Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [26]
And he was grateful that Wheldrake’s eyebrows were rising at that moment from behind Gaynor. Why he should decide upon such subterfuge he did not understand, only that, for all his being drawn to Gaynor, for all their mutual patronage under Chaos, he feared something in him. Gaynor had no reason to wish him harm and Elric guessed that Gaynor did not waste anything of himself in meaningless challenges or killings, yet still Elric grew more close-lipped, as if he, too, were fated by the Balance never to speak of his own story, and at length they settled down to sleep, three strange figures in what appeared to be an infinity of wheat.
Early the next morning, Gaynor resumed his saddle. “I was glad of the company, gentlemen. If you travel yonder, you’ll find a pretty settlement. The people there are traders and welcome strangers. They treat us, indeed, with unusual respect. I go on my way. I have been informed that my sisters journeyed towards a place called the Gypsy Nation. Know you anything of that?”
“I regret, sir,” said Wheldrake, wiping his hands upon an enormous red cotton handkerchief, “we are virgins in this world. Innocent as babes. We are wholly at a disadvantage, having but recently arrived in this realm and having no notion of its people or its gods. Perhaps, if I might be somewhat forward, I would suggest that you are yourself of divine or semi-divine origin?”
The answering laugh seemed to find an internal echo, as if the prince’s helm disguised the entrance to some infinite chasm. It was far away, yet oddly intimate. “I told you, Master Wheldrake. I was a Prince of the Balance. But not now. Now, I assure you, sir, there is nothing divine about Gaynor the Damned.”
Murmuring that he still did not understand the significance of the prince’s title, Wheldrake subsided. “If we could help, sir, we would—”
“Who are these women you seek?” Elric asked.
“Three sisters, similar in looks and upon a quest or errand of some singular urgency to themselves. They are searching, I gather, for a lost countryman or perhaps even a brother and had asked hereabouts for the Gypsy Nation. When the people heard they sought the Nation they put them on their way but refused all further intercourse. My only advice to you would be to avoid the subject completely, unless it is raised by them! I have a suspicion, moreover, that once you encounter this band of nomads, you have precious little chance of leaving their ranks unscathed.”
“I am grateful for your advice, Prince Gaynor,” said Elric. “And did you learn who grows so much wheat, and why?”
“Fixed tenants they are called, and when I asked the same question I was told with a somewhat humourless laugh that it was to feed the locusts. I have heard of stranger practices. There is some tension with the gypsies, I gather. They will not speak much of any of this but become unsettled. The realm’s called by them Salish-Kwoonn, which, you’ll recall, is the name of the city in the Ivory Book. An odd irony, that. I was amused.” And he turned his horse away from them as if he escaped wholly into the abstract, his natural environment, and rode slowly towards that distant depression, those hills of refuse, whose presence was already marked on the horizon by crows and kites, by masses of flies swarming like black smoke.
“A scholar,” said Wheldrake, “if a little on the cryptic side. You understand him better than do I, Prince Elric. But I wish he had traveled our way. What do you make of the fellow?”
Elric paused, choosing his words, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. Then he said: “I am afraid of him. I fear him as I have never feared a human creature, mortal or immortal. His doom is terrible, indeed, for he has known the Sanctuary of the Balance, and that is what I yearn for. To have had it—and lost it …”
“Come, now, sir. You must exaggerate. Odd, he was, to be sure. But affable, I thought. Given his