sympathy.
“I
am seeking three sisters. They came this way, I think, a few days since. Would
you have seen three sisters? Riding together?”
“I
regret, sir, that we are but recently transported to this realm, through no
desire of our own, and thus are newly here without maps or directions.” Elric
shrugged. “I had hoped you would know a little of the place.”
“It
is in what they call the Nine Millionth Ring, the maguses here. It exists
within what they have formalized as the Realms of Central Significance, and it
is true there is an unusual quality to the plane which I have yet to identify.
It is not a true Centre, for that is the Realm of the Balance, but it is what I
would call a quasi-centre. You’ll forgive the jargon, sir, I hope, of the
philosopher. I was for some generations an alchemist in Prague .”
“ Prague !” cries Wheldrake with a caw of delighted
recognition. “Those bells and towers, sir. And do you know Mirenburg, perhaps?
Even more beautiful!”
“The
memories are no doubt pleasant enough,” says the armoured man, “since I do not
recall them. I would take it that you, too, are upon a quest here?”
“Not
I, sir,” says Wheldrake, “unless it be for Putney Common and my lost half-pint.”
“I
am seeking something, aye,” agreed Elric cautiously. He had hoped to learn a
little of the geography rather than the mystical and astrological placing of
this world. “I am Elric of Melniboné.”
His
name does not seem of any great significance to the armoured man. “And I am
Gaynor, once a Prince of the Universal, now called the Damned. Perhaps we have
met? Without these names or even faces? In some other incarnation?”
“It
is not my misfortune to recall any other lives,” says Elric softly, at last
disturbed by Gaynor’s enquiries. “I understand you only a little, sir. I am a
mercenary soldier en route to a new location with a view to finding myself a
fresh patron. To the supernatural, I am almost a stranger.”
And
he was grateful that Wheldrake’s eyebrows were rising at that moment from
behind Gaynor. Why he should decide upon such subterfuge he did not understand,
only that, for all his being drawn to Gaynor, for all their mutual patronage
under Chaos, he feared something in him. Gaynor had no reason to wish him harm
and Elric guessed that Gaynor did not waste anything of himself in meaningless
challenges or killings, yet still Elric grew more close-lipped, as if he, too,
were fated by the Balance never to speak of his own story, and at length they
settled down to sleep, three strange figures in what appeared to be an infinity
of wheat.
Early
the next morning, Gaynor resumed his saddle. “I was glad of the company,
gentlemen. If you travel yonder, you’ll find a pretty settlement. The people
there are traders and welcome strangers. They treat us, indeed, with unusual
respect. I go on my way. I have been informed that my sisters journeyed towards
a place called the Gypsy Nation. Know you anything of that?”
“I
regret, sir,” said Wheldrake, wiping his hands upon an enormous red cotton
handkerchief, “we are virgins in this world. Innocent as babes. We are wholly
at a disadvantage, having but recently arrived in this realm and having no
notion of its people or its gods. Perhaps, if I might be somewhat forward, I
would suggest that you are yourself of divine or semi-divine origin?”
The
answering laugh seemed to find an internal echo, as if the prince’s helm
disguised the entrance to some infinite chasm. It was far away, yet oddly
intimate. “I told you, Master Wheldrake. I was a Prince of the Balance. But not
now. Now, I assure you, sir, there is
“I
am seeking three sisters. They came this way, I think, a few days since. Would
you have seen three sisters? Riding together?”
“I
regret, sir, that we are but recently transported to this realm, through no
desire of our own, and thus are newly here without maps or directions.” Elric
shrugged. “I had hoped you would know a little of the place.”
“It
is in what they call the Nine Millionth Ring, the maguses here. It exists
within what they have formalized as the Realms of Central Significance, and it
is true there is an unusual quality to the plane which I have yet to identify.
It is not a true Centre, for that is the Realm of the Balance, but it is what I
would call a quasi-centre. You’ll forgive the jargon, sir, I hope, of the
philosopher. I was for some generations an alchemist in Prague .”
“ Prague !” cries Wheldrake with a caw of delighted
recognition. “Those bells and towers, sir. And do you know Mirenburg, perhaps?
Even more beautiful!”
“The
memories are no doubt pleasant enough,” says the armoured man, “since I do not
recall them. I would take it that you, too, are upon a quest here?”
“Not
I, sir,” says Wheldrake, “unless it be for Putney Common and my lost half-pint.”
“I
am seeking something, aye,” agreed Elric cautiously. He had hoped to learn a
little of the geography rather than the mystical and astrological placing of
this world. “I am Elric of Melniboné.”
His
name does not seem of any great significance to the armoured man. “And I am
Gaynor, once a Prince of the Universal, now called the Damned. Perhaps we have
met? Without these names or even faces? In some other incarnation?”
“It
is not my misfortune to recall any other lives,” says Elric softly, at last
disturbed by Gaynor’s enquiries. “I understand you only a little, sir. I am a
mercenary soldier en route to a new location with a view to finding myself a
fresh patron. To the supernatural, I am almost a stranger.”
And
he was grateful that Wheldrake’s eyebrows were rising at that moment from
behind Gaynor. Why he should decide upon such subterfuge he did not understand,
only that, for all his being drawn to Gaynor, for all their mutual patronage
under Chaos, he feared something in him. Gaynor had no reason to wish him harm
and Elric guessed that Gaynor did not waste anything of himself in meaningless
challenges or killings, yet still Elric grew more close-lipped, as if he, too,
were fated by the Balance never to speak of his own story, and at length they
settled down to sleep, three strange figures in what appeared to be an infinity
of wheat.
Early
the next morning, Gaynor resumed his saddle. “I was glad of the company,
gentlemen. If you travel yonder, you’ll find a pretty settlement. The people
there are traders and welcome strangers. They treat us, indeed, with unusual
respect. I go on my way. I have been informed that my sisters journeyed towards
a place called the Gypsy Nation. Know you anything of that?”
“I
regret, sir,” said Wheldrake, wiping his hands upon an enormous red cotton
handkerchief, “we are virgins in this world. Innocent as babes. We are wholly
at a disadvantage, having but recently arrived in this realm and having no
notion of its people or its gods. Perhaps, if I might be somewhat forward, I
would suggest that you are yourself of divine or semi-divine origin?”
The
answering laugh seemed to find an internal echo, as if the prince’s helm
disguised the entrance to some infinite chasm. It was far away, yet oddly
intimate. “I told you, Master Wheldrake. I was a Prince of the Balance. But not
now. Now, I assure you, sir, there is
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