Jonathan Strahan - Swords & Dark Magic - The New Sword and Sorcery

Moonglum was staring at the tall, pale triangle in the centre of the ship. Under his breath, he said: “I’ll swear that’s flesh…Those are scales. Some reptile. A harnessed monster.” Then the ship was backing, clouded air still hissing, obscuring the dorsal, giving out a not-unpleasant stink.

There was a dreadful, heavy stillness in the air, as if an attack might yet still come. All that could be heard was a creaking of timbers, the heavy slap of fabric in the wind, the sound of water lapping against oars. Moonglum thought he could just hear the sound of breathing.

“They believe our side to be the netherworld,” said the first mate, keeping his lips from moving too much. “But I believe that this place is Hell and we have just met one of Hell’s aristocrats.”

Elric and the pirate captain continued to stare at each other in fixed fascination until the two ships were far apart. Then, without comment, Elric returned to his cabin, leaving his companions on the upper deck.

“My lord has more relations here than he previously owned,” observed the princess dryly. “Has he spoken of that captain to you, Master Moonglum?”

Moonglum shook his head slowly.

“Is that why he is here?” she wondered.

“I think not.” Moonglum watched the archers unstringing their bows and replacing them, together with long quivers of arrows, in their oiled wooden cases.

Then, unbuckling his swords, he followed his friend below.

Moonglum had not expected to find such subtle beauty in the port of Hizss. Until now, the ports on this side of the world had been somewhat gloomy, massive fortifications as if they had once fought long battles. But not Hizss. Her pastel terraces formed slender ziggurats over which poured all manner of flowers. On her terraces lounged brightly dressed, brown-skinned citizens, lazing in the warm, easy air, cupping their hands to call down into her streets to vendors and messengers or merchants on their way to inspect the broad-beamed galleon’s cargo and greet her traders. Artefacts which were common on his side of the world, the captain had warned them, might be highly valuable to people on this side, and so, should he be offered something for, say, his belt buckle, he should be prepared to spend some time bartering. The tavern girl, Cita Tine, had brought a whole sack of goods she planned to trade. To his chagrin, Moonglum understood that it was not wholly out of blind passion that she had decided to accompany him to the World Below (or, as the locals preferred, Above). Indeed, almost as soon as they had berthed, Cita had raced down the gangplank to the quay, telling him she would see him back at the ship around suppertime. The last he glimpsed of her was, sack over her shoulder, her pushing through a crowd of men and women and entering a narrow side street between two warehouses. Clearly, she knew exactly where she wanted to go. Moonglum rather resented the fact that she had not thought to include him in her confidence. Once again, they were running out of money. Elric disdained such considerations, but they needed treasure, not close encounters with pirates. Moonglum watched the group of merchants as they made for a couple of dockside inns, saw the priestesses met by two of their own in a canvas-covered carriage, and the saturnine trader sign for a rickshaw to take him up the hill into the city’s centre. Then Moonglum glanced at Elric and followed his friend’s gaze down to the quay.

Separated from the others, hanging back somewhat in the shadows, stood a tall woman. She was dressed in several shades of green silk, a wide-brimmed green hat hiding the upper part of her face. A small slave boy held a long-handled parasol to protect her from the noonday heat and she rested one slender hand on his shoulder. That hand attracted the Eastlander’s attention most. There was a familiar pallor to it. He knew at once that, like his friend, the woman was an albino; and, when she turned to avoid a lumbering merchant anxious to reach the ship ahead of his fellows, the Eastlander’s observation was confirmed. Her face was as white as Elric’s, her eyes protected by a mask of fine gauze through which, no doubt, she could see, but through which the sun’s rays could not entirely penetrate. She had the same languid insouciance in her manner. She could be the albino’s sister. Was this Elric’s motive for being here? Was Moonglum the only one risking the voyage from simple curiosity? He sighed and began to wonder about the quality of the local wine.

But when Elric, guiding his princess towards the gangplank, indicated that he would be glad of Moonglum’s presence, the little Elwherite hitched his two swords about his waist and went with them, glad, after a moment, to feel solid land beneath his feet, even if he had some slight difficulty in standing upright.

“Another of your Melnibonéan relatives,” murmured Nauha, as they approached the green-clad woman. “Is she blind?”

“I don’t think so. And she is not Melnibonéan.”

The princess frowned, looking up into his face in the hope of learning something more from his expression. “Then—what—?”

Elric might have shrugged, even smiled, as he said: “She’s Phoorn.”

“Phoorn?”

“At any rate more Phoorn than I am.”

“But what is Phoorn?”

For the first time since she had known him, the albino seemed ill at ease. “Oh, we are closely related. But I’m not sure. I don’t…” Now he recalled that this was not the kind of thing his people discussed too frequently, and probably never with humans.

“You don’t remember…” She was sceptical.

“I remember her. She might not know me.”

He had told her enough about the nature of his dreamquests for her to understand at least the gist of what he said. He might have met this particular woman before or after that moment. She might not even be the same woman Elric remembered. Dreamquests usually took place in his plane’s past or in utterly alien periods of time; but in the other worlds, where his quests had taken him as a youth, lying on the dream-couches of Melniboné, time became more flexible, more chaotic even. Drawing closer, however, it was obvious that this woman knew Elric. She looked up expectantly as he approached. And began to smile.

“Lady—Fernrath?” To Nauha’s surprise, his voice was again a little hesitant. But the woman smiled and held her hand to be touched in that odd way Melnibonéans used for greeting. “Prince Elric,” she said. Her voice was unlike Elric’s, somewhat sibilant and strangely accented, as if she used an unfamiliar language.

Pushing back his long white hair, he offered her a short bow. “At your service, my lady.” He introduced the others. Princess Nauha was a little overenthusiastic in her response while Moonglum’s bow was swaggering and deep.

“You knew we were coming?” asked the albino, while her slave struck at the oncoming crowd with his rolled parasol. She led the little party to where a carriage, drawn by two lively but unhappy striped horses, waited for her at the top of the quay.

She answered: “How could I have known? I always meet such ships.”

He helped first Fernrath, then Nauha into the carriage. Moonglum, comparing his traveller’s cloak to the fine linen and silk, chose to join the driver on his seat. This clearly gave the driver no particular pleasure.

“You used your magic, perhaps?” he answered Lady Fernrath, challenging her apparent innocence.

She smiled back, but was silent on the subject. “Such a crowd today. Ships from your world are so rare.” She lifted an elegant cane and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

The narrow streets, crowded with merchants’ stalls, led away into less busy thoroughfares, becoming roads, which eventually passed between slender pines and cypresses, giving glimpses of the port below and the glittering sea beyond.