Swords Against the Shadowland (Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar) by Robin Wayne Bailey Read Free Book Online Page B

barracks, a few have dared to whisper the word, plague." The corporal frowned. "Their superiors had them whipped. I, myself, believe it is no plague." Touching the tip of a finger to his temple, he added, "I've been around, my friend, and I know a candle from a quarter moon. Some sorcery haunts the streets of Lankhmar, and something evil stalks our footsteps."
    Nuulpha picked up his mug again, drained it, and looked uncomfortably away. "My host knows this, too," he said as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "I saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice when he warned that child to have no traffic with luck or magic."
    The Mouser narrowed one eye, impressed with his guest's perceptive powers, as he reached for the pitcher again. The handle appeared fuzzier than it should have, and it took two tries for him to close his fingers around it. When he refilled their mugs, some of the amber contents splashed onto the table.
    "I'll tell you honestly, good Captain," the Mouser said. "I know precious little, save that I must find this Maly... Malygris, and I haven't a clue where to begin." With a heavy sigh, he raised his mug in another salute to his guest. "Come, the subject has made us a pair of humorless gargoyles. See how you sit hunched over your beer?" He slapped his palm against the table. "No more of this tonight. Cherig's cellar is not yet dry, I'll wager, and that should be challenge enough for a pair of good men."
    Nuulpha’s expression remained gloomy. Both hands clasping his mug, he stared down into its contents. "I like you well, gray friend," he whispered, "but if some geas compels you to pursue this madness, then pay heed." He lifted his gaze to meet the Mouser's black-eyed stare. "There is a rumor—no more than that. In one of the forbidden temples of the Ancient Gods that stand near the riverfront, some hint that Malygris has taken residence, although in which of those accursed and abandoned structures . . ."—he shrugged—"no one says. Treat this as you will, but remember: if you are caught trying to enter or disturb those ruins, it's Lankhmar's law that your lives are forfeit."
    Grinning, the Mouser touched his mug to his guest's. "Well, if I'm arrested and hauled off to your famous city dungeon, I'll trust in you to effect for me an escape of such breathtaking derring-do that the bards will sing of it throughout this and the entire next season."
    Picking up his mug, Nuulpha returned the salute. "Indeed," he answered, "however, that will cost you a considerably larger and more ornate bribe than this milk of Cherig's."
    Once again, the Silver Eel's door opened. Raucous laughter preceded a pair of slender young men, whose richly embroidered black cloaks marked them as noblemen or sons of noblemen. The fog swirled around their feet and clung to their garments like thick smoke as they entered, and to the Mouser's inebriated eye it seemed that a wispy tendril shifted and coiled with noose-like menace around the throat of one of them, but the door closed and the clinging mist swiftly diffused in the growing heat of the tavern.
    With the young men came their paramours, two elegantly clad beauties, whose gowns of splendid silks shimmered in the Silver Eel's shadowy lamplight, whose arms and fingers sparkled with jeweled rings and bracelets. Both women wore their hair piled high on their heads and held in place with glittering pins and combs. One stood tall and dark as a raven's wing, but it was the smaller blonde who held the Mouser's eye. A child, really, no more than fourteen, she appeared thin as a willow wand, yet possessed of a grace an older woman would have envied. Her gaze swept around the tavern, and for a brief instant, her eyes met the Mouser's.
    With his mug halfway to his lips, the Mouser's heart froze. "Ivrian," he muttered, for it was the face of his one true love staring back at him across the smoky room.
    Then, she turned away again and threw her arms around the neck of her lover, laughing at some