Elric_ The Stealer of Souls - Michael Moorcock [69]
They stopped for a short break while Elric sifted through some of the samples he had torn from trees and plants. He carefully placed his prizes in his belt pouch but would say nothing of why he did so to Moonglum.
“Come,” he said, “Troos’s mysteries await us.”
But then a new voice, a woman’s, said softly from the gloom: “Save the excursion for another day, strangers.”
Elric reined his horse, one hand at Stormbringer’s hilt. The voice had had an unusual effect upon him. It had been low, deep and had, for a moment, sent the pulse in his throat throbbing. Incredibly, he sensed that he was suddenly standing on one of Fate’s roads, but where the road would take him, he did not know. Quickly, he controlled his mind and then his body and looked towards the shadows from where the voice had come.
“You are very kind to offer us advice, madam,” he said sternly. “Come, show yourself and give explanation…”
She rode then, very slowly, on a black-coated gelding that pranced with a power she could barely restrain. Moonglum drew an appreciative breath for although heavy-featured, she was incredibly beautiful. Her face and bearing was patrician, her eyes were grey-green, combining enigma and innocence. She was very young. For all her obvious womanhood and beauty, Moonglum aged her at seventeen or little more.
Elric frowned: “Do you ride alone?”
“I do now,” she replied, trying to hide her obvious astonishment at the albino’s colouring. “I need aid—protection. Men who will escort me safely to Karlaak. There, they will be paid.”
“Karlaak, by the Weeping Waste? It lies the other side of Ilmiora, a hundred leagues away and a week’s traveling at speed.” Elric did not wait for her to reply to this statement. “We are not hirelings, madam.”
“Then you are bound by the vows of chivalry, sir, and cannot refuse my request.”
Elric laughed shortly. “Chivalry, madam? We come not from the upstart nations of the South with their strange codes and rules of behaviour. We are nobles of older stock whose actions are governed by our own desires. You would not ask what you do, if you knew our names.”
She wetted her full lips with her tongue and said almost timidly: “You are…?”
“Elric of Melniboné, madam, called Elric Womanslayer in the West, and this is Moonglum of Elwher; he has no conscience.”
She said: “There are legends—the white-faced reaver, the hell-driven sorcerer with a blade that drinks the souls of men…”
“Aye, that’s true. And however magnified they are with the retelling, they cannot hint, those tales, at the darker truths which lie in their origin. Now, madam, do you still seek our aid?” Elric’s voice was gentle, without menace, as he saw that she was very much afraid, although she had managed to control the signs of fear and her lips were tight with determination.
“I have no choice. I am at your mercy. My father, the Senior Senator of Karlaak, is very rich. Karlaak is called the City of the Jade Towers, as you will know, and such rare jades and ambers we have. Many could be yours.”
“Be careful, madam, lest you anger me,” warned Elric, although Moonglum’s bright eyes lighted with avarice. “We are not nags to be hired or goods to be bought. Besides which,” he smiled disdainfully, “I am from crumbling Imrryr, the Dreaming City, from the Isle of the Dragon, hub of Ancient Melniboné, and I know what beauty really is. Your baubles cannot tempt one who has looked upon the milky Heart of Arioch, upon the blinding iridescence that throbs from the Ruby Throne, of the languorous and unnamable colours in the Actorios stone of the Ring of Kings. These are more than jewels, madam—they contain the lifestuff of the universe.”
“I apologize, Lord Elric, and to you Sir Moonglum.”
Elric laughed, almost with affection. “We are grim clowns, lady, but the Gods of Luck aided our escape from Nadsokor and we owe them a debt. We’ll escort you to Karlaak, City of the Jade Towers, and explore the Forest of Troos another time.