Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [35]
They reached the blue steps and mounted them, staring upwards, but they could still see nothing. They did not attempt to ask themselves why they were so assuredly invading the building; it seemed quite natural that they should do what they were doing. There was no alternative. There was an air of familiarity about the place. Rackhir felt it but did not know why. Inside was a cool, shadowy hall, a blend of soft darkness and bright sunlight which entered by the windows. The floor was pearl-pink and the ceiling deep scarlet. The hall reminded Rackhir of a womb.
Partially hidden by deep shadow was a small doorway and beyond it, steps. Rackhir looked questioningly at Lamsar. “Do we proceed in our exploration?”
“We must—to have our question answered, if possible.”
They climbed the steps and found themselves in a smaller hall similar to the one beneath them. This hall, however, was furnished with twelve wide thrones placed in a semicircle in the centre. Against the wall, near the door, were several chairs, upholstered in purple fabric. The thrones were of gold, decorated with fine silver, padded with white cloth.
A door behind the thrones opened and a tall, fragile-looking man appeared, followed by others whose faces were almost identical. Only their robes were noticeably different. Their faces were pale, almost white, their noses straight, their lips thin but not cruel. Their eyes were unhuman—green-flecked eyes which stared outwards with sad composure. The leader of the tall men looked at Rackhir and Lamsar. He nodded and waved a pale, long-fingered hand gracefully. “Welcome,” he said. His voice was high and frail, like a girl’s, but beautiful in its modulation. The other eleven men seated themselves in the thrones but the first man, who had spoken, remained standing. “Sit down, please,” he said.
Rackhir and Lamsar sat down on two of the purple chairs.
“How did you come here?” enquired the man.
“Through the gates from Chaos,” Lamsar replied.
“And were you seeking our realm?”
“No—we travel towards the Domain of the Grey Lords.”
“I thought so, for your people rarely visit us save by accident.”
“Where are we?” asked Rackhir as the man seated himself in the remaining throne.
“In a place beyond time. Once our land was part of the Earth you know, but in the dim past it became separated from it. Our bodies, unlike yours, are immortal. We choose this, but we are not bound to our flesh, as you are.”
“I don’t understand,” frowned Rackhir. “What are you saying?”
“I have said what I can in the simplest terms understandable to you. If you do not know what I say then I can explain no further. We are called the Guardians—though we guard nothing. We are warriors, but we fight nothing.”
“What else do you do?” enquired Rackhir.
“We exist. You will want to know where the next gateway lies?”
“Yes.”
“Refresh yourselves here, and then we shall show you the gateway.”
“What is your function?” asked Rackhir.
“To function,” said the man.
“You are unhuman!”
“We are human. You spend your lives chasing that which is within you and that which you can find in any other human being—but you will not look for it there—you must follow more glamorous paths—to waste your time in order to discover that you wasted your time. I am glad that we are no longer like you—but I wish that it were lawful to help you further. This, however, we may not do.”
“Ours is no meaningless quest,” said Lamsar quietly, with respect. “We go to rescue Tanelorn.”
“Tanelorn?” the man said softly. “Does Tanelorn still remain?”
“Aye,” said Rackhir, “and shelters tired men who are grateful for the rest