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Authors: Brian Lumley

BOOK: Mad Moon of Dreams
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Eldin: Inquisitor
“You know,” said Hero in a quiet aside to Limnar and Gytherik, “it's a funny thing, but of all dreamland's unhuman creatures and beings, I reckon these almost-humans are just about the most obnoxious. I mean, I'm even learning to appreciate gaunts—a little. And I've had dealings with Zura's zombies and Lathi's termen. The former can't help themselves and the latter are more termites than men. They have insect instincts—termentalities, so to speak. But
these
buggers—”
“They are something else, I agree,” Limnar answered. “And I believe I know why we find them so objectionable. It's because they are what they are: almost-human. Zura's zombies, whatever they are now, were
once
men, poor creatures—and Lathi's termen
never were
men. But the Lengites
could
be men! That is to say they're intelligent, they have emotions (I think), they trade with men—however dubiously—and they share other human traits. They are, literally,
almost
-humans! That's what so disgusts you: the fact that creatures so nearly men should be so, well,
un
-manlike.”
Gytherik gave a little shudder. “Me, I prefer gaunts any old time. Even ghouls might be better than horned ones. King Carter, I'm told, has a personal friend in the ghoul-leader, who himself was once a waking-worlder. So ghouls can't be all that bad.”
“I never met a ghoul,” Hero shrugged, his attention on Eldin, “so I don't know. But just look what the old lad's up to.” Half-frowning, half-grinning, he nodded in Eldin's direction. “You can talk about un-humans all you like, but when it comes to devious minds there's nothing to touch the minds of men. And my pal there can be devilish devious when he's of a mind.”
The Wanderer had had the Lengites trussed up in small nets, to each of which he had attached a rope. Now, on his instructions, as
Gnorri II
sailed higher, her crew lowered the horned ones over the side and made fast the ropes to the ship's rails. Eldin, grinning, leaned over the rail and peered down at them. He casually picked at his nails with the razor-sharp point of a wicked-looking knife.
“Right, you two,” he said at last to the helplessly dangling pair. “Your Captain called us pirates, so I don't see why we shouldn't act the part. That being so, this is my version of walking-the-plank. It's called cutting-the-rope. I'll explain how it works … Are you listening?”
Their yellow eyes gazed hatefully up at him; but each in his turn, they nodded. “Good,” Eldin continued. “Right then, this is how it works: I ask questions and you answer them—truthfully. If you don't answer, or if I suspect you're lying, then I cut through a little strand of rope. There are perhaps ten such strands to each rope. Now you black-hearted sods being what you are, there are bound to be lots of lies, which means that sooner or later one of you goes whistling down to the desert.
Splish!
” Eldin paused a moment to enjoy the low moans of terror which now floated up to him from his squat, until now silent, captives. Finally one of them spoke:
“You could not do it,” came the creature's paradoxically oily croak. “Your much-vaunted human compassion would never allow it.”
“That voice,” said Limnar, frowning. He crossed to the rail and peered over. “Your red sash gives you away, my friend,” he said after a moment, speaking to one of Eldin's victims.
“Your sash and your voice. You are—were—the Captain of the wrecked ship!”
“As one Captain to another, then,” came the gravelly answer, “I request you put an end to this and set us free. These waking-worlders are marked men. If you side with them you too are marked.”
“When I asked you to land your ship you fired on us,” Limnar was quick to remind. “You are now paying the price. What the Wanderer does with you is no concern of mine.” He moved away from the rail.
“Which leads me to my first question,” Eldin continued. “How, exactly, are we marked men? Hero and me, I mean?”
The almost-human Captain clamped his wide mouth firmly shut and glared up at Eldin with a look designed to sear his soul. Slowly he turned in his net entanglement, his cloven hooves projecting, his horns caught in the fine mesh. Eldin waited for a second or two, then sliced at a rope—but
not
the Lengite Captain's rope. Instead, threads parted and unwound in the rope of the crewman.
“'Ere!” that miserable creature burst out in a guttural gabble. “That's
my
rope you're 'acking at, not 'is!”
“Didn't I mention that?” Eldin innocently asked. “But that's the whole point of the exercise. You see, I know that your Captain will not let any harm befall you—which is to say that he'll be obliged to answer my questions, right?” The Wanderer grinned—but so did the almost-human Captain!
“Now then,” Eldin went on, poising his knife over the hapless crewman's taut rope. “First I would like to know your name, Captain … ?”
The Captain's mouth was once again tight-clamped, however, his grin gone, slant-eyes glaring as before. Eldin's blade caressed the crewman's rope, at which that unfortunate creature immediately babbled: “'Ang on, 'ang on! ‘Is name is Hrill. Cap'n Hrill, 'e is, an' 'e knows everything you want to—”
“
Quiet, fool!
” Hrill hissed, glaring venomously at his underling
where they swung together alongside
Gnorri
's substructure. “Can't you see you're falling right into his trap?”
“I'm
in
'is trap!” the other hotly retorted.
“Just you wait,” Hrill threatened. “When we're out of this—”
“If
you're ever that lucky,” Eldin cut him off. “Let's have no more arguing now, Cap'n Hrill. Let's have some answers. We were talking about marked men, if I remember right. How marked? By whom?”
“Balls!” said Hrill.
“Really!” said Eldin, apparently taken aback. “Rudeness does not become you.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I'm afraid I must make an example.” With that, and without further warning, he sliced through the crewman's rope. Its end zipped out of sight over the rail. The horned one's thin scream came echoing up through thinner air, and
Gnorri
's crew—Hero and Limnar too—rushed to the rail. Their horrified eyes barely had time to fix upon the hurtling, rope-trailing net and its wildly thrashing contents before it disappeared into a bank of clouds.
Hero's mouth, wide open in shock, snapped into a sudden grimace. “Eldin, I—”
“Quiet, lad!” the Wanderer growled. “This is man's work. I've always thought you were too soft …”
Meanwhile Gytherik had beckoned Hero and Limnar to one side. Now he whispered: “It is not what it seems. If you count my gaunts you will see that there are only six. The other two are beneath the cloudbelt, where they've doubtless arrested the Lengite's fall by now. Eldin planned the whole thing—with my assistance. We worked it out while Sniffer and the grim were down below hunting horned ones.”
“And you thought it best that we should remain ignorant?” Hero could hardly believe his own ears.
“If only you could have seen the look on your face as you looked over the rail—which doubtless Captain Hrill saw—you would understand why. Your horror looked so real that it lent the whole thing a marvelous authenticity.”
“My horror was real!” Hero answered. But in another moment he was grinning. “Still, I can't complain, can I?” He scratched his chin wonderingly. “Didn't I say Eldin was a devious old dog?” Then his frown deepened. “Gytherik, are you sure you're not descended from a waking-worlder?”
At last the Wanderer had the almost-human Captain's entire attention. There was little doubt now but that Hrill would tell him everything he wished to know, for the Lengite had obviously and very seriously overrated the human capacity for compassion. Eldin had just repeated his last question, in answer to which Hrill was even now babbling a perfectly acceptable answer.
“Marked men, yes,” he gibbered. “Both of you, Eldin the Wanderer and Hero of Dreams. The Dukes of Isharra have put a price on your heads—the Eidolon Lathi likewise, aye, and Zura of Zura too, though I fancy they would prefer you living to dead! Doomed you are, for how may you prevail against Zura and her zombies, Lathi and her termen, the Isharran Dukes and the entire nation of Leng?”
“How indeed?” growled Eldin. “But if you don't mind, I'll ask the questions.” He paused for a moment before asking, “These Dukes of Isharra: I take it they're against us personally? Because we stole their intended brides away, eh?”
“Of course,” the Lengite chuckled obscenely, “that's part of it—though by now they've stolen 'em back again. But mainly—”
“Hold it right there!” said Hero sharply as he moved up quickly beside Eldin. He gripped the rail, leaned over it and frowned down at the netted horned one, his gaze fixing the almost-human Captain like a pin through a butterfly. “What do you mean, they've stolen them back again?”
“They've taken 'em,” Hrill repeated. “Snatched 'em off to—” and he stopped abruptly, as if biting his tongue.
“Say on, greaseball,” Eldin demanded in his most fearsome growl, knife poised over the rope. “Where have the girls been abducted to?”
“Sarkomand!” the almost-human gasped, his terrified yellow eyes on Eldin's knife.
“Sarkomand?” Hero repeated. “That ill-reputed place? Why there?”
“I … I don't know. I—” and his voice quavered up to a shriek as Eldin sliced a thread of rope and watched it rapidly unravel.
“The truth!” Eldin roared.
“It … it is the Place of the Priest,” Hrill sobbed. “The Place of Propitiation. The Place of the Pit. There, beneath Sarkomand, at the bottom of a great pit—” He stopped and gave a piteous wail. “If I say any more my life will not be worth a pebble.”
“And if you don't you'll fall like a pebble,” Eldin grinned mirthlessly. “A big, fat, juicy pebble.” His knife parted another strand of rope.
The horned one gave another shriek. “Don't, don't!” he screamed. “I'll talk—I'll talk!”
“Talk, then,” commanded Hero.
“At the bottom of the pit in Sarkomand, there is—madness! Madness—and magic! It is a place where the forces of nightmare are strong, where Mnomquah's mate Oorn awaits His fond embrace, as She has waited since the dawn of time. But She need wait no longer.”
“Explain,” said Eldin, parting yet another strand.
“I will, I will!” Hrill sobbed, a mad gleam beginning to creep into his eyes. “Only please … the rope!”
“Talk,” Eldin remorselessly rumbled.
“When the moon draws closer there will be great waterspouts in all the seas of the dreamlands. Volcanoes will erupt as mighty earthquakes rend the land. Also, there will be madness amongst all of dreamland's peoples. A great madness, brought about through the will of Mnomquah. And then the people will return to His worship. But too late!
“Finally the moon will break up, and in that breaking Mnomquah will be freed! As the moon's pieces rain down and shatter the dreamlands, He will race in a fireball from
crumbling moon's heart to Sarkomand and plunge into the pit. Finally, when darkness and terror reign supreme, He and Oorn shall rise up, together, free, to be worshipped in all the lands of Earth's dreams!” And as Hrill finished speaking he broke into a prolonged, nerve-racking cackle of insane glee.
“Stop that!” Eldin commanded, viciously slicing at the now badly frayed rope. When Hrill had calmed down a little, the Wanderer asked: “And why would the Dukes of Isharra abduct a pair of lovely girls to that awful place?”
“What?” Hrill burst out hysterically. “Would you deny Mnomquah's mate Her sacrifice?” And again there came that hideous cackling. Hero and the rest looked at each other, their faces drawn, nerves all atingle. Finally, in what was little more than a whisper, Eldin asked:
“What of you Lengites? What do you get out of all this?”
“We?” the horned one madly chortled. “We are Mnomquah's chosen ones. We serve the moonbeasts, who in turn serve Him. We shall be saved.”
“And Zura?”
“Is it not obvious? Her army of zombies shall swell, her demesnes increase. She will be Queen of the Dead! As for Lathi: her hives shall spread across all the ravished land—Mnomquah permitting—and all of us, all the chosen ones shall live in wonder and glory forever!”
“The Isharrans, too?”
In his net, Hrill contrived to shrug and his eyes fixed on those of his tormentor. His wide mouth gave a mad grin, and when his voice came it was like stirred mud. “The Isharrans are human,” he gurgled. “They served a purpose, at present, but in the end—”

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