Vanishing Tower - Michael Moorcock [24]
"And we hate all others—all who are not beggars," Urish reminded him. The king chuckled and the chuckle became, once more, a throaty, convulsive cough.
"But you hate Elric of Melniboné most."
"Aye. It would be fair to say that. Before he won fame as the Kinslayer, the traitor of Imrryr, he came to Nadsokor to deceive us, disguised as a leper who had begged his way from the Eastlands beyond Karlaak. He tricked me disgracefully and stole something from my Hoard. And my Hoard is sacred—I will not let another even glimpse it!"
"I heard he stole a scroll from you," Theleb K'aarna said. "A spell which had once belonged to his cousin Yyrkoon. Yyrkoon wished to be rid of Elric and let him believe that the spell would release the Princess Cymoril from her sorcerous slumber. . . ."
"Aye. Yyrkoon had given the scroll to one of our citizens when he went a-begging to the gates of Imrryr. He then told Elric what he had done. Elric disguised himself and came here. With the aid of sorcery he gained access to my Hoard—my sacred Hoard—and plucked the scroll from it. . . ."
Theleb K'aarna looked sideways at the Beggar King. "Some would say that it was not Elric's fault—that Yyrkoon was to blame. He deceived you both. The spell did not awaken Cymoril, did it?"
"No. But we have a Law in Nadsokor. . ." Urish raised the great cleaver Hackmeat and displayed its ragged, rusty blade. For all its battered appearance, it was a fearsome weapon. "That Law says that any man who looks upon the sacred Hoard of King Urish must die and die most horribly—at the hands of the Burning God!"
"And none of your wandering citizens have yet managed to take this vengeance?"
"I must pass the sentence personally upon him before he dies. He must come again to Nadsokor, for it is only here that he may be acquainted with his doom."
Theleb K'aarna said: "I have no love for Elric."
Urish once more voiced the sound that was half laugh, half wheezing cough. "Aye—I have heard he has chased you all across the Young Kingdoms, that you have brought more and more powerful sorceries against him, yet every time he has defeated you."
Theleb K'aarna frowned. "Have a care, King Urish. I have had bad luck, yet I am still one of Pan Tang's greatest sorcerers."
"But you spend your powers freely and claim much from the Lords of Chaos. One day they will be tired of helping you and find another to do their work." King Urish closed soiled lips over black teeth. His pale eyes did not blink as he studied Theleb K'aarna.
There were stirrings in the hall, the Beggar Court moved in closer: the click of a crutch, the scrape of a staff, the shuffle of misshapen feet. Even the oily smoke from the braziers seemed to menace him as it drifted reluctantly into the darkness of the roof.
King Urish put one hand upon Hackmeat and the other upon his chin. Broken nails caressed stubble. From somewhere behind Theleb K'aarna a beggar woman let forth an obscene noise and then giggled.
Almost as if to comfort himself the sorcerer placed the scented kerchief firmly over his mouth and nostrils. He began to draw himself up, prepared to deal with an attack if it came.
"But you still have your powers now, I take it," said Urish suddenly, breaking the tension. "Or you would not be here."
"My powers increase. . . ."
"For the moment, perhaps."
"My powers . . ."
"I take it you come with a scheme which you hope will result in Elric's destruction," continued Urish easily. The beggars relaxed. Only Theleb K'aarna now showed any signs of discomfort. Urish's bright, bloodshot eyes were sardonic. "And you desire our help because you know we hate the white-faced reaver of Melniboné."
Theleb K'aarna nodded. "Would you hear the details of my plan?"
Urish shrugged. "Why not? At least they may be entertaining."
Unhappily, Theleb K'aarna looked about him at the corrupt and tittering crew. He wished he knew a spell which would disperse the stink.
He took a deep breath through his kerchief and then began to