The Dragon in the Sword by Michael Moorcock Page B

would hire us. Not that I have much liking to work my passage on one of these hulls.” Even as he spoke the whole cabin gave a great shudder and we were almost jerked against the far wall. The
Frowning Shield
was on the move again. “What chance have we, I wonder, of moving to another realm? I understand it is not difficult in the Middle Marches.”
    “Our best plan is to wait here and attend the Massing. There we shall have a good idea of who still thinks Prince Flamadin a prize, who does not believe the Sharadim story, who genuinely loathes me.”
    “My guess is that you’ll find few friends at present. Either you—as Prince Flamadin—were responsible for those crimes or you are the victim of efficient propaganda. I know what it is to be turned into a villain overnight. Hitler and Goebbels are masters at it. But it might be possible at the Massing to prove that you are not guilty of all they say.”
    “Where could I begin?”
    “That we shall not know until tomorrow. Meanwhile we’d be wise to remain where we are. Have you noticed that I rang for a servant as soon as we came in?”
    “And none came. They’re normally swift. We are to receive only the minimum of Armiad’s hospitality, it seems.”
    Neither of us was hungry. We cleaned ourselves as best we could and retired to bed. I knew that I must rest, but the nightmares were particularly potent. The voices still called for Sharadim. I was tormented by them. And then, as I fell deeper and deeper into that particular dream, I began to see clearly the women who called my twin sister. They were tall and astonishingly beautiful, both in face and body. They had the fine, slender figures I knew so well, the tapering chins, the high cheekbones and large, slanted almond eyes, the delicate ears and soft hair. Their costumes were different but that was all. The women who formed the circle beyond the pale fire, whose voices filled the darkness, were Eldren women. They were of the race sometimes called Vadhagh, sometimes called Melnibonéan. A race who were close cousins to John Daker’s people. As the Eternal Champion I had belonged to both. As Erekosë I had loved such a woman.
    And then suddenly as the white flames burned lower and I could see more beyond them I trembled in a mixture of ecstasy and fear, crying out, reaching out—longing to touch that face I had recognised.
    Ermizhad!
I cried. –
Oh, my darling! I am here. I am here. Pull me through the flames! I am here!
    But the woman, whose arms were linked with those of her sisters, did not hear me. She had her eyes closed. She continued to chant and sway, chant and sway. Now I doubted it was her. Unless it was the Eldren who called me back to them, who called Sharadim thinking they called me. The fire grew brighter and blinded me. I glimpsed her again. I was almost certain it was my lost love.
    I was dragged away from this dream and into another. Now I had no idea what my name was. I saw a red sky in which dragons wheeled. Enormous reptilian flying beasts who appeared to obey a group of people standing upon the blackened ruins of a city. I was not one of these people, but I stood with them. They, too, resembled the Eldren, although their costumes were far more elaborate, somehow almost dandified, though I could not be sure how I knew so much. But these were Eldren, I was sure, from another time and place. They seemed distressed. There was a rapport between them and the beasts above which was difficult for me to understand, although I had an echo of a memory (or a premonition, which is the same thing for such as I). I tried to speak to one of my companions, but they did not know I was amongst them. Soon after this, I found myself falling away from them again and I stood upon a glassy plain without horizon. The plain changed colour from green to purple to blue and back to green, as if it had only recently been created and had yet to stabilise. A creature of astonishing beauty, with golden skin and the most benign