Elric of Melnibone - Michael Moorcock [55]
‘Yes. It is only a short distance from Ameeron, the Marsh itself. You go that way. Then you look for a monument in the shape of an eagle carved in black marble. At the base of the monument is the entrance to the tunnel.’ Niun repeated this information parrot-fashion and when he looked up his face was clearer. ‘What did I just tell you?’
Elric said: ‘You gave us instructions on how to reach the entrance to the Tunnel Under the Marsh.’
‘Did I?’ Niun clapped his old hands. ‘Splendid. I have forgotten that now, too. Who are you?’
‘We are best forgotten,’ said Rackhir with a gentle smile. ‘Farewell, Niun and thanks.’
‘Thanks for what?’
‘Both for remembering and for forgetting.’
They walked on through the miserable City of Ameeron, away from the happy old sorcerer, sighting the odd face staring at them from a doorway or a window, doing their best to breathe as little of the foul air as possible.
‘I think perhaps that I envy Niun alone of all the inhabitants of this desolate place,’ said Rackhir.
‘I pity him,’ said Elric.
‘Why so?’
‘It occurs to me that when he has forgotten everything, he may well forget that he is allowed to leave Ameeron.’
Rackhir laughed and slapped the albino upon his black armoured back. ‘You are a gloomy comrade, friend Elric. Are all your thoughts so hopeless?’
‘They tend in that direction, I fear,’ said Elric with a shadow of a smile.
3
The Tunnel Under the Marsh
* * *
AND ON THEY travelled through that sad and murky world until at last they came to the marsh.
The marsh was black. Black spiky vegetation grew in clumps here and there upon it. It was cold and it was dank; a dark mist swirled close to the surface and through the mist sometimes darted low shapes. From the mist rose a solid black object which could only be the monument described by Niun.
‘The monument,’ said Rackhir, stopping and leaning on his bow. ‘It’s well out into the marsh and there’s no evident pathway leading to it. Is this a problem, do you think, Comrade Elric?’
Elric waded cautiously into the edge of the marsh. He felt the cold ooze drag at his feet. He stepped back with some difficulty.
‘There must be a path,’ said Rackhir, fingering his bony nose. ‘Else how would your cousin cross?’
Elric looked over his shoulder at the Red Archer and he shrugged. ‘Who knows? He could be travelling with sorcerous companions who have no difficulty where marshes are concerned.’
Suddenly Elric found himself sitting down upon the damp rock. The stink of brine from the marsh seemed for a moment to have overwhelmed him. He was feeling weak. The effectiveness of his drugs, last taken just as he stepped through the Shade Gate, was beginning to fade.
Rackhir came and stood by the albino. He smiled with a certain amount of bantering sympathy. ‘Well, Sir Sorcerer, cannot you summon similar aid?’
Elric shook his head. ‘I know little that is practical concerning the raising of small demons. Yyrkoon has all his grimoires, his favourite spells, his introductions to the demon worlds. We shall have to find a path of the ordinary kind if we wish to reach yonder monument, Warrior Priest of Phum.’
The Warrior Priest of Phum drew a red kerchief from within his tunic and blew his nose for some time. When he had finished he put down a hand, helped Elric to his feet, and began to walk along the rim of the marsh, keeping the black monument ever in sight.
It was some time later that they found a path at last and it was not a natural path but a slab of black marble extending out into the gloom of the mire, slippery to the feet and itself covered with a film of ooze.
‘I would almost suspect this of being a false path—a lure to take us to our death,’ said Rackhir as he and Elric stood and looked at the long slab, ‘but what have we to lose now?’
‘Come,’ said Elric, setting foot on the slab and beginning to make his cautious way along it. In his hand he now held a torch of sorts, a bundle of sputtering reeds which gave off an unpleasant yellow light and a considerable amount