Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [28]
Elric left the business of raising treasure to Moonglum. Doubtless he intended to get it by thievery or trickery, but Elric did not care.
He sighed and suffered the sidelong looks of the other guests and tried not to overhear the young dandy. He sipped his cup of wine and picked at the flesh of the cold fowl Moonglum had ordered before he went off. He drew his head into the high collar of his black cloak, but succeeded only in emphasizing the bone-white pallor of his face and the milky whiteness of his long hair. He looked around him at the silks and furs and tapestries swirling about the tavern as their owners moved from table to table and he longed with all his heart to be on his way to Tanelorn, where men spoke little because they had experienced so much.
“. . . killed mother and father, too—and the mother’s lover, it is said . . .”
“. . . and they say he lies with corpses for preference . . .”
“. . . and because of that the Lords of the Higher Worlds cursed him with the face of a corpse . . .”
“Incest, was it not? I got it from one who sailed with him that . . .”
“. . . and his mother had congress with Arioch himself, thus producing . . .”
“. . . shortly before he betrayed his own people to Smiorgan and the rest!”
“He looks a gloomy fellow, right enough. Not one to enjoy a jest . . .”
Laughter.
Elric made himself relax in his chair and swallow more wine. But the gossip went on.
“They say also that he is an imposter. That the real Elric died at Imrryr . . .”
“A true prince of Melniboné would dress in more lavish style. And he would . . .”
More laughter.
Elric stood up, pushing back his cloak so that the great black broadsword at his hip was fully displayed. Most people in Old Hrolmar had heard of the runesword Stormbringer and its terrible power.
Elric crossed to the table where the young dandy sat.
“I pray you, gentlemen, to improve your sport! You can do much better now—for here is one who would offer you proof of certain things of which you speak. What of his penchant for vampirism of a particular sort? I did not hear you touch upon that in your conversation.”
The young dandy cleared his throat and made a nervous little flirt of his shoulder.
“Well?” Elric feigned an innocent expression. “Cannot I be of assistance?”
The gossips had become dumb, pretending to be absorbed in their eating and drinking.
Elric smiled a smile which set their hands to shaking.
“I desire only to know what you wish to hear, gentlemen. Then I will demonstrate that I am truly the one you have called Elric Kinslayer.”
The merchants and the nobles gathered their rich robes about them and, avoiding his eye, got up. The young dandy minced towards the exit—a parody of bravado.
But now Elric stood laughing in the doorway, his hand on the hilt of Stormbringer. “Will you not join me as my guests, gentlemen? Think how you could tell your friends of the meeting . . .”
“Gods, how boorish!” lisped the young dandy and then shivered.
“Sir, we meant no harm . . .” thickly said a fat Shazaarian herb trader.
“We spoke of another.” A young noble with only the hint of a chin, but with an emphatic moustache, offered a feeble, placatory grin.
“We said how much we admired you . . .” stuttered a Vilmirian knight whose eyes appeared but recently to have crossed and whose face was now almost as pale as Elric’s.
A merchant in the dark brocades of Tarkesh licked his red lips and attempted to conduct himself with more dignity than his friends. “Sir, Old Hrolmar is a civilized city. Gentlemen do not brawl amongst themselves here . . .”
“But like peasant women prefer to gossip,” said Elric.
“Yes,” said the youth with the abundance of moustache. “Ah—no . .