in his curling beard as Elric struggled in the grasp of the ghouls. Now from the other side of the throne came the filthy carcass of Urish the Seven-fingered, the cleaver Hackmeat cradled in his left arm.
Elric could barely hold his head up as the ghouls’ cold flesh absorbed his strength, but he smiled at his own foolishness. He had been right in suspecting a trap, but wrong in entering it so poorly prepared.
And where was Moonglum? Had he deserted him? The little Eastlander was nowhere to be seen.
Urish swaggered round the throne and sprawled his begrimed person in it, placing Hackmeat so that it lay across the arms. His pale, beady eyes stared hard at Elric.
Theleb K’aarna remained standing by the side of the throne, but triumph flamed in his eyes like Imrryr’s own funeral fires.
“Welcome back to Nadsokor,” wheezed Urish, scratching himself between the legs. “You have returned to make amends, I take it.”
Elric shivered as the cold in his bones increased. Stormbringer stirred at his side but it could only help him if he drew it with his own hands. He knew he was dying.
“I have come to regain my property,” he said through chattering teeth. “My ring.”
“Ah! The Ring of Kings. It was yours, was it? My girl mentioned something of that.”
“You sent her to steal it!”
Urish sniggered. “I’ll not deny it. But I did not expect the White Wolf of Imrryr to step so easily into my trap.”
“He would have stepped out again if you had not that amateur magic-maker’s spells to help you!”
Theleb K’aarna glowered but then his face relaxed. “Are you not discomforted, then, by my ghouls?”
Elric was gasping as the last of the heat fled his bones. He now could not stand, but hung in the hands of the dead creatures. Theleb K’aarna must have planned this for weeks, for it took many spells and pacts with the guardians of limbo to bring such ghouls to Earth.
“And so I die,” Elric murmured. “Well, I suppose I do not care . . .”
Urish raised his ruined features in what was a parody of pride. “You do not die yet, Elric of Melniboné. The sentence has yet to be passed! The formalities must be suffered! By my cleaver Hackmeat I must sentence you for your crimes against Nadsokor and against the Sacred Hoard of King Urish!”
Elric hardly heard him as his legs collapsed altogether and the ghouls tightened their grip on him.
Dimly he was aware of the beggar rabble shuffling into the hall.
Doubtless they had all been waiting for this. Had Moonglum died at their hands when he fled the hall?
“Put his head up!” Theleb K’aarna instructed his dead servants. “Let him see Urish, King of All Beggars, make his just decree!”
Elric felt a cold hand beneath his chin and his head was raised so he could watch, through misting eyes, as Urish stood up and grasped the cleaver Hackmeat in his four-fingered hand, stretching it towards the smoky ceiling.
“Elric of Melniboné, thou art convicted of many crimes against the Ignoblest of the Ignoble—myself, King Urish of Nadsokor. Thou has offended King Urish’s friend, that most pleasingly degenerate villain Theleb K’aarna—”
At this Theleb K’aarna pursed his lips, but did not interrupt.
“—and, moreover, did come a second time to the City of Beggars to repeat thy crimes. By my great cleaver Hackmeat, the symbol of my dignity and power, I condemnest thee to the Punishment of the Burning God!”
From all sides of the hall came the foul applause of the Beggar Court. Elric remembered a legend of Nadsokor—that when the original population were first struck by the disease they summoned aid from Chaos—begging Chaos to cleanse the disease from the city—with fire if necessary. Chaos had played a joke upon these folk—sent their Burning God who had burned what was left of their possessions. A further summons to Law to help them had resulted in the Burning God’s being imprisoned by Lord Donblas in the city. Having had enough of the
Elric could barely hold his head up as the ghouls’ cold flesh absorbed his strength, but he smiled at his own foolishness. He had been right in suspecting a trap, but wrong in entering it so poorly prepared.
And where was Moonglum? Had he deserted him? The little Eastlander was nowhere to be seen.
Urish swaggered round the throne and sprawled his begrimed person in it, placing Hackmeat so that it lay across the arms. His pale, beady eyes stared hard at Elric.
Theleb K’aarna remained standing by the side of the throne, but triumph flamed in his eyes like Imrryr’s own funeral fires.
“Welcome back to Nadsokor,” wheezed Urish, scratching himself between the legs. “You have returned to make amends, I take it.”
Elric shivered as the cold in his bones increased. Stormbringer stirred at his side but it could only help him if he drew it with his own hands. He knew he was dying.
“I have come to regain my property,” he said through chattering teeth. “My ring.”
“Ah! The Ring of Kings. It was yours, was it? My girl mentioned something of that.”
“You sent her to steal it!”
Urish sniggered. “I’ll not deny it. But I did not expect the White Wolf of Imrryr to step so easily into my trap.”
“He would have stepped out again if you had not that amateur magic-maker’s spells to help you!”
Theleb K’aarna glowered but then his face relaxed. “Are you not discomforted, then, by my ghouls?”
Elric was gasping as the last of the heat fled his bones. He now could not stand, but hung in the hands of the dead creatures. Theleb K’aarna must have planned this for weeks, for it took many spells and pacts with the guardians of limbo to bring such ghouls to Earth.
“And so I die,” Elric murmured. “Well, I suppose I do not care . . .”
Urish raised his ruined features in what was a parody of pride. “You do not die yet, Elric of Melniboné. The sentence has yet to be passed! The formalities must be suffered! By my cleaver Hackmeat I must sentence you for your crimes against Nadsokor and against the Sacred Hoard of King Urish!”
Elric hardly heard him as his legs collapsed altogether and the ghouls tightened their grip on him.
Dimly he was aware of the beggar rabble shuffling into the hall.
Doubtless they had all been waiting for this. Had Moonglum died at their hands when he fled the hall?
“Put his head up!” Theleb K’aarna instructed his dead servants. “Let him see Urish, King of All Beggars, make his just decree!”
Elric felt a cold hand beneath his chin and his head was raised so he could watch, through misting eyes, as Urish stood up and grasped the cleaver Hackmeat in his four-fingered hand, stretching it towards the smoky ceiling.
“Elric of Melniboné, thou art convicted of many crimes against the Ignoblest of the Ignoble—myself, King Urish of Nadsokor. Thou has offended King Urish’s friend, that most pleasingly degenerate villain Theleb K’aarna—”
At this Theleb K’aarna pursed his lips, but did not interrupt.
“—and, moreover, did come a second time to the City of Beggars to repeat thy crimes. By my great cleaver Hackmeat, the symbol of my dignity and power, I condemnest thee to the Punishment of the Burning God!”
From all sides of the hall came the foul applause of the Beggar Court. Elric remembered a legend of Nadsokor—that when the original population were first struck by the disease they summoned aid from Chaos—begging Chaos to cleanse the disease from the city—with fire if necessary. Chaos had played a joke upon these folk—sent their Burning God who had burned what was left of their possessions. A further summons to Law to help them had resulted in the Burning God’s being imprisoned by Lord Donblas in the city. Having had enough of the
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