The Dragon in the Sword

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Authors: Michael Moorcock
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believe you’ve done so much, sir, and yet still be fairly young!”
    “The truth is for you to decide,” I said. “I dare say there’s a fair bit of embellishment, however, in there.”
    “Well,” said Bellanda with a broad smile, “I’m prepared to believe every word. There’s idle gossip says your sister is the real power, that you do nothing but lease your name to the sensational writers. But I can now say, since I have met you, Prince Flamadin, that you are every inch a hero!”
    “You’re very kind,” I replied with a bow. “But I’m sure my sister deserves a great deal of credit, too.”
    “The Princess Sharadim? She refuses to be mentioned in those pages, I hear.”
    “Sharadim?” Again that name! Yet only yesterday she had been described as my betrothed.
    “Aye…” Bellanda looked puzzled. “Have I been too bold, Prince Flamadin, in my humour…?”
    “No, no. Is Sharadim a common name in my own land…?” I was asking a stupid question. I had baffled her.
    “I cannot follow you, sir…”
    Von Bek came to my rescue again. “I had heard that the Princess Sharadim was Prince Flamadin’s bride-to-be…”
    “So she is, sir,” said Bellanda. “And the prince’s sister. That’s a tradition in your realm, is it not?” She grew further confused. “If I have repeated a piece of stupid gossip or believed too much in these fictions, I really do apologise…”
    I recovered myself. “It is not for you to apologise.” I went towards the edge of the turret and leaned against it. A wind blew up, dispelling the smoke, and freshened my lungs, my skin, helped me cool my mind. “I am fatigued. Sometimes I forget things…”
    “Come,” said von Bek, apologising to the young people, “I will help you back to your quarters. Rest for an hour. You’ll feel better for it.”
    I allowed him to lead me away from the thoroughly puzzled group of students.
    When we returned to the cabins we found a messenger waiting patiently outside the main door. “My good gentlemen,” he said, “the Baron Captain sends his respects. He lunches at your pleasure.”
    “Does that mean we should join him as soon as possible?” von Bek asked the man.
    “If you are so disposed, sir.”
    We went inside and I made my way to my bedroom, sitting down heavily. “I apologise, von Bek. These revelations should not affect me so. If it had not been for those dreams—those women calling me Sharadim…”
    “I think I can understand,” he said, “but you should try to pull yourself together. We don’t want these people to turn against us. Not just yet, my friend. I believe that amongst the intelligentsia they are curious as to whether you are the hero which the storybooks describe. I think there’s a rumour that Prince Flamadin is a mere puppet. Did you sense that?”
    I nodded. “Perhaps that’s why they call to Sharadim.”
    “I’m not sure I follow you.”
    “A suggestion that it is she who holds the real power, that her brother—her betrothed—is a mere sham. Perhaps it suits her to have him a kind of living legend, a popular hero. Such relationships are not unheard of in our world, after all.”
    “I did not gather as much, but I agree it is a possibility. Does this mean, then, that you and Flamadin of the Valadek are not necessarily of the same character?”
    “The shell alters, von Bek. The spirit and the character remain unchanged. It would not be the first time I have been incarnated in the body of a hero who was not all people expected him to be.”
    “The other thing I’d be curious about in your shoes, as it were, is how I came to be in this world in the first place. Do you think you’ll discover that answer soon?”
    “I can be sure of nothing, my friend.” I stood up and straightened my shoulders. “Let’s prepare ourselves for whatever foul experience luncheon is going to bring us.”
    As we left for the Baron Captain’s hall, von Bek said: “I wonder if this Princess Sharadim will be at

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