Revenge of the Rose by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online Page B

it,
trapped in it—some enormous energy, so powerful it could be observed through the steel. And yet the fingers
stretched and curled like any fleshly finger warmed back to circulation, and
the stranger’s sigh was one of simple comfort.
                  

 
     
                 “Will
you take a little rabbit, sir?” Wheldrake gestured towards the roasting coney.
                 “Thank
you, no, sir.”
                 “Will
you unburden yourself of your helm and sit with us? You’re in no danger.”
                 “I
believe you, sir. But I am unable to remove this helm at present and have not,
I’ll be frank, fed upon commonplace sustenance for some while.”
                 At
this Wheldrake raised a ruddy eyebrow. “Does Chaos send her servants to become
cannibals, these days, sir?”
                 “She’s
had servants a-plenty who have been that,” said the armoured man, turning his
back now to the fire’s heat, “but I am not of their number. I have not eaten
flesh, fruit or vegetable, sir, for nigh on two thousand years. Or it could be
more. I ceased attempting such a reckoning long ago. There are realms that are
always Night and realms sweltering in perpetual Day and others where night and
day fly by with a speed not of our usual perception.”
                 “Some
sort of vow, is it, sir?” says Wheldrake tentatively. “Some holy purpose?”
                 “A
quest, aye, but for something simpler, sir, than you would believe.”
                 “What
are you seeking, sir? A particular lost bride?”
                 “You
are perceptive, sir.”
                 “Merely
well-read, sir. But that is not all, eh?”
                 “I
seek nothing less than death, sir. It is to that unhappy doom that the Balance
did consign me when I betrayed her those numberless millennia since. It is also
my doom to fight against those who serve the Balance, though I love the Balance
with a ferocity, sir, that has never dissipated. It was ordained—though I have
no reason to trust the oracle in question—that I should find peace at the hand
of a servant of the Balance—one who was as I once was.”
                 “And
what were you once?” enquired Wheldrake, who had followed this last a little
more swiftly than the albino.
                 “I
was once a Prince of the Balance, a Servant and Confidant of that Unordinary
Intelligence that tolerates, celebrates and loves all life throughout the
multiverse and yet which both Law and Chaos would overthrow if they could.
Discontented with multiplicity and massive adjustment in the multiverse,
guessing something of a great conjunction which must come throughout the Key
Planes and set the realities for countless aeons—realities where the Balance
might no longer exist, I gave in to experiment. The notion was too strong for
me. Curiosity and folly, self-importance and pride led me to convince myself
that in doing what I attempted to do, I served the interests of the Balance.
And for my failure, or my success, I would have paid an equal price. The price
I now pay.”
                 “That
is not the whole of your story, sir.” Wheldrake was enthralled. “You will not
bore me, I know, if you wish to embroider it with more detail.”
                 “I
cannot, sir. I speak as I do because that is all I am allowed to unburden of my
tale. The rest is for me alone to know until such time I shall be released and
then it can be told.”
                 “Released
by death, sir? It would create some difficulties regarding the telling, I’d
guess.”
                 “The
Balance doubtless will decide such things,” said the stranger, without much
humour.
                 “Is
general death all you look for, sir? Or has death a name?” Elric spoke softly,
with some