Four

Old Castle Standing Alone

A day passed, a night passed.
	Then the evening of the second day passed and the two men staggered on, for all that they had long since lost their sense of direction.
	Night fell and they crawled.
	They could not speak. Their bones were stiff, their flesh and their muscles numb.
	Cold and exhaustion drove the very sentience from them so that when they fell in the snow and lay motionless they were scarcely aware that they had ceased to move. They understood no difference now between life and death, between existence and the cessation of existence.
	And when the sun rose and warmed their flesh a little they stirred and raised their heads, perhaps in an effort to catch one last glimpse of the world they were leaving.
	And they saw the castle.
	It stood there in the middle of the steppe and it was ancient. Snow covered the moss and the lichen which grew on its worn, old stones. It seemed to have been there for eternity, yet neither Elric nor Moonglum had ever heard of such a castle standing alone in the steppe. It was hard to imagine how a castle so old could exist in the land once known as World’s Edge.
	Moonglum was the first to rise. He stumbled through the deep snow to where Elric lay. With chapped hands he tried to lift his friend.
	The tide of Elric’s thin blood had almost ceased to move in his body. He moaned as Moonglum helped him to his feet. He tried to speak, but his lips were frozen shut.
	Clutching each other, sometimes walking, sometimes crawling, they progressed towards the castle.
	Its entrance stood open. They fell through it and the warmth issuing from the interior revived them sufficiently to allow them to rise and stagger down a narrow passage into a great hall.
	It was an empty hall.
	It was completely bare of furnishings, save for a huge log fire that blazed in a hearth of granite and quartz built at the far end of the hall. They crossed flagstones of lapis lazuli to reach it.
	“So the castle is inhabited.”
	Moonglum’s voice was harsh and thick in his mouth. He stared around him at the basalt walls. He raised his voice as best he could and called:
	“Greetings to whoever is the master of this hall. We are Moonglum of Elwher and Elric of Melniboné and we crave your hospitality, for we are lost in your land.”
	And then Elric’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor.
	Moonglum stumbled towards him as the echoes of his voice died in the hall. All was silent save for the crackling of the logs in the hearth.
	Moonglum dragged Elric to the fire and lay him down near it. 
	“Warm your bones here, friend Elric. I’ll seek the folk who live here.”
	Then he crossed the hall and ascended the stone stair leading to the next floor of the castle.
	This floor was as bereft of furniture or decoration as the other. There were many rooms, but all of them were empty. Moonglum began to feel uneasy, scenting something of the supernatural here. Could this be Theleb K’aarna’s castle?
	For someone dwelt here, in truth. Someone had laid the fire and had opened the gates so that they might enter. And they had not left the castle in the ordinary way or he should have noticed the tracks in the snow outside.
	Moonglum paused, then turned and slowly began to descend the stairs. Reaching the hall, he saw that Elric had revived enough to prop himself up against the chimneypiece.
	“And — what — found you…” said Elric thickly.
	Moonglum shrugged. “Nought. No servants. No master. If they have gone a-hunting, then they hunt on flying beasts, for there are no signs of hoofprints in the snow outside. I am a little nervous, I must admit.” He smiled slightly. “Aye — and a little hungry, too. I’ll seek the pantry. If danger comes, we’d do as well to face it on full stomachs.”
	There was a door set back and to one side of the hearth. He tried the latch and it opened into a short passage at the end of which was another door. He went down the passage, hand on sword, and opened the door at the end. A parlour, as deserted as the rest of the castle. And beyond the parlour he saw the castle’s kitchens. He went through the kitchens, noting that there were cooking things here, all polished and clean but none in use, and came finally to the pantry.
	Here he found the best part of a large deer hanging and on the shelf above it were ranked many skins and jars of wine. Below this shelf were bread and some pasties and below that spices.
	Moonglum’s first action was to reach up on tiptoe and take down a jar of wine, removing the cork and sniffing the contents.
	He had smelled nothing more delicate or delicious in his life.
	He tasted the wine and he forgot his pain and his weariness. But he did not forget that Elric still waited in the hall.
	With his short sword he cut off a haunch of venison and tucked it under his arm. He selected some spices and put them into his belt pouch. Under his other arm he put the bread and in both hands he carried a jar of wine.
	He returned to the hall, put down his spoils and helped Elric drink from the jar.
	The strange wine worked almost instantly and Elric offered Moonglum a smile that had gratitude in it.
	“You are — a good friend — I wonder why…”
	Moonglum turned away with an embarrassed grunt. He began to prepare the meat which he intended to roast over the fire.
	He had never understood his friendship with the albino. It had always been a peculiar mixture of reserve and affection, a fine balance which both men were careful to maintain, even in situations of this kind.
	Elric, since his passion for Cymoril had resulted in her death and the destruction of the city he loved, had at all times feared bestowing any tender emotion on those he fell in with.
	He had run away from Shaarilla of the Dancing Mist, who had loved him dearly. He had fled from Queen Yishana of Jharkor, who had offered him her kingdom to rule, in spite of her subjects’ hatred of him. He disdained most company save Moonglum’s, and Moonglum, too, became quickly bored by anyone other than the crimson-eyed Prince of Imrryr. Moonglum would die for Elric and he knew that Elric would risk any danger to save his friend. But was not this an unhealthy relationship? Would it not be better if they went their different ways? He could not bear the thought. It was as if they were part of the same entity — different aspects of the character of the same man.
	He could not understand why he should feel this. And he guessed that, if Elric had ever considered the question, the Melnibonéan would be equally hard put to find an answer.
	He contemplated all this as he roasted the meat before the fire, using his long sword as a spit.
	Meanwhile Elric took another draft of wine and began, almost visibly, to thaw out. His skin was still badly blistered by chilblains, but both men had escaped serious frostbite.
	They ate the venison in silence, glancing around the hall, puzzling over the non-appearance of the owner, yet too tired to care greatly where he was.
	Then they slept, having put fresh logs on the fire, and in the morning they were almost completely recovered from their ordeal in the snow.