Elric in the Dream Realms - Michael Moorcock [8]
“I’m sorry to disappoint your expectations.” Elric rose weakly on his elbow. He had deemed it imprudent to reveal his origins but instead had said he was a mercenary from Nadsokor, the Beggar City, which sheltered all manner of freakish inhabitants.
“Then I had hoped you might be a wizard and reward me with some bit of arcane lore which would set me on the path to becoming a wealthy man and perhaps a member of the Six. Or you might have been a desert spirit who would confer on me some useful power. But I have wasted my waters, it seems. You are merely an impoverished mercenary. Have you no wealth left at all? Some curio which might prove of value, for instance?” And the boy’s eyes went towards a bundle which, long and slender, rested against the wall near Elric’s head.
“That’s no treasure, lad,” Elric informed him grimly. “He who possesses it could be said to bear a curse impossible to exorcize.” He smiled at the thought of the boy trying to find a buyer for the Black Sword which, wrapped in a torn cassock of red silk, occasionally gave out a murmur, like a senile man attempting to recall the power of speech.
“It’s a weapon, is it not?” said Anigh, his thin, tanned features making his vivid blue eyes seem large. “Aye,” Elric agreed. “A sword.”
“An antique?” The boy reached under his striped brown djellabah and picked at the scab on his shoulder.
“That’s a fair description.” Elric was amused but found even this brief conversation tiring.
“How old?” Now Anigh took a step forward so that he was entirely illuminated by the ray of sunlight. He had the perfect look of a creature adapted to dwell amongst the tawny rocks and the dusky sands of the Sighing Desert.
“Perhaps ten thousand years.” Elric found that the boy’s startled expression helped him forget, momentarily, his almost certain fate. “But probably more than that …”
“Then it’s a rarity, indeed! Rarities are prized by Quarzhasaat’s lords and ladies. There are those amongst the Six, even, who collect such things. His honour the Master of Unicht Shlur, for instance, has the armour of a whole Ilmioran army, each piece arranged on the mummified corpses of the original warriors. And my Lady Talith possesses a collection of war-instruments numbering several thousands, each one different. Let me take that, Sir Mercenary, and I’ll discover a buyer. Then I’ll seek the herbs you need.”
“Whereupon I’ll be fit enough for you to sell me, eh?” Elric’s amusement increased.
Anigh’s face became exquisitely innocent. “Oh, no, sir. Then you will be strong enough to resist me. I shall merely take a commission on your first engagement.”
Elric felt affection for the boy. He paused, gathering strength before he spoke again. “You expect I’ll interest an employer, here in Quarzhasaat?”
“Naturally.” Anigh grinned. “You could become a bodyguard to one of the Six, perhaps, or at least one of their supporters. Your unusual appearance makes you immediately employable! I have already told you what great rivals and plotters our masters are.”
“It is encouraging—” Elric paused for breath—”to know that I can look forward to a life of worth and fulfillment here in Quarzhasaat.” He tried to stare directly into Anigh’s brilliant eyes, but the boy’s head turned out of the sunlight so that only part of his body was exposed. “However, I understood from you that the herbs I described grew only in distant Kwan, days from here—in the foothills of the Ragged Pillars. I will be dead before even a fit messenger could be halfway to Kwan. Do you try to comfort me, boy? Or are your motives less noble?”
“I told you, sir, where the herbs grew. But what if there are some who have already gathered Kwan’s harvest and returned?”
“You know of such an apothecary? But what would one charge me for such valuable medicines? And why did you not mention this before?”
“Because I did not know of it before.” Anigh seated himself in the relative cool of the doorway. “I have made enquiries since our last conversation. I am a humble boy, your worship, not a learned man, nor yet an oracle.