The Bane of the Black Sword - Michael Moorcock [54]
"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 have 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 she offers." Now he realised why the building had been familiar—it had the same quality, but intensified, as Tanelorn.
"Tanelorn was the last of our cities," said the Guardian. "Forgive us for judging you—most of the travellers who pass through this plane are searchers, restless, with no real purpose, only excuses, imaginary reasons for journeying on. You must love Tanelorn to brave the dangers of the gateways?"
"We do," said Rackhir, "and I am grateful that you built her."
"We built her for ourselves, but it is good that others have used her well—and she them."
"Will you help us?" Rackhir said. "For Tanelorn?"
"We cannot—it is not lawful. Now, refresh yourselves and be welcome."
The two travellers were given foods, both soft and brittle, sweet and sour, and drink which seemed to enter the pores of their skin as they quaffed it, and then the Guardian said: "We have caused a road to be made. Follow it and enter the next world. But we warn you, it is the most dangerous of all."
And they set off down the road that the Guardians had caused to be made and passed through the fourth gateway into a dreadful realm—the Realm of Law.
Nothing shone in the grey-lit sky, nothing moved, nothing marred the grey.
Nothing interrupted the bleak grey plain stretching on all sides of them, forever. There was no horizon. It was a bright, clean wasteland. But there was a sense about the air, a presence of something past, something which had gone but left a faint aura of its passing.
"What dangers could be here?" said Rackhir shuddering, "here where there is nothing?"
"The danger of the loneliest madness," Lamsar replied. Their voices were swallowed in the grey expanse.
"When the Earth was very young," Lamsar continued, his words trailing away across the wilderness, "things