The Vanishing Tower Page 8

  "There are no guards," he said to Moonglum.

  "Why should there be? What have they to guard?"

  "There were guards last time I came to Nadsokor. Urish protects his hoard most assiduously. It is not outsiders he fears but his own despicable rabble."

  "Perhaps he no longer fears them."

  Elric smiled. "A creature like King Urish fears every­thing. We had best be wary when we enter the hall. Have your swords ready to draw at any hint that we have been lured into a trap."

  "Surely Urish would not suspect we'd know where the girl came from?"

  "Aye, it seemed good chance that one of them told us, but none the less we must make allowances for Urish's cunning."

  "He would not willingly bring you here—not with the Black Sword at your side."

  "Perhaps. . . ."

  They began to walk across the forum. It was very still, very dark. From far away came the occasional shout, a laugh or an obscene, indefinable sound.

  Now they were at the door, standing beneath the crossed crutches.

  Elric felt beneath his ragged robes for the hilt of his sword and with his left hand pushed at the door. It squeaked open a fraction. They looked about them to see if anyone had heard the sound, but the square was as still as it had been.

  More pressure. Another squeak. And now they could squeeze their bodies through the aperture.

  They stood in Urish's hall. Braziers of garbage gave off faint light. Oily smoke curled towards the rafters. They saw the dim outlines of the dais at the far end and on the dais stood Urish's huge, crude throne. The hall seemed deserted, but Elric's hand did not leave the hilt of the Black Sword.

  He stopped as he heard a sound, but it was a great, black rat scuttling across the floor.

  Silence again.

  Elric moved forward, step by cautious step, along the length of the slimy hall, Moonglum behind him.

  Elric's spirits began to rise, as they neared the throne. Perhaps Urish had, after all, grown complacent of his strength. He would open the trunk beneath the throne, remove his ring and then they would leave the city and be away before dawn, riding across country to join the caravan of Rackhir the Red Archer on its way to Tanelorn.

  He began to relax but his step was just as cautious. Moonglum had paused, cocking his head to one side as if hearing something.

  Elric turned. "What is it you hear?"

  "Possibly nothing. Or maybe one of those great rats we saw earlier. It is just that—"

  A silver-blue radiance burst out from behind the grotesque throne and Elric flung up his left hand to protect his eyes, trying to disentangle his sword from his rags.

  Moonglum yelled and began to run for the door, but even when Elric put his back to the light he could not see. Stormbringer moaned in its scabbard as if in rage. Elric tugged at it, but felt his limbs grow weaker and weaker. From behind him came a laugh which he rec­ognised. A second laugh—almost a throaty cough—joined it.

  His sight came back but now he was held by clammy hands and when he saw his captors he shuddered. Shadowy creatures of limbo held him—ghouls sum­moned by sorcery. Their dead faces smiled but their dead eyes remained dead. Elric felt the heat and the strength leaving his body and it was as if the ghouls sucked it from him. He could almost feel his vitality travelling from his own body to theirs.

  Again the laugh. He looked up at the throne and saw emerging from behind it the tall, saturnine figure of Theleb K'aarna, whom he had left for dead near the castle of Kaneloon a few months since.

  Theleb K'aarna smiled in his curling beard as Elric struggled in the grasp of the ghouls. Now from the other side of the throne came the filthy carcass of Urish the Seven-fingered, the cleaver Hackmeat cra­dled in his left arm.

  Elric could barely hold his head up as the ghouls' cold flesh absorbed his strength, but he smiled at his own foolishness. He had been right in suspecting a trap, but wrong in entering it so poorly prepared.

  And where was Moonglum? Had he deserted him? The little Eastlander was nowhere to be seen.

  Urish swaggered round the throne and sprawled his begrimed person in it, placing Hackmeat so that it lay across the arms. His pale, beady eyes stared hard at Elric.

  Theleb K'aarna remained standing by the side of the throne, but triumph flamed in his eyes like Imrryr's own funeral fires.

  "Welcome back to Nadsokor," wheezed Urish, scratching himself between the legs. "You have returned to make amends, I take it."

  Elric shivered as the cold in his bones increased. Stormbringer stirred at his side but it could only help him if he drew it with his own hands. He knew he was dying.

  "I have come to regain my property," he said through chattering teeth. "My ring."

  "Ah! The Ring of Kings. It was yours, was it? My girl mentioned something of that."

  "You sent her to steal it!"

  Urish sniggered. "I'll not deny it. But I did not ex­pect the White Wolf of Imrryr to step so easily into my trap."

  "He would have stepped out again if you had not that amateur magic-maker's spells to help you!"

  Theleb K'aarna glowered but then his face relaxed. "Are you not discomforted, then, by my ghouls?"

  Elric was gasping as the last of the heat fled his bones.

  He now could not stand, but hung in the hands of the dead creatures. Theleb K'aarna must have planned this for weeks, for it took many spells and pacts with the guardians of Limbo to bring such ghouls to Earth.

  "And so I die," Elric murmured. "Well, I suppose I do not care. . . ."

  Urish raised his ruined features in what was a parody of pride. "You do not die yet, Elric of Melni­bone. The sentence has yet to be passed! The formalities must be suffered! By my cleaver Hackmeat I must sen­tence you for your crimes against Nadsokor and against the Sacred Hoard of King Urish!"

  Elric hardly heard him as his legs collapsed alto­gether and the ghouls tightened their grip on him.

  Dimly he was aware of the beggar rabble shuffling into the hall. Doubtless they had all been waiting for this. Had Moonglum died at their hands when he fled the hall?

  "Put his head up!" Theleb K'aarna instructed his dead servants. "Let him see Urish, King of All Beggars, make his just decree!"

  Elric felt a cold hand beneath his chin and his head was raised so he could watch, through misting eyes, as Urish stood up and grasped the cleaver Hackmeat in his four-fingered hand, stretching it towards the smoky ceiling.

  "Elric of Melnibone thou art convicted of many crimes against the Ignoblest of the Ignoble—myself, King Urish of Nadsokor. Thou has offended King Urish's friend, that most pleasingly degenerate villain Theleb K'aarna—"

  At this Theleb K'aarna pursed his lips, but did not interrupt.

  "—and, moreover, did come a second time to the City of Beggars to repeat your crimes. By my great cleaver Hackmeat, the symbol of my dignity and power, I condemnest thou to the Punishment of the Burning God!"

  From all sides of the hall came the foul applause of the Beggar Court

  . Elric remembered a legend of Nadsokor—that when the original population were first struck by the disease they summoned aid from Chaos—begging Chaos to cleanse the disease from the city—with fire if necessary. Chaos had played a joke upon these folk—sent the Burning God who had burned what was left of their possessions. A further summons to Law to help them had resulted in the Burning God's being imprisoned by Lord Donblas in the city. Having had enough of the Lords of the Higher Worlds the remnants of the citizens had abandoned their city. But was the Burning God still here in Nadsokor?

  Faintly he still heard Urish's voice. "Take him to the labyrinth and give him to the Burning God!"

  Theleb K'aarna spoke but Elric did not hear what he said, though he heard Urish's reply.

  "His sword? How will that avail him against a Lord of Chaos? Besides, if the sword is released from the scabbard, who knows what will happen?"

  Theleb K'aarna was evidently reluctant, by his tone, but at last agreed with Urish.
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br />   Now Theleb K'aarna's voice boomed commandingly.

  "Things of Limbo—release him! His vitality has been your reward! Now—begone!"

  Elric fell to the muck on the flagstones but was now too weak to move as beggars came forward and lifted him up.

  His eyes closed and his senses deserted him as he felt himself borne from the hall and heard the united voices of the wizard of Pan Tang and the King of the Beggars giving vent to their mocking triumph.

  Chapter Four

  Punishment of the Burning God

  "By Narjhan's droppings he's cold!"

  Elric heard the rasping voice of one of the beggars who carried him. He was still weak but some of the beggars' body heat had transferred itself to him and the chill of his bones was now by no means as intense.

  "Here's the portal."

  Elric forced his eyes open.

  He was upside down but could see ahead of him through the gloom.

  Something shimmered there.

  It looked like the iridescent skin of some unearthly animal stretched across the arch of the tunnel.

  He was jerked backwards as the beggars swung his body and hurled it towards the shimmering skin.

  He struck it.

  It was viscous.

  It clung to him and he felt it was absorbing him. He tried to struggle but was still far too weak. He was sure that he was being killed.

  But after long minutes he was through it and had struck stone and lay gasping in the blackness of the tunnel.

  This must be the labyrinth of which Urish had spoken.

  Trembling, he tried to rise, using his scabbarded sword as a support. It took him some time to get up but at last he could lean against the curving wall.

  He was surprised. The stones seemed to be hot. Per­haps it was because he was so cold and in reality the stones were of normal heat?

  Even this speculation seemed to weary him. What­ever the nature of the heat it was welcome. He pressed his back harder against the stones.

  As their heat passed into his body he felt a sensation almost of ecstacy and he drew a deep breath. Strength was returning slowly.

  "Gods," he murmured, "even the snows of the Lormyrian steppe could not compare with such a great cold."

  He drew another deep breath and coughed.

  Then he realised that the drug he had swallowed was beginning to wear off.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat out saliva. Something of the stink of Nadsokor had entered his nostrils.

  He stumbled back towards the portal. The peculiar stuff still shimmered there. He pressed his hand against it and it gave reluctantly but then held firm. He leant his whole weight on it but it would still not give any further. It was like a particularly tough membrane but it was not flesh. Was this the stuff with which the Lords of Law had sealed off the tunnel, entrapping their enemy, the Lord of Chaos? The only light in the tunnel came from the membrane itself.

  "By Arioch, I'll turn the tables on the Beggar King," Elric murmured. He threw back his rags and put his hand on Stormbringer's pommel. The blade purred as a cat might purr. He drew the sword from its scabbard and it began to sing a low, satisfied song. Now Elric hissed as its power flowed up his arm and into his body. Stormbringer was giving him the strength he needed—but he knew that Stormbringer must be paid soon, must taste blood and souls and thus replenish its energy. He aimed a great blow at the shimmering wall. "I'll hack down this portal and release the Burning God upon Nadsokor! Strike true, Stormbringer! Let flame come to devour the filth that is this city!"

  But Stormbringer howled as it bit into the membrane and it was held fast. No rent appeared in the stuff. Instead Elric had to tug with all his might to get the sword free. He withdrew, panting.

  "The portal was made to withstand the efforts of Chaos," Elric murmured. "My sword's useless against it. And so, unable to go back I must, perforce, go for­ward." Stormbringer in hand he turned and began to make his way along the passage. He took one turn and then another and then a third and the light had disap­peared completely. He reached for his pouch where his flint and tinder were kept, but the beggars had cut that from his belt as they carried him. He decided to retrace his steps. But by now he was deeply within the laby­rinth and he could not find the portal.

  "No portal—but no God, it seems. Mayhap there's another exit from this place. If it's blocked by a door of wood, then Stormbringer will soon carve me a path to freedom."

  And so he pressed further into the labyrinth, taking a hundred twists and turns in the darkness before he paused again.

  He had noticed that he was growing warmer. Now, instead of feeling horribly cold, he felt uncomfortably hot. He was sweating. He removed some of the upper layers of his rags and stood in his own shirt and breeks. He had begun to thirst.

  Another turning and he saw light ahead.

  "Well, Stormbringer, perhaps we are free after all!"

  He began to run towards the source of the light. But it was not daylight, neither was it the light from the portal. This was firelight—of brands, perhaps.

  He could see the sides of the tunnel quite clearly in the firelight. Unlike the masonry in the rest of Nadsokor, this was free of filth—a plain, grey stone stained by the red light.

  The source of the light was around the next bend. But the heat had grown greater and his flesh stung as the sweat sprang from his pores.

  "AAH!"

  A great voice suddenly filled the tunnel as Elric rounded the bend and saw the fire leaping not thirty yards distant.

  "AAH! AT LAST!"

  The voice came from the fire.

  And Elric knew he had found the Burning God.

  "I have no quarrel with you, my lord of Chaos!" he called. "I, too, serve Chaos!"

  "But I must eat," came the voice. "CHECKALAKH MUST EAT!"

  "I am poor food for one such as you," Elric said reasonably, putting both his hands around Stormbring­er's hilt and taking a step backward.

  "Aye, beggar, that thou art—but thou art the only food they send!"

  "I'm no beggar!"

  "Beggar or not, Checkalakh will devour thee!"

  The flames shook and a shape began to be made of them. It was a human shape but comprised entirely of flame. Flickering hands of fire stretched out towards Elric.

  And Elric turned.

  And Elric ran.

  And Checkalakh, the Burning God, came fast as a flash fire behind him.

  Elric felt pain in his shoulder and he smelled burn­ing cloth. He increased his speed, having no notion of where he ran.

  And still the Burning God pursued him.

  "Stop, mortal! It is futile! Thou canst not escape Checkalakh of Chaos!"

  Elric shouted back in desperate humour. "I'll be no one's roast pork!" His step began to falter. "Not—not even a god's!"

  Like the roar of flames up a chimney, Checkalakh replied, "Do not defy me, mortal! It is an honour to feed a god!"

  Both the heat and the effort of running were exhaust­ing Elric. A plan of sorts had formed in his brain when he had first encountered the Burning God. That was why he had started to run.

  But now, as Checkalakh came on, he was forced to turn.

  "Thou art somewhat feeble for so mighty a Lord of Chaos," he panted, readying his sword.

  "My long sojourn here has weakened me," Check­alakh replied, "else I would have caught thee ere now! But catch thee I will! And devour thee I must!"

  Stormbringer whined its defiance at the enfeebled Chaos God and blade struck out at flaming head and gashed the god's right cheek so that paler fire flickered there and something ran up the black blade and into Elric's heart so that he trembled in a mixture of terror and joy as some of the Burning God's lifeforce entered him.

  Eyes of flame stared at the Black Sword and then at Elric. Brows of flame furrowed and Checkalakh halted.

  "Thou art no ordinary beggar, 'tis true!"

  "I am Elric of Melnibone and I bear the Black Sword. Lord Arioch is my master
—a more powerful entity than you, Lord Checkalakh."

  Something akin to misery passed across the god's fiery countenance. "Aye—there are many more power­ful than me, Elric of Melnibone."

  Elric wiped sweat from his face. He drew in great gulps of burning air. "Then why—why not combine your strength with mine. Together we can tear down the portal and take vengeance on those who have con­spired to bring us together."

  Checkalakh shook his head and little tongues of fire fell from it. "The portal will only open when I am dead. So it was decreed when Lord Donblas of Law impris­oned me here. Even if we were successful in destroying the portal—it would result in my death. Therefore, most powerful of mortals, I must fight thee and eat thee."

  And again Elric began to run, desperately seeking the portal, knowing that the only light he could hope to find in the labyrinth came from the Burning God himself. Even if he were to defeat the god, he would still be trapped in the complex maze.

  And then he saw it. He was back at the place where he had been thrown through the membrane.

  "It is only possible to enter my prison through the portal, not leave it!" called Checkalakh.

  "I'm aware of that!" Elric took a firmer grip on Stormbringer and turned to face the thing of flame.

  Even as his sword swung back and forth, parrying every attempt of the Burning God's to seize him, Elric felt sympathy for the creature. He had come in answer to the summonings of mortals and he had been im­prisoned for his pains.

  But Elric's clothes had begun to smoulder now and even though Stormbringer supplied him with energy every time it struck Checkalakh the heat itself was beginning to overwhelm him. He sweated no more. In­stead his skin felt dry and about to split. Blisters were forming on his white hands. Soon he would be able to hold the blade no longer.

  "Arioch!" he breathed. "Though this creature be a fellow Lord of Chaos, aid me to defeat him!"

  But Arioch lent him no extra strength. He had al­ready learned from his patron demon that greater things were being planned on and above the Earth and that Arioch had little time for even the most favourite of his mortal charges.

  Yet, from habit, still Elric murmured Arioch's name as he swept the sword so that it struck first Checkalakh's burning hands and then his burning shoulder and more of the god's energy entered him.