Stormbringer

In which, at long last, Eric's fate begins to be revealed to him as the forces of Law and Chaos gather strength for the final battle which will decide the future of Elric's world...

One

Above the rolling earth great clouds tumbled down and bolts of lightning charged groundwards to slash the midnight black, split trees in twain and sear through roofs that cracked and broke.

The dark mass of forest trembled with the shock and out of it crept six hunched, unhuman figures who paused to stare beyond the low hills towards the outline of a city. It was a city of squat walls and slender spires, of graceful towers and domes; and it had a name which the leader of the creatures knew. Karlaak by the Weeping Waste it was called.

Not of natural origin, the storm was ominous. It groaned around the city of Karlaak as the creatures skulked past the open gates and made their way through shadows towards the elegant palace where Elric slept. The leader raised an axe of black iron in its clawed hand. The group came to a stealthy halt and regarded the sprawling palace which lay on a hill Surrounded by languorously-scented gardens. The earth shook as lightning lashed it and thunder prowled across the turbulent sky.

«Chaos has aided us in this matter, » the leader grunted.

«Sec-already the guards fall in magic slumber and our entrance is thus made simple. The Lords of Chaos are good to their servants.»

He spoke the truth. Some supernatural force had been at work and the warriors guarding Elric's palace had dropped to tee ground, their snores echoing the thunder. The servants of Chaos crept past the prone guards, into the main courtyard and from there into the darkened palace. Unerringly they climbed twisting staircases, moved softly along gloomy corridors, to arrive at length outside the room where Elric and his wife lay in uneasy sleep.

As the leader laid a hand upon the door, a voice cried out from within the room: «What's this? What things of hell disrupt my rest?»

«He sees list» sharply whispered one of the creatures.

«No, » the leader said, »he sleeps-but such a sorcerer as this Elric is not so easily lulled into a stupor. We had best make speed and do our work, for if he wakes it will be the harder! »

He twisted the handle and eased the door open, his axe half raised. Beyond the bed, heaped with tumbled furs and silks, lightning gashed the night again, showing the white face of the albino close to that of his dark-haired wife.

Even as they entered, he rose stiffly in the bed and his crimson eyes opened, staring out at them. For a moment the eyes were glazed and then the albino forced himself awake, shouting: «Begone, you creatures of my dreams! »

The leader cursed and leaped forward, but he had been instructed not to slay this man. He raised the axe threateningly.

«Silence-your guards cannot aid you! »

Elric jumped from the bed and grasped the thing's wrist, his face close to the fanged muzzle. Because of his animism he was physically weak and required magic to give him strength. But so quickly did he move, that he had wrested the axe from the creature's hand and smashed the shaft between its eyes. Snarling, it fell back, but its comrades jumped forward. There were five of them, huge muscles moving beneath their furred skins.

Elric clove the skull of the first as others grappled with him. His body was spattered with the thing's blood and brains and he gasped in disgust at the fetid stuff. He managed to wrench his arm away and bring the axe up and down into the collarbone of another. But then he felt his legs gripped and he fell, confused but still battling. Then there came a great blow on head and pain blazed through him. He made an effort to rise, failed and fell back insensible.

Thunder and lightning still disturbed the night when, with throbbing head, he awoke and got slowly to his feet using a bedpost as support He stared dazedly around him.

Zarozinia was gone. The only other figure in the room was the stiff corpse of the beast he had killed. His black-haired girl-wife had been abducted.

Shaking, he went to the door and flung it open, calling for his guards, but none answered him.

His runesword Stormbringer hung in the city's armoury and would take time to get his throat tight with pain and he ran down the corridors and stairways, dazed with anxiety, trying to grasp the implications of his wife's disappearance.

Above the palace, thunder still crashed, eddying about in the noisy night. The palace seemed deserted and he had the sodden feeling that he was completely alone, not he had been abandoned. But as he ran out into the main courtyard and saw the insensible guards he realised at once that their number could not be natural. Realisation was coming even as he ran through the gardens, through the gates and down to the city, but there was no sign of his wife's abductors.

Where had they gone?

He raised his eyes to the shouting sky, his white face stark and twisted with frustrated anger. There was no sense to it. Why had they taken her? He had enemies, he knew, but none who could summon such supernatural help. Who, apart from himself, could work this mighty sorcery that made the skies themselves shake and a city sleep?

To the house of Lord Voashoon, Chief Senator, of Karlaak, old father of Zarozinia, Elric ran panting like a wolf. He banged with his fists upon the door, yelling at the astonished servants within.

«Open! It is Elric. Hurry! «

The doors gaped back and he was through them. Lord Voashoon came stumbling down the stair into the chamber, his face heavy with sleep.

«What is if Elric?..»

«Summon your warriors. Zarozinia has been abducted. Those who took her were demons and may be far from here by now-but we must search in case they escaped by land.»

Lord Voashoon's face became instantly alert and he shouted terse orders to his servants between listening to Elric’s explanation of what had happened.

«And I must have entrance into the armoury, » Elric concluded. «I must have Stormbringer! «

«But you renounced the blade for fear of its evil power over you! « Lord Voashoon reminded him quietly.

Elric replied impatiently. «Aye-but I renounced the blade tar Zarozinia's sake, too. I must have Stormbringer if I am to bring her back. The logic is simple. Quickly, give me the key.»

In silence Lord Voashoon fetched the key and led Elric to the armoury where the weapons and armour of his ancestors was held, unused for centuries. Through the dusty place strode Elric to a dark alcove that seemed to contain something which lived.

He heard a soft moaning come from the great black battle blade as he reached out a slim-fingered white hand to take it. It was heavy, yet perfectly balanced, a two-handed broadsword of prodigious size, with its wide crosspiece and its blade smooth and broad, stretching for over five feet from the hilt. Near the hilt, mystic runes were engraved and even Brie did not know what they fully signified.

«Again I must make use of you, Stormbringer, » he said as he buckled the sheath about his waist, »and I must conclude that we are too closely linked now for less than death to separate us.»

With that he was striding from the armoury and back to the courtyard where mounted guards were already sitting nervous steeds, awaiting his instructions.

Standing before them, he drew Stormbringer so that the sword's strange, black radiance flickered around him, his white face, as pallid as bleached bone, staring out of it at the horsemen.

«You go to chase demons this night Search the countryside, scour forest and plain for those who have done this thing to our princess! Though it's likely that her abductors used supernatural means to make their escape, we cannot be sure. So search-and search well! »

All through the raging night they searched but could find no trace of either the creatures or Elric's wife. And when dawn came, a smear of blood in the morning sky, his men returned to Karlaak where Elric awaited them, now filled with the nigromantic vitality which his sword supplied.

«Lord Elric shall we retrace our trail and see if daylight yields a clue?» cried one.

«He does not hear you, » another murmured as Elric gave no sign.

But then Elric turned his pain-racked head and he said bleakly, «Search no more. I have had time to mediate and must seek my wife with the aid of sorcery. Disperse. You can do nothing further.»

Then he left them and went back towards his palace, knowing that there was still one way of learning where Zarozinia had been taken. It was a method which he ill-liked, yet it would have to be employed.

Curtly, upon returning, Elric ordered everyone from his dumber, barred the door and stared down at the dead thing to congealed blood was still on him, but the axe with which he had stain it had been taken away by his comrades.

Elric prepared the body, stretching out its limbs on the floor. He drew the shutters of the windows so that no light filtered into the room, and lit a brazier in one corner. It swayed on its chains as an oil-soaked rushes flared. He went to a mail chest by the window and took out a pouch. From this he removed a bunch of dried herbs and with a hasty gesture flung them on the brazier so that it gave off a sickly odour and the room began to fill with smoke. Then he stood over the corpse, his body rigid, and began to sing an incantation in the old language of his forefathers, the sorcerer emperors of Melnibone. The song seemed scarcely akin to human speech, riling and falling from a deep groan to a high-pitched shriek.

The brazier spread flaring red light over Elric's face and grotesque shadows skipped about the room. On the floor the dead corpse began to stir, its ruined head moving from side to ride. Elric drew his runesword and placed it before him, his two hands on the hilt «Arise, soulless one!» he commanded.

Slowly, with jerky movements, the creature raised itself stiffly upright and pointed a clawed finger at Elric, its glazed eyes staring as if beyond him.

«An his,» it whispered, «was pre-ordained. Think not that you can escape your fate, Elric of Melnibone. You have tampered with my corpse and I am a creature of Chaos. My masters will avenge me.»

«How?»

«Your destiny is already laid down. You will know soon enough.»

«Tell me, dead one, why did you come to abduct my wife? Who sent you hither? Where has my wife been taken?»

«Three questions, Lord Elric, requiring three answers. You know that the dead who have been raised by sorcery can answer nothing directly.»

«Aye - that I know. So answer as you can.»

«Then listen well for I may recite only once my reed and then must return to the nether-regions where my being may peacefully rot to nothing. Listen;

With this, the dung fell to the floor and did not stir thereafter.

Elric went to the window and opened the shutters. Used as he was to enigmatic verse-omens, this one was difficult to unravel. As daylight entered the room, the rushes spluttered and the smoke faded. Beyond the ocean… There were many oceans.

He resheathed his runesword and climbed on to the disordered bed to lie down and contemplate the reed. At last, after long minutes of this contemplation, he remembered something he had heard from a traveller who had come to Karlaak from Tarkesh a nation of an Western Continent, beyond the Pale Sea.

The traveller had told him how there was trouble brewing between an land of Dharijor and the other nations of the west Dharijor had contravened treaties she had signed with her neighbouring kingdoms and had signed a new one with the Theocrat of Pan Tang. Pan Tang was an unholy island dominated by its dark aristocracy of warrior-wizards. It was from here not Bine's old enemy, Theleb K'aarna, had come. Its capital of Hwamgaarl was called the City of Screaming Statues and until recently its residents had had little contact with the folk of the outside world. Jagreen Lern was an new Theocrat and an ambitious man. His alliance with Dharijor could only mean may he sought more power over the nations of the Young Kingdoms. The traveller had said dial strife was sure to break out at any moment since there was ample evidence that Dharijor and Pan Tang had entered a war alliance.

Now, as his memory improved, Elric related his information with an news he had had recently that Queen Yishana of Jharkor, a neighbouring kingdom to Dharijor, had recruited the aid of Dyvim Slorm and his Imrryrian mercenaries. And Dyvim Slorm was Elric's only kinsman. This meant that Jharkor must be preparing for battle against Dharijor. The two facts were too closely linked with the prophecy to be ignored.

Even as he thought upon it, he was gathering his clothes together and preparing for a journey. There was nothing for it but to go to Jharkor and speedily, for there he was sure to meet his kinsman. And there, also, there would soon be a battle if all the evidence were true.

Yet the prospect of the journey, which would take many days, caused a cold ache to grow in his heart as he thought of the weeks to come in which he would not know how his wife fared.

«No time for that, » he told himself as he laced up his black quilted jacket. «Action is all that's required of me now - and speedy action.»

He held the sheathed runeblade before him, staring beyond it into space. «I swear by Arioch that those who have done this, wherever they be man or immortal, shall suffer from their deed. Hear me, Arioch! That is my oath! «

But his words found no answer and he sensed that Arioch, his patron demon, had either not heard him or else heard his oath and was unmoved.

Then he was striding from the death-heavy chamber, yelling for his horse.

Two

Where the Signing Desert gave way to the borders of Ilmiora, between the coasts of the Eastern continent and the lands of Tarkesh, Dharijor and Shazar, there lay the Pale Sea.

It was a cold sea, a morose and chilling sea, but ships preferred to cross from Ilmiora to Dharijor by means of it, rather than chance the weirder dangers of the Straits of Chaos which were lashed by eternal storms and inhabited by malevolent sea-creatures.

On the deck of an Ilmioran schooner, Elric of Melnibone stood wrapped in his cloak, shivering and staring gloomily at the cloud-covered sky.

The captain, a stocky man with blue, humorous eyes, came struggling along the deck towards him. He had a cup of hot wine in his hands. He steadied himself by clinging to a piece of rigging and gave the cup to Elric.

«Thanks, » said the albino gratefully. He sipped the wine. «How soon before we make the port of Banarva, captain?»

The captain pulled the collar of his leather jerkin about his unshaven face. «We're sailing slow, but we should sight the Tarkesh peninsula well before sunset, » Banarva was in Tarkesh' one of its chief trading posts. The captain leaned on the rail. «I wonder how long these waters will be free for ships now that war's broken out between the kingdoms of the west. Both Dharijor and Pan Tang have been notorious in the past for their piratical activities. They'll soon extend them under the guise of war, I'll warrant.»

Elric nodded vaguely, his mind on other things than the prospect of piracy.

Disembarking in the chilly evening at the port of Banarva, Elric soon saw ample evidence that war darkened the lands of the Young Kingdoms. There were rumours rife, talk of nothing but battles gained and warriors lost. From the confined gossip, he could get no dear impression of how the war went, save that the decisive battle was yet to be fought.

Loquacious Banarvans told him that all over the Western Continent men were marching. From Myyrrhn, he heard, the winged men were flying. From Jharkor, the White Leopards, Queen Yishana's personal guard, ran towards Dharijor, while Dyvim Slonn and his mercenaries pressed northwards to meet them.

Dharijor was the strongest nation of the west and Pan Tang was a formidable ally, more for her people's occult knowledge than for her numbers. Next in power to Dharijor came Jharkor, who, with her allies Tarkesh, Myyrrhn and Shazar, was still not as strong as those who threatened the security of the Young Kingdoms.

For some years Dharijor had sought an opportunity for conquest and the hasty alliance against her had been made in an effort to stop her before she had fully prepared for conquest. Whether this effort would succeed, Elric did not know, and those who spoke to him were equally uncertain.

The streets of Banarva were packed with soldiers and supply trains of horses and oxen. The harbour was filled with warships and it was difficult to find lodgings since most inns and many private houses had been requisitioned by the army. And it was the same all over the Western Continent. Everywhere, men strapped metal about them, bestrode heavy chargers, sharpened their arms, and rode beneath bright silken banners to slay and to despair.

Here, without doubt, Elric reflected, he would find the battle of the prophecy. He tried to forget his tormented longing for news of Zarozinia and turned his moody eyes towards the west Stormbringer hung like an anchor at his side and ho fingered it constantly, hating it even as it fed him his vitality.

He spent the night in Banarva and by morning had hired a good horse and was riding through the sparse grassland towards Jharkor.

Across a war-torn world rode Elric, his crimson eyes burning with a fierce anger at the sights of wanton destruction he witnessed. Although he had himself lived by his sword for many years and had committed acts of murder, robbery and urbicide, he disliked the senselessness of wars such as this, of men who killed one another for only the vaguest of reasons.

It was not that he pitied the slain or hated the slayers; he was too remote from ordinary men to care greatly about what they did. Yet, in his own tortured way, he was an ideal who, because he lacked peace and security himself, resulted - the sights of strife which this war brought to him. His ancestors, he knew, had also been remote, yet they had delighted in the conflicts of the men of the Young Kingdoms, observing them from a distance and judging themselves above nidi activities; above the morass of sentiment and emotion in which these new men struggled. For ten thousand years the sorcerer-emperors of Melnibone had ruled this world, a race without conscience or moral creed, unneedful of reasons for their acts of conquest, seeking no excuses for their natural malicious tendencies. But Elric, the last in the direct line of emperors, was not like them. He was capable of cruelty and malevolent sorcery, had little pity, yet could love and hate more violently than ever his ancestors. And these strong passions, perhaps, had been the cause of his breaking with his homeland and travelling the world to compare himself against these new men since he could find none in Melnibone who shared his feelings. And it was because of these twin forces of love and hate that he had returned to have vengeance on his cousin Yyrkoon who had put Cymoril, Elric betrothed, into a magic slumber and usurped the kingship of Melnibone, the Dragon Isle, last territory of the fallen Bright Empire. With the aid of a fleet of reavers, Elric had razed Imrryr in his vengeance-taking, destroyed the Dreaming City and scattered forever the race who had founded it so that the last survivors were now mercenaries roaming the world to sell their arms to whomever bid highest. Love and bate; they had led him to kill Yyrkoon who deserved death and, inadvertently, Cymoril, who did not. Love and hate. They welled in him now as bitter smoke stung his throat and he passed a straggling group of townspeople who were fleeing, without knowledge of their direction, from the latest depredation of the roving Dharijorian troops who had struck far into this part of Tarkesh and had met little hindrance from the armies of King Hilran of Tarkesh whose main force was concentrated further north, readying itself for the major battle.

Now Elric rode close to the Western Marches, near the Jharkorian border. Here lived sturdy foresters and harvesters in better times. But now the forests were blackened and burnt and the crops of the field were mined.

His journey, which was speedy for he wasted time took him through one of the stark forests where remnants of trees cast cold silhouettes against the grey, seething sky. He raised the hood of his cloak over his bead so that the heavy black fabric completely hid his face, and rode on as rain rushed suddenly down and beat through the skeleton trees, sweeping across the distant plains beyond so that all the world seemed grey and black with the hiss of the rain a constant and depressing sound.

Then, as he passed a ruined hovel which was half cottage and half hole in the earth, a cawing voice called out: «Lord Elric! »

Astonished that he should be recognised, he turned his bleak face in the direction of the voice, pushing his hood back as he did so. A ragged figure appeared in the hole's opening. It beckoned him closer. Puzzled, he walked his horse towards the figure and saw that it was an old man, or perhaps a woman, he couldn't tell.

«You know my name. How?»

«Thou art a legend throughout the Young Kingdoms. Who could not recognise that white face and heavy blade thou art carrying?»

«True, perhaps, but I have a notion there is more to this than chance recognition. Who are you and how do you know the High Speech of Melnibone?» Elric deliberately used the coarse Common Speech.

«Thou shouldn’t know not all who practise dark sorcery use the High Tongue of those who are pastmasters in its arts. Wouldst thou guest with me a while?»

Elric looked at the hovel and shook his head. He was fastidious at the best of times. The wretch smiled and made a mock bow, restoring to the Common Speech and saying: «So the mighty lord disdains to grace my poor home. But does he not perhaps wonder why the fire which raged through this forest a while ago did not, in fact, harm me?»

«Aye, » said Elric thoughtfully, »that is an interesting riddle.»

The hag took a step towards him. «Soldiers came not a month gone-from Pan Tang they were. Devil Riders with their hunting tigers running with them. They despoiled the harvest and burnt even the forests that those who fled them might not eat game or berries here. I lived in this forest all my life, doing a little simple magic and prophecy for my needs. But when I saw the walls of flame soon to engulf me, I cried the name of a demon I knew—a thing from Chaos which, latterly, I had dared not summon. It came.

«Save me, » cried I, «And what would ye do in return?» said the demon. «Anything, » I quoth. Then bear this message for my masters,‘ it said. 'When the kinslayer known as Elric of Melnibone shall pass this way, tell him that there is one kinsman he shall not slay and he will be found in Sequaloris. If Brie loves his wife, he will play his role. If he plays it well, his wife shall be returned.» So I fixed the message in my mind and now give it thee as I swore.»

«Thanks, » said Elric, »and what did you give in the first place for the power to summon such a demon?»

«Why, my soul, of course. But it was an old one and not of much worth. Hell could be no worse than this existence.»

'Then why did you not let yourself burn, your soul un-bartered?»

«I wish to live, » said an wretch, smiling again. «Oh, life is good. My own life, perhaps, is squalid, yet the life around me that is what I love. But let me not keep you, my lord, for you have weightier matters on your mind.» Once more the wretch gave a mock bow as Elric rode off, puzzled, but encouraged. His wife still lived and was safe. But what bargain must he strike before he could get her back?

Savagely he goaded his horse into a gallop, heading for Sequaloris in Jbarkor. Behind him, faintly through the beating rain, he heard a cackling at once mocking and miserable.

Now his direction was not so vague, and he rode at great speed - but cautiously, avoiding the roving bands of invaders, until at length the arid plains gave way to the lusher wheatlands of the Sequa province of Jharfcor. Another day's ride and Elric entered the small walled city of Sequaloris which had so far not suffered attack. Here, he discovered preparations for war and learnt news that was of greater interest to him.

The Imrryrian mercenaries, led by Dyvim Storm, Elric's cousin and son of Dyvim Tvar, Elric's old friend, were due to arrive next day in Sequaloris.

There had been a certain enmity between Elric and the Imrryrians since the albino had been the direct cause of their need to leave the ruins of the Dreaming City and live as mercenaries. But those times were past, long since, and on two previous occasions he and the Imrryrians had fought on the same side. He was their leader by right and the tics of tradition were strong in the elder race. Elric prayed to Arioch that Dyvim Slorm would have come due to his wife's whereabouts.

At noon of the next day the mercenary army rode swaggering into the city. Elric met them dose to the city gate. The Imrryrian warriors were obviously weary from a long ride and were loaded with booty since, before Yishana sent for them, they had been raiding in Shazar dose to the Marshes of the Mist. They were different from any other race, these Imrryrians, with their tapering faces, slanting eyes and high cheekbones. They were pale and slim with long, soft hair drifting to their shoulders. The finery they wore was not stolen, but definitely Melnibonean in design; shimmering cloths of gold, blue and green, metals of delicate workmanship and intricately patterned. They carried lances with long, sweeping heads and there were slender swords at their sides. They sat arrogantly in their saddles, convinced of their superiority over other mortals, and were, as Elric, not quite human in their unearthly beauty.

He rode up to meet Dyvim Slorm, his own sombre clothes contrasting with theirs. He wore a tall-collared jacket of quilted leather, black and buckled in by a broad, plain belt at which hung a poignard and Stormbringer. His milk-white hair was held from his eyes by a fillet of black bronze and his breeks and boots were also black. All his black set off sharply his white skin and crimson, glowing eyes.

Dyvim Slorm bowed in his saddle, showing only slight surprise.

«Cousin Elric. So the omen was true.»

«What omen, Dyvim Slorm?»

«A falcon's - your name bird if I remember.» It had been customary for Melniboneans to identify newborn children with birds of their choice; thus Elric's was a falcon, hunting bird of prey.

«What did it tell you, cousin?» Elric asked eagerly.

«It gave a puzzling message. While we had barely gone from the Marshes of the Mist, it came and perched on my shoulder, and spoke in human tongue. It told me to come to Sequaloris and there I would meet my king. From Sequaloris we were to journey together to join Yishana»s army and the battle, whether won or lost, would resolve the direction of our linked destinies thereafter. Do you make sense of that, cousin?»

«Some» Elric frowned. «But come-I haw a place reserved for you at the inn. I will tell you all I know over wine-if we can find decent wine in this forsaken hamlet I need help, cousin; as much help as I can obtain' for Zarozinia has been abducted by supernatural agents and I have a feeling that this and the wars are but two elements in a greater play.»

«Then quickly, to the inn. My curiosity is further piqued. This matter increases in interest for me. First falcons and omens, now abductions and strife! What else, I wonder, are we to meet! »

With the Imrryrians straggling after them through the cobbled streets, scarcely a hundred warriors but hardened by their outlawed lift, Elric and Dyvim Slorm made their way to the inn and there, in haste, Elric outlined all he had learned.

Before replying, his cousin sipped his wine and carefully placed the cup upon the board, pursing his lips. «I have a feeling in my bones that we are puppets in some struggle between the gods. For all our blood and flesh and will, we can see none of the bigger conflict save for a few scarcely related details.»

«That may be so, » said Elric impatiently, »but I'm greatly angered at being involved and require my wife's release. I have no notion why we, together, must make the bargain for her return, neither can I guess what it is we have that those who captured her want. But, if the omens are sent by the same agents, then we had best do as we are told, for the meantime, until we can see matters more clearly. Then, perhaps, we can act upon our own volition.»

«That's wise, » Dyviro Slorm nodded, »and I'm with you in it» He smiled slightly and added: «Whether I like it or not, I fancy.»

Elric said: «Where lies the main army of Dharijor and Pan Tang? I heard it was gathering.»

«It has gathered-and marches closer. The impending battle will decide who rules the western lands. I'm committed to Yishana's aide, not only because she has employed us to aid her, but because I felt that if the warped lords of Pan Tang dominate these nations, then tyranny will come upon them and they will threaten the security of the whole world. It is a sad thing when a Melnibonean has to consider such problems.» He smiled ironically. «Aside from that, I like them not these sorcerous upstarts-they seek to emulate the Bright Empire.»

«Aye.» Elric said. They are an island culture, as ours was. They are sorcerers and warriors as our ancestors were. But their sorcery is less healthy than ever ours was. Our ancestors committed frightful deeds, yet it was natural to them. These newcomers, more human than we, have perverted their humanity whereas we never possessed it in the same degree. There will never be another Bright Empire, nor can their power last more than ten thousand years. This is a fresh age, Dyvim Slorm, in more man one way. The time of subtle sorcery is on the wane. Men an finding new means of harnessing natural power.»

«Our knowledge is ancient, » Dyvim Slorm agreed, »yet, so old is it that it has little relation to present events, I think. Our logic and learning are suited to the past...»

«I think you are right» said Elric, whose mingled emotions were suited neither to past present nor future. «Aye, it is fitting that we should be wanderers, for we have no place in this world.»

They drank in silence, moodily, their minds on matters of philosophy. Yet for all this, Elric's thoughts were forever turning to Zarozinia and the fear of what might have befallen her. The very innocence of this girl, her vulnerability and her youth had been, to some degree at least his salvation. His protective love for her had helped to keep him from brooding too deeply on his own doom-filled life and her company had eased his melancholy. The strange reed of the dead creature lingered in his memory. Undoubtedly the reed had referred to a battle, and the falcon which Dyvin Slorm had seen had spoken of one also The battle was sure to be the forthcoming one between Yishana's forces and those of Sarosto of Dharijor and Jagreen Lern of Pan Tang. If he was to find Zarozinia then he must go with Dyvim Slonn and there take part in UK conflict- Though he might perish, he reasoned that he had best do as the omens ordered-otherwise he could lose even the slight chance of ever seeing Zarozinia again. He turned to his cousin.

«I’ll make my way with you tomorrow, and use my blade in the battle. Whatever else, I have the feeling that Yisbana will need every warrior against the Theocrat and his allies.»

Dyvim Slorm agreed. «Not only our doom but the doom of nations will be at stake in this...»

Three

Then terrible men drove their yellow chariots down a black-mountain which vomited blue and scarlet fire and shook in a spasm of destruction.

In such a manner, all over the globe, the forces of nature were disrupted and rebellious. Though few realised it, the earth was changing. The Ten knew why, and they knew of Elric and how their knowledge linked with him.

The night was pale purple and the sun hung a bloody globe over the mountains, for it was late summer. In the valleys, cottages were burning as smoking lava smacked against the straw roofs.

Sepiriz, in the leading chariot, saw the villagers running, a confused rabble-like ants whose hills had been scattered. He turned to the blue-armoured man behind him and he smiled almost gaily.

«See them run, » he said. «See them run, brother. Oh, the joy of it-such forces there are at work! »

« ‘Tis good to have woken at this time, » his brother agreed, abouting over the rumbling noise of the volcano.

Then the smile left Sepiriz and his eyes narrowed: He lashed at his twin horses with a bull-hide whip, so that blood laced the flanks of the great black steeds and they galloped even faster down the steep mountain.

In the village, one man saw the Ten in the distance. He shrieked, voicing his fear in a warning:

«The fire has driven them out of the mountain. Hide - escape! The men from the volcano have awakened-they are coming. The Ten have awakened according to the prophecy-it is the end of the world! » Then the mountain gushed a fresh spewing of hot rock and flaming lava and the man was struck down, screamed as he burned and died. He died needlessly, for the Ten had no interest in him or his fellows. Sepiriz and his brothers rode straight through the village, their chariot wheels rattling on the coarse street, the hooves of their horses pounding.

Behind them, the mountain bellowed. «To Nihrain! » cried Sepiriz. «Speedily, brethren, for there is much work to do. A blade must be brought from Limbo and a pair of men must be found to carry it to Xanyaw! »

Joy filled him as he saw the earth shuddering about him and heard the gushing of fire and rock behind him. His black body glistened, reflecting the flames of the burning houses. The horses leaned in their harness, dragging the bucking chariot at wild speed, their hooves blurred movement over the ground so that it often seemed they flew.

Perhaps they did, for the steeds of Nihrain were known to be different from ordinary beasts.

Now they flung themselves along a gorge, now up a mountain path, making their speedy way towards the Chasm of Nihrain, the ancient home of the Ten who had not returned there for two thousand years.

Again, Sepiriz laughed. He and his brothers bore a terrible responsibility, for though they had no loyalty to men or gods, they were Fate's spokesmen and thus bore an awful knowledge within their immortal skulls.

For centuries they had slept in their mountain chamber, dwelling dose to the dormant heart of the volcano since extremes of heat and cold bothered them little. Now the spewing rock had awakened them and they knew that their time had come - the time for which they had been waiting for millenia.

This was why Sepriz sang in Joy. At last he and his brothers were to be allowed to perform their ultimate function. And this involved two Melniboneans, the two surviving members of the Royal Line of the Bright Empire.

Sepiriz knew they lived-they had to be alive, for without them Fate's scheme was impossible. But there were thorn upon the earth, Sepiriz knew, who were capable of cheating Fate, so powerful were they. Their minions lay everywhere, particularly among the new race of men, but ghouls and demons were also their tools.

This made his chosen task the harder. But now-to Nihrain! To the hewn city and there to draw the threads of destiny into a finer net. There was still a little time, but it was running short; and Time the unknown, was master of all...

The pavilions of Queen Yishana and her allies were grouped thickly about a series of small, wooded hills. The trees afforded cover from a distance and no campfires burned to give away their position. Also the sounds of the great army were as muted as possible. Outriders went to and fro, reporting the enemy's positions and keeping wary eyes open for spies.

But Elric and his Imrryrians were unchallenged as they rode in, for the albino and his men were easily recognisable and it was well-known that the feared Melnibonean mercenaries had elected to aid Yishana.

Elric said to Dyvim Slorm: «I had best pay my respects to Queen Yishana, on account of our old bond, but I do not want her to know of my wife's disappearance-otherwise she may try to hinder me. We shall just say that I have come to aid her, out of friendship.»

Dyvim Slorm nodded, and Brie left his cousin to tend to making camp, while he went at once to Yishana's tent where the tall queen awaited him impatiently.

The look in her eyes was shielded as he entered. She had a heavy, sensuous face that was beginning to show signs of ageing. Her long hair was black and shone around her head. Her breasts were large and her hips broader than Elric remembered. She was sitting in a padded chair and the table before her was scattered with battle-maps and writing materials, parchment, ink and quills.

«Good morning, wolf, » said she with a half-smile that was at once sardonic and provocative. «My scoots reported that you were riding with your countrymen. This is pleasant. Have you forsaken your new wife to return to subtler pleasures?»

«No, » he said.

He stripped off his heavy riding cloak and flung it on a bench. «Good morning, Yishana. You do not change. I've half a suspicion that Theleb K'aarna gave you a draught of the waters of Eternal Life before I killed him.»

«Perhaps he did. How goes your marriage?»

«Well, » he said as she moved closer and he felt the warmth of her body.

«And now I’m disappointed.» she smiled ironically and shrugged. They had been lovers on different occasions, in spite of the fact that Elric had been partially responsible for her brother's death during the raid on Imrryr. Darmit of Jharkor’s death had put her on the throne and, being an ambitious woman, she had not taken the news with too much sadness. Elric had no wish to resume the relationship, however.

He turned immediately to the matter of the forthcoming battle.

«I see you're preparing for more than a skirmish, » he said. «What forces have you and what are your chances of winning?»

There are my own White Leopards, » she told him. «five hundred picked warriors who run as swiftly as horses, are as strong as mountain cats and as ferocious as blood-mad sharks-they are trained to kin and killing is all they know. Then there are my other troops-infantry and cavalry, some eighty Lords in command. The best cavalry are from Shazar, wild riders but clever fighters and well-disciplined. Tarkesh has sent fewer men since I understand King Hilran needed to defend his southern borders against a heavy attack. However, there are almost a thousand and fifty foot-soldiers and some two hundred mounted men from Tarkesh. In all we can put perhaps six thousand trained warriors on the field. Serfs, slaves and the like are also fighting, but they will of course serve only to meet the initial onslaught and will die in the early part of the battle.»

Elric nodded. These were standard military tactics. «And what of the enemy?»

«We have more numbers-but they have Deva Riders and hunting tigers. There are also some beasts they keep in cages-but we cannot guess what they are since the cages are covered.»

«I heard not the men of Myyrrhn are flying hither. The import must be great for them to leave their eyries.»

«If we lose his battle, » she said gravely, «Chaos could easily engulf the earth and rule over it. Every oracle from here to Shazar says the same thing, that Jagreen Lern is but the tool of less natural masters, that he is aided by the Lords of Chaos. We are not only fighting for our lands, Elric, we are fighting for the human race! »

«Then let us hope we win, » he said.

Elric stood among the captains as they surveyed the mobilising army. Tall Dyvim Slonu was by his side, his golden shirt loose on his slim body and his manner confident, arrogant Also here were hardened soldiers of many smaller campaigns; short, dark-faced men from Tarkesh with thick armour and black, oiled hair and beards. The half-naked winged men from Myyrrhn had arrived, with their brooding eyes, hawk-like faces, their great wings folded on their backs, quiet, dignified, seldom speaking. The Shazariao commanders were there also, in jackets of grey, brown and black, in rust coloured bronze armour. With them stood the captain of Yishana's White Leopards, a long-legged, thick-bodied man with blond hair tied in a knot at the back of his bull-necked head, silver armour bearing the emblazon of a leopard, albino like Elric, rampant and snarling. The time of the battle was drawing close…

Now, in the grey dawn, tee two armies advanced upon each other' coming from opposite ends of a wide valley, flanked by low, wooded, hills.

The army of Pan Tang and Dhariior moved, a tide of dark metal, up the shallow valley to meet them. Elric, still un-armoured, watched as they approached, his horse stamping the turf. Dyvim Slonn, beside him, pointed and said: «Look - there are the plotters-Sarosto on the left and Jagreen Lern on the right! »

The leaders headed their army, banners of dark silk rustling above their helms. King Sarosto and his thin ally, aquiline Jagreen Lern in glowing scarlet armour that seemed to be red hot and may have been. On his helm was the Merman Crest of Pan Tang, for the claimed kinship with the sea-people. Sarosto's armour was dull, murky yellow, emblazoned with the Star of Dharijor upon which was the Cleft Sword which history said was home by Sarosto's ancestor Atarn the City-Builder.

Behind them, instantly observable, came the Devil Riders of Pan Tang on their six-legged reptilian mounts, bred by sorcery it was said. Swarthy and with introspective expressions on their sharp faces, they carried long, curved sabres, naked at their belts. Prowling among them came over a hundred hunting tigers, trained like dogs, with tusk-like teeth and claws that could rend a roan to the bone with a single sweep. Beyond the rolling army as it moved towards them, Elric could just see the tops of the mysterious cage-wagons. What weird beasts did they contain, he wondered. Then Yishana shouted a command.

The archers' arrows spread a rattling black cloud above them as Elric led the first wave of infantry down the hill to meet the van of the enemy army. That he should be forced to risk his life embittered him, but if he was ever to discover Zarozinia's whereabouts he had to play out his ordered part and pray that he lived.

The main force of cavalry followed the infantry, flanking it with orders to encircle the enemy if possible. Brightly had Imrryrians and bronze-armoured Shazarians were to one side. Blue-armoured Tarkeshites with brilliant plumes of red, purple and white, long lances levelled, and gold-armoured Jharkorians, longswords already unscabbarded, galloped on the other side. In the centre of Elric's advance phalanx loped Yishana's White Leopards and the queen herself rode beneath her banner, behind the first phalanx, leading a battalion of knights.

Down they rushed towards the enemy whose own arrows rose upwards and then swept down to clash against helmets or thud into flesh.

Now the sound of war-shouts smashed through the still dawn as they streaked down the slopes and clashed.

Elric found himself confronting lean Jagreen Lern, and the snarling Theocrat met Stormbringer's swing with a flame-red buckler which successfully protected him-proving the shield to be treated against sorcerous weapons. Jagreen Lern's features wrinkled into a malicious smile as he recognised Elric. «I was told you'd be here, Whiteface. I know you Elric and I know your doom! »

«Too many men appear to know my destiny better than I, » said the albino. «But perhaps if I slay you, Theocrat, I may force the secret from you before you die?»

«Oh, no! That is not my masters' plan at all.»

«Well, mayhap 'tis mine! »

He struck again at Jagreen Lern, but again the blade was turned, screaming its anger. He felt it move in his hand, felt it throb with chagrin, for normally the hell-forged blade could slice through metal however finely tempered.

In Jagreen Lern's gauntleted right hand was a huge waraxe which he now swung at the unprotected head of Elric's horse. This was odd since he was in a position to strike at Elric himself. The albino jerked his steed's head to one side, avoided the blow and drove again point fired at Jagreen Lern's midriff. The runeblade shrieked as it failed to pierce the armour. The war-axe swung again and Elric brought up his sword as protection but, in astonishment, was driven back in his saddle by the force of the blow, barely able to control his horse, one foot slipping from the stirrup.

Jagreen Lern struck again and successfully split the skull of Elric's horse which crumpled to its knees, blood and brains gushing, great eyes rolling as it died.

Flung from the beast, Elric rose painfully and readied himself for Jagreen Lern's next blow. But to his surprise, the sorcerer-king turned away and moved into the thick of the battle.

«Sadly your life is not mine to take, Whiteface! That is the prerogative of other powers. If you live and we are the victors-I will seek you out, perhaps.»

Unable, in his dazed condition, to make sense of this, Elric looked desperately around for another horse and saw a Dharijorian mount, its head and foreparts well protected by dented black armour, running loose and away from the fight.

Swiftly, he leapt for its harness and caught a dangling rein, steadied the beast, got a foot into a stirrup and swung himself up in the saddle which was uncomfortable for an un-armoured man. Standing in the stirrups, Elric rode it back into the battle.

He hewed his way through the enemy knights, slaying now a Devil Rider, now a hunting tiger that lashed at him with bared fangs, now a gorgeously armoured Dharijorian commander, now two foot-soldiers who struck at him with halberds. His horse reared like a monster and. desperately, he forced it closer to the standard of Yishana until be could see one of the heralds.

Yishana's army was fighting bravely, but its discipline was lost It must regroup if it was to be most effective.

«Recall the cavalry! » Elric yelled. «Recall the cavalry! »

The young herald looked up. He was badly pressed by two Devil Riders. His attention diverted, he was skewered on a Devil Rider's blade and shrieked as the two men butchered him.

Cursing. Elric rode closer and struck one of the attackers in the side of the head. The man toppled and fell into the churned mud of the field. The other Rider turned, only to meet howling Stormbringer's point, and he died yelling, - the runeblade drank his soul.

The herald, still mounted, was dead in the saddle, his body a mass of cuts. Elric leaned forward, tearing the bloody horn from around the corpse's neck. Placing it to his lips, he sounded the Cavalry Recall and caught a glimpse of horsemen turning. Now he saw the standard itself begin to fan and realised that the standard-bearer was slain. He rose in the saddle and grasped the pole which bore the bright flag of Jharkor and, with this in one band, the horn at his lips, attempted to rally his forces.

Slowly, the remnants of the battered army gathered around him. Then Elric, taking control of the battle, did the only thing he could-took the sole course of action which might save the day.

He sounded a long, wailing note on the horn. In response to this, he heard the beating of heavy wings as the men of Myyrrhn rose into the air.

Observing this, the enemy released the traps of the mysterious cages.

Elric groaned with despair.

A weird hooting preceded the sight of giant owls, thought extinct even in Myyrrhn the land of their origin, circling skyward.

The enemy had prepared against a threat from the air and, by some means, had produced the age-old enemies of the men of Myyrrhn.

Only slightly daunted by this unexpected sight, the men of Myyrrhn, armed with long spears, attacked the great birds. The embattled warriors on the ground were showered with blood and feathers. Corpses of men and birds began to flop downwards, crushing infantry and cavalry beneath them.

Through this confusion, Elric and the White Leopards of Yishana cut their way into the enemy to join up with Dyvim Slorm and his Imrryrians, the remnants of the Tarkeshite cavalry and about a hundred Shazarians. who had survived. Looking upward, Elric saw that most of the great owls were destroyed, but only a handful of the men of Myyrrhn had survived the fight in the air. These, having done what they could against the owls, were themselves circling about preparing to leave the battle. Obviously they realised the hopelessness of it all.

Elric cried to Dyvim Slorm as their forces joined: «The battle's lost-Sarosto and Jagreen Lern rule here now! »

Dyvim Slorm hefted his longsword in his hand and gave Elric a look of assent «If we're to live to keep our destiny. we'd best make speed away from here! « he cried. There was little more they could do.

«Zarozinia's life is more important to me than anything else! » Elric yelled. «Let's look to our own predicament! »

But the weight of the enemy forces was like a vice, crushing Elric and his men. Blood covered Elric's face from a blow he had received on the forehead. It clogged his eyes so that he had to keep raising his left hand to his face to get rid of the stuff.

His right arm ached as he lifted Stormbringer again and again, hacking and stabbing about him, desperate now, for although the dreadful blade had a life, almost an intelligence, of its own, even it could not supply the vitality which Elric needed to remain entirely fresh. In a way he was glad, for he hated the runesword, though he had to depend on the force which flowed from it to him.

Stormbringer more than slew Elric's attackers-it drank their souls, and some of that life force was passed on to the Melnibonean monarch...

Now the ranks or the enemy fell back and seemed to open.

Through this self-made breech, animals came running. Animals with gleaming eyes and red, fang-filled jaws. Animals with claws.

The hunting tigers of Pan Tang.

Horses screamed as the tigers leapt and rended them, tearing down mount and man and slashing at the throats of their victims. The tigers raised bloody snouts and stared around for a new prey. Terrified, many of Elric's small force fell back shouting. Most of the Tarkeshite knights broke and fled the field, precipitating the flight of the Jharkorians whose maddened horses bore them away and were soon followed by the few remaining Shazarians still mounted. Soon only Elric, his Imrryrians and about forty White Leopards stood against the might of DhariJor and Pan Tang.

Elric raised his horn and sounded the Retreat, wheeled his black steed about and raced up the valley. Imrryrians behind him. But the White Leopards fought on to the last - Yishana had said that they knew nothing but how to kill. Evidently they also knew how to die. Elric and Dyvim Slorm led the Imrryrians up the valley, half-thankful that the white Leopards covered their retreat The Melnibonean had seen nothing of Yishana since he had clashed with Jagreen Lern. He wondered what had become of her.

As they turned a bend in the valley. Brie understood the foil battle-plan of Jagreen Lern and his ally-for a strong, fresh force of foot-soldiers and cavalry had assembled at the other end of the valley, for the purpose of cutting off any retreat made by his army.

Scarcely thinking, Elric urged his horse up the slopes of the hills, his men following, ducking beneath the low branches of the birch trees as the Dharijoriana rushed towards them, spreading out to cut off their escape.

Elric fumed his horse about and saw that the White Leopards were still fighting around the standard of Jharkor and he headed back in that direction, keeping to the hills. Over the crest of the hills he rode, Dyvim Slorm and a handful of Imrryrians with him, and then they were galloping for open countryside while the knights of Dharijor and Pan Tang gave chase. They had obviously recognised Elric and wished either to kill or to capture him. Ahead Elric could see that the Tarkeshites, Shazarians and Jharkorians who had earlier fled had taken the same route out as he had. But they no longer rode together, were scattering away.

Elric and Dyvim Slorm fled westwards across unknown country while the other Imrryrians to take attention off their leaders, rode to the north east towards Tarkesh and perhaps a few days of safety.

The battle was won. The minions of evil were the victors and an age of terror had settled on the lands of the Young Kingdoms in the west.

Some days later, Elric. Dyvim Slorm, two hurryrians, a Tarkeshite commander called Yedn-pad-Juizev, badly wounded in the side, and a Shazarian foot - soldier, Orion, who had taken a horse away from the battle, were temporarily safe from pursuit and were trudging their horses wearily towards a range of slim-peaked mountains which loomed black against the red evening sky.

They had not spoken for some hours. Yedn-pad-Juizev was obviously dying and they could do nothing for him. He knew this also and expected nothing, merely rode with them for company. He was very tall for a Tarkeshite, his scarlet plume still bobbing on his dented blue-metal helmet, his breastplate scarred and smeared with his own blood and others. His beard was black and shiny with oil, his nose a jutting crag on the rock of his soldier's face, his eyes half-gazed. He was bearing the pain well. Though they were impatient to reach the comparative safety of the mountain range, the others notched their pace to his, half in respect and half in fascination that a man could cling to life for so long. Night came and a great yellow moon hung in the sky over the mountains. The sky was completely clear of cloud and stars shone brightly. The warriors wished that the night had been dark, storm-covered, for they could have then some more security in the shadows - as it was the night was lighted and they could only hope that they reached the mountains soon - before the hunting tigers of Pan Tang discovered their tracks and they died under the rending claws of those dreadful beasts.

Elric was in a grim and thoughtful mood. For a while the Dhariiorian and Pan Tang conquerors would be busy consolidating their new-won empire. Perhaps there would be quarrels between them when this was done, perhaps not. But soon, anyway, they would be very powerful and threatening the security of other nations on the Southern and Eastern Continents. But all this, however much it overshadowed the fate of the whole world, meant little to Elric for he still could not clearly see his way to Zarozinia. He remembered the dead creature's prophecy, part of which had now come about. But still it meant little. He felt as if he were being driven constantly westwards, as if he must go further and further into the sparsely-settled lands beyond Jharkor. Was it here his destiny lay? Was it here that Zarozinia's captors were?

Well, had the blood fallen, or was it yet to fall? What was the 'twin' that Elric's kinsman, Dyvim Slorm, bore? Who was the one who should not live?

Perhaps the secret lay in the mountains ahead of them? Beneath the moon they rode, and at last came to a gorge. Half-way along It they located a cave and lay down inside to rest.

In the morning, Brie was awakened by a sound outside the cave. Instantly he drew Stormbringer and crept to the mouth of the cave. What he saw caused him to sheathe the blade and call in a soft voice to the battered man who was riding up the gorge towards the cave. «Here, herald! We are friends! »

The man was one of Yishana's heralds. His surcoat was in ribbons, his armour crumpled on his body. He was swordless and without a helmet, a young man with his face made gaunt by weariness and despair. He looked up and relief came when he recognised Elric.

«My lord Elric - they said you were slain on the field.»

«I'm glad they did, since that makes pursuit less likely. Come inside.»

The others were awake now-all but one. Yedn-pad-Juizev had died, sleeping, in the night Orozn yawned and jerked a thumb at the corpse. «If we do not find food soon, I’ll be tempted to eat our dead friend.»

The man looked at Brie for response to this jest, but seeing the albino's expression he was abashed and retreated to the depths of the cave grumbling and kicking at loose stones.

Elric leant against the wall of the cave near the opening. «What news have you?» he asked.

«Dark news, my lord. From Shazar to Tarkesh black misery prevails and iron and fire beat across nations like an unholy storm. We are fully conquered. Only small bands of men carry on a hopeless struggle against the enemy. Some of our folk are already talking of turning bandit and preying on each other, so desperate have times become.»

Elric nodded. «Such is what happens when foreign allies are beaten on friendly soil. What of Queen Yishana?»

«She fared ill, my lord. Clad in metal, she battled against a score of men before expiring-her body torn asunder by the force of their attack. Sarosto took her bead for a keepsake and added it to other trophies including the hands of Karnarl, his half-brother who opposed him over the Pan Tang alliance, the eyes of Penik of Nargesser, who raised an army against him in that province. Theocrat Jagreen Lern ordered that all other prisoners be tortured to death and hanged in chains through the lands as warning against insurrection. They are an unholy pair, my lord»

Elric's mouth grew tight when he heard this. Already it was becoming clear to him that his only route was westwards, for the conquerors would soon search him out if he went back. He turned to Dyvim Slonn. The Imrryrian's shirt was in raffs and his left arm covered in dried blood.

«Our destiny appears to lie in the west, » he said quietly.

«Then let us make speed, » said his cousin, »for I am impatient to get it over and at least learn whether we live or perish in this enterprise. We gained nothing by our encounter with the enemy, but wasted time.»

«I pained something.» Elric said, remembering his fight with Jagreen Lern. «I gained the knowledge that Jagreen Lern is connected in some way with the kidnapping of my wife-and if he had aught to do with it, I'll claim my vengeance no matter what.»

«Now,» said Dyvim Slonn. «Let us make haste to the west»

Four

They drove deeper into the mountains that day, avoiding the few hunting parties sent out by the conquerors, but the two Imrryrians, recognising that their leaders were on a special journey, left to go in another direction. The herald was gone southward to spread his gloomy news so that only Elric, Dyvim Slorm and Orozn were left. They did not welcome Orozn's company, but bore with it for the meanwhile.

Then, after a day, Orozn disappeared and Elric and Dyvim Slorm ranged deeper into the black crags, riding through towering, oppressive canyons or along narrow paths.

Snow lay on the mountains, bright white against sharp black, filling gorges, making paths slippery and dangerous. Then one evening they came to a place where the mountains opened out into a wide valley and they rode, with difficulty down the foothills of the mountains, their tracks making great black scars in the snow and their horses steaming, their breath billowing white in the cold air.

They observed a rider coming across the valley floor towards them. One rider they did not fear, so they waited for him to approach. To their surprise it was Orozn, clad in fresh garments of wolfskin and deer hide. He greeted them in a friendly manner.

«I have come seeking you both. You must have taken a more difficult route than mine.»

«From where have you come?» Elric asked; his face was drawn, his cheek-bones emphasised by the sunken skin. He looked more like a wolf than ever with his red eyes gleaming. Zarozinia's fate weighed heavily on his mind.

'There is a settlement nearby. Come, I will take you to it»

They followed Orozn for some way and it was getting near nightfall, the setting sun staining the mountains scarlet, when they reached the opposite side of the valley, dotted with a few birch trees and, further up, a cluster of firs.

Orozn led them into this grove.

They came screaming out of the dark. a dozen swarthy men, possessed by hatred-and something else. Weapons were raised in mailed hands. By their armour, these men were from Pan Tang. Orozn must have been captured and persuaded to lead Elric and his cousin into ambush.

Elric turned his horse, rearing.

«Orozn! You betrayed us! »

But Orozn was riding.. He looked back once, his pale face tortured with guilt. Then his eyes darted away from Elric and Dyvim Slorm and he frowned, rode down the moss-wet hill back into the howling darkness of the night.

Elric lifted Stormbringer from his belt, gripped the hut, blocked a blow from a brass-studded mace, slid his sword down the handle and sheared off his attacker's fingers. He and Dyvim Slorm were soon surrounded, yet he fought on, Stormbringer shrilling a wild, lawless song of death.

But Elric and Dyvim Slorm were still weak from the rigours of their past adventures. Not even Stormbringer's evil strength was sufficient fully to revitalise Elric's deficient veins and he was filled with fear-sot of the attackers, but of the fact that he was doomed to die or be captured. And he had the feeling that these warriors had no knowledge of their master's pan in the matter of the prophecy, did not realise that, perhaps, he was not meant to die at that moment.

In fact he decided, as he battled, a great mistake was about to be perpetrated...

«Arioch! » he cried in his fear to the demon-god of Melnibone. «Arioch! Aid me! Blood and souls for thine aid! »

But that intractable entity sent no aid.

Dyvim Slorm's long blade caught a man. Just below his gorget and pierced him through the throat The other Pan Tang horsemen threw themselves at him but were driven back by his sweeping sword. Dyvim Slorm shouted: «Why do we worship such a god when whim decides him so often?»

«Perhaps he thinks our time has come! » Elric yelled back as his runeblade drank another foe's life-force.

Tiring fast, they fought on until a new sound broke above the clash of arms-the sound of chariots and low, moaning cries.

Then they were sweeping into the melee black men with handsome features and thin, proud mouths, their magnificent bodies half-naked as their cloaks of white fox fur streamed behind them and their javelins were flung with terrible accuracy at the bewildered men of Pan Tang.

Elric sheathed his sword and remained ready to fight or flee. «This is the one-the white-faced one! » cried a black charioteer as he saw Elric. The chariots rolled to a halt, tall horses stamping and snorting. Elric rode up to the leader.

«I am grateful, » he said, half falling from his saddle in weariness. He turned the droop of his shoulders into a bow. «You appear to know me-you are the third I've met while on this quest who recognises me without my being able to return the compliment.»

The leader tugged the fox cape about his naked chest and smiled with his thin lips. «I'm named Sepiriz and you will know me soon enough. As for you, we have known of you for thousands of years. Elric are you not-last king of Melnibone?»

«That is true.»

«And you, » Sepiriz addressed Dyviro Slorm. «Are Elric's cousin. Together you represent the last of the pure line of Melnibone.»

«Aye, » Dyvim Slorm agreed, curiosity in his eyes.

«Then we have been waiting for you to pass this way. There was a prophecy...»

«You are the captors of Zarozinia?» Elric reached for his sword.

Sepiriz shook his head. «No, but we can tell you where she is. Calm yourself. Though I realise the agony of mind you must be suffering, I will be better able to explain all I know back in our own domain.»

«First tell us who you are, » Elric demanded.

Sepiriz smiled slightly. «You know us. I think-or at least you know of us. There was a certain friendship between your ancestors and our folk in the early years of the Bright Empire.» He paused a moment before continuing: «Have you ever heard legends, in Imrryr perhaps, of the Ten from the mountain? The ten who sleep in the mountain of fire?»

«Many times.» Elric drew in his breath. «Now I recognise you by description. But it is said that you sleep for centuries in the mountain of fire. Why are you roaming abroad in this manner?»

«We were driven by an eruption from our volcano home which had been dormant for two thousand years. Such movements of nature have been taking place an over the earth of late. Our time, we knew, had come to awaken again. We were servants of Fate-and our mission is strongly bound up with your destiny. We bear a message for you from Zarozinia's captor - and another from a different source. Would you return now, with us, to the Chasm of Nihrain and learn all we can tell you?»

Elric pondered for a moment, then he lifted his white face and said: «I am in haste to claim vengeance, Sepiriz. But if what you can tell me will lead me closer to claiming it. I’ll come.»

«Then come! » The black giant Jerked the reins of his horse and turned the chariot about.

It was a journey of a day and a night to the Chasm of Nihrain, a huge gaping fissure high in the mountains, a place avoided by all; it had supernatural significance for those who dwelt near the mountains.

The lordly Nihrain conversed little on the Journey and at last they were above the Chasm, driving their chariots down the steep path which wound into its dark depths.

About half a mile down no light penetrated, but they saw ahead of them flickering torches that illuminated part of the carved outline of an unearthly mural or betrayed a gaping opening in the solid rock. Then, as they guided their horses down further, they saw, in detail, the awe-inspiring city of Nihrain which outsiders had not glimpsed for many centuries. The last of the Nihrain now lived here; ten immortal men of a race older even than that of Melnibone which had a history of twenty thousand years.

Huge columns rose above them, hewn ages before from the living rock, giant statues and wide balconies, many-tiered. Windows a hundred feet high and sweeping steps cut into the face of the chasm. The Ten drove their yellow chariots through a mighty gate and into the caverns of Nihrain, carved to their entire extent with strange symbols and Stranger murals. Here slaves, wakened from a sleep of centuries to tend their masters, ran forward. Even these did not fully bear resemblance to the men that Elric knew.

Sepiriz gave the reins to a slave as Elric and Dyvim Slorm dismounted, staring about them in awe. He said: «Now-to my own chambers and there I'll inform you of what you wish to know-and what you must do.»

Led by Sepiriz, the kinsmen stalked impatiently through galleries and into a large chamber full of dark sculpture. A number of fires burned behind this hall, in big grates. Sepiriz folded his great body into a chair and bade them sit in two similar chairs, carved from solid blocks of ebony. When they were all seated before one of the fires, Sepiriz took a long breath, staring around the hall, perhaps remembering its earlier history.

Somewhat angered by this show of casualness, Elric said impatiently: «Forgive me, Sepiriz-but you promised to pass on your message to us.»

«Yes, » Sepiriz said, »but so much do I have to tell you that I must pause one moment to collect my thoughts.» He settled himself in the chair before continuing.

«We know where your wife, is, » he said at last, »and know also that she is safe. She will not be harmed since she is to be bargained for something which you possess.»

«Then tell me the whole story, » Elric demanded bleakly.

«We were friendly with your ancestors. Elric. And we were friendly with those they superseded, the ones who forged that blade you bear.»

Elric was interested in spite of his anxiety. For years he had attempted to rid himself of the runesword, but had never succeeded. All his efforts had failed and he still needed to carry it, although drugs now gave him most of his strength.

«Would you be rid of your sword, Elric?» Sepiriz said.

«Aye-it's well known.»

«Then listen to this tale.

«We know for whom and for what the blade-and its twin-were forged. They were made for a special purpose and for special men. Only Melniboneans may carry them, and of those only the blood of the royal line.»

«There is no hint of any special purpose for the swords in Melnibonean history or legend, » Elric said leaning forward.

«Some secrets are best kept fully guarded, » Sepiriz said calmly. «Those blades were forged to destroy a group of very powerful beings. Among them are the Dead Gods.»

«The Dead Gods-but, by their very name, you must know that they perished long ages ago.»

«They 'perished' as you say. In human terms they are dead. But they chose to die, chose to rid themselves of material shape and hurled their life-stuff into the blackness of eternity, for in those days they were full of fear.»

Elric had no real conception of what Sepiriz described but he accepted what the Nihrainian said and listened on.

«One of them has returned, » Sepiriz said.

«Why?»

«To get, at any cost, two things which endanger him and his fellow gods-wherever they may be they can still be harmed by these things.»

«They are...?»

«They have the earthly appearance of two swords, runecarved and sorcerous - Mournblade and Stormbringer.»

«This, » Elric touched his blade. «Why should the gods fear this? And the other went to Limbo with my cousin Yyrkoon whom I killed many years ago. It is lost»

«That is not true. We recovered it-that was part of Fate's purpose for us. We have it here in Nihrain. The blades were forged for your ancestors who drove the Dead Gods away by means of them. They were made by other unhuman smiths who were also enemies of the Dead Gods. These smiths were compelled to combat evil with evil, although they, themselves, were not pledged to Chaos, but to Law. They forged the swords for several reasons-ridding the world of the Dead Gods was but one! »

«The other reasons?»

«Those you shall learn in times to come-for our relationship will not be ended until the whole destiny has been worked out. We are obliged not to reveal the other reasons until the proper time. You have a dangerous destiny, Elric, and I do not envy it»

«But what is the message you have?» Elric said impatiently.

«Due to the disturbance created by Jagreen Lern, one of the Dead Gods has been enabled to return to earth, as I told you. He has gathered acolytes about him. They kidnapped your wife.»

Elric felt a mood of deep despair creep over him. Must he defy such power as this?

«Why...?» he whispered.

«Darnizhaan is aware that Zarozinia is important to you. He wishes to barter her for the two swords. We, in this matter, are merely messengers. We must give up the sword we keep at the request of you or Dyvim Slorm, for they rightfully belong to any of the royal line. Darnizhaan's terms are simple. He will dispatch Zarozinia to Limbo unless you give him the blades which threaten his existence. Her death, it would not be death as we know it, would be unpleasant and eternal.»

«And if I agreed to do that, what would happen?»

«All the Dead Gods would return. Only the power of the swords keeps them from doing so now! »

«And what would happen if the Dead Gods came back?»

«Even without the Dead Gods, Chaos threatens to conquer the planet, but with them it would be utterly invincible, its effect immediate. Evil would sweep the world. Chaos would plunge this earth into a stinking inferno of terror and destruction. You have already had a taste of what is happening, and Darnizhaan has only been back for a short time.»

«You mean the defeat of Yishana's armies and the conquest by Sarosto and Jagreen Lern?»

«Exactly. Jagreen Lern has a pact with Chaos-all the Lords of Chaos, not merely the Dead Gods-for Chaos fears Fate's plan for earth's future and would attempt to tamper with it by gaining domination of our planet The Lords of Chaos are strong enough without the help of the Dead Gods. Darnizhaan must be destroyed.»

«I have an impossible choice, Sepiriz. If I give up Stormbringer I can probably survive on herbs and the like. But if I do give it up for Zarozinia, then Chaos will be unleashed to its full extent and I will have a monstrous crime upon my conscience.»

«The choice is yours alone to make.»

Elric deliberated but could think of no way of solving the problem.

«Bring the other blade, » he said at last.

Sepiriz rejoined them a while later, with a scabbarded sword that seemed little different from Stormbringer.

«So, Elric is the prophecy explained?» he asked, still keeping hold of Mournblade.

«Aye-here is the twin of that I bear. But the last part where are we to go?»

«I will tell you in a moment. Though the Dead Gods, and the powers of Chaos, are aware that we possess the sister blade, they do not know whom we really serve. Pate, as I told you, is our master, and Fate has wrought a fabric for this earth which would be hard to alter. But it could be altered and we are entrusted to see that Fate is not cheated. You are about to undergo a test. How you fare in it, what your decision is, will decide what we must tell you upon your return to Nihrain.»

«You wish me to return here?»

«Yes.»

«Give me Mournblade, » Elric said quickly. Sepiriz handed him the sword and Elric stood there with one twin blade in each hand, as if weighing something between them.

Both blades seemed to moan in recognition and their powers swam through his body so that he seemed to be built of steel-hard fire.

«I remember now that I hold them both that their powers are greater than I realise. There is one quality they possess when paired, a quality we may be able to use against this Dead God.» He frowned. «But more of that in a moment.» He stared sharply at Sepiriz. «Now tell me, where is Darnizhaan?»

«The Vale of Xanyaw in Myyrrhn! »

Elric handed Mournblade to Dyvim Slorm who accepted it gingerly.

«What will your choice be?» Sepiriz asked.

«Who knows?» Elric said with bitter gaiety. «Perhaps there is a way to beat this Dead God...»

«But I tell you this, Sepiriz - given the opportunity I shall make that God rue his homecoming, for he has done the one thing that can move me to real anger. And the anger of Elric of Melnibone and his sword Stormbringer can destroy the world! »

Sepiriz rose from his chair, his eyebrows lifting.

«And gods, Elric, can it destroy gods?»

Five

Elric rode like a giant scarecrow, gaunt and rigid on the massive back of the Nihramian steed. His grim face was set fast in a mask that hid emotion and his crimson eyes burned like coals in their sunken socket'. The wind whipped his hair this way and that, but he sat straight, staring ahead, one long-fingered hand gripping Stormbringer's hilt.

Occasionally Dyvim Slonn, who bore Mournblade both proudly and warily, heard the blade moan to its sister and felt it shudder at his side. Only later did he begin to ask himself what the blade might make him, what it would give him and demand of him. After that, he kept his hand away from it as much as possible.

Close to the borders of Myyrrhn, a pack of Dharijorian hirelings-native Jharkorians in the livery of their conquerors-came upon them. Unsavoury louts they were, who should have known better than to ride across Elric's path. They steered their horses towards the pair, grinning. The black plumes of their helmets nodded, armour straps creaked and metal clanked. The leader, a squint-eyed bully with an axe at his belt, pulled his mount short in front of Elric.

At a direction from its master, the albino's horse came to a stop. His expression unchanged, Elric drew Stormbringer in an economic, catlike gesture. Dyvim Slonn copied him, eyeing the silently laughing men. He was surprised at how easily the blade sprang from its scabbard.

Then, with no challenges, Elric began to fight.

He fought like an automaton, quickly, efficiently, expressionlessly, cleaving the leader's shoulder plate in a stroke that cut through the man from shoulder to stomach in one raking movement which peeled back armour and flesh, rupturing the body so that a great scarlet gash appeared in the black metal and the leader wept as he slowly died, sprawling for a moment over his horse before slumping from the mount one leg high, caught in a stirrup strap.

Stormbringer let out a great metallic purr of pleasure and Elric directed arm and blade about him, emotionlessly slaving the horsemen as if they were unarmed and chained, so little chance did they have.

Dyvim Slonn unused to the semi-sentient Mournblade, tried to wield her like an ordinary sword but she moved in his hand, making cleverer strokes than he. A peculiar sense of power, at once sensual and cool poured into him and he heard his voice veiling exultantly, realised what his ancestors must have been like in war.

The fight was quickly done with and leaving the souldrained corpses on the ground behind them, they were soon in the land of Myyrrhn. Both blades had now been commonly blooded.

Elric was now better able to think and act coherently, but he could spare nothing for Dyvim Slonn while intratemporally asking nothing of his cousin who rode at his side, frustrated in that he was not called upon for his help.

Elric let his mind drift about in time, encompassing past, present and future and forming it into a whole-a pattern. He was suspicious of pattern, disliking shape, for he did not trust it. To him, life was chaotic, chance-dominated, unpredictable. It was a trick, an illusion of the mind, to be able to see a pattern to it.

He knew a few things, judged nothing.

He knew he bore a sword which physically and psychologically he needed to bear. It was an unalterable admission of a weakness in him, a lack of confidence in either himself or the philosophy of cause and effect. He believed himself a realist

Through the bleak night they rode, buffeted by a vicious wind.

And as they came closer to the Vale of Xanyaw, the whole sky, the earth, the air became filled with heavy, throbbing music. Melodious, sensual, great chords of sound, on and on it rose and fell, and following it came the white-faced ones.

Each had a black cowl and a sword which split at the end into three curved barbs. Each grinned a fixed grin. The music followed them as they came running like mad things at the two men who reined in their horses, restraining the urge to turn and flee. Elric had seen horrors in his life, had seen much that would make others insane, but for some reason these shocked him more deeply than any. They were men, ordinary men by the look of them-but men possessed by an unholy spirit.

Prepared to defend themselves, Elric and Dyvim Slonn drew their blades and waited for the encounter, but none came. The music and the men rushed past them and away beyond them in the direction from which they had come.

Overhead, suddenly, they heard the beat of wings, a shriek from out of the sky and a ghastly wail. Fleeing, two women rushed by and Elric was disturbed to sec that the women were from the winged race of Myyrrhn, but were wingless. These, unlike a woman Elric remembered, had had their wings deliberately hacked off. They paid no attention to the two riders, but disappeared, running into the night, their eyes blank and their faces insane.

«What is happening, Elric?» cried Dyvim Slorm, resheathing his runeblade, his other hand striving to control the prancing horse.

«I know not what does happen in a place where the Dead Gods' rule has come back?» All was rushing noise and confusion; the night was full of movement and terror.

«Come! » Elric slapped his sword against his mount's rump and sent the beast into a jerking gallop, forcing himself and the steed forward into the terrible night.

Then mighty laughter greeted them as they rode between hills into the Vale of Xanyaw. The valley was pitch-black; and alive with menace, the very hills seeming sentient. They slowed their pace as they lost their sense of direction, and Elric had to call to his unseen cousin, to make sure he was still close. The echoing laughter sounded again, roaring from out of the dark, so that the earth shook. It was as if the whole planet laughed in ironic mirth at their efforts to control their fears and push on through the valley.

Elric wondered if he had been betrayed and this was a trap set by the Dead Gods. What proof had he that Zarozinia was here? Why had he trusted Sepiriz? Something slithered against his leg as it passed him and he put his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it.

But then, shooting upwards into the dark sky, there arose, seemingly from the very earth, a huge figure which barred their way. Hands on hips, wreathed in golden light, a face of an ape, somehow blended with another shape to give it dignity and wild grandeur, its body alive and dancing with colour and light, its lips grinning with delight and knowledge - Darnizhaan, the Dead God!

«Finer»

«Darnizhaan! » cried Elric fiercely, craning his head to stare up at the Dead God's face. He felt no fear now. «I have come for my wife! »

Around the Dead God's heels appeared acolytes with wide lips and pale, triangular faces, conical caps on their heads and madness in their eyes. They giggled and shrilled and shivered in the light of Darnizhaan's grotesque and beautiful body. They gibbered at the two riders and mocked them, but they did not move away from the Dead God's heels.

Elric sneered. «Degenerate and pitiful minions.» he said.

«Not so pitiful as you, Elric of Melnibone.» laughed the Dead God. «Have you come to bargain, or to give your wife's soul into my custody, so that she may spend eternity 's dying?»

Elric did not let his hate show on his face.

«I would destroy you; it is instinctive for me to do so. But-» The Dead God smiled, almost with pity. «You must be destroyed, Elric. You are an anachronism. Your Time is gone.»

«Speak for yourself, Darnizhaan! »

«I could destroy you.»

«But you will not.» Though passionately hating the being, Eric also felt a disturbing sense of comradeship for the Dead God. Both of them represented an age that was gone; neither were really part of the new earth.

Then I will destroy her.» the Dead God said. «That I could do with impunity.»

«Zarozinia! Where is she?»

Once again Darnizhaan's mighty laughter shook the Vale of Xanyaw. «Oh, what have the old folk come to? There was a time when no man of Melnibone, particularly of the royal line, would admit to caring for another mortal soul, especially if they belonged to the beast-race, the new race of the age you call that of the Young Kingdoms. What? Are you noting with animals, King of Melnibone? Where is your blood, your cruel and brilliant blood? Where the glorious malice? Where the evil, Elric! »

Peculiar emotions stirred in Elric as he remembered his ancestors, the sorcerer emperors of the Dragon Isle. He realised that the Dead God was deliberately awakening these emotions and, with an effort, he refused to let them dominate him.

«That is past, » he shouted, »a new time has come upon the earth. Our time will soon be gone - and yours is over! »

«No, Elric. Mark my words, whatever happens. The dawn is over and will soon be swept away like dead leaves before the wind of morning. The earth's history has not even begun. You, your ancestors, these men of the new races even, you are nothing but a prelude to history. You will all be forgotten if the real history of the world begins. But we can avert that-we can survive, conquer the earth and hold it against the Lords of Law, against Fate herself, against the Cosmic Balance-we can continue to live, but you must give me the swords! «

«I fail to understand you, » Elric said, his lips thin and his teeth tight in his skull. «I am here to bargain or do battle for my wife.»

«You do not understand, » the Dead God guffawed, »because we are all of us, gods and men, but shadows playing puppet parts before the true play begins. You would best not fight me-rather side with me, for I know the truth. We share a common destiny. We do not, any of us, exist. The old folk are doomed, you, myself and my brothers, unless you give me the swords. We must not fight one another. Share our frightful knowledge-the knowledge that turned us insane. There is nothing. Elric - no past, present, or future. We do not exist, any of us! »

Elric shook his head quickly. «I do not understand you, still. I would not understand you if I could. I desire only the return of my wife-not baffling conundrums! »

Darnizhaan laughed again. «No! You shall not have the woman unless we are given control of the swords. You do not realise their properties. They were not only designed to destroy us or exile us-their destiny is to destroy the world as we know it. If you retain them, Elric, you will be responsible for wiping out your own memory for those who come after you.»

«I'd welcome that, » Elric said, Dyvim Slorm remained silent, not altogether in sympathy with Elric. The Dead God's argument seemed to contain truth.

Darnizhaan shook his body so that the golden light danced and its area widened momentarily. «Keep the swords and all of us will be as we had never existed, » he said impatiently.

«So be it, » Elric's tone was stubborn, »do you think I wish the memory to live on-the memory of evil, ruin and destruction? The memory of a man with deficient blood in his veins-a man called Friends-layer, Woman-slayer and many other such names?»

Darnizhaan spoke urgently, almost in terror. «Elric, you have been duped! Somewhere you have been given a conscience. You must join with us. Only if the Lords of Chaos can establish their reign will we survive. If they fail, we shall be obliterated! »

«Good.»

«Limbo, Elric. Limbo! Do you understand what that means?»

«I do not care. Where is my wife?» Elric blocked the truth from his mind, blocked out the terror in the meaning of the Dead God's words. He could not afford to listen or fully to comprehend. He must save Zarozinia.

«I have brought the swords, » said he, «and wish my wife to be returned to me.»

«Very well, » the Dead God smiled hugely in his relief. «At least if we keep the blades, in their true shape, beyond the earth, we may be able to retain control of the world. In your hands they could destroy not only us but you, your world, all that you represent. Beasts would rule the earth for millions of years before the age of intelligence began again. And it would be a duller age than this. We do not wish it to occur. But if you had kept the swords, it would have come about almost inevitably! »

«Oh, be silent! » Elric cried. «For a god, you talk too much. Take the swords-and give me back my wife! »

At the Dead God's command, some of the acolytes scampered away. Elric saw their gleaming bodies disappear into the darkness. He waited nervously until they returned, carrying the struggling body of Zarozinia. They set her on the ground and Elric saw that her face bore the blank look of hock.

«Zarozinia! »

The girl's eyes roamed about before they saw Elric. She began to move towards him' but the acolytes held her bade, giggling. Darnizhaan stretched forward two gigantic, glowing hands.

«The swords first.»

Elric and Dyvim Slorm put them into his hands. The Dead God straightened up, clutching his prizes and roaring his mirth. Zarozinia was now released and she ran forward to grasp her husband's hand, weeping and trembling. Elric leant down and stroked her hair, too disturbed to say anything.

Then he turned to Dyvim Slorffl, shouting: «Let us see if our plan will work, cousin! »

Elric stared up at Stormbringer writhing in Daraizhaan's grasp. «Stormbringer! Kerana soliem, o'glara...»

Dyvim Slorm also called to Mournblade in the Ancient Tongue of Melnibone, the mystic, sorcerous tongue which had been used for rune-casting and demon-raising all through Melnibone's twenty thousand years of history.

Together, they commanded the blades, as if they were actually wielding them in their hands, so that merely by shouting orders, Elric and Dyviro Slorm began their work. This was the remembered quality of both blades when paired in a common fight. The blades twisted in Darnizhaan's glowing hands. He started backwards, his shape faltering, sometimes manlike, sometimes beastlike, sometimes totally alien. But he was evidently horrified, this god.

Now the swords wrenched themselves from the clutching hands and turned on him. He fought against them, fending them off as they wove about in the air, whining malevolently, triumphantly, attacking him with vicious power. At Elric's command, Stormbringer slashed at the supernatural being and Dyvim Slorm's Mournblade followed its example. Because the runeblades were also supernatural, Darnizhaan was harmed dreadfully whenever they struck his form.

«Elric! » he raved, »Elric - you do not know what you are doing! Stop them! Stop them; You should have listened more carefully to what I told you. Stop them! »

But Elric in his hate and malice urged on the blades, made them plunge into the Dead God's being time after time so that his shape sometimes faltered, faded, the colours of its bright beauty dulling. The acolytes fled upwards into the vale, convinced that their lord was doomed. Their lord, also, was so convinced. He made one lunge towards the mounted men and then the fabric of his being began to shred before the blades' attack; wisps of his body-stuff seemed to break away and drift into the air to be swallowed by the black night

Viciously and ferociously, Elric goaded the blades while Dyvim Slorm's voice blended with his in a cruel joy to see the bright being destroyed.

«Fools! » he screamed, «in destroying me, you destroy yourselves! »

But Elric did not listen and at last there was nothing left of the Dead God and the swords crept back to lie contentedly in their masters' hands.

Quickly, with a sudden shudder, Elric scabbarded Stormbringer.

He dismounted and helped his girl-wife on to the back of his great stallion and then swung up into the saddle again. It was very quiet in the Vale of Xanyaw.

Six

Three people, bent in their saddles with weariness, reached the Chasm of Nihrain days later. They rode down the twisting paths into the black depths of the mountain city and were there welcomed by Sepiriz whose face was grave. though his words were encouraging.

«So you were successful, Elric, » he said with a small smile.

Elric paused while he dismounted and aided Zarozinia down. He turned to Sepriz. «I am not altogether satisfied with this adventure, » he said grimly, »though I did what I had to in order to save my wife. I would speak with you privately, Sepiriz.»

The black Nihrainian nodded gravely. «When we have eaten, » he said, »we will talk alone.»

They walked wearily through the galleries, noting that there was considerably more activity in the city now, but there was no sign of Sepiriz's nine brothers. He explained their absence as he led Elric and his companions towards his own chamber. «As servants of Fate they have been called to another plane where they can observe something of the several different possible futures of the earth and thus keep me informed of what I must do here.»

They entered the chamber and found food ready and, when they had satisfied their hunger, Dyvim Slonn and Zarozinia left the other two.

The fire from the great hearth blazed. Elric and Sepiriz sat together, unspeaking, hunched in their chairs.

At last, without preamble, Elric told Sepiriz the story of what had happened, what he remembered of the Dead God's words, how they had disturbed him-even struck him as being true.

When he had finished, Sepiriz nodded. «It is so, » he said. «Darnizhaan spoke the truth- Or, at least, he spoke most of the truth, as he understood it.»

«You mean we will all soon cease to exist? That it will be as if we had never breathed, or thought, or fought?»

«That is likely.»

«But why? It seems unjust.»

«Who told you that the world was just?»

Elric smiled, his own suspicions confirmed. «Aye, as I expected, there is no Justice.»

«But there is, » Sepiriz said, «Justice of a kind - justice which must be carved from the chaos of existence. Man was not born to a world of justice. But he can create such a world! »

«I’ll agree to that, » Elric said, »but what are all our strivings for if we are doomed to die and the results of our actions with us?»

«That is not absolutely the case. Something will continue. Those who come after us will inherit something from us.»

«What is that?»

«An earth free of the major forces of Chaos.»

«You mean a world free of sorcery, I presume...?»

«Not entirely free of sorcery, but chaos and sorcery will not dominate the world of the future as it does this world.»

«Then that is worth striving for, Sepiriz, » Elric said almost with relief. «But what part do the runeblades play in the scheme of things?»

«They have two functions. One, to rid this world of the great dominating sources of evil-»

«But they are evil themselves! »

«Just so. It takes a strong evil to battle a strong evil. The days not will come will be when the forces of good can overcome those of evil. They are not yet strong enough. That, as I told you, is what we must strive for.»

«And what is the other purpose of the blades?»

«That is their final purpose-your destiny. I can ten you now. I must ten you now, or let you live out your destiny unknowing.»

«Then tell me, » Elric said impatiently.

«Their ultimate purpose is to destroy this world! »

Elric stood up. «Ah, no, Sepiriz. That I cannot believe. Shall I have such a crime on my conscience?»

«It is not a crime, it is in the nature of wings. The era of the Bright Empire, even that of the Young Kingdoms, is drawing to a close. Chaos formed his earth and, for theons, Chaos ruled. Men were created to put an end to that rule.»

«But my ancestors worshipped the powers of Chaos. My patron demon, Arioch, is a Duke of Hell, one of the prithe Lords of Chaos! »

«Just so. You, and your ancestors, were not true men at all, but an intermediary type created for a purpose. You understand Chaos as no true men ever could understand it. You can control the forces of Chaos as no true men ever could. And, as a manifestation of the champion Eternal, you can weaken the forces of Chaos-for you know the qualities of Chaos. Weaken them is what you have done. Though worshipping the Lords of Chance, your race were the first to bring some kind of order to the earth. The people of the Young Kingdoms have inherited this from you-and have consolidated it. But, as yet, Chaos is still that much stronger. The runeblades, Stormbringer and Mournblade, this more orderly age, the wisdom your race and mine have gained, all will go towards creating the basis for the true beginnings of Mankind's history. That history will not begin for many thousands of years, the type may take on a lowlier form, become more beastlike before it re-evolves, but when it does, it will re-evolve into a world bereft of the stronger forces of Chaos. It will have a fighting chance. We are all doomed, but they need not be.»

«So that is what Darnizhaan meant when he said we were just puppets, acting out our parts before the true play began ...» Elric sighed deeply, the weight of his mighty responsibility was heavy on his soul. He did not welcome it; but he accepted it.

Sepiriz said gently: «It is your purpose, Elric of Melnibone. Hitherto, your life has appeared comparatively mean' ingless. All through it you have been searching for some purpose for living, is that not true?»

«Aye, » Elric agreed with a slight smile, »I've been restless for many a year since my birth; restless the more between the time when Zarozinia was abducted and now.»

«It is fitting that you should have been, » Sepiriz said, «for there is a purpose for you - Fate's purpose. It is this destiny that you have sensed all your mortal days. You, the last of the royal line of Melnibone, must complete your destiny in the times which are to follow closely upon these. The world is darkening-nature revolts and rebels against the abuses to which the Lords of Chaos put it. Oceans seethe and forests sway, hot lava spills from a thousand mountains, winds shriek their angry torment and the skies are full of awful movement. Upon the face of the earth, warriors are embattled in a struggle which will decide the fate of the world, linked as the struggle is, with greater conflicts among Gods. Women and little children die on a million funeral pyres upon this continent alone. And soon the conflict will spread to the next continent and the next. Soon all the men of the earth will have chosen sides and Chaos might easily win. It would win but for one thing: you and your sword Stormbringer.»

«Stormbringer. It has brought enough storms for me. Perhaps this time it can calm one. And what if Law should win?»

«And if Law should win-then that, too, will mean the decline and death of this world-we shall all be forgotten. But if Chaos should win-then doom will cloud the very air, agony will sound in the wind and foul misery will dominate a plunging, unsettled world of sorcery and evil hatred. But you, Elric, with your sword and our aid, could stop this. It must be done.»

«Then let it be done, » Elric said quietly, »and if it must be done-then let it be done well.»

Sepiriz said: «Armies will soon be marshalled to drive against Pan Tang's might. These must be our first defence. Thereafter, we shall call upon you to fulfil the rest of your destiny.»

«I'll play my part, willingly, » Elric replied, »For, whatever else, I have a mind to pay the Theocrat back for his insults and the inconvenience he has caused me. Though perhaps be didn't instigate Zarozinia's abduction, he aided those who did, and he shall die slowly for that»

«Go then, speedily, for each moment wasted allows the Theocrat to consolidate further his new-won empire.»

«Farewell, » said Elric, now more than ever anxious to leave Nihrain and return to familiar lands. «I know well meet again, Sepiriz, but I pray it be in calmer times than these.»

Now the three of them rode eastwards, towards the coast of Tarkesh where they hoped to find a secret ship to take them across the Pale Sea to Ilmiora and thence to Karlaak by the Weeping Waste. They rode their magical Nihrain horses, careless of danger, through a war-wasted world, strife-ruined and miserable under the heel of the Theocrat.

Elric and Zarozinia exchanged many glances, but they did not speak much, for they were both moved by a knowledge of something which they could not speak of, which they dared not admit She knew they would not have much time together even when they returned to Karlaak, she saw that he grieved and she grieved also, unable to understand the change that had come upon her husband, only aware that the black sword at his side would never, now, hang in the armoury again. She felt she had failed him, though this was not the case.

As they topped a hut and saw smoke drifting' black and thick across the plains of Toraunz, once beautiful, now ruined. Dyvim Slorm shouted from behind Elric and his bride:

«One thing, cousin-whatever happens, we must have vengeance on the Theocrat and his ally.»

Elric pursed his lips.

«Aye, » he said, and glanced again at Zarozinia whose eyes were downcast.

Now the Western lands from Taikesh to Myyrrhn were sundered by the servitors of Chaos. Was this truly to be the final conflict that would decide whether Law or Chaos would dominate the future? The forces of Law were weak and scattered. Could this possibly be the final paroxysm on earth of the great Lords of Eva? Now, between armies, one part of the world's fate was being decided. The lands groaned in the torment of bloody conflict.

What other forces must Elric fight before he accomplished his final destiny and destroyed the world he knew. What else before the horn of fate was blown-to herald in the night?

Sepiriz, no doubt, would tell him when the time came.

But meanwhile more material scores had to be settled. The lands to the east must be made ready for war. The Sealords of the Purple Ports must be approached for aid, the kings of the south marshalled for attack on the western continent. B would take time to do all this.

Part of Elric's mind welcomed the time it would take.

Part of him was reluctant to continue his heavy destiny. for it would mean the end of the Age of the Young Kingdoms, the death of the memory of the Age of the Bright Empire which his ancestors had dominated for ten thousand years.

The sea was at last in sight, rolling its troubled way towards the horizon to meet a seething sky. He heard the cry of gulls and smelled the tang of the salt air in his nostrils.

With a wild shout he clapped his steed's flanks and raced down towards the sea...