03 The King of Swords by Michael Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy
Published: 2010-04-10T21:19:17+00:00

other entered the house by the main door. Corum and

Jhary waited without.

And then she came to the door.

She was an old, beautiful woman, her long hair pure

white and braided, a mantle upon her brow. She wore a

flowing gown of light blue silk, with wide sleeves and gold

embroidery at neck and hem.

Jhary spoke to her in her own tongue, but she smiled

then.

She spoke in the pure, rippling speech of the Vadhagh.

"I know who you are," she said. "We have been waiting

for you here at the Manor in the Forest."

The Fifth Chapter

THE LADY JANE PENTALLYON

The old, beautiful lady led them into the cool room. Meats

and wines and fruits were upon the table of polished oak.

Jars of flowers everywhere made the air sweet. She looked

at Corum more often than she looked at Jhary. And at

Corum she looked almost fondly.

Corum removed his helm with a bow. "We thank you,

lady, for this gracious hospitality. I find much kindness in

your land, as well as hatred."

She smiled, nodding. "Some are kind," she said, "but not

many. The elf folk as a race are kinder."

He said politely: "The elf folk, lady?"

"Your folk."

Jhary removed a crumpled hat from within his jerkin. It

was the hat he always wore. He looked at it sorrowfully.

"It will take much to straighten that to its proper shape.

These adventures are hardest of all on hats, I fear. The

Lady Jane Pentallyon speaks of the Vadhagh race, Prince

Corum, or their kin, the Eldren, who are not greatly

different, save for the eyes, just as the Melniboneans and

the Nilanrians are offshoots of the same race. In this land

they are known sometimes as elvessometimes as devils,

djinns, even gods, depending upon the region."

"I am sorry," said the Lady Jane Pentallyon gently. "I

had forgotten that your people prefers to use its own names

for its race. And yet the name 'elf" is sweet to my ears, just

as it is sweet to speak your language again after so many

years."

"Call me what you will, lady," Corum said gallantly,

"for almost certainly I owe you my life and, perhaps, my

peace of mind. How came you to learn our tongue?"

"Eat," she said. "I have made the food as tender as I

could, knowing that the elf folk have more delicate palates

than we. I will tell you my story while you banish your

hunger."

And Corum began to eat, discovering that this was the

finest Mabden food he had ever eaten. Compared with the

food he had had in the town it was light as air and

delicately flavored. The Lady Jane Pentallyon began to

speak, her voice distant and nostalgic.

''I was a girl," she said, "of seventeen years, and I was

already mistress of this manor, for my father had died

crusading and my mother had contracted the plague while

on a visit to her sister. So, too, had my little brother died,

for she had taken him with her. I was distressed, of

course, but not old enough to know then that the best way

of dealing with sorrow is to face it, not try to escape it. I

affected not to care that all my family were dead. I took to

reading romances and to dreaming of myself as a

Guinevere or an Isolde.

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