coinage of all the nations of the Young Kingdoms had been imbedded in the wooden door and above it had been nailed, perhaps ironically, a pair of wooden crutches, crossed as swords might be crossed, indicating that the weapons of the beggar were his power to horrify and disgust those luckier or better endowed than himself.
Elric stared through the murk at the building and he had a calculating frown on his face.
“There are no guards,” he said to Moonglum.
“Why should there be? What have they to guard?”
“There were guards last time I came to Nadsokor. Urish protects his Hoard most assiduously. It is not outsiders he fears but his own despicable rabble.”
“Perhaps he no longer fears them.”
Elric smiled. “A creature like King Urish fears everything. We had best be wary when we enter the hall. Have your swords ready to draw at any hint that we have been lured into a trap.”
“Surely Urish would not suspect we’d know where the girl came from?”
“Aye, it seemed good chance that one of them told us, but nonetheless we must make allowances for Urish’s cunning.”
“He would not willingly bring you here—not with the Black Sword at your side.”
“Perhaps . . .”
They began to walk across the forum. It was very still, very dark. From far away came the occasional shout, a laugh or an obscene, indefinable sound.
Now they were at the door, standing beneath the crossed crutches.
Elric felt beneath his ragged robes for the hilt of his sword and with his left hand pushed at the door. It squeaked open a fraction. They looked about them to see if anyone had heard the sound, but the square was as still as it had been.
More pressure. Another squeak. And now they could squeeze their bodies through the aperture.
They stood in Urish’s hall. Braziers of garbage gave off faint light. Oily smoke curled towards the rafters. They saw the dim outlines of the dais at the far end and on the dais stood Urish’s huge, crude throne. The hall seemed deserted, but Elric’s hand did not leave the hilt of the Black Sword.
He stopped as he heard a sound, but it was a great, black rat scuttling across the floor.
Silence again.
Elric moved forward, step by cautious step, along the length of the slimy hall, Moonglum behind him.
Elric’s spirits began to rise, as they neared the throne. Perhaps Urish had, after all, grown complacent of his strength. He would open the trunk beneath the throne, remove his ring and then they would leave the city and be away before dawn, riding across country to join the caravan of Rackhir the Red Archer on its way to Tanelorn.
He began to relax but his step was just as cautious. Moonglum had paused, cocking his head to one side as if hearing something.
Elric turned. “What is it you hear?”
“Possibly nothing. Or maybe one of those great rats we saw earlier. It is just that—”
A silver-blue radiance burst out from behind the grotesque throne and Elric flung up his left hand to protect his eyes, trying to disentangle his sword from his rags.
Moonglum yelled and began to run for the door, but even when Elric put his back to the light he could not see. Stormbringer moaned in its scabbard as if in rage. Elric tugged at it, but felt his limbs grow weaker and weaker. From behind him came a laugh which he recognized. A second laugh—almost a throaty cough—joined it.
His sight came back but now he was held by clammy hands and when he saw his captors he shuddered. Shadowy creatures of limbo held him—ghouls summoned by sorcery. Their dead faces smiled but their dead eyes remained dead. Elric felt the heat and the strength leaving his body and it was as if the ghouls sucked it from him. He could almost feel his vitality traveling from his own body to theirs.
Again the laugh. He looked up at the throne and saw emerging from behind it the tall, saturnine figure of Theleb K’aarna, whom he had left for dead near the castle of Kaneloon a few months since.
Theleb K’aarna smiled
Elric stared through the murk at the building and he had a calculating frown on his face.
“There are no guards,” he said to Moonglum.
“Why should there be? What have they to guard?”
“There were guards last time I came to Nadsokor. Urish protects his Hoard most assiduously. It is not outsiders he fears but his own despicable rabble.”
“Perhaps he no longer fears them.”
Elric smiled. “A creature like King Urish fears everything. We had best be wary when we enter the hall. Have your swords ready to draw at any hint that we have been lured into a trap.”
“Surely Urish would not suspect we’d know where the girl came from?”
“Aye, it seemed good chance that one of them told us, but nonetheless we must make allowances for Urish’s cunning.”
“He would not willingly bring you here—not with the Black Sword at your side.”
“Perhaps . . .”
They began to walk across the forum. It was very still, very dark. From far away came the occasional shout, a laugh or an obscene, indefinable sound.
Now they were at the door, standing beneath the crossed crutches.
Elric felt beneath his ragged robes for the hilt of his sword and with his left hand pushed at the door. It squeaked open a fraction. They looked about them to see if anyone had heard the sound, but the square was as still as it had been.
More pressure. Another squeak. And now they could squeeze their bodies through the aperture.
They stood in Urish’s hall. Braziers of garbage gave off faint light. Oily smoke curled towards the rafters. They saw the dim outlines of the dais at the far end and on the dais stood Urish’s huge, crude throne. The hall seemed deserted, but Elric’s hand did not leave the hilt of the Black Sword.
He stopped as he heard a sound, but it was a great, black rat scuttling across the floor.
Silence again.
Elric moved forward, step by cautious step, along the length of the slimy hall, Moonglum behind him.
Elric’s spirits began to rise, as they neared the throne. Perhaps Urish had, after all, grown complacent of his strength. He would open the trunk beneath the throne, remove his ring and then they would leave the city and be away before dawn, riding across country to join the caravan of Rackhir the Red Archer on its way to Tanelorn.
He began to relax but his step was just as cautious. Moonglum had paused, cocking his head to one side as if hearing something.
Elric turned. “What is it you hear?”
“Possibly nothing. Or maybe one of those great rats we saw earlier. It is just that—”
A silver-blue radiance burst out from behind the grotesque throne and Elric flung up his left hand to protect his eyes, trying to disentangle his sword from his rags.
Moonglum yelled and began to run for the door, but even when Elric put his back to the light he could not see. Stormbringer moaned in its scabbard as if in rage. Elric tugged at it, but felt his limbs grow weaker and weaker. From behind him came a laugh which he recognized. A second laugh—almost a throaty cough—joined it.
His sight came back but now he was held by clammy hands and when he saw his captors he shuddered. Shadowy creatures of limbo held him—ghouls summoned by sorcery. Their dead faces smiled but their dead eyes remained dead. Elric felt the heat and the strength leaving his body and it was as if the ghouls sucked it from him. He could almost feel his vitality traveling from his own body to theirs.
Again the laugh. He looked up at the throne and saw emerging from behind it the tall, saturnine figure of Theleb K’aarna, whom he had left for dead near the castle of Kaneloon a few months since.
Theleb K’aarna smiled
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