The Mammoth Book of Extreme Fantasy

by Mike Ashley

  “We must wait until nightfall,” said Elric, “and enter under the cover of darkness.”

  “Nightfall?” Werther brightened.

  Suddenly they were in utter darkness.

  Somewhere the Duke of Queens lost his footing and fell with a muffled curse.

  IX

  IN WHICH MRS PERSSON AT LAST MAKES CONTACT WITH HER OLD FRIEND

  They stood together beneath the striped awning of the tent while a short distance away armoured men, mounted on armoured horses, jousted, were injured or died. The two members wore appropriate costumes for the period. Lord Jagged looked handsome in his surcoat and mail, but Una Persson merely looked uncomfortable in her wimple and kirtle.

  “I can’t leave just now,” he was saying. “I am laying the foundations for a very important development.”

  “Which will come to nothing unless Elric is returned,” she said.

  A knight with a broken lance thundered past, covering them in dust.

  “Well played Sir Holger!” called Lord Jagged. “An ancestor of mine, you know,” he told her.

  “You will not be able to recognize the world of the End of Time when you return, if this is allowed to continue,” she said.

  “It’s always difficult, isn’t it?” But he was listening to her now.

  “These disruptions could as easily affect us and leave us stranded,” she added. “We would lose any freedom we have gained.”

  He bit into a pomegranate and offered it to her. “You can only get these in this area. Did you know? Impossible to find in England. In the thirteenth century, at any rate. The idea of freedom is such a nebulous one, isn’t it? Most of the time when angry people are speaking of ‘freedom’ what they are actually asking for is much simpler – respect. Do those in authority or those with power ever really respect those who do not have power?” He paused. “Or do they mean power’ and not ‘freedom’. Or are they the same…?”

  “Really, Jagged, this is no time for self-indulgence.”

  He looked about him. “There’s little else to do in the Middle East in the 13th century, I assure you, except eat pomegranates and philosophize…”

  “You must come back to the End of Time.”

  He wiped his handsome chin. “Your urgency,” he said, “worries me, Una. These matters should be handled with delicacy – slowly…”

  “The entire fabric will collapse unless he is returned to his own dimension. He is an important factor in the whole plan.”

  “Well, yes, I understand that.”

  “He is, in one sense at least, your protégé.”

  “I know. But not my responsibility.”

  “You must help,” she said.

  There was a loud bang and a crash.

  A splinter flew into Mrs Persson’s eye.

  “Oh, zounds!” she said.

  X

  IN WHICH THE CASTLE IS ASSAULTED AND THE PLOT THICKENED

  A moon had appeared above the spires of the castle which seemed to Elric to have changed its shape since he had first seen it. He meant to ask his companions for an explanation, but at present they were all sworn to silence as they crept nearer. From within the castle burst light, emanating from guttering brands stuck into brackets on the walls. There was laughter, noise of feasting. Hidden behind a rock they peered through one large window and inspected the scene within.

  The entire hall was full of men wearing identical costumes. They had black skull-caps, loose white blouses and trousers, black shoes. Their eyebrows were black in dead white faces, even paler than Elric’s and they had bright red lips.

  “Aha,” whispered Werther, “the parrots are celebrating their victory. Soon they will be too drunk to know what is happening to them.”

  “Parrots?” said Elric. “What is that word?”

  “Pierrots, he means,” said the Duke of Queens. “Don’t you, Werther?” There were evidently certain words which did not translate easily into the High Speech of Melniboné.

  “Shh,” said the Last Romantic, “they will capture us and torture us to death if they detect our presence.”

  They worked their way around the castle. It was guarded at intervals by gigantic warriors whom Elric at first mistook for statues, save that, when he looked closely, he could see them breathing very slowly. They were unarmed, but their fists and feet were disproportionately large and could crush any intruder they detected.

  “They are sluggish, by the look of them,” said Elric. “If we are quick, we can run beneath them and enter the castle before they realize it. Let me try first. If I succeed, you follow.”

  Werther clapped his new comrade on the back. “Very well.”

  Elric waited until the nearest guard halted and spread his huge feet apart, then he dashed forward, scuttling like an insect between the giants legs and flinging himself through a dimly lit window. He found himself in some sort of store-room. He had not been seen, though the guard cocked his ear for half a moment before resuming his pace. Elric looked cautiously out and signalled to his companions. The Duke of Queens waited for the guard to stop again, then he, too, made for the window and joined Elric. He was panting and grinning. “This is wonderful,” he said.

  Elric admired his spirit. There was no doubt that the guard could crush any of them to a pulp, even if (as still nagged at his brain) this was all some sort of complicated illusion.

  Another dash, and Werther was with them.

  Cautiously, Elric opened the door of the store-room. They looked onto a deserted landing. They crossed the landing and looked over a balustrade. They had expected to see another hall, but instead there was a miniature lake on which floated the most beautiful miniature ship, all mother-of-pearl, brass and ebony, with golden sails and silver masts. Surrounding this ship were mermaids and mermen bearing trays of exotic food (reminding Elric how hungry he still was) which they fed to the ship’s only passenger, Mistress Christia.

  “She is under an enchantment,” said Elric. “They beguile her with illusions so that she will not wish to come with us even if we do rescue her. Do you know no counter-spells?”

  Werther thought for a moment. Then he shook his head.

  “You must be very minor Lords of Chaos,” said Elric, biting his lower lip.

  From the lake, Mistress Christia giggled and drew one of the mermaids towards her. “Come here, my pretty piscine!”

  “Mistress Christia!” hissed Werther de Goethe.

  “Oh!” The captive widened her eyes (which were now both large and blue). “At last!”

  “You wish to be rescued?” said Elric.

  “Rescued? Only by you, most alluring of albinos!”

  Elric hardened his features. “I am not the one who loves you, madam.”

  “What? I am loved? By whom? By you, Duke of Queens?”

  “Sshh,” said Elric. “The demons will hear us.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Mistress Christia gravely, and fell silent for a second. “I’ll get rid of all this, shall I?”

  And she touched one of her rings.

  Ship, lake and merfolk were gone. She lay on silken cushions, attended by monkeys.

  “Sorcery!” said Elric, “if she has such power, then why…?”

  “It is limited,” explained Werther. “Merely to such tricks.”

  “Quite,” said Mistress Christia.

  Elric glared at them. “You surround me with illusions. You make me think I am aiding you, when really…”

  “No, no!” cried Werther. “I assure you, Lord Elric, you have our greatest respect – well, mine at least – we are only attempting to…”

  There was a roar from the gallery above. Rank upon rank of grinning demons looked down upon them. They were armed to the teeth.

  “Hurry!” The Duke of Queens leapt to the cushions and seized Mistress Christia, flinging her over his shoulder. “We can never defeat so many!”

  The demons were already rushing down the circular staircase. Elric, still not certain whether his new friends deceived him or
not, made a decision. He called to the Duke of Queens. “Get her from the castle. We’ll keep them from you for a few moments, at least.” He could not help himself. He behaved impulsively.

  The Duke of Queens, sword in hand, Mistress Christia over the other shoulder, ran into a narrow passage. Elric and Werther stood together as the demons rushed down on them. Blade met blade. There was an unbearable shrilling of steel mingled with the cacklings and shrieks of the demons as they gnashed their teeth and rolled their eyes and slashed at the pair with swords, knives and axes. But worst of all was the smell. The dreadful smell of burning flesh which filled the air and threatened to choke Elric. It came from the demons. The smell of hell.

  He did his best to cover his nostrils as he fought, certain that the smell must overwhelm him before the swords. Above him was a set of metal rungs fixed into the stones, leading high into a kind of chimney. As a pause came he pointed upwards to Werther, who understood him. For a moment they managed to drive the demons back. Werther jumped onto Elric’s shoulders (again displaying a strange lightness) and reached down to haul the albino after him.

  While the demons wailed and cackled below, they began to climb the chimney.

  They climbed for nearly fifty feet before they found themselves in a small, round room whose windows looked out over the purple crags and, beyond them, to a scene of bleak rocky pavements pitted with holes, like some vast, unlikely cheese.

  And there, rolling over this relatively flat landscape, in full daylight (for the sun had risen) was the Duke of Queens in a carriage of brass and wood, studded with jewels, and drawn by two bovine creatures which looked to Elric as if they might be the fabulous oxen of mythology who had drawn the war-chariot of his ancestors to do battle with the emerging nations of mankind.

  Mistress Christia was beside the Duke of Queens. They seemed to be waiting for Elric and Werther.

  “It’s impossible,” said the albino. “We could not get out of this tower, let alone across those crags. I wonder how they managed to move so quickly and so far. And where did the chariot come from?”

  “Stolen, no doubt, from the demons,” said Werther. “See, there are wings here.” He indicated a heap of feathers in the corner of the room. “We can use those.”

  “What wizardry is this?” said Elric. “Man cannot fly on bird wings.”

  “With the appropriate spell he can,” said Werther. “I am not that well versed in the magic arts, of course, but let me see…” He picked up one set of wings. They were soft and glinted with subtle, rainbow colours. He placed them on Elric’s back, murmuring his spell:

  “Oh, for the wings, for the wings of a dove,

  To carry me to the one I love…

  “There!” He was very pleased with himself. Elric moved his shoulders and his wings began to flap. “Excellent! Off you go, Elric. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  Elric hesitated, then saw the head of the first demon emerging from the hole in the floor. He jumped to the window ledge and leapt into space. The wings sustained him. Against all logic he flew smoothly towards the waiting chariot and behind him came Werther de Goethe. At the windows of the tower the demons crowded, shaking fists and weapons as their prey escaped them.

  Elric landed rather awkwardly beside the chariot and was helped aboard by the Duke of Queens. Werther joined them, dropping expertly amongst them. He removed the wings from the albino’s back and nodded to the Duke of Queens who yelled at the oxen, cracking his whip as they began to move.

  Mistress Christia flung her arms about Elric’s neck. “What courage! What resourcefulness!” she breathed. “Without you, I should now be ruined!”

  Elric sheathed Stormbringer. “We all three worked together for your rescue, madam.” Gently he removed her arms. Courteously he bowed and leaned against the far side of the chariot as it bumped and hurtled over the peculiar rocky surface.

  “Swifter! Swifter!” called the Duke of Queens, casting urgent looks backwards. “We are followed!”

  From the disappearing tower there now poured a host of flying, gibbering things. Once again the creatures had changed shape and had assumed the form of striped, winged cats, all glaring eyes, fangs and extended claws.

  The rock became viscous, clogging the wheels of the chariot, as they reached what appeared to be a silvery road, flowing between the high trees of an alien forest already touched by a weird twilight.

  The first of the flying cats caught up with them, slashing.

  Elric drew Stormbringer and cut back. The beast roared in pain, blood streaming from its severed leg, its wings flapping in Elric’s face as it hovered and attempted to snap at the sword.

  The chariot rolled faster, through the forest to green fields touched by the moon. The days were short, it seemed, in this part of Chaos. A path stretched skyward. The Duke of Queens drove the chariot straight up it, heading for the moon itself.

  The moon grew larger and larger and still the demons pursued them, but they could not fly as fast as the chariot which went so swiftly that sorcery must surely speed it. Now they could only be heard in the darkness behind and the silver moon was huge.

  “There!” called Werther. “There is safety!”

  On they raced until the moon was reached, the oxen leaping in their traces, galloping over the gleaming surface to where a white palace awaited them.

  “Sanctuary,” said the Duke of Queens. And he laughed a wild, full laugh of sheer joy.

  The palace was like ivory, carved and wrought by a million hands, every inch covered with delicate designs.

  Elric wondered. “Where is this place?” he asked. “Does it lie outside the Realm of Chaos?”

  Werther seemed nonplussed. “You mean our world?”

  “Aye.”

  “It is still part of our world,” said the Duke of Queens.

  “Is the palace to your liking?” asked Werther.

  “It is lovely.”

  “A trifle pale for my own taste,” said the Last Romantic. “It was Mistress Christia’s idea.”

  “You built this?” The albino turned to the woman. “When?”

  “Just now.” She seemed surprised.

  Elric nodded. “Aha. It is within the power of Chaos to create whatever whims it pleases.”

  The chariot crossed a white drawbridge and entered a white courtyard. In it grew white flowers. They dismounted and entered a huge hall, white as bone, in which red lights glowed. Again Elric began to suspect mockery, but the faces of the Chaos Lords showed only pleasure. He realized that he was dizzy with hunger and weariness, as he had been ever since he had been flung into this terrible world where no shape was constant, no idea permanent.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Mistress Christia.

  He nodded. And suddenly the room was filled by a long table on which all kinds of food were heaped – and everything, meats and fruits and vegetables, was white.

  Elric moved to take the seat she indicated and he put some of the food on a silver plate and he touched it to his lips and he tasted it. It was delicious. Forgetting suspicion, he began to eat heartily, trying not to consider the colourless quality of the meal. Werther and the Duke of Queens also took some food, but it seemed they ate only from politeness. Werther glanced up at the faraway roof. “What a wonderful tomb this would make,” he said. “Your imagination improves, Mistress Christia.”

  “Is this your domain?” asked Elric. “The moon?”

  “Oh no,” she said. “It was all made for the occasion.”

  “Occasion?”

  “For your adventure,” she said. Then she fell silent.

  Elric became grave. “Those demons? They were not your enemies. They belong to you!”

  “Belong?” said Mistress Christia. She shook her head.

  Elric frowned and pushed back his plate. “I am, however, most certainly your captive.” He stood up and paced the white floor. “Will you not return me to my own plane?”

  “You would come back almost immediately,” said Werther de Goethe. �
��It is called the Morphail Effect. And if you did not come here, you would yet remain in your own future. It is in the nature of time.”

  “This is nonsense,” said Elric. “I have left my own realm before and returned – though admittedly memory becomes weak, as with dreams poorly recalled.”

  “No man can go back in time,” said the Duke of Queens. “Ask Brannart Morphail.”

  “He, too, is a Lord of Chaos?”

  “If you like. He is a colleague.”

  “Could he not return me to my realm? He sounds a clever being.”

  “He could not and he would not,” said Mistress Christia. “Haven’t you enjoyed your experiences here so far?”

  “Enjoyed?” Elric was astonished. “Madam, I think… Well, what has happened this day is not what we mortals would call enjoyment’!”

  “But you seemed to be enjoying yourself,” said the Duke of Queens in some disappointment. “Didn’t he, Werther?”

  “You were much more cheerful through the whole episode,” agreed the Last Romantic. “Particularly when you were fighting the demons.”

  “As with many time-travellers who suffer from anxieties,” said Mistress Christia, “you appeared to relax when you had something immediate to capture your attention…”

  Elric refused to listen. This was clever Chaos talk, meant to deceive him and take his mind from his chief concern.

  “If I was any help to you,” he began, “I am, of course…”

  “He isn’t very grateful,” Mistress Christia pouted.

  Elric felt madness creeping nearer again. He calmed himself.

  “I thank you for the food, madam. Now, I would sleep.”

  “Sleep?” she was disconcerted. “Oh! Of course. Yes. A bedroom?”

  “If you have such a thing.”

  “As many as you like.” She moved a stone on one of her rings. The walls seemed to draw back to show bedchamber after bedchamber, in all manner of styles, with beds of every shape and fashion. Elric controlled his temper. He bowed, thanked her, said goodnight to the two lords and made for the nearest bed.

  As he closed the door behind him, he thought he heard Werther de Goethe say: “We must try to think of a better entertainment for him when he wakes up.”