The Weird of the White Wolf - Michael Moorcock [50]
It blundered towards Elric and went through him. It was not that the man was intangible—it was Elric who felt the ghost. The creature's mass seemed of incredible density. The creature was turning, its huge hands reaching out, its face a mocking grimace. Elric struck at it with Stormbringer and was astonished as the runesword was halted, making no impression on the creature's bulk.
Yet when it grasped Elric, its hands went through him. Elric backed away, grinning now in relief. Then he saw with some terror that the light was gleaming through him. He had been right—he was the ghost!
The creature reached out for him again, grabbed him again, failed to hold him.
Elric, conscious that he was in no physical danger from the monster, yet also highly conscious that his sanity was about to be permanently impaired, turned and fled.
Quite suddenly he was in a hall, the walls of which were of the same unstable, shifting colours as the rest of the place. But sitting on a stool in the centre of the hall, holding in his hands some tiny creatures that seemed to be running about on his palm, was a small figure who looked up at Elric and grinned merrily.
“Welcome, King of Melniboné. And how fares the last ruler of my favourite earthly race?”
The figure was dressed in shimmering motley. On his head was a tall, spiked crown—a travesty of and a comment upon the crowns of the mighty. His face was angular and his mouth wide.
“Greetings, Lord Balo,” Elric made a mock bow. “Strange hospitality you offer in your welcome.”
“Ahaha—it did not amuse you, eh? Men are so much harder to please than gods—you would not think it, would you?”
“Men's pleasures are rarely so elaborate. Where is Queen Yishana?”
“Allow me my pleasures also, mortal. Here she is, I think.” Balo plucked at one of the tiny creatures on his palm. Elric stepped forward and saw that Yishana was indeed there, as were many of the lost soldiers. Balo looked up at him and winked. “They are so much easier to handle in this size.”
“I do not doubt it, though I wonder if it is not we who are larger rather than they who are smaller....”
“You are astute, mortal. But can you guess how this came to be?”
“Your creature back there—your pits and colours and archways—somehow they warp—what?”
“Mass, King Elric. But you would not understand such concepts. Even the Lords of Melniboné, most godlike and intelligent of mortals, only learned how to manipulate the elements in ritual, invocation, and spell, but never understood what they manipulated—that is where the Lords of the Higher Worlds score, whatever their differences.”
“But I survived without need for spells. I survived by disciplining my mind!”
“That helped, for certain—but you forget your greatest asset—that disturbing blade there. You use it in your petty problems to aid you, and you never realise that it is like making use of a mighty war galley to catch a sprat. That sword represents power in any Realm, King Elric!”
“Aye, so it might. This does not interest me. Why are you here, Lord Balo?”
Balo chuckled, his laughter rich and musical. “Oho, I am in disgrace. I quarrelled with my masters, who took exception to a joke of mine about their insignificance and egotism, about their destiny and their pride. Bad taste to them, King, is any hint of their own oblivion. I made a joke in bad taste. I fled from the Higher Worlds to Earth, where, unless invoked, the Lords of Law or Chaos can rarely interfere. You will like my intention, Elric, as would any Melnibonéan—I intend to establish my own Realm on Earth—the Realm of Paradox. A little from Law, a little from Chaos—a Realm of opposites, of curiosities and jokes.”
“I'm thinking we already have such a world as you describe, Lord Balo, with no need for you to create it!”
“Earnest irony, King Elric, for an insouciant man of Melniboné.”
“Ah, that it may be. I am a boor on occasions such as these. Will you release Yishana and myself?