The Dragon in the Sword by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online Page B

people are guarded by the Flying Island, and Rootsenheem, whose warriors have skins of glowing blood. There is also, of course, the Realm of the Centre itself, but none comes from there nor ventures there. We call it Alptroomensheem, Realm of the Nightmare Marches. Are you fully reminded now, Count von Bek?”
    “Thoroughly, Baron Captain. I thank you for your trouble. I have a poor memory for names at the best of times, I fear.”
    In some relief, or so it seemed to me, the Baron Captain turned his pugnacious, barely polite eyes towards me again. “And shall your betrothed meet us at the Massing, your highness? Or does the Princess Sharadim remain to guard the Realm while you go adventuring?”
    “Aha,” I said, taken aback and unable to disguise my shock. “The Princess Sharadim. I cannot say as yet.”
    And somewhere, even now, in the back of my mind I could hear that desperate chanting.
    SHARADIM! SHARADIM! THE FIREDRAKE MUST BE FREED!
    It was at that point that I claimed weariness and begged Baron Captain Armiad that I be shown to my bed.
    Once in my quarters I was joined by von Bek, whose rooms were next to mine. “You seem unwell, Herr Daker,” he said. “Are you afraid you’ll be found out in your deception and that the real prince will turn up at this Massing of theirs?”
    “Oh,” I said, “I’ve little doubt I’m the real prince, my friend. But what shocks me is that the only name I’ve heard since I arrived in this world which is in any way familiar is that of the woman to whom I am apparently betrothed!”
    Von Bek said: “That at least should save you embarrassment when you eventually meet her.”
    “Perhaps,” I said, but privately I was deeply disturbed and could not be sure why.
    That night I scarcely slept at all.
    I had come to fear sleep.

3
    N EXT MORNING , I had no difficulty arousing myself. The night had been filled with visions and hallucinations, with the chanting women, the despairing warriors, the voices calling not only Sharadim but calling me also—calling me by a thousand different names.
    When von Bek found me, as I was putting the finishing touches to my toilet, he remarked again on how ill I seemed. “Are these dreams of yours a permanent condition of the life you’ve described?”
    “Not permanent,” I told him, “but frequent.”
    “I do not envy you, Herr Daker.”
    Von Bek had been given fresh clothing. He moved awkwardly in the soft leather shirt and trousers and the thicker leather jerkin, the tall boots. “I look like some robber in a Sturm und Drang play,” he said. He continued to be sardonically amused by his situation and I must admit I was glad of his company. It was a relief, at least, from my doom-filled premonitions and dreams.
    “These clothes,” he said, “are at least fairly clean! And I see they gave you hot water, too. I suppose we should count ourselves fortunate. You were so distressed last night I forgot to thank you for your help.” He held out his hand. “I should like to offer you my friendship, sir.”
    I shook his hand warmly. “And you are assured of mine,” I told him. “I’m happy to have such a comrade. I had not expected so much.”
    “I’ve read of many marvels in the Middle Marches,” he continued, “but nothing so strange as this great lumbering ship. I was up earlier inspecting her machinery. It’s crude—steam of course—but it works to achieve its end. You’ve never seen so many rods and pistons at so many stages of age! The thing must be extremely old and there have been few improvements made, I would guess, in a century or more. Everything is patched and mended, lashed together, crudely welded. The boilers and furnaces themselves are massive. And oddly efficient. It moves a tonnage at least the size of your
Queen Elizabeth
and is only partially supported by water. It depends, of course, more on manpower than an ocean liner, and that could have something to do with it. My engineering background, I must admit,