"I'm grateful again to Whiskers," said Elric with an unstable grin. "That's a valuable pet you have, Master Colinadous."
"More valuable than you know," said the little man feelingly. "He has played a crucial part in more than one world's history." He patted the cat as the beast returned to his arms, purring and pleased with himself. "I'm glad we were able to be of service to you."
"We're well rid of the bridge's guardian." Elric peered down into the foam. "Are we to encounter more such attacks, my lady?"
"Most certainly," she said. She was frowning as if lost in some conundrum only she perceived.
Jaspar Colinadous pursed his lips. "Here," he said. "Look how the gorge narrows. It becomes a tunnel."
It was true. They could now see how the rocks leaned in upon one another so that the pass was little more than a cave barely large enough to let Elric enter without bending his head. A set of crude steps led up to it and from time to time a little flicker of yellow fire appeared within, as if the place were lit by torches.
Jaspar Colinadous sighed. "I had hoped to journey with you further than this, but I must turn back now. I can go no further than the Marador Gate, which is what this seems to be. To do so would be to destroy me. I must find other companions now, in the Land of Dreams-in-Common." He seemed genuinely regretful. "Farewell, Prince Elric, Lady Gone. I wish you success in your adventure."
And suddenly the little man had turned and walked swiftly back over the bridge, not looking behind him. He left them almost as suddenly as he had arrived and was gone back into the darkness before either could speak, his cat with him.
Gone seemed to accept this and, at Elric's questioning glance, said: "Such people come and go here. Another rule the dreamthief learns is Hold on to nothing but your own soul. Do you understand?"
"I understand that it must be a lonely thing to be a dreamthief, madam."
And with that Elric began to climb the great rough-hewn steps which led into the Marador Gate.
3 Of Beauty Found in Deep Caverns
The tunnel began to descend almost as soon as they had entered it. Where it had first been cool, now the air became hot and humid so that sometimes it seemed to Elric he was wading through water. The little lights which gave faint illumination were not, as he had first thought, lamps or brands, but seemed naturally luminescent, delicate nodes of soft, glowing substance, almost fleshlike in appearance. He and Oone found that they were whispering, as if unwilling to disturb any denizens of this place. Yet Elric did not feel afraid here. The tunnel had the atmosphere of a sanctuary and he noticed that Oone, too, had lost some of her normal caution, though her experience had taught her to be wary of anything as a potentially dangerous illusion.
There was no obvious transition from Sadanor to Marador, save perhaps a slight change of mood before the tunnel opened up into a vast natural hall of richly glowing blues and greens and golden yellows and dark pinks, all flowing one to the other, like lava which had only recently cooled, more like exotic plants than the rock they were. Scents, like those of the loveliest, headiest flowers, made Elric feel as though he walked in a garden, not unlike the gardens he had known as a child, places of the greatest security and tranquility; yet there was no doubt that the place was a cavern and that they had travelled underground to reach it.
At first delighted by the sight, Elric began to feel a certain sadness, for until now he had not remembered those gardens of childhood, the innocent happiness which conies so rarely to a Melnibonéan, no matter what their age. He thought of his mother, dead in childbirth, of his infinitely mourning father, who had refused to acknowledge the son who, in his opinion, had killed his wife.
A movement from the depths of this natural hall and Elric again feared danger, but the people who began to emerge were unarmed and they had faces full of restrained melancholy.
"We have arrived in Marador," whispered Gone with certainty.
"You are here to join us?" A woman spoke. She wore flowing robes of myriad, glistening colour, mirroring the colours of the rock on walls and roof. She had long hair of faded gold and her eyes were the shade of old pewter. She reached to touch Elric-a greeting- and her hand was cold on his. He felt himself becoming infected with the same sad tranquility and it seemed to him that there could be worse fates than remaining here, recalling the desires and pleasures of his past, when life had been so much simpler and the world had seemed easily conquered, easily improved.
Behind him Oone said in a voice which sounded unduly harsh to his ear: "We are travellers in your land, my lady. We mean you no harm, but we cannot stay."
A man spoke. "Travellers? What do you seek?"
"We seek," said Elric, "the Fortress of the Pearl."
Oone was clearly displeased by his frankness. "We have no desire to tarry in Marador. We wish only to learn the location of the next gate, the Paranor Crate."
The man smiled wistfully. "It is lost, I fear. Lost to all of us. Yet there is no harm in loss. There is comfort in it, even, don't you feel?" He turned dreaming, distant eyes on them. "Better not to seek that which can only disappoint. Here we prefer to remember what we most wanted and how it was to want it..."
"Better, surely, to continue looking for it?" Elric was surprised by his own blunt tone.
"Why so, sir, when the reality can only prove inadequate when compared against the hope?"
"Think you so, sir?" Elric was prepared to consider this notion, but Oone's grip on his arm tightened.
"Remember the name that dreamthieves give this land," she murmured.
Elric reflected that it was truly the Land of Old Desires. All of his own forgotten yearnings were returning to him, bringing a sense of simplicity and peace. Now he remembered how those sensations had been replaced by anger as he began to realise that there was little likelihood of his dreams ever coming true. He had raged at the injustice of the world. He had flung himself into his sorcerous studies. He had become determined to change the balance of things and introduce greater liberty, greater justice by means of the power he had in the world. Yet his fellow Melnibonéans had refused to accept his logic. The early dreams had begun to fade and with them the hope which had at first lifted his heart. Now here was the hope offered him again. Perhaps there were realms where all he desired was true? Perhaps Marador was such a world.
"If I went back and found Cymoril and brought her here, we could live in harmony with these people, I think," he said to Oone.
The dreamthief was almost contemptuous.
"This is called the Land of Old Desires-not the Land of Fulfilled Desire! There is a difference. The emotions you feel are easy and easily maintained-while the reality remains out of your reach, while you merely long for the unattainable. When you set out to discover fulfillment, Elric of Melniboné, then you achieved stature in the world. Turn your back on that determination-your own determination to help build a world where justice reigns-and you'll lose my respect. You'll lose respect for yourself. You'll prove yourself a liar and you'll prove me a fool for believing you could help me save the Holy Girl!"
Elric was shocked by her outburst, which seemed offensive hi that particular atmosphere of serenity. "But I think it is impossible to build such a world. Better to have the prospect, surely, than the knowledge of failure?"
"That is what all hi this realm believe. Remain here, if you will, and believe what they believe forever. But I think one must always make an attempt at justice, no matter how poor the prospect of success!"