The Bane of the Black Sword - Michael Moorcock [27]
A twisted face peered down from the battlements, "Enter strangers and be welcome," it said unwelcomingly.
The heavy wooden drawgate shifted upwards to allow them entrance and the horses pushed their way slowly through the mud and so into the courtyard of the citadel.
Overhead, the grey sky was a racing field of black tattered clouds which streamed towards the horizon as if to escape the horrid boundaries of Org and the disgusting Forest of Troos.
The courtyard was covered, though not so deeply, with the same foul mud as had impaired their progress to the citadel. It was full of heavy, unmoving shadow. On Elric's right, a flight of steps went up to an arched entrance which was hung, partially, with the same unhealthy lichen he had seen on the outer walls and, also, in the Forest of Troos.
Through this archway, brushing at the lichen with a pale, beringed hand, a tall man came and stood on the top step, regarding the visitors through heavy-lidded eyes. He was, in contrast to the others, handsome, with a massive, leonine head and long hair as white as Elric's; although the hair on the head of this great, solid man was somewhat dirty, tangled, unbrushed. He was dressed in a heavy jerkin of quilted, embossed leather, a yellow kilt which reached to his ankles and he carried a wide-bladed dagger, naked in his belt. He was older than Elric, aged between forty and fifty and his powerful if somewhat decadent face was seamed and pock-marked.
He stared at them in silence and did not welcome them; instead he signed to one of the battlement guards who caused the drawgate to be lowered. It came down with a crash, blocking off their way of escape.
"Kill the men and keep the woman," said the massive man in a low monotone. Elric had heard dead men speak in that manner.
As planned, Elric and Moonglum stood either side of Zarozinia and remained where they were, arms folded.
Puzzled, shambling creatures came warily at them, their loose trousers dragging in the mud, their hands hidden by the long shapeless sleeves of their filthy garments. They swung their cleavers. Elric felt a faint shock as the blade thudded on to his arm, but that was all. Moonglum's experience was similar.
The men fell back, amazement and confusion on their bestial faces.
The tall man's eyes widened. He put one ring-covered hand to his thick lips, chewing at a nail.
"Our swords have no effect upon them, King! They do not cut and they do not bleed. What are these folk?"
Elric laughed theatrically. "We are not common folk, little human, be assured. We are the messengers of the Gods and come to your King with a message from our great masters. Do not worry, we shall not harm you since we are in no danger of being harmed. Stand aside and make us welcome."
Elric could see that King Gutheran was puzzled and not absolutely taken in by his words. Elric cursed to himself. He had measured their intelligence by those he had seen. This king, mad or not, was much more intelligent, was going to be harder to deceive. He led the way up the steps towards glowering Gutheran.
"Greetings, King Gutheran. The Gods have, at last, returned to Org and wish you to know this."
"Org has had no Gods to worship for an eternity," said Gutheran hollowly, turning back into the citadel. "Why should we accept them now?"
"You are impertinent, King."
"And you are audacious. How do I know you come from the Gods?" He walked ahead of them, leading them through the low-roofed halls.
"You saw that the swords of your subjects had no effect upon us."
"True. I'll take that incident as proof for the moment. I suppose there must be a banquet in your—honour—I shall order it. Be welcome, messengers." His words were ungracious but it was virtually impossible to detect anything from Gutheran's tone, since the man's voice stayed at the same pitch.
Elric pushed his heavy riding cloak back from his shoulders and said lightly: "We shall mention your kindness to our masters."
The Court was