Free To Rescue Tanelorn by Michael Moorcock

you to enter Loos Ptokai as my guest and refresh yourself. You seem in need of refreshment.”
    My herald sneered. “They became ingenuous in their defeat if they think they can take you with such a simple trick, my lord.”
    “Be silent,” I ordered, my mind a battleground of conflicting thoughts and emotions. I took a deep breath.
    “I accept, Prince Arjavh,” I said hollowly, and added: “Is the Lady Ermizhad therein?”
    “She is, and looks forward to seeing you.” There was an edge on Arjavh’s voice as he answered this last question. He loved her, I knew, and perhaps was aware of my own affection for her. Aware of it though, at that time, I was not. It was that, of course, which contributed to my decision to enter Loos Ptokai.
    The herald said in astonishment: “My lord, surely you cannot be serious. Once inside the gates you will be slain. There were stories, once, that you and Arjavh were not on unfriendly terms, for enemies, but after the havoc you have caused in Mernadin, he will kill you immediately.”
    I shook my head in a new and quieter mood. “I think not,” I said, and all the ferocity, the hate, the mad battle-anger, seemed to swell out of me, leaving me, as I turned away from the herald so he should not see me, with tears in my eyes.
    “Open your gates, Prince Arjavh,” I called in shaking tones which I could not control. “I come to Loos Ptokai as your guest.”
             
    I rode my horse slowly into the city, having left my sword and lance behind me. The herald, in astonishment, was galloping back to our own camp to give the news to the marshals.
    The streets of Loos Ptokai were silent, as if in mourning, as Arjavh came down the steps from the battlements to greet me. I saw, now that he was closer, that he, too, wore the expression which showed upon my own harsh face. His steps were not so lithe and his voice not quite so lilting as when we had first met a year before.
    I dismounted. He gripped my hand.
    “So,” he said in attempted gaiety, “the barbarian battlemonger is still material. My people had begun to doubt it.”
    “I suppose they hate me,” I said.
    He seemed a little surprised. “The Eldren cannot hate,” he said as he led me towards the palace wherein he had residence.
             
    I was shown by Arjavh to a small room containing a bed, a table and a chair of wonderful workmanship. In one corner was a sunken bath, water already steaming in it. After he had left, I stripped off my blood-and dust-encrusted clothing and sank gratefully into the water.
    After the initial emotional shock I had received when Arjavh had given his invitation, my mind was now numbed and, for the first time in a year, I relaxed, mentally and physically, washing all the grief and hatred from me as I washed my body.
    I was almost cheerful as I donned the fresh clothes which had been laid out for me and, when someone knocked at my door, called lightly for them to enter.
    “Hello, Erekosë.” Ermizhad stood there.
    “My lady,” I returned, bowing slightly.
    “How are you?”
    “Better,” I said, “for your hospitality.”
    “Arjavh sent me to take you to dinner.”
    “I am ready. But first tell me how you have fared.”
    “Well enough—in health,” said she. She came closer. “And tell me—are you wed now to Queen Iolinda?”
    “We are still betrothed,” I told her, looking into her eyes. “We are to be married when…”
    “When?”
    “When Loos Ptokai is taken,” I said quickly and then stepped towards her so that we were separated by less than an inch. “Could not the Eldren admit defeat, Ermizhad. Could they not acknowledge mankind’s victory?”
    “To what purpose—they say you swore to slay us all?”
    “Forget that—let peace ensue between our peoples.”
    She shook her head. “For all your bloody conquests, Erekosë, you still do not understand the people you serve. Your race will only be satisfied when every Eldren has perished.”
    I knew the