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The two tall men, both outcasts in their different ways, began to trudge through the gloom of that desolate wasteland.

CHAPTER TWO

In the City of Ameeron

The city of Ameeron came in sight and Elric had never seen such a place before. Ameeron made Dhoz-Kam seem like the cleanest and most well-run settlement there could be. The city lay below the plain of rocks, in a shallow valley over which hung perpetual smoke: a filthy, tattered cloak meant to hide the place from the sight of men and gods.

The buildings were mostly in a state of semi-ruin or else were wholly ruined and shacks and tents erected in their place. The mixture of architectural styles—some familiar, some most alien—was such that Elric was hard put to see one building which resembled another. There were shanties and castles, cottages, towers and forts, plain, square villas and wooden huts heavy with carved ornamentation. Others seemed merely piles of rock with a jagged opening at one end for a door. But none looked well—could not have looked well in that landscape under that perpetually gloomy sky.

Here and there red fires sputtered, adding to the smoke, and the smell as Elric and Rackhir reached the outskirts was rich with a great variety of stinks.

“Arrogance, rather than pride, is the paramount quality of most of Ameeron’s residents,” said Rackhir, wrinkling his hawklike nose. “Where they have any qualities of character left at all.”

Elric trudged through filth. Shadows scuttled amongst the close-packed buildings. “Is there an inn, perhaps, where we can enquire after the Tunnel Under the Marsh and its whereabouts?”

“No inn. By and large the inhabitants keep themselves to themselves . . .”

“A city square where folk meet?”

“This city has no centre. Each resident or group of residents built their own dwelling where they felt like it, or where there was space, and they come from all planes and all ages, thus the confusion, the decay and the oldness of many of the places. Thus the filth, the hopelessness, the decadence of the majority.”

“How do they live?”

“They live off each other, by and large. They trade with demons who occasionally visit Ameeron from time to time . . .”

“Demons?”

“Aye. And the bravest hunt the rats which dwell in the caverns below the city.”

“What demons are these?”

“Just creatures, mainly minor minions of Chaos, who want something that the Ameeronese can supply—a stolen soul or two, a baby, perhaps (though few are born here)—you can imagine what else, if you’ve knowledge of what demons normally demand from sorcerers.”

“Aye. I can imagine. So Chaos can come and go on this plane as it pleases?”

“I’m not sure it’s quite as easy. But it is certainly easier for the demons to travel back and forth here than it would be for them to travel back and forth in our plane.”

“Have you seen any of these demons?”

“Aye. The usual bestial sort. Coarse, stupid and powerful—many of them were once human before electing to bargain with Chaos. Now they are mentally and physically warped into foul, demon shapes.”

Elric found Rackhir’s words not to his taste. “Is that ever the fate of those who bargain with Chaos?” he said.

“You should know, if you come from Melniboné. I know that in Phum it is rarely the case. But it seems that the higher the stakes the subtler are the changes a man undergoes when Chaos agrees to trade with him.”

Elric sighed. “Where shall we enquire of our Tunnel Under the Marsh?”

“There was an old man . . .” Rackhir began, and then a grunt behind him made him pause.

Another grunt.

A face with tusks in it emerged from a patch of darkness formed by a fallen slab of masonry. The face grunted again.

“Who are you?” said Elric, his sword-hand ready.

“Pig,” said the face with tusks in it. Elric was not certain whether he was being insulted or whether the creature was describing himself.

“Pig.”

Two more faces with tusks in them came out of the patch of darkness. “Pig,” said one.

“Pig,” said another.

“Snake,”