The Dragon in the Sword by Michael Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House Publisher Services

7

I HAD EXPECTED to find myself and my friends in some vast receiving room, an auditorium where guests could state their business and be seen by all the Ursine Princes and their retinues. Such ceremony would have been suitable for the city.

Instead we were led by the five dignified creatures through streets of exceptional cleanliness, filled with buildings of astonishing beauty, until we came to a small domed hall which, in its simplicity, reminded me somewhat of an old Baptist church. Within we found warmth, comfortable chairs, a library—all the accumulated treasures which, say, a university don might come by in a lifetime of quiet appreciation of the world.

“This is where we live much of the time,” said one of the bearlike people. “We have domestic quarters, of course. We conduct our business from this place. I hope you will forgive the informality. Will you have wine? Or another drink?”

“We appreciate your hospitality,” I said awkwardly. I was going to add that we were rather anxious to see the great princes as soon as they could spare time to see us when Alisaard, doubtless anticipating me, interrupted.

“We all appreciate it, my lords. And we are honoured to find ourselves in the company of those who are called the Ursine Princes throughout the Six Realms.

I was surprised, even while I was grateful to her. It seemed completely wrong to my expectations that such a wonderfully decorative city should not indulge the most elaborate of ceremonies. And I had thought we were to be inspected by a whole host of noble bears. Now I could only presume that these were the only ones. Certainly the only ones we should meet.

The large room was heavily perfumed. From the fireplace in the centre of the left-hand wall great gusts of incense billowed. I realised that our odour must be inconceivably disgusting to them for them to go to such pains.

“Ah, that,” said one of the Princes, seating himself and his complicated arrangement of clothing in a great armchair, and pointing at the fire with his pole, “that is our custom. I trust you will forgive our fads. We are all somewhat old and set in our ways. I am Groaffer Rolm, Prince of the North River, successor to the Autuvian family which, sadly, ceased to produce issue.” He rubbed at his snout and sighed. The closer I came to them, the more I realised they only superficially resembled bears. It seemed to me this species had existed long before the advent of the bear. “And this is Snothelifard Plare, Prince of the Big South River and the Little East, hereditary head of the Winter Caravan.” A wave of silk and lace at the creature beside him. “Over there is Whiclar Hald-Halg, Prince of the Great Lake Spill, last bearer of the Flint. Glanat Khlin, Prince of the Deep Canals, Bat Speaker. And lastly, my wife Faladerj Oro, Prince of the Shouting Rapids and Regent of the Western Seasonals.” Groaffer Rolm made a small, polite grunting noise.

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