, you paid me. Did your father ever tell you why he wanted it?”
“Never. I think he sought it simply because it had belonged to my mother. But you saved my life.”
“You were ever to my taste.” Her mouth seemed to have widened now, revealing rather too many teeth. They were sharper, too, while her tongue—that tongue…
He roused himself. “So you will sell me the White Sword for those red pearls? Nothing else? You know what that sword means to me. It could free me from my dependency…”
“Just so. Nothing else. I possess the Sword of Law. And I know where to find the pearls.”
“Lady Fernrath, I did not travel this far to bargain. What do you take me for? Like you, I despise merchants. Besides, I know nothing of this world. How could I begin to look for what you want?” Was there, he wondered, some way he could get to Stormbringer? He had come here following a legend, a memory, something he had heard of long before the Black Sword was his. He remembered one of his first dreamquests and the woman he had met here on the other side of the world, whom he remembered as a friend. Since then, Lady Fernrath had changed or, perhaps he had been naïve, too inexperienced to see her for what she was. Now his desire to be independent of Stormbringer could be further destroying his judgement. With that blade he had killed the only other creature he had ever truly loved. A wave of profound regret swept over him. He sighed, turning away from Fernrath. “My lady…”
She rose from the couch and, as she did so, she seemed to grow larger, her gown taking on greater substance. A heat—or it might have been an intense cold—came out of her, strong enough to burn him if he touched her. He remembered those nights. Those terrifying, fascinating nights, when she had introduced him to all the secrets of his ancestors—the real reason, he guessed, why his father had sent him upon his dreamquest. Or so she had told him. Now she said otherwise. He frowned. Why did she lie to him now? Or had she lied to him then? “Madam. I must go. I can’t do what you desire of me.”