Free The War Hound and the World's Pain by Michael Moorcock Page B

Him, for all the world like a rural nobleman preparing himself for a little solitude before lunch.
    “And Captain von Bek has involved you in this bargain, my dear. He has news for you which you might find palatable.”
    She frowned as she rose. She looked enquiringly from her Master to myself. There was nothing I was prepared to say to her at that moment.
    He was plainly dismissing us both. Yet I hesitated.
    “I had expected a somewhat more dramatic symbol of our bargain, Your Majesty.”
    Lucifer smiled again. His wonderful eyes were, temporarily at least, free of pain.
    “I know few mortals who would feel that a visit to Hell was undramatic, captain.”
    I bowed again, accepting this.
    “Should you be successful in your Quest,” Lucifer added, “you will return to this castle with what I have asked you to find. Sabrina will await you.”
    I could not resist one last question: “And if Your Majesty is displeased with what I bring Him?” I said.
    Lucifer put down His book. The eyes had become hard again as they looked into mine. I knew, then, that He must surely own my soul, He understood it so well.
    “Then we shall all go back to Hell together,” He said.
    Sabrina touched my arm. I bowed to my Master for the third and last time. Lucifer returned to His reading.
    As she led me from the room, Sabrina said: “I already know the nature of your Quest. There are maps I must give you. And other things.”
    She curtseyed. She closed the library doors on the Prince of Darkness. Then she took my hand and led me through the castle to a small chamber in one of the northwestern towers. I could not remember having explored this particular region of the castle.
    Here, on a small desk, was a case of maps, two small leather-bound books, a ring of plain silver, a roll of parchment and a brass flask of the ordinary kind which soldiers often carried.
    These objects had been arranged, I thought, in some sort of pattern. Perhaps Sabrina’s habits of witchcraft, with their emphasis on shapes and symbols, influenced her without her being aware of it.
    By way of experiment, I stretched a hand towards the flask. I moved it slightly. She made no objection.
    That action of mine, however, gave me pause. I realized that I had already begun to think in terms which a day or two earlier would have been ridiculous. My world was no longer what it had seemed to be. It was not the world I had trained myself to see. It was a world, in some ways, which threatened action. Imposed upon my world was another, a world in which the smallest detail possessed an extra significance. I attempted to dismiss this unwelcome awareness, at least from my conscious mind. It would not do, I thought, to observe potential danger in the way a bird flew across the sky, or see importance in the manner in which two tree branches intersected. This was the madness of those who thought themselves seers or artists, and I should always remind myself that I was a soldier. My concerns were with the physical world, with the reading of another man’s eyes to see if he meant to kill me or not, with the signs of groups of infantry on the move, with the detection of a peasant’s secret storehouse.
    I turned to Sabrina. It was almost a plea for help.
    “I am afraid,” I said.
    She stroked my arm. “You regret your bargain with our Master?”
    I was unable to reply directly. “I regret the circumstances which have put us both in His power,” I said. “But if it is so, I have little choice but to do what He asks of me.”
    “He suggested that something you had agreed with Him would be of significance to me.” She spoke carelessly, but I think she was eager to hear what had been agreed. “The bargain you struck?”
    “I am attempting to regain your soul as well as my own,” I said. “If I find this—this Grail, we are both free.”
    At first she looked at me with hope and then, almost immediately, with despair. “My soul is sold, Ulrich.”
    “He has promised to restore it