6. Elric
6
ELRIC
T he sky outside the cellar room is darkening when Lukas finally returns. It has certainly been long enough that Elric has drunk all the water and ale that was left for him and his belly is growling for food.
He has examined the room. Not looking for an escape route. He already has his escape secure, but he amused himself looking through Lukas Darekul’s meagre belongings. He doesn’t have much. A spare shirt, a pouch of moonleaf. Elric is amazed he can live in such squalor. He was once part of the Darek family.
Now he has nothing.
“Get up,” Lukas says before Elric can start on any of the flirtatious remarks he’d planned to make about how much he’d missed his handsome hook man.
“Oh no,” Elric says, getting obediently to his feet from the corner of the small room. “Are you letting me go? You haven’t even ravaged me?”
“I’m taking you,” — Lukas pauses. Clearly, he plans to say something especially exciting — “to meet the leader of the Mortingales.”
“Oh,” Elric says, “is he going to ravage me?”
“I doubt it,” says Lukas in a surly growl that suggests he is really tiring of Elric’s nonsense. Not that such a tone will make any difference to Elric. Goading Lukas is simply too interesting. “He is gravely ill and even if he wasn’t you are not to his taste.”
“How dare you,” says Elric playfully, strolling towards the doorway where Lukas stands. He stands a little too close to him, just because. “I’ll have you know I am to everyone’s taste, outlaw.”
“Not Abul’s,” says Lukas. “Believe me. He is no fan of luxoli. Broke his heart when he discovered I was sly. Perhaps because he discovered me abed with Red Wolf, his son.”
Elric smirks at this statement. It seems Lukas Darekul is in a better mood despite his snarling. But he takes note of Lukas’s words. So he is Red Wolf’s lover. Or was. Confirmation of which could be useful. “You terror,” Elric says. “But what has Old Man Mortingale got against luxoli? Being sly is a great crime in Azuria, but aren’t the Azurians your enemies? Surely you should celebrate all the things they hate.”
“Oh, we do not pay any heed to the laws of Zai here. Luxoli is no crime. But Abul thinks it a waste of seed. He believes it is the sacred duty of every Mortingale to have as many offspring as possible, loyal to the cause. That is why he remarried when his wife was slain in the purge. And even at more than sixty summers he has sired twin sons on her and, I understand, he hopes for more.”
“Breeding more Mortingales. Interesting plan,” Elric says, as he follows Lukas through the doorway.
Lukas laughs as they walk on. “He’s very serious about it. He likes to matchmake within the inner circle like it is his own Rose Palace.”
“And has he ever tried to matchmake you?”
Lukas pauses. “No. I am no longer part of that inner circle. But even when I was… I think he always knew that would not go well.”
“But he let you bed his son.” Elric pauses. Then he lets the name form a shape in his mouth as if it is new to him. As if he first heard it when Lukas said it a moment ago. “Red Wolf.”
“He lets a lot of people bed Red Wolf,” says Lukas. “I think he realised long ago there was no stopping that.”
Lukas blindfolds Elric again before he takes him up the cellar steps. They walk outside, Lukas’s hand tight on Elric’s upper arm.
“Don’t try anything,” Lukas snarls quietly as they walk.
Elric wonders what he could possibly try, but he says, “I’m glad I’ve got you to protect me from the terrible outlaws, Silverhand.”
Lukas makes a scoffing noise.
When Lukas removes the blindfold, they are inside another building, which seems much larger, and they’re standing in a stone passageway before an archway entrance hung with a tatty curtain. Lukas leads Elric through it into a bedchamber. In the room’s large bed is an old man. Who Elric assumes must be Abul. Lukas had said sixty summers, but he looks older than that. Elric is no expert in these things, but Abul does not look like he will be in this world much longer.
Beside the bed is a dinner table, laid with a reasonable feast. Elric has certainly seen better, but this is more than he would have expected from forest-dwelling outlaws. His empty belly growls. There is a large pot of delicious-smelling stew, which Elric assumes is going to be rabbit and roots, heavy on the roots. There is bread and ale in generous amounts. At the table, there is a reasonably attractive-looking woman fussing over two fat babes. Elric takes her to be Abul’s second wife and those twin sons. He also recognises the savage woman with the burn scar on her face, who grabbed him at the raid the previous evening and the big man who’d had the axe. Also at the table is Red Wolf, who holds Elric’s gaze with a neutral expression when he walks in. Elric glances at him and gives no indication he has ever seen him before in his life.
There are two empty seats. Elric takes his place beside Lukas. From here he has a good view of Abul in the bed. Now he can see him closer, Elric realises he is not as elderly as he seemed at first glance. Sixty summers does seem about right. Although he looks distinctly frail. Something about the way he holds his body made him appear a much older man.
“You must be Elric Underlia,” says Abul, quite kindly. “Son of Lord Harwin Underlia.”
“That’s right,” says Elric, taking the bowl of steaming stew Lukas passes to him. “Sorry about that. I did not wish it any more than you would.”
“Ah, no,” Abul says with a smile, “your father is, of course, a terrible man, but we are delighted by your lineage.”
Elric smiles. “And you must be Abul. Your name is known in the Rose Palace and I have heard you have many fine children.”
Abul’s smiles back, old skin crinkling, praising his prowess at siring children seems to be the right topic of conversation. “Indeed I do. These twins are my two youngest. Caran and Kor.” He indicates the squalling babes. “With my wife, Suriel. And my two eldest children. “Inga,” he points to the fierce woman. “With her consort Little Lamb,” the man with the axe. “And my son Red Wolf.”
In response to his introduction, Red Wolf reaches over the table to offer Elric his hand. When Elric takes it, Red Wolf grips it a little too tightly and draws it back to kiss Elric’s knuckles as if he is a pretty maiden.
Elric holds his gaze as he does so, before taking back his hand with a coquettish flutter of his eyelashes, which sets the whole table laughing. Red Wolf winks at Elric.
“Enough of that, Wolf, you sly cur,” Abul says from his bed. A serving maid has come to sit beside him and feed him a bowl of the stew. “How many sly men must I have at my table?”
“How many? Let’s see, father,” says Red Wolf. He holds up his fingers as if to count them off. “There’s me, your disappointingly sly son, there’s Lucky the dreadful luxorite bastard and then there’s this new addition, Master Elric Underlia, invert son of the Warden of Pluma-Ferris. Quite the assembly, but I am sure I could find you some more if you wish it. Surely this dinner will go down in history.”
“We can only hope it doesn’t go down as a great orgy of luxoli,” says Inga into her bowl.
“Really sister?” says Red Wolf. “I, for one, am hoping for the opposite.”
Elric takes a spoonful of his stew. As he expected his bowl is almost all roots with very little meat and the scraps he does find are stringy rabbit.
He glances at Lukas. He’s resting his hook in his lap as he eats one-handed. Red Wolf called him Lucky, but he calls himself Silverhand. Perhaps Silverhand is the name for the man with the hook and Lucky is an older name. The one he first used when he ran away to join the Mortingales. A name from before he lost his hand. But that thing he had strapped to his blunt wrist is neither silver nor a hand. Iron hook he should be called. Although, Silverhand does perhaps have a nicer ring to it. Elric could imagine whispering Silverhand in bed. No, not whispering, moaning. Moaning Silverhand. Moaning, please, Silverhand, more, harder . He squirms at the thought. It would be sweet to bed a Bastard Prince. He wonders if he’ll get the chance.
He must have squirmed more than he thought, because Lukas leans in and murmurs, “Keep still. No matter what Red Wolf desires, this is not a luxorian orgy.”
Abul says, “Ah, you know, I do so often forget that you are sly, my dear Lucky.” He sounds quite wistful about it. “Such a loss to our great cause that you cannot give me sons to raise to continue our fight for freedom.”
“I tried my best, Father,” says Red Wolf, loudly. “But his seed simply did not plant a babe in my belly. Perhaps he is incapable of such things.”
At this, Inga snorts into her bowl.
Abul laughs too. “You know, my sweet Lucky, I have oft wondered if you are worth the trouble you cause me. Perhaps I should have killed you for seducing my son.”
“Should have killed him for something,” mutters Inga.
But Red Wolf leans over the bed towards his father, a wicked grin dancing on his face. “Father really, do you think Lucky is so irresistible that without him I would be fathering you an army of warrior grandchildren?”
This makes Abul laugh again. He is clearly as bewitched by Red Wolf’s charm as anyone. “You know, my dear son,” he says, “I am simply concerned for my legacy. I grow old. I will not be here to lead the Mortingales for much longer. I am an ill man. I am fading. My end beckons. I do not fear it for I have lived an honourable life and I will be welcomed into the arms of Alios and Gaari in only a few more turns of the moon. But I need to consider what will become of the Mortingales when I am gone. There must be a leader from this group at my table.” He looks around at the faces gathered at his bedside. “I am including you, Lucky. I consider you as a son to me.”
It’s Little Lamb who responds. “Yes, hand it all over to a traitor who’s loyal to the Azurian Empire.”
Abul looks angrily at Little Lamb. “Enough of that Lamb. I have made my thoughts on that matter very clear. Lukas is no traitor. Claim it again and I will banish you to the outer circle.”
Little Lamb stays in his position. He glances over at Lukas and Elric, then says, “Inga should be your heir.”
Abul looks at Little Lamb thoughtfully, then at Inga. “My dearest daughter, perhaps. But all of you must understand that I am giving this matter much thought. I will have to name my successor soon and I will trust that my closest allies respect what I decide.”
“Father,” Inga says quietly. “You cannot surely be considering Silverhand. Whatever you might think, many believe him a traitor.”
Abul shakes his head. “Dear daughter, you know I believe Lucky is no traitor despite the family of his birth. He has been with us since he was six and ten and he is as a son to me.”
Inga shakes her head sourly. “A traitor son. If he wasn’t loyal to the Rose Court, how did he know to leave just before the purge?”
Lukas stands up suddenly, face tight with anger. “You know exactly why I left, Inga. I left because of the lies you spread about me. You forced me out and I lost my hand because of it.”
Beside Inga, Little Lamb stands too. He hefts his axe. “Do you wish to lose the other one, bastard?” he growls. “Take a seat.”
“Enough of this now, all of you,” snaps Abul. “Truly Lukas, you must learn diplomacy. Can you at least try to prove to me that you are worth my continued faith in you?” He turns his gaze to Inga. “And you, daughter, will respect my decision in this matter.” He looks around the room. “You all will.”
The room goes silent.
The meal continues and Red Wolf breaks the tension by telling a story about the drunken exploits of someone called Colen at the revels the night before. Ale flows and the stew and bread are eaten. Another serving maid brings out honeyed berries and some spicewine. The berries are tart and there isn’t enough honey. But Elric supposes this is the finest of food for wild outlaws.
And they are sharing it with him. A hostage. He knows that the Empire doesn’t treat its prisoners like this, even those of noble birth. The Mortingales may have tied him up and imprisoned him and inflicted Silverhand on him as an interrogator. But now they have brought him to dinner with the Mortingale’s leader and his family like an honoured guest. His lineage must be of great value to them.
As they finish eating, Abul says, “So now, I must discuss with you all, a great mission. The chance we have been waiting for. We will have vengeance, finally, for the horrors of the purge and what the filthy corrupt Empire has done to us. The reason I have invited you Inga, Red Wolf, Little Lamb and Lucky to my table is that you will all travel together to take this prize,” — he points at Elric — “to Lunatum and secure a reward beyond our dreams.”
“Me?” says Inga, leaning forward.
“Yes, daughter,” says Abul. “I have been too long a fool when it comes to your abilities. You have oft told me that you are a warrior and I have not listened. But your attack on the Azurian party was a great success and you should reap the spoils.”
Lukas snorts. “If you mean the capture of this lordling here,” he points to Elric, “she would have run him through if he hadn’t escaped into the woods.”
Abul holds up a hand. “Quiet, Lucky. I will be sending you on this mission too. This will be a chance for all of you to work together and secure our future. It is my hope that with a common aim, you will be able to put your differences behind you, finally.”
Elric notices Lukas take a breath.
Inga looks for a moment like she might say something, but she does not.
“So,” says Abul. “Inga, you will lead the party. You will take Silverhand, who will be charged with the welfare of our hostage and of course, he knows Lunatum. Little Lamb will take defence if you meet any trouble on the road. Red Wolf, you will go with them too. You will be useful, I think, in brokering the deal. You are no fighter, but we all know you can talk to anyone. You will manage the liaison.” He looks around the room. “Are we all agreed?”
Elric doesn’t think there has ever been a worse company assembled to do anything and he wonders what Red Wolf did to ensure he was included in the mission. But the people Abul has named as his crew all nod.
“Very well,” Abul raises his cup. “To the mission. To overthrowing the Darek yoke and freedom.”
Cups are lifted and the toast is made. “To freedom.”
Abul smiles. “And you will remember, all of you, we work for one cause.” He raises his cup again. “Death to Emperor Selim.”
Elric gasps to hear something so treasonous said aloud, but all around his cups are charged and the second toast is repeated. “Death to Emperor Selim.”
Elric looks at Lukas, who is holding his own cup high. He winks at Elric.
“And now,” says Abul, “you must leave me. I tire.” He looks to Lukas. “Lucky, if you would return our guest to his room and come back here. I would speak with you further.”