BOOK ONE

The Torment of the Last Lord

.. . and then did Elric leave Jharkor
in pursuit of a certain sorcerer who
had, so Elric claimed, caused him
some inconvenience ...

—The Chronicle of the Black Sword

CHAPTER ONE

Pale Prince on a Moonlit Shore

In the sky, a cold moon, cloaked in clouds,
sent down faint light that fell upon a sullen sea where
a ship lay at anchor off an uninhabited coast.

From the ship a boat was being lowered. It swayed in
its harness. Two figures, swathed in long capes, watched
the seamen lowering the boat while they, themselves,
tried to calm horses which stamped their hooves on
the unstable deck and snorted and rolled their eyes.

The shorter figure clung hard to his horse's bridle
and grumbled.

"Why should this be necessary? Why could not we
have disembarked at Trepesaz? Or at least some fish-
ing harbour boasting an inn, however lowly. . . ."

"Because, friend Moonglum, I wish our arrival in
Lormyr to be secret. If Theleb K'aarna knew of my
coming—as he soon would if we went to Trepesaz —
then he would fly again and the chase would begin
afresh. Would you welcome that?"

Moonglum shrugged. "I still feel that your pursuit
of this sorcerer is no more than a surrogate for real
activity. You seek him because you do not wish to seek
your proper destiny. ..."

Elric turned his bone-white face in the moonlight
and regarded Moonglum with crimson, moody eyes.
"And what of it? You need not accompany me if you
do not wish to. ..."

Again Moonglum shrugged his shoulders. "Aye. I
know. Perhaps I stay with you for the same reasons
that you pursue the sorcerer of Pan Tang." He grinned.
"So that's enough of debate, eh, Lord Elric?"

"Debate achieves nothing," Elric agreed. He patted
his horse's nose as more seamen, clad in colourful
Tarkeshite silks, came forward to take the horses and
hoist them down to the waiting boat.

Struggling, whinnying through the bags muffling their
heads, the horses were lowered, their hooves thudding
on the bottom of the boat as if they would stave it in.
Then Elric and Moonglum, their bundles on their
backs, swung down the ropes and jumped into the rock-
ing craft. The sailors pushed off from the ship with their
oars and then, bodies bending, began to row for the
shore.

The late autumn air was cold. Moonglum shivered as
he stared towards the bleak cliffs ahead. "Winter is
near and I'd rather be domiciled at some friendly tavern
than roaming abroad. When this business is done with
the sorcerer, what say we head for Jadmar or one of the
other big Vilmirian cities and see what mood the
warmer clime puts us in?"

But Elric did not reply. His strange eyes stared into
the darkness and they seemed to be peering into the
depths of his own soul and not liking what they saw.

Moonglum sighed and pursed his lips. He huddled
deeper in his cloak and rubbed his hands to warm
them. He was used to his friend's sudden lapses of
silence, but familiarity did not make him enjoy them
any better. From somewhere on the shore a nightbird
shrieked and a small animal squealed. The sailors
grunted as they pulled on their oars.

The moon came out from behind the clouds and it
shone on Elric's grim, white face, made his crimson
eyes seem to glow like the coals of hell, revealed the
barren cliffs of the shore.

The sailors shipped their oars as the boat's bottom
ground on shingle. The horses, smelling land, snorted
and moved their hooves. Elric and Moonglum rose to
steady them.

Two seamen leaped into the cold water and brought
the boat up higher. Another patted the neck of Elric's
horse and did not look directly at the albino as he

spoke. "The captain said you would pay me when we
reached the Lormyrian shore, my lord."

Elric grunted and reached under his cloak. He drew
out a jewel that shone brightly through the darkness of
the night. The sailor gasped and stretched out his hand
to take it. "Xiombarg's blood, I have never seen so fine
a gem!"

Elric began to lead the horse into the shallows and
Moonglum hastily followed him, cursing under his
breath and shaking his head from side to side.

Laughing among themselves, the sailors shoved the
boat back into deeper water.

As Elric and Moonglum mounted their horses and
the boat pulled through the darkness towards the ship,
Moonglum said: "That jewel was worth a hundred
times the cost of our passage!"

"What of it?" Elric fitted his feet in his stirrups and
made his horse walk towards a part of the cliff which
was less steep than the rest. He stood up in his stirrups
for a moment to adjust his cloak and settle himself
more firmly in his saddle. "There is a path here, by the
look of it. Much overgrown."

"I would point out," Moonglum said bitterly, "that
if it were left to you, Lord Elric, we should have no
means of livelihood at all. If I had not taken the pre-
caution of retaining some of the profits made from the
sale of that trireme we captured and auctioned in
Dhakos, we should be paupers now."

"Aye," returned Elric carelessly, and he spurred his
horse up the path that led to the top of the cliff.

In frustration Moonglum shook his head, but he fol-
lowed the albino.

By dawn they were riding over the undulating land-
scape of small hills and valleys that made up the ter-
rain of Lormyr's most northerly peninsula.

"Since Theleb K'aarna must needs live off rich pa-
trons," Elric explained as they rode, "he will almost
certainly go to the capital, Iosaz, where King Montan

rules. He will seek service with some noble, perhaps
King Montan himself."

"And how soon shall we see the capital, Lord Elric?"
Moonglum looked up at the clouds.

"It is several days' ride, Master Moonglum."

Moonglum sighed. The sky bore signs of snow and
the tent he carried rolled behind his saddle was of thin
silk, suitable for the hotter lands of the East and West.

He thanked his gods that he wore a thick quilted
jerkin beneath his breastplate and that before he had
left the ship he had pulled on a pair of woollen breeks
to go beneath the gaudier breeks of red silk that were
his outer wear. His conical cap of fur, iron and leather
had earflaps which were now drawn tightly and se-
cured by a thong beneath his chin and his heavy deer-
skin cape was drawn closely around his shoulders.

Elric, for his part, seemed not to notice the chill
weather. His own cape flapped behind him. He wore
breeks of deep blue silk, a high collared shirt of black
silk, a steel breastplate lacquered a gleaming black, like
his helmet, and embossed with patterns of delicate
silverwork. Behind his saddle were deep panniers and
across this was a bow and a quiver of arrows. At his
side swung the huge runesword Stormbringer, the
source of his strength and his misery, and on his right
hip was a long dirk, presented him by Queen Yishana
of Jharkor.

Moonglum bore a similar bow and quiver. On each
hip was a sword, one short and straight, the other long
and curved, after the fashion of the men of Elwher, his
homeland. Both blades were in scabbards of beautifully
worked Ilmioran leather, embellished with stitching of
scarlet and gold thread.

Together the pair looked, to those who had not heard
of them, like free travelling mercenaries who had been
more successful than most in their chosen careers.

Their horses bore them tirelessly through the country-
side. These were tall Shazarian steeds, known all over
the Young Kingdoms for their stamina and intelligence.

After several weeks cooped up in the hold of the Tarke-
shite ship they were glad to be moving again.

Now small villages—squat houses of stone and
thatch—came in sight, but Elric and Moonglum were
careful to avoid them.

Lormyr was one of the oldest of the Young Kingdoms
and much of the world's history had been made there.
Even the Melniboneans had heard the tales of Lormyr's
hero of ancient times, Aubec of Malador of the province
of Klant, who was said to have carved new lands from
the stuff of Chaos that had once existed at the World's
Edge. But Lormyr had long since declined from her
peak of power (though still a major nation of the South-
west) and had mellowed into a nation that was at once
picturesque and cultured. Elric and Moonglum passed
pleasant farmsteads, well-nurtured fields, vineyards and
orchards in which the golden-leaved trees were sur-
rounded by time-worn, moss-grown walls. A sweet land
and a peaceful land in contrast to the rawer, bustling
North-western nations of Jharkor, Tarkesh and Dhari-
jor which they had left behind.

Moonglum gazed around him as they slowed their
horses to a trot. "Theleb K'aarna could work much mis-
chief here, Elric. I am reminded of the peaceful hills
and plains of Elwher, my own land."

Elric nodded. "Lormyr's years of turbulence ended
when she cast off Melnibone's shackles and was first to
proclaim herself a free nation. I have a liking for this
restful landscape. It soothes me. Now we have another
reason for finding the sorcerer before he begins to stir
his brew of corruption."

Moonglum smiled quietly. "Be careful, my lord, for
you are once again succumbing to those soft emotions
you so despise. . . ."

Elric straightened his back. "Come. Let's make haste
for Iosaz."

"The sooner we reach a city with a decent tavern
and a warm fire, the better." Moonglum drew his cape
tighter about his thin body.

"Then pray that the sorcerer's soul is soon sent to

Limbo, Master Moonglum, for then I'll be content to
sit before the fire all winter long if it suits you."

And Elric made his horse break into a sudden gallop
as grey evening closed over the tranquil hills.

CHAPTER TWO

White Face Staring Through Snow

Lormyr was famous for her great rivers. It
was her rivers that had helped make her rich and had
kept her strong.

After three days' travelling, when a light snow had
begun to drift from the sky, Elric and Moonglum rode
out of the hills and saw before them the foaming waters
of the Schlan River, tributary of the Zaphra-Trepek
which flowed from beyond Iosaz down to the sea at
Trepesaz.

No ships sailed the Schlan at this point, for there
were rapids and huge waterfalls every few miles, but at
the old town of Stagasaz, built where the Schlan joined
the Zaphra-Trepek, Elric planned to send Moonglum
into town and buy a small boat in which they could
sail up the Zaphra-Trepek to Iosaz where Theleb
K'aarna was almost certain to be.

They followed the banks of the Schlan now, riding
hard and hoping to reach the outskirts of the town be-
fore nightfall. They rode past fishing villages and the
houses of minor nobles, they were occasionally hailed
by friendly fishermen who trawled the quieter reaches
of the river, but they did not stop. The fishermen were
typical of the area, with ruddy features and huge curl-
ing moustaches, dressed in heavily embroidered linen
smocks and leather boots that reached almost to their
thighs; men who in past times had been ever ready to
lay down their nets, pick up swords and halberds and
mount horses to go to the defence of their homeland.

"Could we not borrow one of their boats?" Moon-
glum suggested. But Elric shook his head. "The fisher-

men of the Schlan are well known for their gossiping.
The news of our presence might well precede us and
warn Theleb K'aarna."

"You seem needlessly cautious. ..."

"I have lost him too often."

More rapids came in sight. Great black rocks
glistened in the gloom and roaring water gushed over
them, sending spray high into the air. There were no
houses or villages here and the paths beside the banks
were narrow and treacherous so that Elric and Moon-
glum were forced to slow their pace and make their
way with caution.

Moonglum shouted over the noise of the water:
"We'll not reach Stagasaz by nightfall now!"

Elric nodded. "We'll make camp below the rapids.
There."

The snow was still falling and the wind drove it
against their faces so that it became even more difficult
to pick their way along the narrow track that now
wound high above the river.

But at last the tumult began to die and the track
widened out and the waters calmed and, with relief,
they looked about them over the plain to find a likely
camping place.

It was Moonglum who saw them first.

His finger was unsteady as he pointed into the sky
towards the north.

"Elric. What make you of those?"

Elric peered up into the lowering sky, brushing
snowflakes from his face.

His expression was at first puzzled. His brow fur-
rowed and his eyes narrowed.

Black shapes against the sky.

Winged shapes.

It was impossible at this distance to judge then: scale,
but they did not fly the way birds fly. Elric was re-
minded of another flying creature—a creature he had
last seen when he and the Sealords fled burning Imrryr
and the folk of Melnibone had released their vengeance
upon the reavers.

That vengeance had taken two forms.

The first form had been the golden battle-barges
which had waited for the attack as they left the Dream-
ing City.

The second form had been the great dragons of the
Bright Empire.

And these creatures in the distance had something
of the look of dragons.

Had the Melniboneans discovered a means of waking
the dragons before the end of their normal sleeping
time? Had they unleashed their dragons to seek out
Elric, who had slain his own kin, betrayed his own un-
human kind in order to have revenge on his cousin
Yyrkoon who had usurped Elric's place on the Ruby
Throne of Imrryr?

Now Elric's expression hardened into a grim mask.
His crimson eyes shone like polished rubies. His left
hand fell upon the hilt of his great black battleblade, the
runesword Stormbringer, and he controlled a rising
sense of horror.

For now, in mid-air, the shapes had changed. No
longer did they have the appearance of dragons, but
this time they seemed to be like multicoloured swans,
whose gleaming feathers caught and diffracted the few
remaining rays of light.

Moonglum gasped as they came nearer.

"They are huge!"

"Draw your swords, friend Moonglum. Draw them
now and pray to whatever gods rule over Elwher. For
these are creatures of sorcery and they are doubtless
sent by Theleb K'aarna to destroy us. My respect for
that conjurer increases."

"What are they, Elric?"

"Creatures of Chaos. In Melnibone" they are called
the Oonai. They can change shape at will. A sorcerer
of great mental discipline, of superlative powers, who
knows the apposite spells can master them and deter-
mine their appearance. Some of my ancestors could
do such things, but I thought no mere conjurer of Pan
Tang could master the chimerae!"

"Do you know no spell to counter them?"

"None comes readily to mind. Only a Lord of Chaos
such as my patron demon Arioch could dismiss them."

Moonglum shuddered. "Then call your Arioch, I
beg you!"

Elric darted a half-amused glance at Moonglum.
"These creatures must fill you with great fear indeed
if you are prepared to entertain the presence of Arioch,
Master Moonglum."

Moonglum drew his long, curved sword. "Perhaps
they have no business with us," he suggested. "But it
is as well to be prepared."

Elric smiled. "Aye."

Then Moonglum drew his straight sword, curling his
horse's reins around his arm.

A shrill, cackling sound from the skies.

The horses pawed at the ground.

The cackling grew louder. The creatures opened
their beaks and called to one another and it was very
plain now that they were indeed something other than
gigantic swans, for they had curling tongues. And there
were slim, sharp fangs bristling in those beaks. They
changed direction slightly, winging straight for the two
men.

Elric flung back his head and drew out his great
sword and raised it skyward. It pulsed and moaned
and a strange, black radiance poured from it, casting
peculiar shadows over its owner's blanched features.

The Shazarian horse screamed and reared and words
began to pour from Elric's tormented face.

"Arioch! Arioch! Arioch! Lord of the Seven Darks,
Duke of Chaos, aid me! Aid me now, Arioch!"

Moonglum's own horse had backed away in panic
and the little man was having great difficulty in con-
trolling it. His own features were almost as pale as
Elric's.

"Arioch!"

Overhead the chimerae began to circle.

"Arioch! Blood and souls if you will aid me now!"

Then, some yards away, a dark mist seemed to well

up from nowhere. It was a boiling mist that had strange,
disgusting shapes in it

"Arioch!"

The mist grew still thicker.

"Arioch! I beg you—aid me now!"

The horse pawed at the air, snorting and screaming,
its eyes rolling, its nostrils flaring. Yet Elric, his lips
curled back over his teeth so that he looked like a rabid
wolf, continued to keep his seat as the dark mist quiv-
ered and a strange, unearthly face appeared in the
upper part of the shifting column. It was a face of won-
derful beauty, of absolute evil. Moonglum turned his
head away, unable to regard it.

A sweet, sibilant voice issued from the beautiful
mouth. The mist swirled languidly, becoming a mottled
scarlet laced with emerald green.

"Greetings, Elric," said the face. "Greetings, most
beloved of my children."

"Aid me, Arioch!"

"Ah," said the face, its tone full of rich regret. "Ah,
that cannot be. ..."

"You must aid me!"

The chimerae had hesitated in their descent, sight-
ing the peculiar mist.

"It is impossible, sweetest of my slaves. There are
other matters afoot in the Realm of Chaos. Matters of
enormous moment to which I have already referred.
I offer only my blessings.

"Arioch—I beg thee!"

"Remember your oath to Chaos and remain loyal to
us in spite of all. Farewell, Elric."

And the dark mist vanished.

And the chimerae came closer.

And Elric drew a racking breath while the rune-
sword whined in his hand and quivered and its radiance
dimmed a little.

Moonglum spat on the ground. "A powerful patron,
Elric, but a damned inconstant one." Then he flung
himself from his saddle as a creature which changed
its shape a dozen times as it arrowed towards him

reached out huge claws which clashed in the air where
he had been. The riderless horse reared again, striking
out at the beast of Chaos.

A fanged snout snapped.

Blood vomited from the place where the horse's
head had been and the carcass kicked once more be-
fore falling to the ground to pour more gore into the
greedy earth.

Bearing the remains of the head in what was first a
scaled snout, then a beak, then a sharklike mouth, the
Oonai thrashed back into the air.

Moonglum picked himself up. His eyes contem-
plated nothing but his own imminent destruction.

Elric, too, leapt from his horse and slapped its flank
so that convulsively it began to gallop away towards
the river. Another chimera followed it.

This tune the flying thing seized the horse's body in
claws which suddenly sprouted from its feet. The horse
struggled to get free, threatening to break its own back-
bone in its struggles, but it could not. The chimera
flapped towards the clouds with its catch.

Snow fell thicker now, but Elric and Moonglum
were oblivious of it as they stood together and awaited
the next attack of the Oonai.

Moonglum said quietly: "Is there no other spell you
know, friend Elric?"

The albino shook his head. "Nothing specific to deal
with these. The Oonai always served the folk of Melni-
bone. They never threatened us. So we needed no spell
against them. I am trying to think. . . ."

The chimerae cackled and yelled in the air above the
two men's heads.

Then another broke away from the pack and dived
to the Earth.

"They attack individually," Elric said in a somewhat
detached tone, as if studying insects in a bottle. "They
never attack in a pack. I know not why."

The Oonai had settled on the ground and it had now
assumed the shape of an elephant with the huge head
of a crocodile.

"Not an aesthetic combination," said Elric.

The ground shook as it charged towards them.

They stood shoulder to shoulder as it approached.
It was almost upon them—

—and at the last moment they divided, Elric throw-
ing himself to one side and Moonglum to the other.

The chimera passed between them and Elric struck
at the thing's side with his runesword.

The sword sang out almost lasciviously as it bit deep
into the flesh which instantly changed and became a
dragon dripping flaming venom from its fangs.

But it was badly wounded.

Blood ran from the deep wound and the chimera
screamed and changed shape again and again as if
seeking some form in which the wound could not exist.

Black blood now burst from its side as if the strain
of the many changes had ruptured its body all the more.

It fell to its knees and the lustre faded from its feath-
ers, died from its scales, disappeared from its skin. It
kicked out once and then was still—a heavy, black,
piglike creature whose lumpen body was the ugliest
Elric and Moonglum had ever seen.

Moonglum grunted.

"It is not hard to understand why such a creature
should want to change its form...."

He looked up.

Another was descending.

This had the appearance of a whale with wings, but
with curved fangs, like those of a stomach fish, and a
tail like an enormous corkscrew.

Even as it landed it changed shape again.
Now it had assumed human form. It was a huge,
beautiful figure, twice as tall as Elric. It was naked and
perfectly proportioned, but its stare was vacant and it
had the drooling lips of an idiot child. Lithely it ran at
them, its huge hands reaching out to grasp them as a
child might reach for a toy.

This time Elric and Moonglum struck together, one
at each hand.

Moonglum's sharp sword cut the knuckles deeply

and Elric's lopped off two fingers before the Oonai
altered its shape again and began first to be an octopus,
then a monstrous tiger, then a combination of both,
until at last it was a rock in which a fissure grew to
reveal white, snapping teeth.

Gasping, the two men waited for it to resume the at-
tack. At the base of the rock some blood was oozing.
This put a thought into Elric's mind.

With a sudden yell he leapt forward, raised his sword
over his head and brought it down on top of the rock,
splitting it in twain.

Something like a laugh issued from the black sword
then as the sundered shape flickered and became an-
other of the piglike creatures. This was completely cut
in two, its blood and its entrails spreading themselves
upon the ground.

Then, through the snowy dusk, another of the Oonai
came down, its body a glowing orange, its shape that
of a winged snake with a thousand rippling coils.

Elric struck at the coils, but they moved too rapidly.

The other chimerae had been watching his tactics
with their dead companions and they had now gauged
the skill of their victims. Almost immediately Elric's
arms were pinned to his sides by the coils and he found
himself being borne upward as a second chimera with
the same shape rushed down on Moonglum to seize
him in an identical way.

Elric prepared to die as the horses had died. He
prayed that he would die swiftly and not slowly, at the
hands of Theleb K'aarna, who had always promised
him a slow death.

The scaly wings flapped powerfully. No snout came
down to snap his head off.

He felt despair as he realised that he and Moonglum
were being carried swiftly northward over the great
Lormyrian steppe.

Doubtless Theleb K'aarna awaited them at the end
of their journey.

CHAPTER THREE

Feathers Filling a Great Sky

Night fell and the chimerae flew on tire-
lessly, their shapes black against the falling snow.

The coils showed no signs of relaxing, though Elric
strove to force them apart, keeping tight hold of his
runesword and racking his brains for some means of
defeating the monsters.

If only there were a spell. . .. .

He tried to keep his thoughts from what Theleb
K'aarna would do if, indeed, it was that wizard who
had set the Oonai upon them.

Elric's skill in sorcery lay chiefly in his command
over the various elementals of air, fire, earth, water and
ether, and also over the entities who had affinities with
the flora and fauna of the Earth.

He had decided that his only hope lay in summon-
ing the aid of Fileet, Lady of the Birds, who dwelt in a
realm lying beyond the planes of Earth, but the invoca-
tion eluded him.

Even if he could remember it, the mind had to be
adjusted in a certain way, the correct rhythms of the
incantation remembered, the exact words and inflec-
tions recalled, before he could begin to summon Fileet's
aid. For she, more than another elemental, was as
difficult to invoke as the fickle Arioch.

Through the drifting snow he heard Moonglum call
out something indistinct.

"What was that, Moonglum?" he called back.

"I only—sought to learn—if you still—lived, friend
Elric."

"Aye—barely. ..."

His face was chill and ice had formed on his helmet
and breastplate. His whole body ached both from the
crushing coils of the chimera and from the biting cold
of the upper air.

On and on through the northern night they flew while
Elric forced himself to relax, to descend into a trance
and to dredge from his mind the ancient knowledge
of his forefathers.

At dawn the clouds had cleared and the sun's red
rays spread over the snow like blood over damask.
Everywhere stretched the steppe—a vast field of snow
from horizon to horizon, while above it the sky was
nothing but a blue sheet of ice in which sat the red
pool of the sun.

And, tireless as ever, the chimerae flew on.

Elric brought himself slowly from his trance and
prayed to his untrustworthy gods that he remembered
the spell aright.

His lips were all but frozen together. He licked them
and it was as if he licked snow. He opened them and
bitter air coursed into his mouth. He coughed then,
turning his head upwards, his crimson eyes glazing.

He forced his lips to frame strange syllables, to utter
the old vowel-heavy words of the High Speech of Old
Melnibone, a speech hardly suited to a human tongue
at all.

"Fileet," he murmured. Then he began to chant the
incantation. And as he chanted the sword grew warmer
in his hand and supplied him with more energy so that
the eldritch chant echoed through the icy sky.

Feathers fine our fates entwined
Bird and man and thine and mine,
Formed a pact that Gods divine
Hallowed on an ancient shrine,
When kind swore service unto kind.

Fileet, fair feathered queen of flight
Remember now that fateful night
And help your brother in his plight.

There was more to the summoning than the words
of the invocation. There were the abstract thoughts in
the head, the visual images which had to be retained
in the mind the whole time, the emotions felt, the
memories made sharp and true. Without everything
being exactly right, the invocation would prove useless.

Centuries before, the Sorcerer Kings of Melnibone
had struck this bargain with Fileet, Lady of the Birds:
That any bird that settled in Imrryr's walls should be
protected, that no bird would be shot by any of the
Melnibonean blood. This bargain had been kept and
dreaming Imrryr had become a haven for all species of
bird and at one time they had cloaked her towers in
plumage.

Now Elric chanted his verses, recalling that bargain
and begging Fileet to remember her part of it.

Brothers and sisters of the sky
Hear my voice where'er ye fly
And bring me aid from kingdoms high...

Not for the first time had he called upon the elemen-
tals and those akin to them. But lately he had sum-
moned Haaashaastaak, Lord of the Lizards, in his fight
against Theleb K'aarna and still earlier he had made
use of the services of the wind elementals—the sylphs,
the sharnahs and the h'Haarshanns—and the earth
elementals.

Yet, Fileet was fickle.

And now that Imrryr was no more than quaking
ruins, she could even choose to forget that ancient pact.

"Fileet. ..."

He was weak from the invoking. He would not have
the strength to battle Theleb K'aarna even if he found
the opportunity.

"Fileet. ..."

And then the air was stirring and a huge shadow fell
across the chimerae bearing Elric and Moonglum north-
ward.

Elric's voice faltered as he looked up. But he smiled
and said:

"I thank you, Fileet."

For the sky was black with birds. There were eagles
and robins and rooks and starlings and wren and kites
and crows and hawks and peacocks and flamingoes and
pigeons and parrots and doves and magpies and ravens
and owls. Their plumage flashed like steel and the air
was full of their cries.

The Oonai raised its snake's head and hissed, its
long tongue curling out between its front fangs, its
coiled tail lashing. One of the chimerae not carrying
Elric or Moonglum changed its shape into that of a
gigantic condor and flapped up towards the vast array
of birds.

But they were not deceived.

The chimera disappeared, submerged by birds. There
was a frightful screaming and then something black
and piglike spiralled to earth, blood and entrails stream-
ing in its wake.

Another chimera—the last not bearing a burden—
assumed its dragon shape, almost completely identical
to those which Elric had once mastered as ruler of
Melnibone, but larger and with not quite the same
grace as Flamefang and the others.

There was a sickening smell of burning flesh and
feathers as the flaming venom fell upon Elric's allies.

But now more and more birds were filling the air,
shrieking and whistling and cawing and hooting, a mil-
lion wings fluttering, and once again the Oonai was
hidden from sight, once again a muffled scream
sounded, once again a mangled, piglike corpse plum-
metted groundwards.

The birds divided into two masses, turning their at-
tention to the chimerae bearing Elric and Moonglum.
They sped down like two gigantic arrowheads, led,
each group, by ten huge golden eagles which dived at
the flashing eyes of the Oonai.

As the birds attacked, the chimerae were forced to
change shape. Instantly Elric felt himself fall free. His

body was numb and he fell like a stone, remembering
only to keep his grip on Stormbringer, and as he fell
he cursed at the irony. He had been saved from the
beasts of Chaos only to hurtle to his death on the
snow-covered ground below.

But then his cloak was caught from above and he
hung swaying in the air. Looking up he saw that several
eagles had grasped his clothing in their claws and beaks
and were slowing his descent so that he struck the snow
with little more than a painful bump.

The eagles flew back to the fray.

A few yards away Moonglum came down, deposited
by another flight of eagles which immediately returned
to where their comrades were fighting the remaining
Oonai.

Moonglum picked up the sword which had fallen
from his hand. He rubbed his right calf. "I'll do my
best never to eat fowl again," he said feelingly. "So
you remembered a spell, eh?"

"Aye."

Two more piglike corpses thudded down not far
away.

For a few moments the birds performed a strange,
wheeling dance in the sky, partly a salute to the two
men, partly a dance of triumph, and then they divided
into their groups of species and flew rapidly away.
Soon there were no birds at all in the ice-blue sky.

Elric picked up his bruised body and stiffly he
sheathed his sword Stormbringer. He drew a deep
breath and peered upwards.

"Fileet, I thank thee again."

Moonglum still seemed dazed. "How did you sum-
mon them, Elric?"

Elric removed his helmet and wiped sweat from
within the rim. In this clime that sweat would soon
turn to ice. "An ancient bargain my ancestors made. I
was hard-pressed to remember the lines of the spell."

"I'm mightily pleased that you did remember!"

Absently, Elric nodded. He replaced his helmet on
his head, staring about him as he did so.

Everywhere stretched the vast, snow-covered Lor-
myrian steppe.

Moonglum understood Elric's thoughts. He rubbed
his chin.

"Aye. We are fairly lost, Lord Elric. Have you any
idea where we may be?"

"I do not know, friend Moonglum. We have no
means of guessing how far those beasts carried us, but
I'm fairly sure it was well to the north of Iosaz. We
are further away from the capital than we were. . . ."

"But then so must Theleb K'aarna be! If we were,
indeed, being borne to where he dwells. . . ."

"It would be logical, I agree."

"So we continue north?"

"I think not."

"Why so?"

"For two reasons. It could be that Theleb K'aarna's
idea was to take us to a place so far away from any-
where that we could not interfere with his plans. That
might be considered a wiser action than confronting
us and thus risking our turning the tables on him. . . ."

"Aye, I'll grant you that. And what's the other rea-
son?"

"We would do better to try to make for Iosaz where
we can replenish both our gear and our provisions and
enquire of Theleb K'aarna's whereabouts if he is not
there. Also we would be foolish to strike further north
without good horses and in Iosaz we shall find horses
and perhaps a sleigh to carry us the faster across this
snow."

"And I'll grant you the sense of that, too. But I do
not think much of our chances in this snow, whichever
way we go."

"We must begin walking and hope that we can find
a river that has not yet frozen over—and that the river
will have boats upon it which will bear us to Iosaz."

"A faint hope, Elric."

"Aye. A faint hope." Elric was already weakened
from the energy spent in the invocation to Fileet. He
knew that he must almost certainly die. He was not

sure that he cared overmuch. It would be a cleaner
death than some he had been offered of late—a less
painful death than any he might expect at the hands
of the sorcerer of Pan Tang.

They began to trudge through the snow. Slowly they
headed south, two small figures in a frozen landscape,
two tiny specks of warm flesh in a great waste of ice.

CHAPTER FOUR

Old Castle Standing A lone

A day passed, a night passed.

Then the evening of the second day passed and the
two men staggered on, for all that they had long since
lost their sense of direction.

Night fell and they crawled.

They could not speak. Their bones were stiff, their
flesh and their muscles numb.

Cold and exhaustion drove the very sentience from
them so that when they fell in the snow and lay motion-
less they were scarcely aware that they had ceased to
move. They understood no difference now between life
and death, between existence and the cessation of ex-
istence.

And when the sun rose and warmed their flesh a little
they stirred and raised their heads, perhaps in an effort
to catch one last glimpse of the world they were leaving.

And they saw the castle,

It stood there in the middle of the steppe and it was
ancient. Snow covered the moss and the lichen which
grew on its worn, old stones. It seemed to have been
there for eternity, yet neither Elric nor Moonglum had
ever heard of such a castle standing alone in the steppe.
It was hard to imagine how a castle so old could exist
in the land once known as World's Edge.

Moonglum was the first to rise. He stumbled through
the deep snow to where Elric lay. With chapped hands
he tried to lift his friend.

The tide of Elric's thin blood had almost ceased to
move in his body. He moaned as Moonglum helped

him to his feet. He tried to speak, but his lips were
frozen shut.

Clutching each other, sometimes walking, sometimes
crawling, they progressed towards the castle.

Its entrance stood open. They fell through it and the
warmth issuing from the ulterior revived them suffi-
ciently to allow them to rise and stagger down a narrow
passage into a great hall.

It was an empty hall.

It was completely bare of furnishings, save for a huge
log fire that blazed in a hearth of granite and quartz
built at the far end of the hall. They crossed flagstones
of lapis lazuli to reach it.

"So the castle is inhabited."

Moonglum's voice was harsh and thick in his mouth.
He stared around him at the basalt walls. He raised
his voice as best he could and called:

"Greetings to whoever is the master of this hall. We
are Moonglum of Elwher and Elric of Melnibone and
we crave your hospitality, for we are lost in your land."

And then Elric's knees buckled and he fell to the
floor.

Moonglum stumbled towards him as the echoes of
his voice died in the hall. All was silent save for the
crackling of the logs in the hearth.

Moonglum dragged Elric to the fire and lay him down
near it.

"Warm your bones here, friend Elric. I'll seek the
folk who live here."

Then he crossed the hall and ascended the stone stair
leading to the next floor of the castle.

This floor was as bereft of furniture or decoration as
the other. There were many rooms, but all of them
were empty. Moonglum began to feel uneasy, scenting
something of the supernatural here. Could this be Theleb
K'aarna's castle?

For someone dwelt here, in truth. Someone had laid
the fire and had opened the gates so that they might
enter. And they had not left the castle in the ordinary

way or he should have noticed the tracks in the snow
outside.

Moonglum paused, then turned and slowly began to
descend the stairs. Reaching the hall, he saw that Elric
had revived enough to prop himself up against the
chimneypiece.

"And—what—found you . . ." said Elric thickly.

Moonglum shrugged. "Nought. No servants. No mas-
ter. If they have gone a-hunting, then they hunt on flying
beasts, for there are no signs of hoofprints in the snow
outside. I am a little nervous, I must admit." He smiled
slightly. "Aye—and a little hungry, too. I'll seek the
pantry. If danger comes, we'd do as well to face it on
full stomachs."

There was a door set back and to one side of the
hearth. He tried the latch and it opened into a short
passage at the end of which was another door. He went
down the passage, hand on sword, and opened the door
at the end. A parlour, as deserted as the rest of the
castle. And beyond the parlour he saw the castle's
kitchens. He went through the kitchens, noting that
there were cooking things here, all polished and clean
but none in use, and came finally to the pantry.

Here he found the best part of a large deer hanging
and on the shelf above it were ranked many skins and
jars of wine. Below this shelf were bread and some
pasties and below that spices.

Moonglum's first action was to reach up on tiptoe and
take down a jar of wine, removing the cork and sniffing
the contents.

He had smelled nothing more delicate or delicious in
his life.

He tasted the wine and he forgot his pain and his
weariness. But he did not forget that Elric still waited
in the hall.

With his short sword he cut off a haunch of vension
and tucked it under his arm. He selected some spices
and put them into his belt-pouch. Under his other arm
he put the bread and in both hands he carried a jar of
wine.

He returned to the hall, put down his spoils and
helped Elric drink from the jar.

The strange wine worked almost instantly and Elric
offered Moonglum a smile that had gratitude in it.

"You are—a good friend—I wonder why. . . ."

Moonglum turned away with an embarrassed grunt.
He began to prepare the meat which he intended to
roast over the fire.

He had never understood his friendship with the al-
bino. It had always been a peculiar mixture of reserve
and affection, a fine balance which both men were care-
ful to maintain, even in situations of this kind.

Elric, since his passion for Cymoril had resulted in
her death and the destruction of the city he loved, had
at all tunes feared bestowing any tender emotion on
those he fell in with.

He had run away from Shaarilla of the Dancing Mist,
who had loved him dearly. He had fled from Queen
Yishana of Jharkor, who had offered him her kingdom
to rale, in spite of her subjects' hatred of him. He dis-
dained most company save Moonglum's, and Moon-
glum, too, became quickly bored by anyone other than
the crimson-eyed Prince of Imrryr. Moonglum would
die for Elric and he knew that Elric would risk any
danger to save his friend. But was not this an unhealthy
relationship? Would it not be better if they went their
different ways? He could not bear the thought. It was
as if they were part of the same entity—different aspects
of the character of the same man.

He could not understand why he should feel this.
And he guessed that, if Elric had ever considered the
question, the Melnibonean would be equally hard put to
find an answer.

He contemplated all this as he roasted the meat be-
fore the fire, using his long sword as a spit.

Meanwhile Elric took another draft of wine and be-
gan, almost visibly, to thaw out. His skin was still
badly blistered by chilblains, but both men had es-
caped serious frostbite.

They ate the venison in silence, glancing around the

hall, puzzling over the non-appearance of the owner,
yet too tired to care greatly where he was.

Then they slept, having put fresh logs on the fire, and
in the morning they were almost completely recovered
from their ordeal in the snow.

They breakfasted on cold venison and pasties and
wine.

Moonglum found a pot and heated water in it so that
they might shave and wash and Elric found some salve
in his pouch which they could put on their blisters.

"I looked in the stables," Moonglum said as he
shaved with the razor he had taken from his own pouch.
"But I found no horses. There are signs, however, that
some beasts have been kept there recently."

"There is only one other way to travel," Elric said.
"There might be skis somewhere in the castle. It is the
sort of thing you might expect to find, for there is snow
in these parts for at least half the year. Skis would speed
our progress back towards Iosaz. As would a map and
a lodestone if we could find one."

Moonglum agreed. "I'll search the upper levels." He
finished his shaving, wiped his razor and replaced it in
his pouch.

Elric got up. "I'll go with you."

Through the empty rooms they wandered, but they
found nothing.

"No gear of any kind." Elric frowned. "And yet there
is a strong sense that the castle is inhabited—and evi-
dence, too, of course."

They searched two more floors and there was not even
dust in the rooms.

"Well, perhaps we walk after all," Moonglum said in
resignation. "Unless there was wood with which we
could manufacture skis of some kind. I might have seen
some in the stables. ..."

They had reached a narrow stair which wound up the
highest tower of the castle.

"We'll try this and then count our quest unsuccess-
ful," Elric said.

And so they climbed the stair and came to a door at

the top which was half-open. Elric pushed it back and
then he hesitated.

"What is it?" Moonglum, who was below him, asked.

"This room is furnished," Elric said quietly.

Moonglum ascended two more steps and peered
round Elric's shoulder. He gasped.

"And occupied!"

It was a beautiful room. Through crystal windows
came pale light which sparkled and fell on hangings of
many-coloured silk, on embroidered carpets and tapes-
tries of hues so fresh they might have been made only a
moment before.

In the centre of this room was a bed, draped in er-
mine, with a canopy of white silk.

And on the bed lay a young woman.

Her hair was black and it shone. Her gown was of
the deepest scarlet. Her limbs were like rose-tinted ivory
and her face was very fair, the lips slightly parted as
she breathed.

She was asleep.

Elric took two steps towards the woman on the bed
and then he stopped suddenly. He was shuddering. He
turned away.

Moonglum was alarmed. He saw bright tears in El-
ric's crimson eyes.

"What is it, friend Elric?"

Elric moved his white lips but was incapable of
speech. Something like a groan came from his throat.

"Elric...."

Moonglum placed a hand on his friend's arm. Elric
shook it off.

Slowly the albino turned again towards the bed, as if
forcing himself to behold an impossibly horrifying
sight. He breathed deeply, straightening his back and
resting his left hand on the pommel of his sorcerous
blade.

"Moonglum...."

He was forcing himself to speak. Moonglum glanced
at the woman on the bed, glanced at Elric. Did he
recognise her?

"Moonglum—this is a sorcerous sleep...."

"How know you that?"

"It—it is a similar slumber to that in which my
cousin Yyrkoon put my Cymoril. ..."

"Gods! Think you that. . . ?"

"I think nothing!"

"But it is not—"

"—it is not Cymoril. I know. I—she is like her—so
like her. But unlike her, too. ... It is only that I could
not have expected. ..."

Elric bowed his head.

He spoke in a low voice. "Come, let's be gone from
here."

"But she must be the owner of this castle. If we
awakened her we could—"

"She cannot be awakened by such as we. I told you,
Moonglum. . . ." Elric drew another deep breath. "It
is an enchanted sleep she is in. I could not wake Cy-
moril from it, with all my powers of sorcery. Unless one
has certain magical aids, some knowledge of the exact
spell used, there is nothing that can be done. Quickly,
Moonglum, let us depart."

There was an edge to Elric's voice which made Moon-
glum shiver.

"But..."

"Then I will go!"

Elric almost ran from the room. Moonglum heard
his footsteps echoing rapidly down the long staircase.

He went up to the sleeping woman and stared down
at her beauty.

He touched the skin. It was unnaturally cold. He
shrugged and made to leave the chamber, pausing for
a moment only to notice that a number of ancient battle-
shields and weapons hung on one wall of the room, be-
hind the bed. Strange trophies with which a beautiful
woman should wish to decorate her bedroom, he
thought. He saw the carved wooden table below the
trophies. Something lay upon it. He stepped back into
the room. A peculiar sensation filled him as he saw

that it was a map. The castle was marked and so was
the Zaphra-Trepek river.

Holding the map down to the table was a lodestone,
set in silver on a long silver chain.

He grabbed the map in one hand and the lodestone
in the other and ran from the room.

"Elric! Elric!"

He raced down the stairs and reached the hall. Elric
had gone. The door of the hall was open.

He followed the albino out of the mysterious castle
and into the snow.

"Elric!"

Elric turned, his face set and his eyes tormented.

Moonglum showed him the map and the lodestone.

"We are saved, after all, Elric!"

Elric looked down at the snow. "Aye. So we are."

CHAPTER FIVE
Doomed Lord Dreaming

And two days later they reached the upper
reaches of the Zaphra-Trepek and the trading town of
Alorasaz with its towers of finely carved wood and its
beautifully made timber houses.

To Alorasaz came the fur trappers and the miners,
the merchants from Iosaz, downriver, or from afar as
Trepesaz on the coast. A cheerful, bustling town with
its streets lit and heated by great, red braziers at every
corner. These were tended by citizens specially com-
missiond to keep them burning hot and bright. Wrapped
in thick woollen clothing, they hailed Elric and Moon-
glum as they entered the city.

For all they had been sustained by the wine and meat
Moonglum had thought to bring, they were weary from
their walk across the steppe.

They made their way through the rumbustious crowd
—laughing, red-cheeked women and burly, fur-swathed
men whose breath steamed in the air, mingling with the
smoke from the braziers, as they took huge swallows
from gourds of beer or skins of wine, conducting their
business with the slightly less bucolic merchants of the
more sophisticated townships.

Elric was looking for news and he knew that if he
found it anywhere it would be in the taverns. He waited
while Moonglum followed his nose to the best of
Alorasaz's inns and came back with the news of where
it could be found.

They walked a short distance and entered a rowdy
tavern crammed with big, wooden tables and benches on
which were jammed more traders and more merchants

all arguing cheerfully, holding up furs to display their
quality or to mock their worthlessness, depending on
which point of view was taken.

Moonglum left Elric standing in the doorway and
went to speak with the landlord, a hugely fat man with
a glistening scarlet face.

Elric saw the landlord bend and listen to Moonglum.
The man nodded and raised an arm to bellow at Elric
to follow him and Moonglum.

Elric inched his way through the press and was
knocked half off his feet by a gesticulating trader who
apologised cheerfully and profusely and offered to buy
him a drink.

"It is nothing," Elric said faintly.

The man got up. "Come on, sir, it was my fault. . .."
His voice tailed off as he saw the albino's face. He
mumbled something and sat down again, making a wry
remark to one of his companions.

Elric followed Moonglum and the landlord up a
flight of swaying wooden stairs, along a landing and
into a private room which, the landlord told them, was
all that was available.

"Such rooms as these are expensive during the winter
market," the landlord said apologetically.

And Moonglum winced as, silently, Elric handed the
man another precious ruby worth a small fortune.

The landlord looked at it carefully and then laughed.
"This inn will have fallen down before your credit's up,
master. I thank thee. Trading must be good this sea-
son! I'll have drink and viands sent up at once!"

"The finest you have, landlord," said Moonglum, try-
ing to make the best of things.

"Aye—I wish I had better."

Elric sat down on one of the beds and removed his
cloak and his sword-belt. The chill had not left his
bones.

"I wish you would give me charge of our wealth,"
Moonglum said as he removed his boots by the fire.
"We might have need of it before this quest is ended."

But Elric seemed not to hear him.

After they had eaten and discovered from the land-
lord that a ship was leaving the day after tomorrow for
Iosaz, Elric and Moonglum went to their separate beds
to sleep.

Elric's dreams were troubled that night. More than
usual did phantoms come to walk the dark corridors of
his mind.

He saw Cymoril screaming as the Black Sword drank
her soul. He saw Imrryr burning, her fine towers crum-
bling. He saw his cackling cousin Yyrkoon sprawling on
the Ruby Throne. He saw other things which could not
possibly be part of his past. . . .

Never quite suited to be ruler of the cruel folk of
Melnibone, Elric had wandered the lands of men only
to discover that he had no place there, either. And in
the meantime Yyrkoon had usurped the kingship, had
tried to force Cymoril to be his and, when she refused,
put her into a deep and sorcerous slumber from which
only he could wake her.

Now Elric dreamed that he had found a Nanorion,
the mystic gem which could awaken even the dead. He
dreamed that Cymoril was still alive, but sleeping, and
that he placed the Nanorion on her forehead and that
she woke up and kissed him and left Imrryr with him,
sailing through the skies on Flamefang, the great Melni-
bonean battle dragon, away to a peaceful castle in the
snow.

He awoke with a start.

It was the dead of night.

Even the noise from the tavern below had subsided.

He opened his eyes and saw Moonglum fast asleep
in the next bed.

He tried to return to sleep, but it was impossible. He
was sure that he could sense another presence in the
room. He reached out and gripped the hilt of Storm-
bringer, prepared to defend himself should any attackers
strike at him. Perhaps it was thieves who had heard of
his generosity towards the innkeeper?

He heard something move in the room and, again, he
opened his eyes.

She was standing there, her black hair curling over
her shoulders, her scarlet gown clinging to her body.
Her lips curved in a smile of irony and her eyes re-
garded him steadily.

She was the woman he had seen in the castle. The
sleeping woman. Was this part of the dream?

"Forgive me for thus intruding upon your slumber
and your privacy, my lord, but my business is urgent
and I have little time to spare."

Elric saw that Moonglum still slept as if in a drugged
slumber.

He sat upright in his bed. Stormbringer moaned softly
and then was silent.

"You seem to know me, my lady, but I do not—"

"I am called Myshella. ..."

"Empress of the Dawn?"

She smiled again. "Some have named me that. And
others have called me the Dark Lady of Kaneloon."

"Whom Aubec loved? Then you must have preserved
your youth carefully, Lady Myshella."

"No doing of mine. It is possible that I am immortal.
I do not know. I know only one thing and that is that
Time is a deception. . . ."

"Why do you come?"

"I cannot stay for long. I come to seek your aid."

"In what way?"

"We have an enemy in common, I believe."

"Theleb K'aarna?"

"The same."

"Did he place that enchantment upon you that made
you sleep?"

"Aye."

"And he sent his Oonai against me. That is how—"

She raised her hand.

"I sent the chimerae to find you and bring you to me.
They meant you no harm. But it was the only thing I
could do, for Theleb K'aarna's spell was already begin-
ning to work. I battle his sorcery, but it is strong and I
am unable to revive myself for more than very short
periods. This is one such period. Theleb K'aarna has

joined forces with Prince Umbda, Lord of the Kelmain
Hosts. Their plan is to conquer Lormyr and, ultimately,
the entire Southern world!"

"Who is this Umbda? I have heard neither of him nor
of the Kelmain Hosts. Some noble of Iosaz, perhaps,
who ..."

"Prince Umbda serves Chaos. He comes from the
lands beyond World's Edge and his Kelmain are not
men at all, though they have the appearance of men."

"So Theleb K'aarna was in the far south, after all."

"That is why I came to you tonight."

"You wish me to help you?"

"We both need Theleb K'aarna destroyed. His sor-
cery is what enabled Prince Umbda to cross World's
Edge. Now that sorcery is strengthened by what Umbda
brings—the friendship of Chaos. I protect Lormyr and
I serve Law. I know that you serve Chaos, yet I hope
your hatred of Theleb K'aarna overcomes that loyalty
for the moment."

"Chaos has not served me, of late, lady, so I'll for-
get that loyalty. I would have my vengeance on Theleb
K'aarna and if we can help each other in the matter, so
much the better."

"Good."

She gasped then and her eyes glazed. When next she
spoke it was with some difficulty.

"The enchantment is exerting its hold again. I have a
steed for you near the town's north gate. It will bear
you to an island in the Boiling Sea. On that island is a
palace called Ashaneloon. It is there that I have dwelt of
late, until I sensed Lormyr's danger . . ."

She pressed her hand to her brow and swayed.

". . . But Theleb K'aarna expected me to try to re-
turn there and he placed a guardian at the palace's gate.
That guardian must be destroyed. When you have de-
stroyed it you must go to the . . ."

Elric rose to help her, but she waved him away.

". . . to the eastern tower. In the tower's lower room
is a chest. In the chest is a large pouch of cloth-of-gold.
You must take that and—and bring it back to Kaneloon,

for Umbda and his Kelmain now march against the
castle. Theleb K'aarna will destroy the castle with their
help—and destroy me, also. With the pouch, I may
destroy them. But pray that I am able to wake, or the
South is doomed and even you will not be able to go
against the power that Theleb K'aarna will wield."

"What of Moonglum?" Elric glanced at his sleeping
friend. "Can he accompany me?"

"Best not. Besides, he has a light enchantment upon
him. There is no time to wake him. . . ." She gasped
again and flung her arms across her forehead. "No
time. ..."

Elric leaped from the bed and began to pull on his
breeks. He took his cloak from where it was draped
across a stool and he buckled on his runesword. He
went forward to help her, but she signalled him away.

"No. ... Go, please. . . ."

And she vanished.

Still half asleep Elric flung open the door and dashed
down the stairs, out into the night, racing for the north
gate of Alorosaz, passing through it and running on
through the snow, looking this way and that. The cold
flooded over him like a sudden wave. He was soon knee-
deep in snow. Peering about him he carried on until he
stopped in his tracks.

He gasped in astonishment when he saw the steed
which Myshella had provided for him.

"What's this? Another chimera?"

He approached it cautiously.

CHAPTER SIX
Jewelled Bird Speaking

It was a bird, but it was not a bird of flesh
and blood.

It was a bird of silver and of gold and of brass. Its
wings clashed as he approached it and it moved its
huge clawed feet impatiently, turning cold, emerald
eyes to regard him.

On its back was a saddle of carved onyx chased in
gold and copper and the saddle was empty, awaiting
him.

"Well, I began all this unquestioningly," Elric said
to himself. "I might as well complete it in the same
manner."

And he went up to the bird and he climbed up its
side and he lowered himself somewhat cautiously into
the saddle.

The wings of gold and silver flapped with the sound
of a hundred cymbals meeting and with three move-
ments had taken the bird of metal and its rider high up
into the night sky above Alorosaz. It turned its bright
head on its neck of brass and it opened its curved beak
of gem-studded steel.

"Well, master, I am commanded to take thee to Ash-
analoon."

Elric waved a pale hand. "Wherever you will. I am at
the mercy of you and your mistress."

And then he was jerked backward in the saddle as
the bird's wings beat the stronger and it gathered speed
and he was rushing through the freezing night, over
snowy plains, over mountains, over rivers, until the

coast came in sight and he saw the sea in the west which
was called the Boiling Sea.

Down through the pitch blackness dropped the bird
of gold and silver and now Elric felt damp heat strike
his face and hands, heard a peculiar bubbling sound,
and he knew they were flying over that strange sea said
to be fed by volcanoes lying deep below its surface, a
sea where no ships sailed.

Steam surrounded them now. Its heat was almost un-
bearable, but through it Elric began to make out the
silhouette of a landmass, a small rocky island on which
stood a single building and slender towers and turrets
and domes.

"The palace of Ashaneloon," said the bird of silver
and gold. "I will alight among the battlements, master,
but I fear that thing you must meet before our errand
is accomplished, so I will await you elsewhere. Then, if
you live, I will return to take you back to Kaneloon.
And, if you die, I will go back to tell my mistress of
your failure."

Over the battlements the bird now hovered, its wings
beating, and Elric reflected that there would be no ad-
vantage of surprise over whatever it was the bird
feared so much.

He swung one leg from the saddle, paused, and then
leapt down to the flat roof.

Hastily the bird retreated into the black sky.

Elric was alone.

All was silent, save for the drumming of warm waves
on a distant shore.

He located the eastern tower and began to make his
way towards the door. There was some chance, per-
haps, that he could complete his quest without the neces-
sity of facing the palace's guardian.

But then a monstrous bellow sounded behind him and
he wheeled, knowing that this must be the guardian. A
creature stood there, its red-rimmed eyes full of insen-
sate malice.

"So you are Theleb K'aarna's slave," said Elric. He
reached for Stormbringer and the sword seemed to

spring into his hand at its own volition. "Must I kill
you, or will you be gone now?"

The creature bellowed again, but it did not move.

The albino said: "I am Elric of Melnibone", last of a
line of great sorcerer kings. This blade I wield will do
more than kill you, friend demon. It will drink your
soul and feed it to me. Perhaps you have heard of me
by another name? By the name of the Soul Thief?"

The creature lashed its serrated tail and its bovine
nostrils distended. The horned head swayed on the
short neck and the long teeth gleamed in the darkness.
It reached out scaly claws and began to lumber towards
the Prince of Ruins.

Elric took the sword in both hands and spread his
feet wide apart on the flagstones and prepared to meet
the monster's charge. Foul breath struck his face. An-
other bellow and then it was upon him.

Stormbringer howled and spilled black radiance over
both. The runes carved in the blade glowed with a
greedy glow as the thing of Hell slashed at Elric's body
with its claws, ripping the shirt from him and baring his
chest.

The sword came down.

The demon roared as the scales of its shoulder re-
ceived the blow but did not part. It danced to one side
and attacked again. Elric swayed back, but now a thin
wound was opened in his arm from elbow to wrist.

Stormbringer struck for the second time and hit the
demon's snout so that it shrieked and lashed out once
more. Again its claws found Elric's body and blood
smeared his chest from a shallow cut.

Elric fell back, losing his footing on the stones. He
almost went down, but recovered his balance and de-
fended himself as best he could. The claws slashed at
him, but Stormbringer drove them to one side.

Elric began to pant and the sweat poured down his
face and he felt desperation well in him and then that
desperation took a different quality and his eyes glowed
and his lips snarled.

"Know you that I am Elric!" he cried. "Elric!"

Still the creature attacked.

"I am Elric—more demon than man! Begone, you
ill-shaped thing!"

The creature bellowed and pounced and this time El-
ric did not fall back, but, his face writhing in terrible
rage, reversed his grip on the runesword and plunged
it point first into the demon's open jaws.

He plunged the Black Sword down the stinking
throat, down into the torso.

He wrenched the blade so that it split jaw, neck,
chest and groin and the creature's life force began to
course along the length of the runesword. The claws
lashed out at him, but the creature was weakening.

Then the life force pulsed up the blade and reached
Elric who gasped and screamed in dark ecstasy as the
demon's energy poured into him. He withdrew the
blade and hacked and hacked at the body and still the
life-force flowed into him and gave greater power to
his blows. The demon groaned and dropped to the flag-
stones.

And it was done.

And a white-faced demon stood over the dead thing
of Hell and its crimson eyes blazed and its pale mouth
opened and it roared with wild laughter, flinging its
arms upward, the runesword flaming with a black and
horrid flame, and it howled a wordless, exultant song to
the Lords of Chaos.

There was silence suddenly.

And then it bowed its head and it wept.

Now Elric opened the door to the eastern tower and
stumbled through absolute blackness until he came to
the lowest room. The door to the room was locked and
barred, but Stormbringer smashed through it and the
Last Lord of Melnibone entered a lighted room in which
squatted a chest of iron.

His sword sundered the bands securing the chest and
he flung open the lid and saw that there were many
wonders in the chest, as well as the pouch made from
cloth-of-gold, but he picked out only the pouch and

tucked it into his belt as he raced from the room, back
to the battlements where the bird of silver and gold
stood pecking with its steel beak at the remnants of
Theleb K'aarna's servant.

It looked up as Elric returned. In its eyes was an ex-
pression almost of humour.

"Well, master, we must make haste to Kaneloon."

"Aye."

Nausea had begun to fill Elric. His eyes were gloomy
as he contemplated the corpse and that which he had
stolen from it. Such life force, whatever else it was,
must surely be tainted. Did not he drink something of
the demon's evil when his sword drank its soul?

He was about to climb back into the onyx saddle
when he saw something gleaming amongst the black
and yellow entrails he had spilled. It was the demon's
heart—an irregularly shaped stone of deep blue and
purple and green. It still pulsed, though its owner was
dead.

Elric stooped and picked it up. It was wet and so hot
that it almost burned his hand, but he tucked it into
his pouch, then mounted the bird of silver and gold.

His bone-white face flickered with a dozen strange
emotions as he let the bird bear him back over the Boil-
ing Sea. His milk-white hair flew wildly behind him and
he was oblivious of the wounds on his arm and chest.

He was thinking of other things. Some of his thoughts
lay in the past and others were in the future. And he
laughed bitterly twice and his eyes shed tears and he
spoke once.

"Ah, what agony is this Life!"

CHAPTER SEVEN
Black Wizard Laughing

To Kaneloon they came in the early dawn
and in the distance Elric saw a massive army darkening
the snow and he knew it must be the Kelmain Host, led
by Theleb K'aarna and Prince Umbda, marching
against the lonely castle.

The bird of gold and silver flapped down in the snow
outside the castle's entrance and Elric dismounted. Then
the bird had risen into the air again and was gone.

The great gate of Castle Kaneloon was closed this
time and he gathered his tattered cloak about his naked
torso and he hammered on the gate with his fists and
he forced a cry from his dry lips.

"Myshella! Myshella!"

There was no answer.

"Myshella! I have returned with that which you
need!"

He feared she must have fallen into her enchanted
slumber again. He looked towards the south and the
dark tide had rolled a little closer to the castle.

"Myshella!"

Then he heard a bar being drawn and the gates
groaned open and there stood Moonglum, his face
strained and his eyes full of something of which he
could not speak.

"Moonglum! How came you here?"

"I know not how, Elric." Moonglum stepped aside
so that Elric could enter. He replaced the bar. "I lay
in my bed last night when a woman came to me—the
same woman we saw, sleeping, here. She said I must

go with her. And somehow go I did. But I know not
how, Elric. I know not how."

"And where is that woman?"

"Where we first saw her. She sleeps and I cannot
wake her."

Elric drew a deep breath and told, briefly, what he
knew of Myshella and the host that came against her
Castle Kaneloon.

"Do you know the contents of that pouch?" Moon-
glum asked.

Elric shook his head and opened the pouch to peer
inside. "It seems to be nothing but a pinkish dust. Yet
it must be some powerful sorcery if Myshella believes
it can defeat the entire Kelmain Host."

Moonglum frowned. "But surely Myshella must work
the charm herself if only she knows what it is?"

"Aye."

"And Theleb K'aarna has enchanted her."

"Aye."

"And now it is too late, for Umbda—whoever he
may be—nears the castle."

"Aye." Elric's hand trembled as he drew from his
belt the thing he had taken from the demon just before
he left the Palace of Ashaneloon. "Unless this is the
stone I think it is."

"What is that?"

"I know a legend. Some demons possess these stones
as hearts." He held it to the light so that the blues
and purples and greens writhed. "I have never seen one,
but I believe it to be the thing I once sought for
Cymoril when I tried to lift my cousin's charm from
her. What I sought but never found was a Nanorion.
A stone of magical powers said to be able to waken
the dead—or those in deathlike sleep."

"And that is a Nanorion. It will awaken Myshella?"

"If anything can, then this will, for I took it from
Theleb K'aarna's own demon and that must improve
the efficaciousness of the magic. Come." Elric strode
through the hall and up the stairs until he came to
Myshella's room where she lay, as he had seen her

before, on the bed hung with draperies, her wall hung
with shields and weapons.

"Now I understand why these arms decorate her
chamber," Moonglum said. "According to legend, these
are the shields and weapons of all those who loved
Myshella and championed her cause."

Elric nodded and said, as if to himself, "Aye, she
was ever an enemy of Melnibone was the Empress
of the Dawn."

He held the pulsing stone delicately and reached out
to place it on her forehead.

"It makes no difference," Moonglum said after a
moment. "She does not stir."

"There is a rune, but I remember it not. . . ." Elric
pressed his fingers to his temples. "I remember it
not. ..."

Moonglum went to the window. "We can ask Theleb
K'aarna, perhaps," he said ironically. "He will be here
soon enough."

Then Moonglum saw that there were tears again in
Elric's eyes and that he had turned away, hoping
Moonglum would not see. Moonglum cleared his
throat. "I have some business below. Call me if you
should require my help."

He left the room and closed the door and Elric was
alone with the woman who seemed, increasingly, a
dreadful phantom from his most frightful dreams.

He controlled his feverish mind and tried to disci-
pline it, to remember the crucial runes in the High
Speech of Old Melnibone.

"Gods!" he hissed. "Help me!"

But he knew that in this matter in particular the
Lords of Chaos would not assist him—would hinder
him if they could, for Myshella was one of the chief
instruments of Law upon the Earth, had been respon-
sible for driving Chaos from the world.

He fell to his knees beside her bed, bis hands
clenched, his face twisting with the effort.

And then it came back to him. His head still bent,
he stretched out his right hand and touched the puls-

ing stone, stretched out his left hand and rested it
upon Myshella's navel, and he began a chant in an
ancient tongue that had been spoken before true men
had ever walked the Earth. ...

"Elric!"

Moonglum burst into the room and Elric was
wrenched from his trance.

"Elric! We are invaded! Their advance riders. . . ."

"What?"

"They have broken into the castle—a dozen of
them. I fought them off and barred the way up to
this tower, but they are hacking at the door now. I
think they have been sent to destroy Myshella if they
could. They were surprised to discover me here."

Elric rose and looked carefully down at Myshella.
The rune was finished and had been repeated almost
through again when Moonglum had come in. She did
not stir yet.

"Theleb K'aarna worked his sorcery from a dis-
tance," Moonglum said. "Ensuring that Myshella would
not resist him. But he did not reckon with us."

He and Elric hurried from the room, down the steps
to where a door was bulging and splintering beneath
the weapons of those beyond.

"Stand back, Moonglum."

Elric drew the crooning runesword, lifted it high
and brought it against the door.

The door split and two oddly shaped skulls were
split with it.

The remainder of the attackers fell back with cries
of astonishment and horror as the white-faced reaver
fell upon them, his huge sword drinking their souls
and singing its strange, undulating song.

Down the stairs Elric pursued them. Into the hall
where they bunched together and prepared to defend
themselves from this demon with his hell-forged blade.

And Elric laughed.

And they shuddered.

And their weapons trembled in their hands.

"So you are the mighty Kelmain," Elric sneered.
"No wonder you needed sorcery to aid you if you are
so cowardly. Have you not heard, beyond World's
Edge, of Elric Kinslayer?"

But the Kelmain plainly did not understand his
speech, which was strange enough in itself, for he had
spoken in the Common Tongue, known to all men.

These people had golden skins and eye-sockets that
were almost square. Their faces, in all, seemed crudely
carved from rock, all sharp angles and planes, and their
armour was not rounded, but angular.

Elric bared his teeth in a smile and the Kelmain
drew closer together.

Then he screamed with dreadful laughter and Moon-
glum stepped back and did not look at what took
place.

The runesword swung. Heads and limbs were
chopped away. Blood gouted. Souls were taken. The
Kelmain's dead faces bore expressions showing that
before the life was drawn from them they had known
the truth of their appalling fate.

And Stormbringer drank again, for Stormbringer was
a thirsty hellsword.

And Elric felt his deficient veins swell with even
more energy than that which he had taken earlier from
Theleb K'aarna's demon.

The hall shook with Elric's insane mirth and he
strode over the piled corpses and he went through the
open gateway to where the great host waited.

And he shouted a name:

"Theleb K'aarna, Theleb K'aarna!"

Moonglum ran after him, calling for him to stop,
but Elric did not heed him. Elric strode on through the
snow, his sword dripping a red trail behind him.

Under a cold sun, the Kelmain were riding for the
castle called Kaneloon and Elric went to meet them.

At their head, on slender horses, rode the dark-faced
sorcerer of Pan Tang, dressed in flowing robes, and
beside him was the Prince of the Kelmain Host, Prince
Umbda, in proud armour, bizarre plumes nodding on

his helm, a triumphant smile on his strange, angular
features.

Behind, the host dragged oddly-fashioned wargear
which, for all its oddness, looked powerful—mightier
than anything Lormyr could rally when the huge army
fell upon her.

As the lone figure appeared and began to walk away
from the walls of Castle Kaneloon Theleb K'aarna
raised his hand and stopped the host's advance, reining
in his own horse and laughing.

"Why, it is the jackal of Melnibone, by all the Gods
of Chaos! He acknowledges his master at last and
comes to deliver himself up to me!"

Elric came closer and Theleb K'aarna laughed on.
"Here, Elric—kneel before me!"

Elric did not pause, seemed not to hear the Pan
Tangian's words.

Prince Umbda's eyes were troubled and he said
something in a strange tongue. Theleb K'aarna sniffed
and replied in the same language.

And still the albino marched through the snow
towards the huge host.

"By Chardros, Elric, stop!" cried Theleb K'aarna,
his horse shifting nervously beneath him. "If you have
come to bargain you are a fool. Kaneloon and her
mistress must fall before Lormyr is ours—and Lormyr
shall be ours, there's no doubting that!"

Then Eric did stop and he brought up his eyes to
burn into those of the sorcerer and there was a still,
cold smile upon his pale lips.

Theleb K'aarna tried to meet Elric's gaze but could
not. His voice trembled when he next spoke.

"You cannot defeat the whole Kelmain Host!"

"I have no wish to, conjurer. Your life is all I de-
sire."

The sorcerer's face twitched. "Well, you shall not
have it! Hai, men of the Kelmain, take him!"

He wheeled his horse and rode into the protective
ranks of his warriors, calling out his orders in their own
tongue.

From the castle another figure burst, rushing to join
Elric.

It was Moonglum of Elwher, a sword in either hand.

Elric half-turned.

"Elric! We'll die together!"

"Stay back, Moonglum!"

Moonglum hesitated.

"Stay back, if you love me!"

Moonglum reluctantly retreated to the castle.

The Kelmain horsemen swept in, broad-bladed
straight swords raised, instantly surrounding the albino.

They threatened him, hoping that he would lay down
his sword and let himself be captured. But Elric smiled.

Stormbringer began to sing. Elric grasped the sword
in both hands, bent his elbows then suddenly held the
blade straight out before him.

He began to whirl like a Tarkeshite dancer, round
and round, and it was as if the sword dragged him faster
and faster while it gouged and gashed and decapitated
the Kelmain horsemen.

For a moment they fell back, leaving their dead com-
rades heaped about the albino, but Prince Umbda, after
a hurried conference with Theleb K'aarna, urged them
upon Elric again.

And Elric swung his blade once more, but not so
many of the Kelmain perished this tune.

Armoured body fell against armoured body, blood
mingled with brother's blood, horses dragged corpses
away with them across the snow and Elric did not fall,
yet something was happening to him.

Then it dawned upon his berserker brain that, for
some reason, his blade was sated. The energy still pulsed
in its metal, but it transferred nothing more to its mas-
ter. And his own stolen energy was beginning to wane.

"Damn you, Stormbringer! Give me your power!"

Swords rained down upon him as he fought and slew
and parried and thrust.

"More power!"

He was still stronger than normal and much stronger
than any ordinary mortal, but some of the wild anger

was leaving him and he felt almost puzzled as more
Kelmain came at him.

He was beginning to waken from the blood-dream.

He shook his head and drew deep breaths. His back
was aching.

"Give me their strength, Black Sword!"

He struck at legs and arms and chests and faces and
he was covered from head to foot in the blood of bis
attackers.

But the dead now hampered him worse than the liv-
ing, for their corpses were everywhere and he almost
lost his footing more than once.

"What ails you, runesword? Do you refuse to help
me? Will you not fight these things because, like you,
they are of Chaos?"

No, it could not be that. All that had happened was
that the sword desired no more vitality and therefore
gave Elric none.

He fought on for another hour before his grip on the
sword weakened and a rider, half-mad with terror,
struck a blow at his head, failed to split it but stunned
him so that he fell upon the bodies of the slain, tried to
rise, then was struck again and lost consciousness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A Great Host Screaming

"It was more than I hoped," murmured
Theleb K'aarna in satisfaction, "but we have taken him
alive!"

Elric opened his eyes and looked with hatred on the
sorcerer who was stroking his black forked beard as if
to comfort himself.

Elric could barely remember the events which had
brought him here and placed him in the sorcerer's
power. He remembered much blood, much laughter,
much dying, but it was all fading, like the memory of
a dream.

"Well, renegade, your foolishness was unbelievable.
I thought you must have an army behind you. But
doubtless it was your fear which unbalanced your poor
brain. Still, I'll not speculate upon the cause of my own
good fortune. There's many a bargain I can strike with
the denizens of other planes, were I to offer them your
soul. And your body I will keep for myself—to show
Queen Yishana what I did to her lover before he
died. ..."

Elric laughed shortly and looked about him, ignoring
Theleb K'aarna.

The Kelmain were awaiting orders. They had still not
marched on Kaneloon. The sun was low in the sky. He
saw the pile of corpses behind him. He saw the hatred
and fear on the faces of the golden-skinned Host and
he smiled again.

"I do not love Yishana," he said distantly, as if
scarcely aware of Theleb K'aarna's presence. "It is your
jealous heart that makes you think so. I left Yishana's

side to find you. It is never love that moves Elric of
Melnibone, sorcerer, but always hatred."

"I do not believe you," Theleb K'aarna tittered.
"When the whole South falls to me and my comrades,
then will I court Yishana and offer to make her Queen
of all the West as well as all the South. Our forces
united, we shall dominate the Earth!"

"You Pan Tangians were ever an insecure breed, for-
ever planning conquest for its own sake, forever seeking
to destroy the equilibrium of the Young Kingdoms."

"One day," sneered Theleb K'aarna, "Pan Tang will
have an empire that will make the Bright Empire seem
a mere flickering ember in the fire of history. But it is
not for the glory of Pan Tang that I do this. . . ."

"It is for Yishana? By the gods, sorcerer, then I am
glad I'm motivated by hatred and not by love, for I do
not half the damage, it seems, done by those in love...."

"I will lay the south at Yishana's feet and she may
use it as she pleases!"

"I am bored by this. What do you intend to do with
me?"

"First I will hurt your body. I will hurt it delicately
to begin with, building up the pain, until I have you in
the proper frame of mind. Then I will consort with the
Lords of the Higher Planes to find which will give me
most for your soul."

"And what of Kaneloon?"

"The Kelmain will deal with Kaneloon. One knife is
all that's needed now to slit Myshella's throat as she
sleeps."

"She is protected."

Theleb K'aarna's brow darkened. Then it cleared
and he laughed again.

"Aye, but the gate will fall soon enough and your
little redhaired friend will perish as Myshella perishes."

He ran his fingers through his oiled ringlets.

"I am allowing, at Prince Umbda's request, the Kel-
main to rest a while before storming the castle. But
Kaneloon will be burning by nightfall."

Elric looked towards the castle across the trampled

snow. Plainly his nines had failed to counter Theleb
K'aarna's spell.

"I would. . . ." He began to speak when he paused.

He had seen a flash of gold and silver among the
battlements and a thought without shape had entered
his head and made him hesitate.

"What?" Theleb K'aarna asked him harshly.

"Nothing. I merely wondered where my sword was."

The sorcerer shrugged. "Nowhere you can reach it,
reaver. We left it where you dropped it. The stinking
hellblade is no use to us. And none to you, now. . . ."

Elric wondered what would happen if he made a
direct appeal to the sword. He could not get to it him-
self, for Theleb K'aarna had bound him tightly with
ropes of silk, but he might call for it. ...

He lifted himself to his feet.

"Would you seek to run away, White Wolf?" The-
leb K'aarna watched him nervously.

Elric smiled again. "I wished for a better view of
the coming conquest of Kaneloon. Just that."

The sorcerer drew a curved knife.

Elric swayed, his eyes half-closed, and he began to
murmur a name beneath his breath.

Theleb K'aarna leapt forward and his arm encircled
Elric's head while the knife pricked into the albino's
throat. "Be silent, jackal!"

But Elric knew that he had no other means of helping
himself and, for all it was a desperate scheme, he mur-
mured the words once more, praying that Theleb
K'aarna's lust for a slow revenge would make the
sorcerer hesitate before killing him.

Theleb K'aarna cursed, trying to prise Elric's mouth
open.

"The first thing I'll do is cut out that damned tongue of yours!"

Elric bit the hand and tasted the sorcerer's blood.
He spat it out.

Theleb K'aarna screamed. "By Chardros, if I did
not wish to see you die over the months, I would . . ."

And then a sound came from the Kelmain.

It was a moan of surprise and it issued from every
throat.

Theleb K'aarna turned and the breath hissed from
between his clenched teeth.

Through the murky dusk a black shape moved. It
was the sword, Stormbringer.

Elric had called it.

Now he cried aloud:

"Stormbringer! Stormbringer! To me!"

Theleb K'aarna flung Elric in the path of the sword
and rushed into the security of the gathered ranks of
Kelmain warriors.

"Stormbringer!"

The black sword hovered in the air near Elric.

Another shout went up from the Kelmain. A shape
had left the battlements of Castle Kaneloon.

Theleb K'aarna shouted in hysteria. "Prince
Umbda! Prepare your men for the attack! I sense
danger to us!"

Umbda could not understand the sorcerer's words
and Theleb K'aarna was forced to translate them.

"Do not let the sword reach him!" cried the sorcerer.
Once more he shouted in the language of the Kelmain
and several warriors ran forward to grasp the rune-
sword before it could reach its albino master.

But the sword struck rapidly and the Kelmain died
and none dared approach it after that.

Slowly Stormbringer moved towards Elric.

"Ah, Elric," cried Theleb K'aarna, "if you escape
me this day, I swear that I shall find you."

"And if you escape me," Elric shouted back, "I
will find you, Theleb K'aarna. Be sure of that."

The shape that had left Castle Kaneloon had feathers
of silver and gold. It flew high above the Host and
hovered for a moment before moving to the outer
edges of the gathering. Elric could not see it clearly,
but he knew what it was. That was why he had sum-
moned the sword, for he had an idea that Moonglum
rode the giant bird of metal and that the Elwherian
would try to rescue him.

"Do not let it land! It comes to save the albino!"
screamed Theleb K'aarna.

But the Kelmain Host did not understand him. Un-
der Prince Umbda's commands they were preparing
themselves for the. attack upon the castle.

Theleb K'aarna repeated his orders in their own
tongue, but it was plain they were beginning not to
trust him and could not see the need to bother them-
selves with one man and a strange bird of metal. It
could not stop their engines of war. Neither could the
man.

"Stormbringer," whispered Elric as the sword sliced
through his bonds and gently settled in his hand. Elric
was free, but the Kelmain, though not placing the
same importance upon him as did Theleb K'aarna,
showed that they were not prepared to let him escape
now that the blade was in his grasp and not moving of
its own volition.

Prince Umbda shouted something.

A huge mass of warriors rushed at Elric at once and
he made no effort to take the attack to them this time
for he was interested in fighting a defensive strategy
until Moonglum could descend on the bird and help
him.

But the bird was even further away. It appeared to
be circling the outer perimeters of the host and showed
no interest in his plight at all.

Had he been deceived?

He parried a dozen thrusts, letting the Kelmain war-
riors crowd in upon each other and thus hamper them-
selves. The bird of gold and silver was almost out of
sight now.

And Theleb K'aarna—where was he?

Elric tried to find him, but the sorcerer was doubt-
less somewhere in the centre of the Kelmain ranks by
now.

Elric killed a golden-skinned warrior, slitting his
throat with the point of the runesword. More strength
began to flow into him again. He killed another Kel-
main with an overarm movement which split the man's

shoulder. But nothing could be gained from this fight
if Moonglum was not coming on the bird of silver and
gold.

The bird seemed to change course and come back
towards Kaneloon. Was it merely waiting for instruc-
tions from its sleeping mistress? Or was it refusing to
obey Moonglum's commands?

Elric backed through the muddy, bloody snow so
that the pile of corpses now lay behind him. He fought
on, but with very little hope.

The bird went past, far to his right.

Elric thought ironically that he had completely mis-
taken the significance of the bird's leaving the castle
battlements and by mistiming his decision had merely
brought his death closer—perhaps Myshella's and
Moonglum's deaths closer, too.

Kaneloon was doomed. Myshella was doomed.
Lormyr and perhaps the whole of the Young King-
doms were doomed.

And he was doomed.

It was then that a shadow passed across the battling
men and the Kelmain screamed and fell back as a
great din rent the air.

Elric looked up in relief, hearing the sound of the
metal bird's clashing wings. He looked for Moonglum
in the saddle and saw instead the tense face of Myshella
herself, her hair blowing around her face as it was
disturbed by the beating wings.

"Quickly, Lord Elric, before they close in again."

Elric sheathed the runesword and leapt towards the
saddle, swinging himself behind the Sorceress of Kane-
loon. Then they rose into the air again, while arrows
hurtled around their heads and bounced off the bird's
metal feathers.

"One more circuit of the Host and then we return
to the castle," she said. "Your rune and the Nanorion
worked to defeat Theleb K'aarna's enchantment, but
they took longer than either of us would have liked.
See, already Prince Umbda is ordering his men to

mount and ride to Castle Kaneloon. And Kaneloon has
only Moonglum to defend her now."

"Why this circuit of Umbda's army?"

"You will see. At least, I hope you will see, my lord."

She began to sing a song. It was a strange, disturbing
chant in a language not dissimilar to the Melnibonean
High Speech, yet different enough for Elric to under-
stand only a few words, for it was oddly accented.

Around the camp they flew. Elric saw the Kelmain
form their ranks into battle order. Doubtless Umbda
and Theleb K'aarna had by now decided on the best
mode of attack.

Then back to the castle beat the great bird, settling
on the battlements and allowing Elric and Myshella to
dismount. Moonglum, his features taut, came running
to meet them.

They went to look at the Kelmain.

And they saw that the Kelmain were on the move.

"What did you do to—" began Elric, but Myshella
raised her hand.

"Perhaps I did nothing. Perhaps the sorcery will not
work."

"What was it you . . . ?"

"I scattered the contents of the purse you brought.
I scattered it around their whole army. Watch. . . ."

"And if the spell has not worked—" Moonglum
murmured. He paused, straining his eyes through the
gloom. "What is that?"

Myshella's satisfied tone was almost ghoulish as she
said: "It is the Noose of Flesh."

Something was growing out of the snow. Something
pink that quivered. Something huge. A great mass that
arose on all sides of the Kelmain and made their horses
rear up and snort.

And it made the Kelmain shriek.

The stuff was like flesh and it had grown so high
that the whole Kelmain Host was obscured from sight.
There were noises as they tried to train their battle-
engines upon the stuff and blast their way through.

There were shouts. But not a single horseman broke
out of the Noose of Flesh.

Then the substance began to fold in over the Kel-
main and Elric heard a sound such as none he had
heard before.

It was a voice.

A voice of a hundred thousand men all facing an
identical terror, all dying an identical death.

It was a moan of desperation, of hopelessness, of
fear.

But it was a moan so loud that it shook the walls of
Castle Kaneloon.

"It is no death for a warrior," murmured Moonglum,
turning away.

"But it was the only weapon we had," said Myshella.
"I have possessed it for a good many years but never
before did I feel the need to use it."

"Of them all, only Theleb K'aarna deserved that
death," said Elric.

Night fell and the Noose of Flesh tightened around
the Kelmain Host, crushing all but a few horses which
had run free as the sorcery began to work.

It crushed Prince Umbda, who spoke no language
known in the Young Kingdoms, who spoke no lan-
guage known to the ancients, who had come to conquer
from beyond the World's Edge.

It crushed Theleb K'aarna, who had sought, for the
sake of his love for a wanton Queen, to conquer the
world with the aid of Chaos.

It crushed all the warriors of that near-human race,
the Kelmain. And it crushed all who could have told
the watchers what the Kelmain had been or from where
they had originated.

Then it absorbed them. Then it flickered and dis-
solved and was dust again.

No piece of flesh—man's nor beast's—remained.
But over the snow was scattered clothing, arms, ar-
mour, siege engines, riding accoutrements, coins, belt-
buckles, for as far as the eye could see.

Myshella nodded to herself. "That was the Noose of

Flesh," she said. "I thank you for bringing it to me,
Elric. I thank you, also, for finding the stone which
revived me. I thank you for saving Lormyr."

"Aye," said Elric. "Thank me." There was a weari-
ness on him now. He turned away, shivering.

Snow had begun to fall again.

"Thank me for nothing, Lady Myshella. What I did
was to satisfy my own dark urges, to sate my thirst for
vengeance. I have destroyed Theleb K'aarna. The rest
was incidental. I care nought for Lormyr, the Young
Kingdoms, or any of your causes. ..."

Moonglum saw that Myshella had a sceptical look
in her eyes and she smiled slightly.

Elric entered the castle and began to descend the
steps to the hall.

"Wait," Myshella said. "This castle is magical. It
reflects the desires of any who enter it—should I wish
it."

Elric rubbed at his eyes. "Then plainly we have no
desires. Mine are satisfied now that Theleb K'aarna is
destroyed. I would leave this place now, my lady."

"You have none?" said she.

He looked at her directly. He frowned. "Regret
breeds weakness. Regret achieves nothing. Regret is
like a disease which attacks the internal organs and at
last destroys. . . ."

"And you have no desires?"

He hesitated. "I understand you. Your own appear-
ance, I'll admit. . . ." He shrugged. "But are you—?"

She spread her hands. "Do not ask too many ques-
tions of me." She made another gesture. "Now. See.
This castle becomes what you most desire. And in it,
the things you most desire!"

And Elric looked about him, his eyes widening, and
he began to scream.

He fell to his knees in terror. He turned pleadingly
to her.

"No, Myshella! No. I do not desire this!"

Hastily she made yet another sign.

Moonglum helped his friend to his feet. "What was
it? What did you see?"

Elric straightened his back and rested his hand on
his sword and said grimly and quietly to Myshella:

"Lady, I would kill you for that if I did not under-
stand you sought only to please me."

He studied the ground for a moment before contin-
uing:

"Know this. Elric cannot have what he desires most.
What he desires does not exist. What he desires is
dead. All Elric has is sorrow, guilt, malice, hatred.
This is all he deserves and all he will ever desire."

She put her hands to her own face and walked back
to the room where he had first seen her. Elric followed.

Moonglum started after them but then he stopped and
remained where he stood.

He watched them enter the room and saw the door
close.

He walked back on to the battlements and stared
into the darkness. He saw wings of silver and gold
flashing in the moonlight and they became smaller and
smaller until they had vanished.

He sighed. It was cold.

He went back into the castle and settled himself
with his back against a pillar, preparing to sleep.

But a little while later he heard laughter come from
the room in the highest tower.

And the laughter sent him running through the pas-
sages, through the great hall where the fire had died,
out of the door, into the night to seek the stables where
he could feel more secure.

But he could not sleep that night, for the distant
laughter still pursued him.

And the laughter continued until morning.

BOOK TWO

To Snare the Pale Prince

"... but it was in Nadsokor, City of
Beggars, that Elric found an old
friend and learned something con-
cerning an old enemy ..."

—The Chronicle of the Black Sword

CHAPTER ONE

The Beggar Court

Nadsokor, city of Beggars, was infamous
throughout the Young Kingdoms. Lying near the shores
of that ferocious river, the Varkalk, and not too far from
the Kingdom of Org in which blossomed the frightful
Forest of Troos, and exuding a stink which seemed
thick enough ten miles distant, Nadsokor was plagued
by few visitors.

From this unlovely place sallied out her citizens to
beg their way about the world and steal what they
could and bring it back to Nadsokor where half of their
profits were handed over to their king in return for his
protection.

Their king had ruled for many years. He was called
Urish the Seven-fingered, for he had but four fingers
on his right hand and three upon his left. Veins had
burst all over his once handsome face and filthy, in-
fested hair framed that seedy countenance upon which
age and grime had traced a thousand lines. From out
of all this ruin peered two bright, pale eyes.

As the symbol of his power Urish had a great cleaver
called Hackmeat which was forever at his side. His
throne was of crudely carved black oak, studded with
bits of raw gold, bones and semi-precious gems. Be-
neath this throne was Urish's Hoard—a chest of trea-
sure which he let none but himself look upon.

For the best part of every day Urish would lounge on
his throne, presiding over a gloomy, festering hall
throned with his Court: a rabble of rascals too foul in
appearance and disposition to be tolerated anywhere
but here.

For heat and light there burned permanently braziers
of garbage which gave out oily smoke and a stink which
dominated all the other stinks in the hall.

And now there was a visitor at Urish's Court.

He stood before the dais on which the throne was
mounted and from time to time he raised a heavily
scented kerchief to his red, full lips.

His face, which was normally dark in complexion,
was somewhat grey and his eyes had something of a
haunted, tortured look in them as they glanced from
begrimed beggar to pile of rubbish to guttering brazier.
Dressed in the loose brocade robes of the folk of Pan
Tang, the visitor had black eyes, a great hooked nose,
blue-black ringlets and a curling beard. Kerchief to
mouth, he bowed low when he reached Urish's throne.

As always, greed, weakness and malice mingled to
form King Urish's expression as he regarded the
stranger whom one of his courtiers had but lately an-
nounced.

Urish had recognised the name and he believed he
could guess the Pan Tangian's business here.

"I heard you were dead, Theleb K'aarna—killed be-
yond Lormyr, near World's Edge." Urish grinned to
display the black crags which were the rotting remains
of his teeth.

Theleb K'aarna removed the kerchief from his lips
and his voice was strangled at first, gaining strength as
he remembered the wrongs recently done him. "My
magic is not so weak I cannot escape a spell such as
was woven that day. I conjured myself below the ground
while Myshella's Noose of Flesh engulfed the Kelmain
Host."

Urish's disgusting grin widened.

"You crept into a hole, is that it?"

The sorcerer's eyes burned fiercely. "I'll not dispute
the strength of my powers with—"

He broke off and drew a deep breath which he at
once regretted. He stared warily around him at the
Beggar Court, all manged and maimed, which had de-

posited itself about the filthy hall, mocking him. The
beggars of Nadsokor knew the power of poverty and
disease—knew how it terrified those who were not
used to it. And thus their very squalor was their safe-
guard against intruders.

A repulsive cough which might have been a laugh
now seized King Urish. "And was it your magic that
brought you here?" As his whole body shook his blood-
shot eyes continued, beadily, to regard the sorcerer.

"I have travelled across the seas and all across Vilmir
to be here," Theleb K'aarna said, "because I had heard
there was one you hated above all others. . . ."

"And we hate all others—all who are not beggars,"
Urish reminded him. The king chuckled and the chuckle
became, once more, a throaty, convulsive cough.

"But you hate Elric of Melnibone most."

"Aye. It would be fair to say that. Before he won
fame as the Kinslayer, the traitor of Imrryr, he came to
Nadsokor to deceive us, disguised as a leper who had
begged his way from the Eastlands beyond Karlaak. He
tricked me disgracefully and stole something from my
Hoard. And my Hoard is sacred—I will not let another
even glimpse it!"

"I heard he stole a scroll from you," Theleb K'aarna
said. "A spell which had once belonged to his cousin
Yyrkoon. Yyrkoon wished to be rid of Elric and let
him believe that the spell would release the Princess
Cymoril from her sorcerous slumber. . . ."

"Aye. Yyrkoon had given the scroll to one of our
citizens when he went a-begging to the gates of Imrryr.
He then told Elric what he had done. Elric disguised
himself and came here. With the aid of sorcery he
gained access to my Hoard—my sacred Hoard—and
plucked the scroll from it. . . ."

Theleb K'aarna looked sideways at the Beggar King.
"Some would say that it was not Elric's fault—that
Yyrkoon was to blame. He deceived you both. The spell
did not awaken Cymoril, did it?"

"No. But we have a Law in Nadsokor. . ." Urish
raised the great cleaver Hackmeat and displayed its

ragged, rusty blade. For all its battered appearance, it
was a fearsome weapon. "That Law says that any man
who looks upon the sacred Hoard of King Urish must
die and die most horribly—at the hands of the Burning
God!"

"And none of your wandering citizens have yet man-
aged to take this vengeance?"

"I must pass the sentence personally upon him be-
fore he dies. He must come again to Nadsokor, for it is
only here that he may be acquainted with his doom."

Theleb K'aarna said: "I have no love for Elric."

Urish once more voiced the sound that was half
laugh, half wheezing cough. "Aye—I have heard he has
chased you all across the Young Kingdoms, that you
have brought more and more powerful sorceries against
him, yet every time he has defeated you."

Theleb K'aarna frowned. "Have a care, King Urish. I
have had bad luck, yet I am still one of Pan Tang's
greatest sorcerers."

"But you spend your powers freely and claim much
from the Lords of Chaos. One day they will be tired of
helping you and find another to do their work." King
Urish closed soiled lips over black teeth. His pale eyes
did not blink as he studied Theleb K'aarna.

There were stirrings in the hall, the Beggar Court
moved in closer: the click of a crutch, the scrape of a
staff, the shuffle of misshapen feet. Even the oily smoke
from the braziers seemed to menace him as it drifted
reluctantly into the darkness of the roof.

King Urish put one hand upon Hackmeat and the
other upon his chin. Broken nails caressed stubble.
From somewhere behind Theleb K'aarna a beggar
woman let forth an obscene noise and then giggled.

Almost as if to comfort himself the sorcerer placed
the scented kerchief firmly over his mouth and nostrils.
He began to draw himself up, prepared to deal with an
attack if it came.

"But you still have your powers now, I take it," said
Urish suddenly, breaking the tension. "Or you would
not be here."

"My powers increase. . . ."

"For the moment, perhaps."

"My powers . . ."

"I take it you come with a scheme which you hope
will result in Elric's destruction," continued Urish
easily. The beggars relaxed. Only Theleb K'aarna now
showed any signs of discomfort. Urish's bright, blood-
shot eyes were sardonic. "And you desire our help
because you know we hate the white-faced reaver of
Melnibone."

Theleb K'aarna nodded. "Would you hear the details
of my plan?"

Urish shrugged. "Why not? At least they may be
entertaining."

Unhappily, Theleb K'aarna looked about him at the
corrupt and tittering crew. He wished he knew a spell
which would disperse the stink.

He took a deep breath through his kerchief and then
began to speak. ...

CHAPTER TWO
The Stolen Ring

On the other side of the tavern the young
dandy pretended to order another skin of wine while
actually taking a sly look towards the corner where
Elric sat.

Then the dandy leaned towards his compatriots—
merchants and young nobles of several nations—and
continued his murmured discourse.

The subject of that discourse, Elric knew, was Elric.
Normally he was disdainful of such behaviour, but he
was weary and he was impatient for Moonglum to re-
turn. He was almost tempted to order the young dandy
to desist, if only to pass the time.

Elric was beginning to regret his decision to visit
Old Hrolmar.

This rich city was a great meeting place for all the
imaginative people of the Young Kingdoms. To it came
explorers, adventurers, mercenaries, craftsmen, mer-
chants, painters and poets for, under the rule of the
famous Duke Avan Astran, this Vilmirian city state
was undergoing a transformation in its character.

Duke Avan was himself a man who had explored
most of the world and had brought back great wealth
and knowledge to Old Hrolmar. Its riches and its in-
tellectual life attracted more riches, more intellectuals
and so Old Hrolmar flourished.

But where riches are and where intellectuals are, then
gossip also flourishes, for if there is any breed of man
who gossips more than the merchant or the sailor then
it is the poet and the painter. And, naturally enough,
there was much gossip concerning the doom-driven

albino, Elric, already a hero of several ballads by poets
not over-talented.

Elric had allowed himself to be brought to the city
because Moonglum had said it was the best place to
find an income. Elric's carelessness with their wealth
had made near-paupers of them, not for the first time,
and they were in need of provisions and fresh steeds.

Elric had been for skirting Old Hrolmar and riding
on towards Tanelorn, where they had decided to go, but
Moonglum had argued reasonably that they would need
better horses and more food and equipment for the
long ride across the Vilmirian and Ilmioran plains to
the edge of the Sighing Desert, where mysterious Tane-
lorn was situated. So Elric had at last agreed, though,
after his encounter with Myshella and his witnessing of
the destruction of the Noose of Flesh, he had become
weary and craved for the peace which Tanelorn offered.

What made things worse was that this tavern was rather
too well-lit and catering too much to the better end of
the trade for Elric's taste. He would have preferred a
lowlier sort of inn which would have been cheaper and
where men were used to holding back their questions
and their gossip. But Moonglum had thought it wise to
spend the last of their wealth on a good inn, in case they
should need to entertain someone. . . .

Elric left the business of raising treasure to Moon-
glum. Doubtless he intended to get it by thievery or
trickery, but Elric did not care.

He sighed and suffered the sidelong looks of the
other guests and tried not to overhear the young dandy.
He sipped his cup of wine and picked at the flesh of the
cold fowl Moonglum had ordered before he went off.
He drew his head into the high collar of his black cloak,
but succeeded only in emphasising the bone-white
pallor of his face and the milky whiteness of his long
hair. He looked around him at the silks and furs and
tapestries swirling about the tavern as their owners
moved from table to table and he longed with all his

heart to be on his way to Tanelorn, where men spoke
little because they had experienced so much.

". . . killed mother and father, too—and the mother's
lover, it is said. . . ."

". . . and they say he lies with corpses for
preference. ..."

". , . and because of that the Lords of the Higher
Worlds cursed him with the face of a corpse. . . ."

"Incest, was it not? I got it from one who sailed with
him that . . ."

". . . and his mother had congress with Arioch him-
self, thus producing . . ."

". . . shortly before he betrayed his own people to
Smiorgan and the rest!"

"He looks a gloomy fellow, right enough. Not one
to enjoy a jest. . . ."

Laughter.

Elric made himself relax in his chair and swallow
more wine. But the gossip went on.

"They say also that he is an imposter. That the real
Elric died at Imrryr. . . ."

"A true prince of Melnibone would dress in more
lavish style. And he would ..."

More laughter.

Elric stood up, pushing back his cloak so that the
great black broadsword at his hip was fully displayed.
Most people in Old Hrolmar had heard of the rune-
sword Stormbringer and its terrible power.

Elric crossed to the table where the young dandy sat.

"I pray you, gentlemen, to improve your sport! You
can do much better now—for here is one who would
offer you proof of certain things of which you speak.
What of his penchant for vampirism of a particular
sort? I did not hear you touch upon that in your con-
versation."

The young dandy cleared his throat and made a
nervous little flirt of his shoulder.

"Well?" Elric feigned an innocent expression. "Can-
not I be of assistance?"

The gossips had become dumb, pretending to be
absorbed in their eating and drinking.

Elric smiled a smile which set their hands to shaking.

"I desire only to know what you wish to hear,
gentlemen. Then I will demonstrate that I am truly the
one you have called Elric Kinslayer."

The merchants and the nobles gathered their rich
robes about them and, avoiding his eye, got up. The
young dandy minced towards the exit—a parody of
bravado.

But now Elric stood laughing in the doorway, his
hand on the hilt of Stormbringer. "Will you not join
me as my guests, gentlemen? Think how you could tell
your friends of the meeting. . . ."

"Gods, how boorish!" lisped the young dandy and
then shivered.

"Sir, we meant no harm . . ." thickly said a fat
Shazarian herb trader.

"We spoke of another." A young noble with only
the hint of a chin, but with an emphatic moustache,
offered a feeble, placatory grin.

"We said how much we admired you . . ." stuttered
a Vilmirian knight whose eyes appeared but recently
to have crossed and whose face was now almost as pale
as Elric's.

A merchant in the dark brocades of Tarkesh licked
his red lips and attempted to conduct himself with more
dignity than his friends. "Sir, Old Hrolmar is a civilised
city. Gentlemen do not brawl amongst themselves
here. . . ."

"But like peasant women prefer to gossip," said
Elric.

"Yes," said the youth with the abundance of mous-
tache. "Ah—no. ..."

The dandy arranged his cloak about him and glow-
ered at the floor.

Elric stepped aside. Uncertainly the Tarkeshite mer-
chant moved forward and then ran for the darkness of
the street, his companions tumbling behind him. Elric
heard their footsteps running on the cobbles and he

began to laugh. At the sound of his laugh the footfalls
became a scamper and the party had soon reached the
quayside where the water gleamed, turned a corner
and disappeared.

Elric smiled and looked up beyond Old Hrolmar's
baroque skyline at the stars. Now there were more
footsteps coming from the other end of the street. He
turned and saw the newcomers step into a pool of light
thrown from the window of a nearby office.

It was Moonglum. The stocky Eastlander was return-
ing in the company of two women who were scantily
dressed and heavily painted and who were without
doubt Vilmirian whores from the other side of city.
Moonglum had an arm about each waist and he was
singing some obscure but evidently disgraceful ballad,
pausing frequently to have one of the laughing girls
pour wine down his throat. Both the whores had large
stone flasks in their free hands and they were matching
Moonglum drink for drink.

As Moonglum stepped unsteadily nearer he recog-
nised Elric and hailed him, winking. "You see I have
not forgotten you, Prince of Melnibone. One of these
beauties is for you!"

Elric made an exaggerated bow. "You are very good
to me. But I thought you planned to find some gold
for us. Was that not the reason for coming to Old
Hrolmar?"

"Aye!" Moonglum kissed the cheeks of the girls.
They snorted with laughter. "Indeed! Gold it is—or
something as good as gold. I have rescued these young
ladies from a cruel whoremaster on the other side of
town. I have promised to sell them to a kinder master
and they are grateful to me!"

"You stole these slaves?"

"If you wish to say so—I 'stole' them. Aye, then,
'steal' I did. I stole in with my steel and I released them
from a life of degradation. A humanitarian deed. Their
miserable life is no more! They may look forward
to ..."

"Their miserable lives will be no more—as, Indeed,

will be ours when the whoremaster discovers the crime
and alerts the watch. How found you these ladies?"

"They found me! I had made my swords available
to an old merchant, a stranger to the city. I was to
escort him about the murkier regions of Old Hrolmar
in return for a good purse of gold (better, I think, than
he expected to give me). While he whored above, as
he could, I had a drink or two below in the public
rooms. These two beauties look a liking to me and told
me of their unhappiness. It was enough. I rescued
them."

"A cunning plan," Elric said sardonically.

" 'Twas theirs! They have brains as well as—"

"I'll help you carry them back to their master before
the city guards descend upon us."

"But Elric!"

"But first . . ." Elric seized his friend and threw
him over his shoulder, staggering with him to the quay
at the end of the street, taking a good hold on his collar
and lowering him suddenly into the reeking water. Then
he hauled him up and stood him down. Moonglum
shivered and looked sadly at Elric.

"I am prone to colds, as you know."

"And prone to drunken plans, too! We are not liked
here, Moonglum. The watch needs only one excuse to
set upon us. At best we should have to flee the city
before our business was done. At worst we shall be
disarmed, imprisoned, perhaps slain."

They began to walk back to where the two girls still
stood. One of the girls ran forward and knelt to take
Elric's hand and press her lips against his thigh. "Mas-
ter, I have a message. . . ."

Elric bent to raise her to her feet.

She screamed. Her painted eyes widened. He stared
at her in astonishment and then, following her gaze,
turned and saw the pack of bravos who had stolen
round the corner and were now rushing at himself
and Moonglum. Behind the bravos Elric thought he
saw the young dandy he had earlier chased from the
tavern. The dandy wished for revenge. Poignards glit-

tered in the darkness and their owners wore the black
hoods of professional assassins. There were at least a
dozen of them. The young dandy must therefore be
extremely rich, for assassins were expensive in Old
Hrolmar.

Moonglum had already drawn both his swords and
was engaging the leader. Elric pushed the frightened
girl behind him and put his hand to Stormbringer's
pommel. Almost at its own volition the huge runesword
sprang from its scabbard and black light poured from
its blade as it began to hum its own strange battle-cry.

He heard one of the assassins gasp "Elric!" and
guessed that the dandy had not made it plain whom
they were to slay. He blocked the thrust of the slim
longsword, turned it and chopped with a kind of deli-
cacy at the owner's wrist. Wrist and sword flew into
the shadows and the owner staggered back screaming.

More swords now and more cold eyes glittering from
the black hoods. Stormbringer sang its peculiar song—
half-lament, half-victory shout. Elric's own face was
alive with battle-lust and his crimson eyes blazed from
his bone-white face as he swung this way and that.

Shouts, curses, the screams of women and the groans
of men, steel striking steel, boots on cobbles, the sounds
of swords in flesh, of blades scraping bone. A confusion
through which Elric fought, his broadsword clapped
in both pale hands. He had lost sight of Moonglum and
prayed that the Eastlander still stood. From time to time
he glimpsed one of the girls and wondered why she had
not run for safety.

Now the corpses of several hooded assassins lay upon
the cobbles and the remainder were beginning to falter
as Elric pressed them. They knew the power of his
sword and what it did to those it struck. They had seen
their comrades' faces as their souls were drawn from
them by the hellblade. With every death Elric seemed
to grow stronger and the black radiance from the blade
seemed to burn fiercer. And now the albino was laugh-
ing.

His laughter rang over the rooftops of Old Hrolmar

and those who were abed covered their ears, believing
themselves in the grip of nightmares.

"Come, friends, my blade still hungers!"

An assassin made to stand his ground and Elric
swept the Black Sword up. The man raised his blade
to protect his head and Elric brought the Black Sword
down. It sheared through the steel and cut down
through the hood, through the neck, through the breast-
bone. It clove the assassin completely in two and it
stayed in the flesh, feasting, drawing out the last traces
of the man's dark soul. And then the rest were running.

Elric drew a deep breath, avoided looking at the man
his sword had slain last, sheathed the blade and turned
to look for Moonglum.

It was then that the blow came on the back of his
neck. He felt nausea rise in him and tried to shake it
off. He felt a prick in his wrist and through the haze
he saw a figure he thought at first was Moonglum. But
it was another—perhaps a woman. She was tugging at
his left hand. Where did she want him to go?

His knees became weak and he fell to the cobbles.
He tried to call out, but failed. The woman was still
tugging at his hand as if she sought to take him to
safety. But he could not follow her. He fell on his
shoulder, then on his back, glimpsed a swimming
sky . . .

... and then the dawn was rising over the crazy spires
of Old Hrolmar and he realised that several hours had
passed since he had fought the assassins.

Moonglum's face appeared. It was full of concern.

"Moonglum?"

"Thank Elwher's gentle gods! I thought you slain by
that poisoned blade."

Elric's head was clearing rapidly now. He rose to a
sitting position. "The attacker came from behind.
How . . . ?"

Moonglum looked embarrassed. "I fear those girls
were not all they seemed."

Elric remembered the woman tugging at his left hand

and he stretched out his fingers. "Moonglum! The Ring
of Kings is gone from my hand! The Actorios has been
stolen!"

The Ring of Kings had been worn by Elric's fore-
fathers for centuries. It had been the symbol of their
power, the source of much of their supernatural
strength.

Moonglum's face clouded. "I thought I stole the girls.
But they were thieves. They planned to rob us. An old
trick."

"There's more to it, Moonglum. They stole nothing
else. Just the Ring of Kings. There's still a little gold
left in my purse." He jingled his belt pouch, climbing
to his feet.

Moonglum jerked his thumb at the street's far wall.
There lay one of the girls, her finery all smeared with
mud and blood.

"She got in the way of one of the assassins as we
fought. She's been dying all night—mumbling your
name. I had not told it to her. Therefore I fear you're
right. They were sent to steal that ring from you. I was
duped by them."

Elric walked rapidly to where the girl lay and he
kneeled down beside her. Gently he touched her cheek.
She opened her lids and stared at him from glazed eyes.
Her lips formed Ms name.

"Why did you plan to rob me?" Elric asked. "Who is
your master?"

"Urish . . ." she said in a voice that was a breeze
passing through the grass. "Steal ring . . . take it to
Nadsokor. . . ."

Moonglum now stood on the other side of the dying
girl. He had found one of the wine flasks and he bent
to give her a drink. She tried to sip the wine but failed.
It ran down her little chin, down her slim neck and on
to her wounded breast.

"You are one of the beggars of Nadsokor?" Moon-
glum said.

Faintly, she nodded,

"Urish has always been my enemy," Elric told him.

"I once recovered some property from him and he has
never forgiven me. Perhaps he sought the Actorios ring
in payment." He looked down at the girl. "Your
companion—has she returned to Nadsokor?"

Again the girl seemed to nod. Then all intelligence
left the eyes, the lids closed and she ceased to breathe.

Elric got up. He was frowning, rubbing at the hand
on which the Ring of Kings had been.

"Let him keep the ring, then," said Moonglum hope-
fully. "He will be satisfied."

Elric shook his head.

Moonglum cleared his throat. "A caravan is leaving
Jadmar in a week. It is commanded by Rackhir of
Tanelorn and has been purchasing provisions for the
city. If we took a ship round the coast we could soon
be in Jadmar, join Rackhir's caravan and be on our
way to Tanelorn in good company. As you know, it's
rare for anyone of Tanelorn to make such a journey.
We are lucky, for . . ."

"No," said Elric in a low voice. "We must forget
Tanelorn for the moment, Moonglum, The Ring of
Kings is my link with my fathers. More—it aids my
conjurings and has saved our lives more than once. We
ride for Nadsokor now. I must try to reach the girl
before she gets to the City of Beggars. Failing that, I
must enter the city and recover my ring."

Moonglum shuddered. "It would be more foolish
than any plan of mine, Elric. Urish would destroy us."

"None the less, to Nadsokor I must go."

Moonglum bent and began systematically to strip
the girl's corpse of its jewellery. "We'll need every
penny we can raise if we're to buy decent horses for
our journey," he explained.

CHAPTER THREE
The Cold Ghouls

Framed against the scarlet sunset, Nadso-
kor looked from this distance more like a badly kept
graveyard than a city. Towers tottered, houses were
half-collapsed, the walls were broken.

Elric and Moonglum came up the peak of the hill
on their fast Shazarian horses (which had cost them all
they had) and saw it. Worse—they smelled it. A thou-
sand stinks issued from the festering city and both men
gagged, turning their horses back down the hill to the
valley.

"We'll camp here for a short while—until nightfall,"
Elric said. "Then we'll enter Nadsokor."

"Elric, I am not sure I could bear the stench. What-
ever our disguise, our disgust would reveal us for
strangers."

Elric smiled and reached into his pouch. He took
out two small tablets and handed one to Moonglum.

The Eastlander regarded the thing suspiciously.
"What's this?"

"A potion. I used it once before when I came to
Nadsokor. It will kill your sense of smell completely—
unfortunately your sense of taste as well. . . ."

Moonglum laughed. "I did not plan to eat a gourmet
meal while in the City of Beggars!" He swallowed the
pill and Elric did likewise.

Almost instantly Moonglum remarked that the stink
of the city was subsiding. Later, as they chewed the
stale bread which was all that was left of their pro-
visions, he said:

"I can taste nothing. The potion works."

Elric nodded. He was frowning, looking up the hill
in the direction of the city as the night fell.

Moonglum took out his swords and began to hone
them with the small stone he carried for the purpose.
As he honed, he watched Elric's face, trying to see if
he could guess Elric's thoughts.

At last the albino spoke. "We'll need to leave the
horses here, of course, for most beggars disdain their
use."

"They are proud in their perversity," Moonglum
murmured.

"Aye. We'll need those rags we brought."

"Our swords will be noticed: . . ."

"Not if we wear the loose robes over all. It will mean
we'll walk stiff-legged, but that's not so strange in a
beggar."

Reluctantly Moonglum got the bundles of rags from
the saddle-panniers.

So it was that a filthy pair, one stooped and limping,
one short but with a twisted arm, crept through the
debris which was ankle deep around the whole city of
Nadsokor. They made for one of the many gaps in the
wall.

Nadsokor had been abandoned some centuries be-
fore by a people fleeing from the ravages of a particu-
larly virulent pox which had struck down most of their
number. Not long afterwards the first of the beggars
had occupied it. Nothing had been done to preserve
the city's defences and now the muck around the pe-
rimeters was as effective a protection as any wall.

No one saw the two figures as they climbed over
the messy rubble and entered the dark, festering streets
of the City of Beggars. Huge rats raised themselves on
their hind legs and watched them as they made their
way to what had once been Nadsokor's senate build-
ing and which was now Urish's palace. Scrawny dogs
with garbage dangling in their jaws warily slunk back
into the shadows. Once a little column of blind men,
each man with his right hand on the shoulder of the
man in front, tapped their way through the night, pass-

ing directly across the street Elric and Moonglum were
in. From some of the tumble-down buildings came
cacklings and titterings as the maimed caroused with
the crippled and the degenerate and corrupted coupled
with their crones. As the disguised pair neared what
had been Nadsokor's forum there came a scream from
one shattered doorway and a young girl, barely over
puberty, dashed out pursued by a monstrously fat beg-
gar who propelled himself with astounding speed on
his crutches, the livid stumps of his legs, which termi-
nated at the knee, making the motions of running.
Moonglum tensed, but Elric held him back as the fat
cripple bore down his prey, abandoned his crutches
which rattled on the broken pavement, and flung him-
self on the child.

Moonglum tried to free himself from Elric's grasp
but the albino whispered: "Let it happen. Those who
are whole either in mind, body or spirit cannot be
tolerated in Nadsokor."

There were tears in Moonglum's eyes as he looked
at his friend. "Your cynicism is as disgusting as any-
thing they do!"

"I do not doubt it. But we are here for one purpose
—to recover the stolen Ring of Kings. That, and nought
else, is what we shall do."

"What matters that when . . . ?"

But Elric was continuing on his way to the forum
and after hesitating for a moment Moonglum followed
him.

Now they stood on the far side of the square looking
at Urish's palace. Some of its columns had fallen, but
on this building alone had there been some attempt at
restoration and decoration. The archway of the main
entrance was painted with crude representations of the
Arts of Begging and Extortion. An example of the
coinage of all the nations of the Young Kingdoms had
been imbedded in the wooden door and above it had
been nailed, perhaps ironically, a pair of wooden
crutches, crossed as swords might be crossed, indicat-
ing that the weapons of the beggar were his power to

horrify and disgust those luckier or better endowed than
himself.

Elric stared through the murk at the building and
he had a calculating frown on his face.

"There are no guards," he said to Moonglum.

"Why should there be? What have they to guard?"

"There were guards last time I came to Nadsokor.
Urish protects his hoard most assiduously. It is not
outsiders he fears but his own despicable rabble."

"Perhaps he no longer fears them."

Elric smiled. "A creature like King Urish fears every-
thing. We had best be wary when we enter the hall.
Have your swords ready to draw at any hint that we
have been lured into a trap."

"Surely Urish would not suspect we'd know where
the girl came from?"

"Aye, it seemed good chance that one of them told
us, but none the less we must make allowances for
Urish's cunning."

"He would not willingly bring you here—not with
the Black Sword at your side."

"Perhaps. . . ."

They began to walk across the forum. It was very
still, very dark. From far away came the occasional
shout, a laugh or an obscene, indefinable sound.

Now they were at the door, standing beneath the
crossed crutches.

Elric felt beneath his ragged robes for the hilt of his
sword and with his left hand pushed at the door. It
squeaked open a fraction. They looked about them to
see if anyone had heard the sound, but the square was
as still as it had been.

More pressure. Another squeak. And now they could
squeeze their bodies through the aperture.

They stood in Urish's hall. Braziers of garbage gave
off faint light. Oily smoke curled towards the rafters.
They saw the dim outlines of the dais at the far end
and on the dais stood Urish's huge, crude throne. The
hall seemed deserted, but Elric's hand did not leave the
hilt of the Black Sword.

He stopped as he heard a sound, but it was a great,
black rat scuttling across the floor.

Silence again.

Elric moved forward, step by cautious step, along
the length of the slimy hall, Moonglum behind him.

Elric's spirits began to rise, as they neared the throne.
Perhaps Urish had, after all, grown complacent of his
strength. He would open the trunk beneath the throne,
remove his ring and then they would leave the city
and be away before dawn, riding across country to join
the caravan of Rackhir the Red Archer on its way to
Tanelorn.

He began to relax but his step was just as cautious.
Moonglum had paused, cocking his head to one side as
if hearing something.

Elric turned. "What is it you hear?"

"Possibly nothing. Or maybe one of those great rats
we saw earlier. It is just that—"

A silver-blue radiance burst out from behind the
grotesque throne and Elric flung up his left hand to
protect his eyes, trying to disentangle his sword from
his rags.

Moonglum yelled and began to run for the door, but
even when Elric put his back to the light he could not
see. Stormbringer moaned in its scabbard as if in rage.
Elric tugged at it, but felt his limbs grow weaker and
weaker. From behind him came a laugh which he rec-
ognised. A second laugh—almost a throaty cough—
joined it.

His sight came back but now he was held by clammy
hands and when he saw his captors he shuddered.
Shadowy creatures of limbo held him—ghouls sum-
moned by sorcery. Their dead faces smiled but their
dead eyes remained dead. Elric felt the heat and the
strength leaving his body and it was as if the ghouls
sucked it from him. He could almost feel his vitality
travelling from his own body to theirs.

Again the laugh. He looked up at the throne and
saw emerging from behind it the tall, saturnine figure of

Theleb K'aarna, whom he had left for dead near the
castle of Kaneloon a few months since.

Theleb K'aarna smiled in his curling beard as Elric
struggled in the grasp of the ghouls. Now from the
other side of the throne came the filthy carcass of
Urish the Seven-fingered, the cleaver Hackmeat cra-
dled in his left arm.

Elric could barely hold his head up as the ghouls'
cold flesh absorbed his strength, but he smiled at his
own foolishness. He had been right in suspecting a
trap, but wrong in entering it so poorly prepared.

And where was Moonglum? Had he deserted him?
The little Eastlander was nowhere to be seen.

Urish swaggered round the throne and sprawled his
begrimed person in it, placing Hackmeat so that it lay
across the arms. His pale, beady eyes stared hard at
Elric.

Theleb K'aarna remained standing by the side of the
throne, but triumph flamed in his eyes like Imrryr's own
funeral fires.

"Welcome back to Nadsokor," wheezed Urish,
scratching himself between the legs. "You have returned
to make amends, I take it."

Elric shivered as the cold in his bones increased.
Stormbringer stirred at his side but it could only help
him if he drew it with his own hands. He knew he was
dying.

"I have come to regain my property," he said
through chattering teeth. "My ring."

"Ah! The Ring of Kings. It was yours, was it? My
girl mentioned something of that."

"You sent her to steal it!"

Urish sniggered. "I'll not deny it. But I did not ex-
pect the White Wolf of Imrryr to step so easily into my
trap."

"He would have stepped out again if you had not
that amateur magic-maker's spells to help you!"

Theleb K'aarna glowered but then his face relaxed.
"Are you not discomforted, then, by my ghouls?"

Elric was gasping as the last of the heat fled his bones.

He now could not stand, but hung in the hands of the
dead creatures. Theleb K'aarna must have planned this
for weeks, for it took many spells and pacts with the
guardians of Limbo to bring such ghouls to Earth.

"And so I die," Elric murmured. "Well, I suppose I
do not care. . . ."

Urish raised his ruined features in what was a
parody of pride. "You do not die yet, Elric of Melni-
bone. The sentence has yet to be passed! The formalities
must be suffered! By my cleaver Hackmeat I must sen-
tence you for your crimes against Nadsokor and against
the Sacred Hoard of King Urish!"

Elric hardly heard him as his legs collapsed alto-
gether and the ghouls tightened their grip on him.

Dimly he was aware of the beggar rabble shuffling
into the hall. Doubtless they had all been waiting for
this. Had Moonglum died at their hands when he fled
the hall?

"Put his head up!" Theleb K'aarna instructed his
dead servants. "Let him see Urish, King of All Beggars,
make his just decree!"

Elric felt a cold hand beneath his chin and his head
was raised so he could watch, through misting eyes, as
Urish stood up and grasped the cleaver Hackmeat in
his four-fingered hand, stretching it towards the smoky
ceiling.

"Elric of Melnibone thou art convicted of many
crimes against the Ignoblest of the Ignoble—myself,
King Urish of Nadsokor. Thou has offended King
Urish's friend, that most pleasingly degenerate villain
Theleb K'aarna—"

At this Theleb K'aarna pursed his lips, but did not
interrupt.

"—and, moreover, did come a second time to the
City of Beggars to repeat your crimes. By my great
cleaver Hackmeat, the symbol of my dignity and power,
I condemnest thou to the Punishment of the Burning
God!"

From all sides of the hall came the foul applause of
the Beggar Court. Elric remembered a legend of

Nadsokor--that when the original population were first
struck by the disease they summoned aid from Chaos—
begging Chaos to cleanse the disease from the city—
with fire if necessary. Chaos had played a joke upon
these folk—sent the Burning God who had burned
what was left of their possessions. A further summons
to Law to help them had resulted in the Burning God's
being imprisoned by Lord Donblas in the city. Having
had enough of the Lords of the Higher Worlds the
remnants of the citizens had abandoned their city. But
was the Burning God still here in Nadsokor?

Faintly he still heard Urish's voice. "Take him to the
labyrinth and give him to the Burning God!"

Theleb K'aarna spoke but Elric did not hear what
he said, though he heard Urish's reply.

"His sword? How will that avail him against a Lord
of Chaos? Besides, if the sword is released from the
scabbard, who knows what will happen?"

Theleb K'aarna was evidently reluctant, by his tone,
but at last agreed with Urish.

Now Theleb K'aarna's voice boomed commandingly.

"Things of Limbo—release him! His vitality has
been your reward! Now—begone!"

Elric fell to the muck on the flagstones but was now
too weak to move as beggars came forward and lifted
him up.

His eyes closed and his senses deserted him as he
felt himself borne from the hall and heard the united
voices of the wizard of Pan Tang and the King of the
Beggars giving vent to their mocking triumph.

CHAPTER FOUR

Punishment of the Burning God

"By Narjhan's droppings he's cold!"

Elric heard the rasping voice of one of the beggars
who carried him. He was still weak but some of the
beggars' body heat had transferred itself to him and the
chill of his bones was now by no means as intense.

"Here's the portal."

Elric forced his eyes open.

He was upside down but could see ahead of him
through the gloom.

Something shimmered there.

It looked like the iridescent skin of some unearthly
animal stretched across the arch of the tunnel.

He was jerked backwards as the beggars swung his
body and hurled it towards the shimmering skin.

He struck it.

It was viscous.

It clung to him and he felt it was absorbing him. He
tried to struggle but was still far too weak. He was sure
that he was being killed.

But after long minutes he was through it and had
struck stone and lay gasping in the blackness of the
tunnel.

This must be the labyrinth of which Urish had
spoken.

Trembling, he tried to rise, using his scabbarded
sword as a support. It took him some time to get up
but at last he could lean against the curving wall.

He was surprised. The stones seemed to be hot. Per-
haps it was because he was so cold and in reality the
stones were of normal heat?

Even this speculation seemed to weary him. What-
ever the nature of the heat it was welcome. He pressed
his back harder against the stones.

As their heat passed into his body he felt a sensation
almost of ecstacy and he drew a deep breath. Strength
was returning slowly.

"Gods," he murmured, "even the snows of the
Lormyrian steppe could not compare with such a great
cold."

He drew another deep breath and coughed.

Then he realised that the drug he had swallowed
was beginning to wear off.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and
spat out saliva. Something of the stink of Nadsokor had
entered his nostrils.

He stumbled back towards the portal. The peculiar
stuff still shimmered there. He pressed his hand against
it and it gave reluctantly but then held firm. He leant
his whole weight on it but it would still not give any
further. It was like a particularly tough membrane but
it was not flesh. Was this the stuff with which the Lords
of Law had sealed off the tunnel, entrapping their
enemy, the Lord of Chaos? The only light in the tunnel
came from the membrane itself.

"By Arioch, I'll turn the tables on the Beggar King,"
Elric murmured. He threw back his rags and put his
hand on Stormbringer's pommel. The blade purred as
a cat might purr. He drew the sword from its scabbard
and it began to sing a low, satisfied song. Now Elric
hissed as its power flowed up his arm and into his body.
Stormbringer was giving him the strength he needed—
but he knew that Stormbringer must be paid soon, must
taste blood and souls and thus replenish its energy. He
aimed a great blow at the shimmering wall. "I'll hack
down this portal and release the Burning God upon
Nadsokor! Strike true, Stormbringer! Let flame come
to devour the filth that is this city!"

But Stormbringer howled as it bit into the membrane
and it was held fast. No rent appeared in the stuff. In-

stead Elric had to tug with all his might to get the
sword free. He withdrew, panting.

"The portal was made to withstand the efforts of
Chaos," Elric murmured. "My sword's useless against
it. And so, unable to go back I must, perforce, go for-
ward." Stormbringer in hand he turned and began to
make his way along the passage. He took one turn and
then another and then a third and the light had disap-
peared completely. He reached for his pouch where his
flint and tinder were kept, but the beggars had cut that
from his belt as they carried him. He decided to retrace
his steps. But by now he was deeply within the laby-
rinth and he could not find the portal.

"No portal—but no God, it seems. Mayhap there's
another exit from this place. If it's blocked by a door
of wood, then Stormbringer will soon carve me a path
to freedom."

And so he pressed further into the labyrinth, taking
a hundred twists and turns in the darkness before he
paused again.

He had noticed that he was growing warmer. Now,
instead of feeling horribly cold, he felt uncomfortably
hot. He was sweating. He removed some of the upper
layers of his rags and stood in his own shirt and breeks.
He had begun to thirst.

Another turning and he saw light ahead.

"Well, Stormbringer, perhaps we are free after all!"

He began to run towards the source of the light. But
it was not daylight, neither was it the light from the
portal. This was firelight—of brands, perhaps.

He could see the sides of the tunnel quite clearly in
the firelight. Unlike the masonry in the rest of
Nadsokor, this was free of filth—a plain, grey stone
stained by the red light.

The source of the light was around the next bend.
But the heat had grown greater and his flesh stung as
the sweat sprang from his pores.

"AAH!"

A great voice suddenly filled the tunnel as Elric

rounded the bend and saw the fire leaping not thirty
yards distant.

"AAH! AT LAST!"

The voice came from the fire.

And Elric knew he had found the Burning God.

"I have no quarrel with you, my lord of Chaos!" he
called. "I, too, serve Chaos!"

"But I must eat," came the voice. "CHECKALAKH
MUST EAT!"

"I am poor food for one such as you," Elric said
reasonably, putting both his hands around Stormbring-
er's hilt and taking a step backward.

"Aye, beggar, that thou art—but thou art the only
food they send!"

"I'm no beggar!"

"Beggar or not, Checkalakh will devour thee!"

The flames shook and a shape began to be made of
them. It was a human shape but comprised entirely of
flame. Flickering hands of fire stretched out towards
Elric.

And Elric turned.

And Elric ran.

And Checkalakh, the Burning God, came fast as a
flash fire behind him.

Elric felt pain in his shoulder and he smelled burn-
ing cloth. He increased his speed, having no notion of
where he ran.

And still the Burning God pursued him.

"Stop, mortal! It is futile! Thou canst not escape
Checkalakh of Chaos!"

Elric shouted back in desperate humour. "I'll be no
one's roast pork!" His step began to falter. "Not—not
even a god's!"

Like the roar of flames up a chimney, Checkalakh
replied, "Do not defy me, mortal! It is an honour to
feed a god!"

Both the heat and the effort of running were exhaust-
ing Elric. A plan of sorts had formed in his brain
when he had first encountered the Burning God. That
was why he had started to run.

But now, as Checkalakh came on, he was forced to
turn.

"Thou art somewhat feeble for so mighty a Lord of
Chaos," he panted, readying his sword.

"My long sojourn here has weakened me," Check-
alakh replied, "else I would have caught thee ere now!
But catch thee I will! And devour thee I must!"

Stormbringer whined its defiance at the enfeebled
Chaos God and blade struck out at flaming head and
gashed the god's right cheek so that paler fire flickered
there and something ran up the black blade and into
Elric's heart so that he trembled in a mixture of terror
and joy as some of the Burning God's lifeforce entered
him.

Eyes of flame stared at the Black Sword and then at
Elric. Brows of flame furrowed and Checkalakh
halted.

"Thou art no ordinary beggar, 'tis true!"

"I am Elric of Melnibone and I bear the Black
Sword. Lord Arioch is my master—a more powerful
entity than you, Lord Checkalakh."

Something akin to misery passed across the god's
fiery countenance. "Aye—there are many more power-
ful than me, Elric of Melnibone."

Elric wiped sweat from his face. He drew in great
gulps of burning air. "Then why—why not combine
your strength with mine. Together we can tear down
the portal and take vengeance on those who have con-
spired to bring us together."

Checkalakh shook his head and little tongues of fire
fell from it. "The portal will only open when I am dead.
So it was decreed when Lord Donblas of Law impris-
oned me here. Even if we were successful in destroying
the portal—it would result in my death. Therefore,
most powerful of mortals, I must fight thee and eat
thee."

And again Elric began to run, desperately seeking
the portal, knowing that the only light he could hope
to find in the labyrinth came from the Burning God

himself. Even if he were to defeat the god, he would
still be trapped in the complex maze.

And then he saw it. He was back at the place where
he had been thrown through the membrane.

"It is only possible to enter my prison through the
portal, not leave it!" called Checkalakh.

"I'm aware of that!" Elric took a firmer grip on
Stormbringer and turned to face the thing of flame.

Even as his sword swung back and forth, parrying
every attempt of the Burning God's to seize him, Elric
felt sympathy for the creature. He had come in answer
to the summonings of mortals and he had been im-
prisoned for his pains.

But Elric's clothes had begun to smoulder now and
even though Stormbringer supplied him with energy
every time it struck Checkalakh the heat itself was
beginning to overwhelm him. He sweated no more. In-
stead his skin felt dry and about to split. Blisters were
forming on his white hands. Soon he would be able to
hold the blade no longer.

"Arioch!" he breathed. "Though this creature be a
fellow Lord of Chaos, aid me to defeat him!"

But Arioch lent him no extra strength. He had al-
ready learned from his patron demon that greater things
were being planned on and above the Earth and that
Arioch had little time for even the most favourite of
his mortal charges.

Yet, from habit, still Elric murmured Arioch's name
as he swept the sword so that it struck first Checkalakh's
burning hands and then his burning shoulder and more
of the god's energy entered him.

It seemed to Elric that even Stormbringer was be-
ginning to burn and the pain in his blistered hands
grew so great that it was at last the only sensation of
which he was aware. He staggered back against the
iridescent membrane and felt its fleshlike texture on his
back. The ends of his long hair were beginning to
smoke and large areas of his clothes had completely
charred.

Was Checkalakh failing, though? The flames burned

less brightly and there was an expression of resignation
beginning to form on the face of fire.

Elric drew on his pain as his only source of strength
and he made the pain take the sword and bring it back
over his head and he made the pain bring Stormbringer
down in a massive blow aimed at the god's head.

And even as the blow descended the fire began to
die. Then Stormbringer had struck and Elric yelled as
an enormous wave of energy poured into his body and
knocked him backwards so that the sword fell from his
hand and he felt that his flesh could not contain what it
now held. He rolled, moaning, on the floor and he
kicked at the air, raising his twisted, blistered hands to
the roof as if in supplication to some being who had
the power to stop what was happening to him. There
were no tears in his eyes, for it seemed that even his
blood had begun to boil out of him.

"Arioch! Save me!" He was shuddering, screaming.
"Arioch! Stop this thing happening to me!"

He was full of the energy of a god and the mortal
frame was not meant to contain so much force.
"Aaaah! Take it from me!"

He became aware of a calm, beautiful face looking
down upon him as he writhed. He saw a tall man—
much taller than himself—and he knew that this was
no mortal at all, but a god.

"It is over!" said a pure, sweet voice.
And, though the creature did not move, soft hands
seemed to caress him and the pain began to diminish
and the voice continued to speak.

"Long centuries ago, I, Lord Donblas the Justice
Maker, came to Nadsokor to free it from the grip of
Chaos. But I came too late. Evil brought more evil,
as evil will, and I could not interfere too much with
the affairs of mortals, for we of Law have sworn to let
mankind make its own destiny if that is possible. Yet
the Cosmic Balance swings now like the pendulum of a
clock with a broken spring and terrible forces are at
work on the Earth. Thou, Elric, art a servant of Chaos
—yet thou hast served Law more than once. It has been

said that the destiny of mankind rests within thee and
that may be true. Thus, I aid thee—though I do so
against mine own oath. . . ."

And Elric closed his eyes and felt at peace for the
first time that he remembered.

The pain had gone, but great energy still filled him.
When he opened his eyes again there was no beautiful
face looking down on him and the scintillating mem-
brane which had covered the archway had disappeared.
Nearby Stormbringer lay and he sprang up and seized
the sword, returning it to his scabbard. He noticed that
the blisters had left his hands and that even his clothes
were no longer charred.

Had he dreamed it all—or most of it?

He shook his head. He was free. He was strong. He
had his sword with him. Now he would return to the
hall of King Urish and take his vengeance both on
Nadsokor's ruler and Theleb K'aarna.

He heard a footfall and withdrew into the shadows.
Light filtered into the tunnel from gaps in the roof
and it was plain that at this point it was close to the
surface. A figure appeared and he recognised it at once.

"Moonglum!"

The little Eastlander grinned in relief and sheathed
his swords. "I came here to aid you if I could, but I see
you need no aid from me!"

"Not here. The Burning God is no more. I'll tell you
of that later. What became of you?"

"When I realised we were in a trap I ran for the
door, deciding it would be best if one of us were free
and I knew it was you they wanted. But then I saw the
door opening and realised they had been waiting there
all along." Moonglum wrinkled his nose and dusted at
the rags he still wore. "Thus I came to find myself
lying at the bottom of one of those heaps of garbage
littered about Urish's hall. I dived into it and stayed
there, listening to what passed. As soon as I could, I
found this tunnel; planning to help you however I
could."

"And where are Urish and Theleb K'aarna now?"

"It appears that they go to make good Theleb
K'aarna's bargain with Urish. Urish was not altogether
happy with the plan to lure you here for he fears your
power—"

"He has reason to! Now!"

"Aye. Well, it seems that Urish had heard what we
had heard, that the caravan for Tanelorn was on its
way back to that city. Urish has knowledge of Tanelorn
—though not much, I gather—and fosters an unreason-
ing hatred for the place, perhaps because it is the
opposite of what Nadsokor is."

"They plan to attack Rackhir's caravan?"

"Aye—and Theleb K'aarna is to summon creatures
from Hell to ensure that their attack is successful.
Rackhir has no sorcery to speak of, I believe,"

"He served Chaos once, but no more—those who
dwell in Tanelorn can have no supernatural masters."

"I gathered as much from the conversation."

"When do they make this attack?"

"They have gone already—almost as soon as they
had dealt with you. Urish is impatient."

"It is unlike the beggars to make a direct attack on a
caravan."

"They do not always have a powerful wizard for an
ally."

"True." Elric frowned. "My own powers of sorcery
are limited without the Ring of Kings upon my hand.
Its supernatural qualities identify me as a true member
of the Royal Line of Melnibone—the line which made
so many bargains with the elementals. First I must
recover my ring and then we go at once to aid Rackhir."

Moonglum glanced at the floor. "They said some-
thing of protecting Urish's Hoard in his absence. There
may be a few armed men in the hall."

Elric smiled. "Now that we are prepared and now I
have the strength of the Burning God in me, I think we
shall be able to deal with a whole army, Moonglum."

Moonglum brightened. "Then I'll lead the way back
to the hall. Come. This passage will take us to a door
which is let into the side of the hall, near the throne."

They began to run along the passage until they came
at length to the door Moonglum had mentioned. Elric
did not pause but drew his sword and flung the door
open. It was only when he was in the hall that he
stopped. Daylight now lit the gloomy place, but it was
again deserted. No sword-bearing beggars awaited them.

Instead, there sat in Urish's throne a fat, scaly thing
of yellow and green and black. Brown bile dripped
from its grinning snout and it raised one of its many
paws in a mockery of a salute.

"Greetings," it hissed, "and beware—for I am the
guardian of Urish's treasure."

"A thing of Hell," Elric said. "A demon raised by
Theleb K'aarna. He has been brewing his spells for a
long time, methinks, if he can command so many foul
servants." He frowned and weighed Stormbringer in
his hand but, oddly, the blade did not seem to hunger
for battle.

"I warn thee," hissed the demon, "I cannot be slain
by a sword—not even that sword. It is my
wardpact. . . ."

"What is that?" whispered Moonglum, eying the
demon warily.

"He is of a race of demons used by all with sorcerous
power. He is a guardian. He will not attack unless
himself attacked. He is virtually invulnerable to mortal
weapons and, in his case, he has a ward against swords
—be they supernatural or no. If we attempted to slay
him with our swords, we should be struck down by all
the powers of Hell. We could not possibly survive."

"But you have just destroyed a god! A demon is
nothing compared with that!"

"A weak god," Elric reminded him. "And this is a
strong demon—for he is a representative of all demons
who would mass with him to preserve his wardpact."

"Is there no chance of defeating him?"

"If we are to help Rackhir, there is no reason for
trying. We must get to our horses and try to warn the
caravan. Later, perhaps, we can return and think of
some sorcery which will aid us against the demon."

Elric bowed sardonically to the demon and returned
his salute. "Farewell unlovely one. May your master
not return to release you and thus ensure you squat in
this filth forever!"

The demon slobbered in rage. "My master is Theleb
K'aarna—one of the most powerful sorcerers amongst
your kind."

Elric shook his head. "Not my kind. I shall be slay-
ing him soon and you will be left there until I discover
the means of destroying you."

Somewhat pettishly, the demon folded its multitude
of arms and closed its eyes.

Elric and Moonglum strode through the muck-
strewn hall towards the door.

They were close to vomiting by the time they
reached the steps leading into the forum. The rest of
Elric's potions had been taken when his purse was
taken and they had no protection now against the stink.
Moonglum spat on the steps as they descended into
the square and then he looked up and drew his two
swords in a cross-arm motion.

"Elric!"

Some dozen beggars were rushing at them, bearing
an array of clubs, axes and knives.

Elric laughed. "Here's a titbit for you, Stormbringer!"
He drew his sword and began to swing the howling
blade around his head, moving implacably towards the
beggars. Almost immediately two of their number
broke and ran, but the rest came in a rush at the pair.

Elric brought the sword lower and took a head from
its shoulders and had bitten deep into the next man's
shoulder before the first's blood had begun to spout.

Moonglum darted in with his two slim swords and
engaged two of the beggars at the same time. Elric
stabbed at another and the man screamed and danced,
clutching at the blade which remorselessly drew out his
soul and his life.

Stormbringer was singing a sardonic song now and
three of the surviving beggars dropped their weapons
and were off across the square as Moonglum neatly

took both his opponents simultaneously in their hearts
and Elric hacked down the rest of the rabble as they
shouted and groaned for mercy.

Elric sheathed Stormbringer, looked down at the
crimson ruin he had caused, wiped his lips as a man
might who had just enjoyed a fine meal, caused Moon-
glum to shudder, and clapped his friend on the shoul-
der.

"Come—let's to Rackhir's aid!"

As Moonglum followed the albino, he reflected that
Elric had absorbed more than just the Burning God's
life force in the encounter in the labyrinth. Much of
the callousness of the Lords of Chaos was in him today.

Today Elric seemed a true warrior of ancient
Melnibone.

CHAPTER FIVE

Things Which Are Not Women

The beggars had been too absorbed in
their triumph over the albino and their plans for their
attack on the caravan of Tanelorn to think to seek the
mounts on which Elric and Moonglum had come to
Nadsokor.

They found the horses where they had left them the
previous night. The superb Shazarian steeds were
cropping the grass as if they had been waiting only a
few minutes.

They climbed into their saddles and soon were riding
as fast as the fleet horses could carry them—North-
north-east to the point the caravan was logically due to
reach.

Shortly after noon they had found it—a long sprawl
of waggons and horses, awnings of gay, rich silks,
brightly decorated harness, it stretched across the floor
of a shallow valley. And surrounding it on all sides was
the squalid and motley beggar army of King Urish of
Nadsokor.

Elric and Moonglum reined in their horses when
they reached the brow of the hill and they watched.

Theleb K'aarna and King Urish were not immedi-
ately visible and at last Elric saw them on the opposite
hill. By the way in which the sorcerer was stretching
out his arms to the deep blue sky Elric guessed he was
already summoning the aid he had promised Urish.

Below Elric saw a flash of red and knew that it must
be the scarlet garb of the Red Archer. Peering closer
he saw one or two other shapes he recognised—Brut
of Lashmar with his blond hair and his huge, burly

body almost dwarfing his warhorse; Carkan, once of
Pan Tang himself, but now dressed in the chequered
cloak and fur cap of the barbarians of Southern
Ilmiora. Rackhir himself had been a Warrior Priest
from Moonglum's country beyond the Weeping Waste,
but all these men had foresworn their gods to go to
live in peaceful Tanelorn where, it was said, even the
greatest Lords of the Higher Worlds could not enter—
Eternal Tanelorn, which had stood for uncountable
cycles and would outlive the Earth herself.

Knowing nothing of Theleb K'aarna's plan Rackhir
was plainly not too worried by the appearance of the
beggar rabble which was as poorly armed as those
Elric and Moonglum had fought in Nadsokor.

"We must ride through their army to reach Rackhir
now," Moonglum said.

Elric nodded but he made no move. He was watching
the distant hill where Theleb K'aarna continued his
incantation, hoping that he might guess what kind of
aid the sorcerer was summoning.

A moment later Elric yelled and spurred his horse
down the hill at a gallop. Moonglum was almost as
startled as the beggars as he followed his friend into
the thick of the ragged horde, slashing this way and
that with the longest of his swords.

Elric's Stormbringer emitted black radiance as it
carved a bloody path through the beggar army, leaving
in its wake a mess of dismembered bodies, entrails and
dead, horrified eyes.

Moonglum's horse was splashed with blood to the
shoulder and it snorted and balked at following the
white-skinned demon with the howling black blade, but
Moonglum, afraid that the beggar ranks would close,
forced it on until at last they were both riding towards
the caravan and someone was yelling Elric's name.

It was Rackhir the Red Archer, clothed in scarlet
from head to foot, with a red bone bow in his hand
and a red quiver of crimson-fletched arrows on his
back. On his head was a scarlet skull cap decorated
with a single scarlet feather. His face was weather-

beaten and all but fleshless. He had fought with Elric
before the Fall of Imrryr and together they had dis-
covered the Black Swords. Rackhir had gone on to
seek Tanelorn and find it at last.

Elric had not seen Rackhir since then. Now he noted
an enviable look of peace in the archer's eyes. Rackhir
had once been a Warrior Priest in the Eastlands, serv-
ing Chaos, but now he served nothing but his tranquil
Tanelorn.

"Elric! Have you come to help us send Urish and
his beggars back to where they came from?" Rackhir
was laughing, evidently pleased to see his old friend.
"And Moonglum! When did you two meet? I have not
seen thee since I left the Eastlands!"

Moonglum grinned. "Much has come to pass since
those days, Rackhir."

Rackhir rubbed at his aquiline nose. "Aye—so I've
heard."

Elric dismounted swiftly. "No time for reminiscence
now, Rackhir. You're in greater danger than you
know."

"What? When did the beggar rabble of Nadsokor
offer anything to fear? Look how poorly armed they
are!"

"They have a sorcerer with them—Theleb K'aarna
of Pan Tang. See—that's him on yonder hill."

Rackhir frowned. "Sorcery. These days I've little
guard against that. How good is the sorcerer, do you
know?"

"He is one of the most powerful in Pan Tang."

"And the wizards of Pan Tang almost equal your
folk, Elric, in their skills."

"I fear he more than equals me at present, for my
Actorios Ring has been stolen from me by Urish."

Rackhir looked strangely at Elric, noting something
in the albino's face which he had evidently not seen
there when they last parted. "Well," he said, "we shall
have to defend ourselves as best we can. . . ."

"If you cut loose your horses so that all your folk
could be mounted we might be able to escape before

Theleb K'aarna invokes whatever supernatural aid it is
he seeks." Elric nodded as the giant, Brut of Lashmar,
rode up grinning at him. Brut had been a hero in Lash-
mar before he had disgraced himself.

Rackhir shook his head. "Tanelorn needs the pro-
visions we carry."

"Look," said Moonglum quietly.

On the hill where Theleb K'aarna had been standing
there had now appeared a billowing cloud of redness,
like blood in clear water.

"He is successful." Rackhir murmured. "Brut! Let
all be mounted. We've no time to prepare further de-
fences, but we'll have the advantage of being on horse-
back when they attack."

Brut thundered off, yelling at the men of Tanelorn.
They began to unharness the wagon horses and ready
their weapons.

The cloud of redness above was beginning to disperse
and out of it shapes were emerging. Elric tried to dis-
tinguish the shapes but could not at that distance. He
climbed back into his saddle as the horsemen of Tane-
lorn now formed themselves into groups which would,
when the attack came, race through the unmounted
beggars striking swiftly and passing on. Rackhir waved
to Elric and went to join one of these divisions. Elric
and Moonglum found themselves at the head of a dozen
warriors armed with axes, pikes and lances.

Then Urish's voice cawed out over the waiting
silence.

"Attack, my beggars! They are doomed!"

The beggar rabble began to move down the sides of
the valley. Rackhir raised his sword as the signal to his
men. Then the first groups of cavalry rode out from
the caravan, straight at the advancing beggars.

Rackhir replaced his blade and took up his bow.
From where he sat on his horse he began to send arrow
after arrow into the beggar ranks.

There was shouting everywhere now as the warriors
of Tanelorn met their foes, driving wedges everywhere
in their mass.

Elric saw Carkan's chequered cape in the midst of a
sea of rags, filthy limbs, clubs and knives. He saw
Brut's great blond head towering over a cluster of
human filth.

And Moonglum said: "Such creatures as these are
unfit opponents for the warriors of Tanelorn."

Elric pointed grimly up the hill. "Perhaps they'll
prefer their new foes."

Moonglum gasped. "They are women!"

Elric drew Stormbringer from its scabbard. "They
are not women. They are Elenoin. They come from
the Eighth Plane—and neither are they human. You
will see."

"You recognize them?"

"My ancestors fought them once."

A strange, shrill ululation reached their ears now. It
came from the hillside where Theleb K'aarna's figure
could again be seen. It came from the shapes which
Moonglum was sure were women. Red-haired women
whose tresses fell almost to their knees and covered
their otherwise completely naked bodies. They danced
down the hill towards the besieged caravan and they
whirled swords about their heads which must have been
over five feet long.

"Theleb K'aarna is clever," Elric muttered. "The
warriors of Tanelorn will hesitate before striking at
women. And while they hesitate the Elenoin will rip
and slash and slay them."

Rackhir had already seen the Elenoin and he, too,
recognised them for what they were. "Do not be de-
ceived, men!" he called. "These creatures are demons!"
He glanced across at Elric and there was a look of
resignation on his face. He knew the power of the
Elenoin. He spurred his horse towards the albino.
"What can we do, Elric?"

Elric sighed. "What can mortals do against the
Elenoin?"

"Have you no sorcery?"

"With the Ring of Kings I could summon the
Grahluk, perhaps. They are the ancient enemies of the

Elenoin. Theleb K'aarna has already made a gateway
from the Eighth Plane."

"Could you not try to call the Grahluk?" Rackhir
begged.

"While I tried my sword would not be aiding you. I
think Stormbringer is more use today than spells."

Rackhir shuddered and turned his horse away to
order his men to re-form their ranks. He knew now
that they were all to die.

And now the beggars fell back, as horrified by the
Elenoin as were the men of Tanelorn.

Still singing their shrill, chill song, the Elenoin low-
ered their swords and spread out along the hill, each
one smiling at them.

"How can they . . . ?" Then Moonglum saw their
eyes. They were huge, orange, animal eyes. "Oh, by
the Gods!" And then he saw their teeth—long, pointed
teeth which glinted like metal.

The horsemen of Tanelorn fell back to the waggons
in a long, ragged line. Horror, despair, uncertainty was
on every face save Elric's—and on his face was a look
of grim anger. His crimson eyes smouldered as he held
Stormbringer across his saddle pommel and regarded
the demon women, the Elenoin.

The singing grew louder until it made their ears fill
with sharp pain and made their stomachs turn. The
Elenoin raised their slender arms and began to whirl
their long swords about their heads again, staring at
them all the while through beastlike, insensate eyes—
malicious, unblinking eyes.

Then Carkan of Pan Tang, his fur cap askew, his
chequered cloak billowing, gave a strangled yell and
urged his heavy horse at them, his own sword waving.

"Back, demons! Back, spawn of hell!"

"Aaaaaaaah!" gasped the Elenoin in anticipation.
"Eeeeeeeh!" they sang.

And Carkan was suddenly in the midst of a dozen
slender, slashing swords and he and his horse were cut
all to tiny morsels of flesh which lay in a heap at the
feet of the Elenoin. And their laughter filled the valley

as some of them bent to pop the flesh into their fanged
mouths.

A groan of horror and hatred went up from the
ranks of Tanelorn then and screaming men, hysterical
with fear and disgust, began to fling themselves at the
Elenoin who laughed the more and whirled their sharp
swords.

Stormbringer murmured as it seemed to hear the
sounds of battle, but Elric did not move as he stared
at the scene. He knew that the Elenoin would kill all
as they had killed Carkan.

Moonglum moaned. "Elric—there must be some
sorcery against them!"

"There is! But I cannot summon the Grahluk!"
Elric's chest was heaving and his brain was in turmoil.
"I cannot, Moonglum!"

"For the sake of Tanelorn, you must try!"

Then Elric was riding forward, Stormbringer howl-
ing, riding at the Elenoin and screaming Arioch's name
as his ancestors had screamed it since the founding of
Imrryr!

"Arioch! Arioch! Blood and souls for my Lord
Arioch!"

He parried the whirling blade of an Elenoin and
glared into the bestial eyes as Stormbringer sent a shud-
der down his arm. He struck and his own blow was
parried by the demon that was not a woman. Red hair
swung and curled around his throat. He hacked at it
and it loosened its grip. He thrust at the naked body
and the Elenoin danced aside. Another whistling blow
from the slim sword and he flung himself backwards
to avoid it, toppling from his saddle and springing in-
stantly to his feet to parry a second attack, gripped
Stormbringer in both hands and stepped forward under
the blade to plunge the Black Sword into the smooth
belly. The Elenoin shouted with anger and green foul-
ness billowed from the wound. The Elenoin fell, still
glaring and snarling, still living. Elric chopped at the
neck and the head sprang off, its hair thrashing at him.
He dashed forward, picked up the head and began to

run up the hill to where the beggars were gathered,
watching the destruction of Tanelorn's warriors. As he
approached the beggars broke and began to run, but he
caught one in the back with his blade. The man fell,
tried to crawl on, but his twisted knees would not sup-
port him and he collapsed into the stained grass. Elric
picked the wretch up and flung him over his shoulder.
Then he turned and began to run down the hill back
to the camp. The warriors of Tanelorn were fighting
well, but half their number had already been slain by
the Elenoin. Almost unbelievably there were also sev-
eral Elenoin corpses on the field.

Elric saw Moonglum defending himself with both
swords. He saw Rackhir, still mounted, shouting orders
to his men. He saw Brut of Lashmar in the thick of the
fight. But he ran on until he stood behind one of the
waggons and had dropped both his bloody bundles to
the ground. With his sword he split open the twitching
body of the beggar and he gathered up the hair of the
Elenoin and soaked it in the man's blood.

Again he stood upright, looking towards the west,
with the bloody hair in one hand and Stormbringer in
the other. He raised both sword and head and began to
speak in the ancient High Speech of Melnibone.

Held to the West and soaked in the blood of an
enemy, the hair of an Elenoin must be used to summon
the enemies of the Elenoin—the Grahluk. He remem-
bered the words he had read in his father's ancient
grimoire.

And now the invocation:

Grahluk come and Grahluk slay!
Come kill thine ancient enemy!
Make this thy victory day.

All the strength of the Burning God was leaving
him as he used the energy to perform the invocation.
And perhaps without the Ring of Kings he was wasting
that strength for nothing.

Grahluk speed without delay!
Come kill thine ancient enemy!
Make this thy vengeance day.

The spell was far less complex than many he had
used in the past. Yet it took as much from him as any
spell ever had.

"Grahluk, I summon thee! Grahluk, here you may
take vengeance on your foes!"

Many cycles since, the Elenoin were said to have
driven the Grahluk from their lands in the Eighth
Plane and the Grahluk sought revenge now at every
opportunity.

All around Elric the air shivered and turned brown,
then green, then black.

"Grahluk! Come destroy the Elenoin!" Elric's voice
was weakening. "Grahluk—the gateway is made!"

And now the ground trembled and strange winds
blew at the blood-soaked hair of the Elenoin and the
air became thick and purple and Elric fell to his knees,
still croaking the invocation.

"Grahluk ..."

A shuffling sound. A grunting noise. The stink of
something unnameable.

The Grahluk had come. They were apelike creatures
as bestial as the Elenoin. They carried nets and ropes
and shields. Once, it was said, both Grahluk and
Elenoin had had intelligence—had been part of the
same species which had devolved and divided.

They moved out of the purple mist in their scores
and they stood looking at Elric who was still on his
knees. Elric pointed at where the remaining warriors
of Tanelorn were still fighting the Elenoin.

"There ..."

The Grahluk snorted with battle-greed and shambled
towards the Elenoin.

The Elenoin saw them and their shrill wailing voices
changed in quality as they retreated a short distance up
the hill.

Elric forced himself to his feet and gasped: "Rack-

Mr! Withdraw your warriors. The Grahluk will do their
work now. . . ."

"You helped us after all!" Rackhir yelled, turning
his horse. His clothes were all in tatters and there were
a dozen wounds on his body.

They watched as the Grahluk's nets and nooses
flashed towards the screaming Elenoin whose sword
blows were stopped by the Grahluk shields. They
watched as the Elenoin were crushed and throttled and
parts of their entrails devoured by the grunting, apelike
demons.

And when the last of the Elenoin was dead, the
Grahluk picked up the fallen swords and reversed
them and fell upon them.

Rackhir said: "They are killing themselves. Why?"

"They live only to destroy the Elenoin. Once that is
done, they have nothing left for which to exist." Elric
swayed and Rackhir and Moonglum caught him.

"See!" Moonglum laughed. "The beggars are run-
ning!"

"Theleb K'aarna," Elric muttered. "We must get
Theleb K'aarna. . . ."

"Doubtless he has gone back with Urish to Nadso-
kor," Moonglum said.

"I must—I must retrieve the Ring of Kings."

"Plainly you can work your sorcery without it,"
Rackhir said.

"Can I?" Elric looked up and showed his face to
Rackhir who lowered his eyes and nodded.

"We will help you get back your ring," Rackhir said
quietly. "There'll be no more trouble from the beggars.
We'll ride with you to Nadsokor."

"I had hoped you would." Elric climbed with diffi-
culty into the saddle of a surviving horse and jerked at
its reins, turning it towards the City of Beggars. "Per-
haps your arrows will slay what my sword can-
not. . . ."

"I do not understand you," Rackhir said.

Moonglum was mounting now. "We'll tell you on
the way."

CHAPTER SIX
The Jesting Demon

Through the filth of Nadsokor now rode
the warriors of Tanelorn.

Elric, Moonglum and Rackhir were at the head of
the company but there was no ostentatious triumph in
their demeanour. The riders looked neither to left nor
to right and the beggars offered no threat now, not
daring to attack but instead cowering into the shadows.

A potion of Rackhir's had helped Elric recover some
of his strength and he no longer leaned over his horse's
neck but sat upright as they crossed the forum, came to
the palace of the Beggar King.

Elric did not pause. He rode his horse up the steps
and into the gloomy hall.

"Theleb K'aarna!" Elric shouted.

His voice boomed through the hall, but Theleb
K'aarna did not reply.

The braziers of garbage guttered in the wind from
the opened door and threw a little more light on the
dais at the end.

"Theleb K'aarna!"

But it was not Theleb K'aarna who knelt there. It
was a wretched, ragged figure and it sprawled before
the throne and it was sobbing, imploring, whining at
something on the throne.

Elric walked his horse a little further into the hall
and now he could see what occupied the throne.

Squatting in the great chair of black oak was the
demon which had been there earlier. Its arms were
folded and its eyes were shut and it seemed, somewhat

theatrically, to be ignoring the pleadings of the creature
kneeling at its feet.

The others, also mounted, entered the hall now and
together they rode up to the dais and stopped.

The kneeling figure turned its head and it was Urish.
It gasped when it saw Elric and stretched out a
maimed hand for its cleaver, abandoned some dis-
tance away.

Elric sighed.

"Do not fear me, Urish. I'm weary of blood-letting.
I do not want your life."

The demon opened its eyes.

"Prince Elric, you have returned," it said. There
seemed to be an indefinable difference in its tone.

"Aye. Where is your master?"

"I fear he has fled Nadsokor forever."

"And left you to sit here for eternity."

The demon inclined its head.

Urish put a grimy hand on Elric's leg. "Elric—help
me! I must have my Hoard. It is everything! Destroy
the demon and I will give you back the Ring of Kings."

Elric smiled. "You are generous, King Urish."

Tears streamed down the filth on Urish's ruined face.
"Please, Elric, I beg thee. . . ."

"It is my intention to destroy the demon."

Urish looked nervously about him. "And aught
else?"

"That decision lies with the men of Tanelorn whom
you sought to rob and whose friends you caused to be
slain in a most foul manner."

"It was Theleb K'aarna, not I!"

"And where is Theleb K'aarna now?"

"When you unleashed those ape things on our Ele-
noin he fled the field. He went towards the Varkalk
River—towards Troos."

Without looking behind him Elric said, "Rackhir?
Will you try the arrows now?"

There was the hum of a bowstring and an arrow
struck the demon in the breast. It quivered there and
the demon looked at it with mild interest, then breathed

in deeply. As he breathed the arrow was drawn further
into him and was eventually absorbed altogether.

"Aaah!" Urish scuttled for his cleaver. "It will not
work!"

A second arrow sped from Rackhir's scarlet bow and
it, too, was absorbed, as was the third.

Urish was gibbering now, waving his cleaver.

Elric warned him: "He has a wardpact against
swords, King Urish!"

The demon rattled its scales. "Is that thing a sword,
I wonder?"

Urish hesitated. Spittle ran down his chin and his red
eyes rolled. "Demon—begone! I must have my Hoard
—it is mine!"

The demon watched him sardonically.

With a yell of terror and anguish Urish flung himself
at the demon, the cleaver Hackmeat swinging wildly.
Its blade came down on the hell-thing's head, there was
a sound like lightning striking metal and the cleaver
shivered to pieces. Urish stood staring at the demon in
quaking anticipation. Casually the demon reached out
four of its hands and seized him. Its jaws opened
wider than should have been possible, the bulk of the
demon expanded until it was suddenly twice its original
size. It brought the kicking Beggar King to its maw
and suddenly there were only two legs waving from
the mouth and then the demon gave a mighty swallow
and there was nothing at all left of Urish of Nadsokor.

Elric shrugged. "Your wardpact is effective."

The demon smiled. "Aye, sweet Elric."

Now the tone of voice was very familiar. Elric
looked narrowly at the demon. "You're no ordi-
nary ..."

"I hope not, most beloved of mortals."

Elric's horse reared and snorted as the demon's
shape began to alter. There was a humming sound and
black smoke coiled over the throne and then another
figure was sitting there, its legs crossed. It had the
shape of a man but it was more beautiful than any

mortal. It was a being of intense and majestic beauty—
unearthly beauty.

"Arioch!" Elric bowed his head before the Lord of
Chaos.

"Aye, Elric. I took the demon's place while you
were gone."

"But you have refused to aid me. . . ."

"There are larger affairs afoot, as I've told you.
Soon Chaos must engage with Law and such as Don-
bias will be dismissed to Limbo for eternity."

"You knew Donblas spoke to me in the labyrinth of
the Burning God?"

"Indeed I did. That was why I afforded myself the
time to visit your plane. I cannot have you patronised
by Donblas the Justice Maker and his humourless kind.
I was offended. Now I have shown you that my power
is greater than Law's." Arioch stared beyond Elric at
Rackhir, Brut, Moonglum and the rest who were pro-
tecting their eyes from his beauty. "Perhaps you fools
of Tanelorn now realise that it is better to serve Chaos!"

Rackhir said grimly: "I serve neither Chaos nor
Law!"

"One day you will be taught that neutrality is more
dangerous than side-taking, renegade!" The harmoni-
ous voice was now almost vicious.

"You cannot harm me," Rackhir said. "And if Elric
returns with us to Tanelorn, then he, too, may rid him-
self of your evil yoke!"

"Elric is of Melnibone". The folk of Melnibone all
serve Chaos—and are greatly rewarded: How else
would you have rid this throne of Theleb K'aarna's
demon?"

"Perhaps in Tanelorn Elric would have no need of
his Ring of Kings," Rackhir replied levelly.

There was a sound like rushing water, the boom of
thunder and Arioch's form began to grow larger. But
as it grew it also began to fade until there was nothing
left in the hall but the stench of its garbage.

Elric dismounted and ran to the throne. Reaching

under it he drew out dead Urish's chest and hacked it
open with Stormbringer. The sword murmured as if
resenting the menial work. Gems, gold, artifacts scat-
tered through the muck as Elric sought his ring.

And then at last he held it up in triumph, replacing
it on his finger. His step was lighter as he returned to
his horse.

Moonglum had in the meantime dismounted and
was scooping the best of the jewels into his pouch. He
winked at Rackhir, who smiled.

"And now," Elric said, "I go to Troos to seek Theleb
K'aarna there. I have still to take my vengeance upon
him."

"Let him rot in Troos's sickly forest," Moonglum
said.

Rackhir placed a hand on Elric's shoulder. "If Theleb
K'aarna hates you so, he will find you again. Why
waste your own time in the pursuit?"

Elric smiled slightly at his old friend. "You were
ever clever in your arguments, Rackhir. And it is true
that I am weary—both gods and demons have fallen
to my blade in the little while since I came to Nad-
sokor."

"Come, rest in Tanelorn—peaceful Tanelorn,
where even the greatest Lords of the Higher Worlds
cannot come without permission."

Elric looked down at the ring on his finger. "Yet I
have sworn Theleb K'aarna shall perish. ..."

"There will be time yet to fulfil your oath."

Elric ran his hand through his milk-white hair and it
seemed to his friends that there were tears in his
crimson eyes.

"Aye," he said. "Aye. Tune yet. . . ."

And they rode away from Nadsokor, leaving the beg-
gars to brood in the stink and the foulness and regret
that they had aught to do with sorcery or with Elric of
Melnibone.
They rode for Eternal Tanelorn. Tanelorn, which

had welcomed and held all troubled wanderers who
came upon it. All save one.

Doom-haunted, full of guilt, of sorrow, of despair,
Elric of Melnibone prayed that this time Tanelorn
might hold even him. ...

BOOK THREE

Three Heroes with a Single Aim

"... Elric, of all the manifestations
of the Champion Eternal, was to find
Tanelorn without effort. And of all
those manifestations he was the only
one to choose to leave that city of
myriad incarnations ..."

—The Chronicle of the Black Sword

CHAPTER ONE
Tanelorn Eternal

Tanelorn had taken many forms in her
endless existence, but all those forms, save one, had
been beautiful.

She was beautiful now, with the soft sunlight on
her pastel towers and her curved turrets and domes.
And banners flew from her spires, but they were not
battle banners, for the warriors who had found Tane-
lorn and had stayed there were weary of war.

She had been here always. None knew when Tane-
lorn had been built, but some knew that she had
existed before Tune and would exist after the end of
Time and that was why she was known as Eternal
Tanelorn.

She had played a significant role in the struggles of
many heroes and many gods and because she existed
beyond Tune she was hated by the Lords of Chaos who
had more than once sought to destroy her. To the north
of her lay the rolling plains of Ilmiora, a land where
justice was known to prevail, and to the south of her
lay desolation which was the Sighing Desert, endless
wasteland over which hissed a constant wind. If Ilmiora
represented Law, then the Sighing Desert certainly
mirrored something of the barrenness of Ultimate
Chaos. Those who dwelled in her had loyalty neither to
Law nor to Chaos and they had chosen to have no part
in the Cosmic Struggle which was waged continuously
by the Lords of the Higher Worlds. There were no
leaders and there were no followers in Tanelorn and
her citizens lived in harmony with each other, even

though many had been warriors of great reputation
before they chose to stay there. But one of the most
admired citizens of Tanelorn, one who was often con-
sulted by the others, was Rackhir of the ascetic fea-
tures who had once been a fierce warrior-priest in
P'hum where he had gained the name of the Red Archer
because his skill with a bow was great and he dressed
all in scarlet. His skill and his dress remained the
same, but his urge to fight had left him since he had
come to live in Tanelorn.

Close to the low west wall of the city lay a house of
two storeys surrounded by a lawn in which grew all
manner of wild flowers. The house was of pink and
yellow marble and, unlike most of the other dwellings
in Tanelorn, it had a tall, pointed roof. This was
Rackhir's house and Rackhir sat outside it now,
sprawled on a bench of plain wood while he watched
his guest pace the lawn. The guest was his old friend
the tormented albino Prince of Melnibone.

Elric wore a simple white shirt and britches of heavy
black silk. He had a band of the same black silk tied
around his head to keep back the mane of milk-white
hair which grew to his shoulders. His crimson eyes
were downcast as he paced and he did not look at
Rackhir at all.

Rackhir was unwilling to intrude upon his friend's
reverie and yet he hated to see Elric as he was now. He
had hoped that Tanelorn would comfort the albino,
drive away the ghosts and the doubts inhabiting his
skull, but it seemed that even Tanelorn could not
bring Elric tranquillity.

At last Rackhir broke his silence. "It has been a
month since you came to Tanelorn, my friend, yet still
you pace, still you brood."

Elric looked up with a slight smile. "Aye—still I
brood. Forgive me, Rackhir. I am a poor guest."

"What occupies your thoughts?"

"No particular subject. It seems that I cannot lose
myself in all this peace. Only violent action helps me

drive away my melancholy. I was not meant for Tane-
lorn, Rackhir."

"But violent action—or the results of it—produces
further melancholy does it not?"

"It is true. It is the dilemma with which I live con-
stantly. It is a dilemma I have been in since the burning
of Imrryr—perhaps before."

"It is a dilemma known to all men, perhaps,"
Rackhir said. "At least to some degree."

"Aye—to wonder what purpose there is to one's
existence and what point there is to purpose, even if
it should be discovered."

"Tanelorn makes such problems seem meaningless
to me," Rackhir told him. "I had hoped that you, too,
would be able to dismiss them from your thoughts.
Will you stay on in Tanelorn?"

"I have no other plans. I still thirst for vengeance
upon Theleb K'aarna, but I now have no idea of his
whereabouts. And, as you or Moonglum told me,
Theleb K'aarna is sure to seek me out sooner or later.
I remember once, when you first found Tanelorn,
you suggested that I bring Cymoril here and forget
Melnibone. I wish I had listened to you then,
Rackhir, for now, I think, I would know peace and
Cymoril's dead face would not be infesting my
nights."

"You mentioned this sorceress who, you said, re-
sembled Cymoril . . . ?"

"Myshella? She who is called Empress of the
Dawn? I first saw her in a dream and when I left her
side it was I who was in a dream. We served each
other to achieve a common purpose. I shall not see
her again."

"But if she—"

"I shall not see her again, Rackhir."

"As you say."

Once more the two friends fell silent and there was
only birdsong and the splash of fountains in the air as
Elric continued his pacing of the garden.

Some while later Elric suddenly turned on his heel

and went into the house followed by Rackhir's trou-
bled gaze.

When Elric came out again he was wearing the
great wide belt around his waist—the belt which sup-
ported the black scabbard containing his runesword
Stormbringer. Over his shoulders was flung a cloak of
white silk and he wore high boots.

"I go riding," he said. "I will go by myself into the
Sighing Desert and I will ride until I am exhausted.
Perhaps exercise is all I need."

"Be careful of the desert, my friend," Rackhir cau-
tioned him. "It is a sinister and treacherous wilder-
ness."

"I will be careful."

"Take the big golden mare. She is used to the
desert and her stamina is legendary."

"Thank you. I will see you in the morning if I do
not return earlier."

"Take care, Elric. I trust your remedy is successful
and your melancholy disappears."

Rackhir's expression had little of relief in it as he
watched his friend stride towards the near-by stables,
his white cloak billowing behind him like a sea fog
suddenly risen.

Then he heard the sound of Elric's horse as its
hooves struck the cobbles of the street and Rackhir
got to his feet to watch as the albino urged the golden
mare into a canter and headed for the northern wall
beyond which the great yellow waste of the Sighing
Desert could be seen.

Moonglum came out of the house, a large apple in
his hand, a scroll under his arm.

"Where goes Elric, Rackhir?"

"He looks for peace in the desert."

Moonglum frowned and bit thoughtfully into his
apple. "He has sought peace in all other places and I
fear he'll not find it there, either."

Rackhir nodded his agreement. "But it is my pre-
monition he'll discover something else, for Elric is
not always motivated by his own wishes. There are

times when other forces work within him to make
him take some fateful action."

"You think this is such a time?"

"It could be."

CHAPTER TWO
Return of a Sorceress

The sand rippled as the wind blew it so
that the dunes seemed like waves in an almost petri-
fied sea. Stark fangs of rock jutted here and there—
the remains of mountain ranges which had been
eroded by the wind. And a mournful sighing could
just be heard, as if the sand remembered when it had
been rock and the stones of cities and the bones of
men and beasts and longed for its resurrection, sighed
at the memory of its death.

Elric drew the cloak's cowl over Ms head to protect
it from the fierce sun which hung in the steel-blue
sky.

One day, he thought, I too shall know this peace of
death and perhaps then I shall also regret it. He let
the golden mare slow to a trot and took a sip of water
from one of his canteens.

Now the desert surrounded him and it seemed in-
finite. Nothing grew. No animals lived there. There
were no birds in the sky.

For some reason he shuddered and he had a pre-
sentiment of a moment in the future when he would
be alone, as he was now, in a world even more barren
than this desert, without even a horse for company.
He shook off the thought, but it had left him so
stunned that for a little while he achieved his ambi-
tion and did not brood upon his fate and his situation.
The wind dropped slightly and the sighing became
little more than a whisper.

Dazed, Elric fingered the pommel of his blade—
Stormbringer, the Black Sword—for he associated his

presentiment with the weapon but could not tell why.
And it seemed to him that he heard an ironic note in
the murmuring of the wind. Or did the sound ema-
nate from his sword itself? He cocked his head, lis-
tening, but the sound became even less audible, as if
aware that he listened.

The golden mare began to climb the gentle slope of
a dune, stumbling once as her foot sank into deeper
sand. Elric concentrated on guiding her to firmer
ground.

Reaching the top of the dune he reined his horse
in. The desert dunes rolled on, broken only by the
occasional rock. He had it in mind then to ride on
and on until it would be impossible to return to
Tanelorn, until both he and his mount collapsed from
exhaustion and were eventually swallowed by the
sands. He pushed back his cowl and wiped sweat
from his brow.

Why not? he thought. Life was not bearable. He
would try death.

And yet would death deny him? Was he doomed to
live? It sometimes seemed so.

Then he considered the horse. It would not be fair
to sacrifice it to his desire. Slowly he dismounted.

The wind grew stronger and the sound of its sigh-
ing increased. Sand blew around Elric's booted feet.
It was a hot wind and it tugged at his voluminous
white cloak. The horse snorted nervously.

Elric looked towards the north east, towards the
edge of the world.

And he began to walk.

The horse whinnied enquiringly at him when he did
not call it, but he ignored the sound and had soon left
his mount behind him. He had not even bothered to
bring water with him. He flung back his cowl so that
the sun beat directly upon his head. His pace was
even, purposeful and he marched as if at the head of
an army.
Perhaps he did sense an army behind him—the

army of the dead, of all those friends and enemies
whom he had slain in the course of his pointless
search for a meaning to his existence.

And still one enemy remained alive. An enemy
even stronger, even more malevolent than Theleb
K'aarna—the enemy of his darker self, of that side of
his nature which was symbolised by the sentient blade
still resting at his hip. And when he died, then that
enemy would also die. A force for evil would be re-
moved from the world.

For several hours Elric of Melnibone" tramped on
through the Sighing Desert and gradually, as he had
hoped, his sense of identity began to leave him so that
it was almost as if he became one with the wind and
the sand and, in so doing, was united at last with the
world which had rejected him and which he had re-
jected.

Evening came, but he hardly noticed the sun's set-
ting. Night fell, but he continued to march, unaware
of the cold. Already he was weakening. He rejoiced
in the weakness where previously he had fought to
retain the strength he enjoyed only through the power
of the Black Sword.

And sometime around midnight, beneath a pale
moon, his legs buckled and he fell sprawling in the
sand and lay there while the remains of his sensibili-
ties left him.

"Prince Elric. My Lord?"

The voice was rich, vibrant, almost amused. It was
a woman's voice and Elric recognised it. He did not
move.

"Elric of Melnibone."

He felt a hand on his arm. She was trying to pull
him upright. Rather than be dragged he raised him-
self with some difficulty to a sitting position. He tried
to speak, but at first no words would come from his
mouth which was dry and full of sand. She stood
there as the dawn rose behind her and brightened her
long black hair framing her beautiful features. She

was dressed in a flowing gown of blue, green and gold
and she was smiling.

As he cleared the sand from his mouth he shook
Ms head, saying at last: "If I am dead, then I am still
plagued by phantoms and illusions."

"I am no more illusion than anything else in this
world. You are not dead, my lord."

"You are, in that case, many leagues from Castle
Kaneloon, my lady. You have come from the other
side of the world—from edge to edge."

"I have been seeking you, Elric."

"Then you have broken your word, Myshella, for
when we parted you said that you would not see me
again, that our fates had ceased to be twined."

"I thought then that Theleb K'aarna was dead—
that our mutual enemy had perished in the Noose of
Flesh." The sorceress spread her arms wide and it
was almost as if the gesture summoned the sun, for it
appeared over the horizon, suddenly. "Why did you
walk thus in the desert, my lord?"

"I sought death."

"Yet you know it is not your destiny to die in such
a way."

"I have been told as much but I do not know it,
Lady Myshella. However," he stumbled upright and
stood swaying before her, "I am beginning to suspect
that it is so."

She came forward, bringing a goblet from beneath
her robes. It was full to the brim with a cool, silvery
liquid. "Drink," she said.

He did not lift his hands towards the cup. "I am
not pleased to see you, Lady Myshella."

"Why? Because you are afraid to love me?"

"If it flatters you to think that—aye."

"It does not flatter me. I know you are reminded of
Cymoril and that I made the mistake of letting
Kaneloon become that which you most desire—be-
fore I understood that it is also what you most fear."

He lowered his head. "Be silent!"

"I am sorry. I apologised then. We drove away the

desire and terror together for a little while, did we
not?"

He looked up and she was staring intently into his
eyes. "Did we not?"

"We did." He took a deep breath and stretched out
his hands for the goblet. "Is this some potion to sap
my will and make me work for your interests?"

"No potion could do that. It will revive you, that
is all."

He sipped the liquid and immediately his mouth
was clean and his head clear. He drained the goblet
and he felt a glow of strength in all his limbs and
vitals.

"Do you still wish to die?" she asked as she re-
ceived back the cup, replacing it beneath her robes.

"If death will bring me peace."

"It will not—not if you die now. That I know."

"How did you find me here?"

"Oh, by a variety of means, some of them sorcer-
ous. But my bird brought me to you." She extended
her right arm to point behind him.

He turned and there was the bird of gold and silver
and brass which he himself had once ridden while in
Myshella's service. Its great metallic wings were
folded but there was intelligence in its emerald eyes
as it waited for its mistress.

"Have you come, then, to return me to Tanelorn?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. I have come to tell
you where you may discover our enemy Theleb
K'aarna."

He smiled. "He threatens you again?"

"Not directly."

Elric shook sand from his cloak. "I know you well,
Myshella. You would not interfere in my destiny un-
less it had again become in some way linked with
your own. You have said that I am afraid to love you.
That may be true, for I think I am afraid to love any
woman. But you make use of love—the men to whom
you give your love are men who will serve your
purpose."

"I do not deny that. I love only heroes—and only
heroes who work to ensure the presence of the Power
of Law upon this plane of our Earth. ..."

"I care not whether Law or Chaos gains predomi-
nance. Even my hatred of Theleb K'aarna has waned
—and that was a personal hatred, nothing to do with
any cause."

"What ft you knew Theleb K'aarna once again
threatens the folk of Tanelorn?"

"Impossible. Tanelorn is eternal."

"Tanelorn is eternal—but its citizens are not. I
know. More than once has some catastrophe fallen
upon those who dwell in Tanelorn. And the Lords of
Chaos hate Tanelorn, though they cannot attack it
directly. They would aid any mortal who thought he
could destroy those whom the Chaos Lords regard as
traitors."

Elric frowned. He knew of the enmity of the Lords
of Chaos to Tanelorn. He had heard that on more
than one occasion they had made use of mortals to
attack the city.

"And you say Theleb K'aarna plans to destroy
Tanelorn's citizens? With Chaos' aid?"

"Aye. Your thwarting of his schemes concerning
Nadsokor and Rackhir's caravan made him extend
his hatred to all dwelling in Tanelorn. In Troos he
discovered some ancient grimoires—things which
survived from the Age of the Doomed Folk."

"How can that be? They existed a whole time cycle
before Melnibone!"

"True—but Troos itself has lasted since the Age of
the Doomed Folk and these were people who had
many great inventions, a means of preserving their
wisdom. . . ."

"Very well. I will accept that Theleb K'aarna
found their grimoires. What did those grimoires tell
him?"

"They showed him the means of causing a rupture
in the division which separates one plane of Earth
from another. This knowledge of the other planes is

largely mysterious to us—even your ancestors only
guessed at the variety of existences obtaining in what
the ancients termed the 'multiverse'—and I know
only a little more than do you. The Lords of the
Higher Worlds can, at times, move freely between
these temporal and spatial layers, but mortals can-
not—at least not in this period of our being."

"And what has Theleb K'aarna done? Surely great
power would be needed to cause this 'rupture' you
describe? He does not have that power."

"True. But he has powerful allies in the Chaos
Lords. The Lords of Entropy have leagued them-
selves with him as they would league themselves with
anyone who was willing to be the means of destruc-
tion of those who dwell in Tanelorn. He found more
than manuscripts in the Forest of Troos. He dis-
covered those buried devices which were the inven-
tions of the Doomed Folk and which ultimately
brought about their destruction. These devices, of
course, were meaningless to him until the Lords of
Chaos showed him how they could be activated using
the very forces of creation for their energy."

"And he has activated them? Where?"

"He brought the device he wanted to these parts, for
he needed space to work where he thought he could
not be observed by such as myself."

"He is in the Sighing Desert?"

"Aye. If you had continued on your horse you
would have found him by now—or he you. I believe
that is what drove you into the desert—a compulsion
to seek him out."

"I had no compulsion save a need to die!" Elric
tried to control his anger.

She smiled again. "Have it thus if you will. . . ."

"You mean I am so manipulated by Fate that I
cannot choose to die if I wish?"

"Ask yourself for that answer."

Elric's face was clouded with puzzlement and de-
spair. "What is it, then, which guides me? And to
what end?"

"You must discover that for yourself."

"You want me to go against Chaos? Yet Chaos aids
me and I am sworn to Arioch."

"But you are mortal—and Arioch is slow to aid you
these days, perhaps because he guesses what lies in the
future."

"What do you know of the future?"

"Little—and what I know I cannot speak of to you.
A mortal may choose whom he serves, Elric."

"I have chosen. I chose Chaos."

"Yet much of your melancholy is because you are
divided in your loyalties."

"That, too, is true."

"Besides you would not fight for Law if you fought
against Theleb K'aarna—you would merely be fighting
against one aided by Chaos—and those of Chaos often
fight among themselves do they not?"

"They do. It is also well known that I hate Theleb
K'aarna and would destroy him whether he served Law
or Chaos."

"Therefore you will not unduly anger those to whom
you are loyal—though they may be reluctant to help
you."

"Tell me more of Theleb K'aarna's plans."

"You must see for yourself. There is your horse."
She pointed again and this time he saw the golden
mare emerge from the other side of a dune. "Head
North-east as you were heading, but move cautiously
lest Theleb K'aarna becomes aware of your presence
and traps you."

"Suppose I merely return to Tanelorn—or choose to
try to die again?"

"But you will not, will you, Elric? You have loyalties
to your friends, you wish in your heart to serve what I
represent—and you hate Theleb K'aarna. I do not
think you would wish to die for the moment."

He scowled. "Once more I am burdened with un-
wanted responsibilities, hedged by considerations other
than my own desires, trapped by emotions which we of

Melnibone have been taught to despise. Aye—I will
go, Myshella. I will do what you wish."

"Be careful, Elric. Theleb K'aarna now has powers
which are unfamiliar to you, which you will find diffi-
cult to combat." She gave him a lingering look and sud-
denly he had stepped forward and had seized her,
kissed her while tears flowed down his white face and
mingled with hers.

Later he watched as she climbed into the onyx sad-
dle of the bird of silver and gold and called out a com-
mand. The metal wings beat with a great clashing, the
emerald eyes turned and the gem-studded beak opened.
"Farewell, Elric," said the bird.

But Myshella said nothing, did not look back.

Soon the metal bird was a speck of light in the blue
sky and Elric had turned his horse towards the North-
east

CHAPTER THREE
The Barrier Broken

Elric reined in behind the cover of a crag.
He had found the camp of Theleb K'aarna. A large
tent of yellow silk had been erected beneath the pro-
tection of an overhang of rock which was part of a
formation making a natural amphitheatre among the
dunes of the desert. A wagon and two horses were
close to the tent, but all this was dominated by the
thing of metal which reared in the centre of the clear-
ing. It was contained in an enormous bowl of clear
crystal. The bowl was almost globular with a narrow
opening at the top. The device itself was asymmetrical
and strange, composed of many curved and angular
surfaces which seemed to contain myriad half-formed
faces, shapes of beasts and buildings, illusive designs
coming and going even as Elric looked upon it. An
imagination even more grotesque than that of Elric's
ancestors had fashioned the thing, amalgamating
metals and other substances which logic denied could
ever be fused into one thing. A creation of Chaos
which offered a clue as to how the Doomed Folk had
come to destroy themselves. And it was alive. Deep
within it something pulsed, as delicate and tentative as
the heartbeat of a dying wren. Elric had witnessed
many obscenities in his life and was moved by few of
them, but this device, though superficially more in-
nocuous than much he had seen, brought bile into his
mouth. Yet for all his disgust he remained where he
was, fascinated by the machine in the bowl, until the
flap of the yellow tent was drawn back and Theleb
K'aarna emerged.

The Sorcerer of Pan Tang was paler and thinner
than when Elric had last seen him, shortly before the
battle between the beggars of Nadsokor and the war-
riors of Tanelorn. Yet unhealthy energy flushed the
cheeks and burned in the dark eyes, gave a nervous
swiftness to the movements. Theleb K'aarna ap-
proached the bowl.

As he came closer Elric could hear him muttering
to himself.

"Now, now, now," murmured the sorcerer. "Soon,
soon will die Elric and all who league with him. Ah, the
albino will rue the day when he earned my vengeance
and turned me from a scholar into what I am today.
And when he is dead, then Queen Yishana will realise
her mistake and give herself to me. How could she love
that pale-faced anachronism more than a man of my
great talents? How?"

Elric had almost forgotten Theleb K'aarna's obses-
sion with Queen Yishana of Jharkor, the woman who
had wielded a greater power over the sorcerer than
could any magic. It had been Theleb K'aarna's jeal-
ousy of Elric which had turned him from a relatively
peaceful student of the dark arts into a vengeful practi-
tioner of the most frightful sorceries.

He watched as Theleb K'aarna began with his finger
to trace complicated patterns upon the glass of the
bowl. And with every completed rune the pulse within
the machine grew stronger. Oddly coloured light began
to flow through certain sections, bringing them to life.
A steady thump issued from the neck of the bowl. A
peculiar stink began to reach Elric's nostrils. The core
of light became brighter and larger and the machine
seemed to alter its shape, sometimes becoming ap-
parently liquid and streaming around the inside of the
bowl.

The golden mare snorted and began to shift uneasily.
Elric automatically patted her neck and steadied her.
Theleb K'aarna was now merely a silhouette against the
swiftly changing light within the bowl. He continued
to murmur to himself but his words were drowned by

the heartbeats which now echoed among the surround-
ing rocks. His right hand drew still more invisible
diagrams upon the glass.

The sky seemed to be darkening, though it was
some hours to sunset. Elric looked up. Above his head
the sky was still blue, the golden sun still strong, but the
air around him had grown dark, as if a solitary cloud
had come to cover the scene he witnessed.

Now Theleb K'aarna was stumbling back, his face
stained by the strange light from the bowl, his eyes
huge and mad.

"Come!" he screamed. "Come! The barrier is down!"

Elric saw a shadow then, behind the bowl. It was a
shadow which dwarfed even the great machine. Some-
thing bellowed. It was scaly. It lumbered. It raised a
huge and sinuous head. It reminded Elric of a dragon
from one of his own caves, but it was bulkier and upon
its enormous back were two rows of flapping ridges of
bone. It opened its mouth to reveal row upon row of
teeth and the ground shook as it walked from the other
side of the bowl and stood staring down at the tiny
figure of the sorcerer, its eyes stupid and angry. An-
other came pounding from behind the bowl, and an-
other—great reptilian monsters from another Age of
Earth. And following them came those who controlled
them. The horse was snorting and prancing and des-
perately trying to escape, but Elric managed to calm
her down again as he looked at the figures which now
rested their hands on the obedient heads of the mon-
sters. The figures were even more terrifying than the
reptiles—for although they walked upon two legs and
had hands of sorts they, too, were reptilian. They bore
a peculiar resemblance to the dragon creatures and
their size, also, was many times greater than a man's.
In their hands they had ornate instruments which could
only be weapons—instruments attached to their arms
by spirals of golden metal. A hood of skin covered
their black and green heads and red eyes glared from
the shadows of their faces.

Theleb K'aarna laughed. "I have achieved it. I have

destroyed the barrier between the planes and, thanks to
the Lords of Chaos, have found allies which Elric's
sorcery cannot destroy because they do not obey the
sorcerous rules of this plane! They are invincible, in-
vulnerable—and they obey only Theleb K'aarna!"

A huge snorting and screaming came from beasts and
warriors alike.

"Now we shall go against Tanelorn!" Theleb
K'aarna shouted. "And with this power I shall return
to Jharkor, to make fickle Yishana my own!"

Elric felt a certain sympathy for Theleb K'aarna at
that moment. Without the aid of the Lords of Chaos,
his sorcery could not have achieved this. He had given
himself up to them, had become one of their tools all
because of his weak-minded love for Jharkor's ageing
queen. Elric knew he could not go against the monsters
and their monstrous riders. He must return to Tanelorn
to warn his friends to leave the city, to hope that he
might find a means of returning these frightful inter-
lopers back to their own plane. But then the mare
screamed suddenly and reared, maddened by the sights,
the sounds and the smells she had been forced to wit-
ness. And the scream sounded in a sudden silence. The
rearing horse revealed itself to Theleb K'aarna as he
turned his mad eyes in Elric's direction.

Elric knew he could not outride the monsters. He
knew those weapons could easily destroy him from a
distance. He drew the black hellsword Stormbringer
from its scabbard and it shouted as it came free. He
drove his spurs into the horse and he rode directly
down the rocks towards the bowl while Theleb K'aarna
was still too startled to give orders to his new allies. His
one hope was that he could destroy the device—or at
least break some important part of it—and in so doing
return the monsters to their own plane.

His white face ghastly in the sorcerous darkness, his
sword raised high, he galloped past Theleb K'aarna
and struck a mighty blow at the glass protecting the
machine.

The Black Sword collided with the glass and sank

into it. Carried on by the momentum, Elric was flung
from his saddle and he, too, passed through the glass
without apparently breaking it. He glimpsed the dread-
ful planes and curves of the Doomed Folk's device.
His body struck them. He felt as if the fabric of his
being was disintegrating. . .

. . . and then he lay sprawled upon sweet grass and
there was nothing of the desert, of Theleb K'aarna, of
the pulsing machine, of the horrible beasts and their
dreadful masters, only waving foliage and warm sun-
shine. He heard birdsong and he heard a voice.

"The storm. It has gone. And you? Are you called
Elric of Melnibone?"

He picked himself up and turned. A tall man stood
before him. The man was clad in a conical silver
helm and was encased to the knee in a byrnie also of
silver. A scarlet, longsleeved coat partly covered the
byrnie. The man bore a scabbarded longsword at his
side. His legs were encased in breeks of soft leather
and there were boots of green-tinted doeskin on his
feet. But Elric's attention was caught primarily by the
man's features (which resembled those of a Melni-
bonean much more than those of a true man) and the
fact that he wore upon his left hand a six-fingered
gauntlet encrusted with dark jewels, while over his
right eye was a large patch which was also jewelled
and matched the hand. The eye not covered by the
patch was large and slanting and had a yellow centre
and purple surrounds.

"I am Elric of Melnibone," the albino agreed. "Are
you to thank for rescuing me from those creatures
Theleb K'aarna summoned?"

The tall man shook his head. " 'Twas I that sum-
moned you, but I know of no Theleb K'aarna. I was
told that I had only one opportunity to receive your
aid and that I must take it in this particular place at
this particular time. I am called Corum Jhaelen Irsei—
the Prince in the Scarlet Robe—and I ride upon a
Quest of grave import."

Elric frowned. The name had a half-familiar ring,
but he could not place it. He half-recalled an old
dream . . .

"Where is this forest?" he asked, sheathing his
sword.

"It is nowhere on your plane or in your time, Prince
Elric. I summoned you to aid me in my battle against
the Lords of Chaos. Already I have been instrumental
in destroying two of the Sword rulers—Arioch and
Xiombarg—but the third, the most powerful, re-
mains. . . ."

"Arioch of Chaos—and Xiombarg? You have de-
stroyed two of the most powerful members of the
Company of Chaos? Yet but a month since I spoke with
Arioch. He is my patron. He . . ."

"There are many planes of existence," Prince Co-
rum told him gently. "In some the Lords of Chaos are
strong. In some they are weak. In some, I have heard,
they do not exist at all. You must accept that here
Arioch and Xiombarg have been banished so that
effectively they no longer exist in my world. It is the
third of the Sword Rulers who threatens us now—the
strongest, King Mabelode."

Elric frowned. "In my—plane—Mabelode is no
stronger than Arioch and Xiombarg. This makes a
travesty of all my understanding. . . ."

"I will explain as much as I can," said Prince
Corum. "For some reason Fate has selected me to be
the hero who must banish the domination of Chaos
from the Fifteen Planes of Earth. I am at present
travelling on my way to seek a city which we call
Tanelorn, where I hope to find aid. But my guide is a
prisoner in a castle close to here and before I can
continue I must rescue him. I was told how I might
summon aid to help me effect this rescue and I used the
spell to bring you to me. I was to tell you that if you
aided me, then you would aid yourself—that if I was
successful then you would receive something which
would make your task easier."

"Who told you this?"

"A wise man."

Elric sat down on a fallen tree-trunk, his head in
his hands. "I have been drawn away at an importunate
time," he said. "I pray that you speak the truth to me,
Prince Corum." He looked up suddenly. "It is a marvel
that you speak at all—or at least that I understand
you. How can this be?"

"I was informed that we should be able to com-
municate easily because 'we are part of the same thing'.
Do not ask me to explain more, Prince Elric, for I
know no more."

Elric shrugged. "Well this may be an illusion. I may
have killed myself or become digested by that machine
of Theleb K'aarna's, but plainly I have no choice but
to agree to aid you in the hope that I am, in turn,
aided."

Prince Corum left the clearing and returned with
two horses, one white and one black. He offered the
reins of the black horse to Elric.

Elric settled himself in the unfamiliar saddle. "You
spoke of Tanelorn. It is for the sake of Tanelorn that
I find myself in this dreamworld of yours."

Prince Corum's face was eager. "You know where
Tanelorn lies?"

"In my own world, aye—but why should it lie in
this one?"

"Tanelorn lies in all planes, though in different
guises. There is one Tanelorn and it is eternal with
many forms."

They were riding through the gentle forest along a
narrow track.

Elric accepted what Corum said. There was a
dreamlike quality about his presence here and he
decided that he must regard all events here as he
would regard the events in a dream. "Where go we
now?" he asked casually. "To the castle?"

Corum shook his head. "First we must have the
Third Hero—the Many-named Hero."

"And will you summon him with sorcery, too?"

"I was told not. I was told that he would meet us—

drawn from whichever Age he exists in by the neces-
sity to complete the Three Who Are One."

"And what mean these phrases? What is the Three
Who Are One?"

"I know little more than you, friend Elric, save
that it will need all three of us to defeat him who
holds my guide prisoner."

"Aye," murmured Elric feelingly, "and it will need
more than that to save my Tanelorn from Theleb
K'aarna's reptiles. Even now they must march against
the city."

CHAPTER FOUR
The Vanishing Tower.

The road widened and left the forest to
wander among the heather of high and hilly moorland
country. Far away to the west they could see cliffs,
and beyond the cliffs was the deeper blue of the
ocean. A few birds circled in the wide sky. It seemed
a particularly peaceful world and Elric could hardly
believe that it was under attack from the forces of
Chaos. As they rode Corum explained that his gaunt-
let was not a gauntlet at all, but the hand of an alien
being, grafted on to his arm, just as his eye was an
alien eye which could see into a terrifying nether-
world from which Corum could bring aid if he chose
to do so.

"All you tell me makes the complicated sorceries
and cosmologies of my world seem simple in com-
parison," Elric smiled as they crossed the peaceful
landscape.

"It only seems complicated because it is strange,"
Corum said. "Your world would doubtless seem in-
comprehensible to me if I were suddenly flung into it
Besides," he laughed, "this particular plane is not my
world, either, though it resembles it more than do
many. We have one thing in common, Elric, and that
is that we are both doomed to play a role in the con-
stant struggle between the Lords of the Higher
Worlds—and we shall never understand why that
struggle takes place, why it is eternal. We fight, we
suffer agonies of mind and soul, but we are never sure
that our suffering is worthwhile."

"You are right," Elric said feelingly. "We have
much in common, you and I, Corum."

Corum was about to reply when he saw something on
the road ahead. It was a mounted warrior. He sat
perfectly still as if he awaited them. "Perhaps this is
the Third of whom Bolorhiag spoke."

Cautiously, they rode forward.

The man they approached stared at them from a
brooding face. He was as tall as them, but bulkier.
His skin was jet black and he wore upon his head and
shoulders the stuffed head and pelt of a snarling bear.
His plate armour was also black, without insignia,
and at his side was a great black-hilted sword in a
black scabbard. He rode a massive roan stallion and
there was a heavy round shield attached to the back
of his saddle. As Elric and Corum came closer the
man's handsome negroid features assumed an aston-
ished expression and he gasped.

"I know you! I know you both!"

Elric, too, felt he recognised the man, just as he
had noticed something familiar in Corum's features.

"How came you here to Balwyn Moor, friend?"
Corum asked him.

The man looked about him as if in a daze. "Balwyn
Moor? This is Balwyn Moor? I have been here but a
few moments. Before that I was—I was . . . Ah!
The memory starts to fade again." He pressed a large
hand to his forehead. "A name—another name! No
more! Elric! Corum! But I—I am now . . ."

"How do you know our names?" Elric asked him.
A mood of dread had seized the albino. He felt that
he should not ask these questions, that he should not
know the answers.

"Because—don't you see?—I am Elric—I am
Corum—oh, this is the worst agony. . . . Or, at
least, I have been or am to be Elric or Corum. . . ."

"Your name, sir?" Corum said again.

"A thousand names are mine. A thousand heroes I
have been. Ah! I am—I am—John Daker—Erekose
—Urlik—many, many, many, more. . . . The mem-

ories, the dreams, the existences." He stared at them
suddenly through his pain-filled eyes. "Do you not
understand? Am I the only one to be doomed to
understand? I am he who has been called the Cham-
pion Eternal—I am the hero who has existed forever
—and, yes, I am Elric of Melnibone—Prince Corum
Jhaelen Irsei—I am you, also. We three are the same
creature and a myriad other creatures besides. We
three are one thing—doomed to struggle forever and
never understand why. Oh! My head pounds. Who
tortures me so? Who?

Elric's throat was dry. "You say you are another
incarnations of myself!"

"If you would phrase it so! You are both other
incarnations of myself!"

"So," said Corum, "that is what Bolorhiag meant
by the Three Who Are One. We are all aspects of the
same man, yet we have tripled our strength because
we have been drawn from three different ages. It is
the only power which might successfully go against
Voilodion Ghagnasdiak of the Vanishing Tower."

"Is that the castle wherein your guide is impris-
oned?" Elric asked, casting a glance of sympathy at
the groaning black man.

"Aye. The Vanishing Tower flickers from one
plane to another, from one age to another, and exists
in a single location only for a few moments at a tune.
But because we are three separate incarnations of a
single hero it is possible that we form a sorcery of
some kind which will enable us to follow the tower
and attack it. Then, if we free my guide, we can con-
tinue on to Tanelorn. . . ."

"Tanelorn?" The black man looked at Corum with
hope suddenly flooding into his eyes. "I, too, seek
Tanelorn. Only there may I discover some remedy to
my dreadful fate—which is to know all previous in-
carnations and be hurled at random from one exis-
tence to another! Tanelorn—I must find her!"

"I, too, must discover Tanelorn," Elric told him,

"for on my own plane her inhabitants are in great
danger."

"So we have a common purpose as well as a com-
mon identity," Corum said. "Therefore we shall fight
in concert, I pray. First we must free my guide, then
go on to Tanelorn."

Til aid you willingly," said the black giant.

"And what shall we call you—you who are our-
selves?" Corum asked him.

"Call me Erekose—though another name suggests
itself to me—for it was as Erekose that I came closest
to knowing forgetfulness and the fulfilment of love."

"Then you are to be envied, Erekose," Elric said
meaningly, "for at least you have come close to for-
getfulness. . . ."

"You have no inkling of what it is I must forget,"
the black giant told him. He shook his reins. "Now
Corum—which way to the Vanishing Tower?"

"This road leads to it We ride down now to
Darkvale, I believe."

Elric's mind could hardly contain the significance of
what he had heard. It suggested that the universe—or
the multiverse, as Myshella had named it—was di-
vided into infinite layers of existence, that time was
virtually a meaningless concept save where it related
to one man's life or one short period of history. And
there were planes of existence where the Cosmic Bal-
ance was not known at all—or so Corum had sug-
gested—and other planes where the Lords of the
Higher Worlds had far greater powers than they had
on his own world. He was tempted to consider the
idea of forgetting Theleb K'aarna, Myshella, Tane-
lorn and the rest and devote himself to the explora-
tion of all these infinite worlds. But then he knew
that this could not be for, if Erekose spoke the truth,
then he—or something which was essentially himself
—existed in all these planes already. Whatever force
it was which he named "Fate" had admitted him to
this plane to fulfil one purpose. An important pur-

pose affecting the destinies of a thousand planes it
must surely be if it brought him together in three
separate incarnations. He glanced curiously at the
black giant on his left, at the maimed man with the
jewelled hand and eye on his right. Were they really
himself?

Now he fancied he felt some of the desperation
Erekose must feel—to remember all those other in-
carnations, all those other mistakes, all that other
pointless conflict—and never to know the purpose for
it all, if purpose indeed there were.

"Darkvale," said Corum pointing down the hill.

The road ran steeply until it passed between two
looming cliffs, disappearing in shadow. There was
something particularly gloomy about the place.

"I am told there was a village here once," Corum
said to them. "An uninviting spot, eh, brothers?"

"I have seen worse," murmured Erekose. "Come,
let's get all this done with. . . ." He spurred his roan
ahead of the others and galloped at great speed down
the steep path. They followed his example and soon
they had passed between the lowering cliffs and could
barely see ahead of them as they continued to follow
the road through the shadows.

And now Elric saw ruins huddled close to the foot
of the cliffs on either side. Oddly twisted rums which
had not been the result of age or warfare—these ruins
were warped, fused, as if Chaos had touched them
while passing through the vale.

Corum had been studying the ruins carefully and
at length he reined in. "There," he said. "That pit
Here is where we must wait."

Elric looked at the pit. It was ragged and deep and
the earth in it seemed freshly turned as if it had been
but lately dug. "What must we wait for, Friend
Corum?"

"For the Tower," said Prince Corum. "I would
guess that this is where it appears when it is in this
plane."

"And when will it appear?"

"At no particular time. We must wait. And then, as
soon as we see it, we must rush it and attempt to enter
before it vanishes again, moving on to the next
plane."

Erekose's face was impassive. He dismounted and
sat on the hard ground with his back against a slab of
rock which had once belonged to a house.

"You seem more patient than I, Erekose," said
Elric.

"I have learned patience, for I have lived since
time began and will live on at the end of time."

Elric got down from his own black horse and loos-
ened its girth strap while Corum prowled about the
edge of the pit. "Who told you that the Tower would
appear here?" Elric asked him.

"A sorcerer who doubtless serves Law as I do, for
I am a mortal doomed to battle Chaos."

"As am I," said Erekose the Champion Eternal.

"As am I," said Elric of Melnibone, "though I am
sworn to serve it."

Elric looked at his two companions and it was
possible to believe that these were two incarnations
of himself. Certainly their lives, their struggles, their
personalities, to some extent, were very similar.

"And why do you seek Tanelorn, Erekose?" he
asked.

"I have been told that I may find peace there—
and wisdom—a means of returning to the world of
the Eldren where dwells the woman I love, for it has
been said that since Tanelorn exists in all planes at all
times it is easier for a man who dwells there to pass
between the planes, discover the particular one he
seeks. What interest have you in Tanelorn, Lord
Elric?"

"I know Tanelorn and I know that you are right to
seek it. My mission seems to be the defence of that
city upon my own plane—but even now my friends
may be destroyed by that which has been brought
against them. I pray Corum is right and that in the

Vanishing Tower I shall find a means to defeat
Theleb K'aarna's beasts and their masters."

Corum raised his jewelled hand to his jewelled eye.
"I seek Tanelorn for I have heard the city can aid me
in my struggle against Chaos."

"But Tanelorn will fight neither Law nor Chaos—
that is why she exists for eternity," Elric said.

"Aye. Like Erekose I do not seek swords but wis-
dom."

Night fell and Darkvale grew gloomier. While the
others watched the pit Elric tried to sleep, but his
fears for Tanelorn were too great. Would Myshella
try to defend the city? Would Moonglum and Rackhir
die? And what could he possibly find in the Vanish-
ing Tower which would aid him? He heard the mur-
muring of conversation as his other selves discussed
how Darkvale had come to exist.

"I heard that Chaos once attacked the town which
at that time lay in a quiet valley," Corum told
Erekose. "The tower was then the property of a
knight who gave shelter to one whom Chaos hated.
They brought a huge force of creatures against
Darkvale, raising and compressing the walls of the
valley, but the knight sought the aid of Law who
enabled him to shift his tower into another dimen-
sion. Then Chaos decreed that the tower should shift
forever, never being on one plane longer than a few
hours, usually for never more than a few moments.
The knight and the fugitive went mad at last and
killed each other. Then Voilodion Ghagnasdiak
found the tower and became resident therein. Too
late he realised his mistake as he was shifted from his
own plane to an alien one. Since then he has been too
fearful to leave the tower but desperate for company.
He has taken to the habit of capturing whomever he
can and forcing them to be his companions in the
Vanishing Tower until they bore him. When they
bore him, he slays them."

"And your guide may soon be slain? What manner
of creature is this Voilodion Ghagnasdiak?"

"He is a monstrous evil creature commanding
great powers of destruction, that is all I know."

"Which is why the gods have seen fit to call up
three aspects of myself to attack the Vanishing
Tower," said Erekose. "It must be important to them."

"It is to me," said Corum, "for the guide is also my
friend and the very existence of the Fifteen Planes is
threatened if I cannot find Tanelorn soon."

Elric heard Erekose laugh bitterly. "Why cannot
I—we—ever be faced with a small problem, a do-
mestic problem. Why are we forever involved with
the destiny of the universe?"

Corum replied just as Elric began to nod into a
half-doze. "Perhaps domestic problems are worse.
Who knows?"

CHAPTER FIVE
Jhary-a-Conel

"It is here! Hasten Elric!"

Elric sprang up.

It was dawn. He had already stood watch once
during the night.

He drew his Black Sword from its scabbard noticing
with some astonishment that Erekose had already
drawn his own blade and that it was almost identical
to his own.

There was the Vanishing Tower.

Corum was running towards it even now.

The tower was in fact a small castle of grey and solid
stone, but about its battlements played lights and its
outline was not altogether clear at certain sections of
its walls.

Elric ran beside Erekose.

"He keeps the door open to lure his 'guests' in,"
panted the black giant. "It is our only advantage, I
think."

The tower flickered.

"Hasten!" Corum cried again and the Prince in the
Scarlet Robe dashed into the darkness of the doorway.

"Hasten!"

They ran into a small antechamber which was lit by a
great oil lamp hanging from the ceiling by chains.

The door closed suddenly behind them.

Elric glanced at Erekose's tense black features, at
Corum's blemished face. All had swords ready, but
now a profound silence filled the hall. Without speaking
Corum pointed through a window-slit. The view be-

yond it had changed. They seemed now to be looking
out over blue sea.

"Jhary!" Corum called. "Jhary-a-Conel!"

A faint sound came back. It might have been a
reply or it might have been the squeak of a rat in the
castle walls. "Jhary!" Corum cried again. "Voilodion
Ghagnasdiak? Am I to be thwarted? Have you left
this place?"

"I have not left it. What do you want with me?" The
voice came from the next room. Warily the three heroes
who were one hero went forward.

Something like lightning flickered in the room and in
its ghastly glare Elric saw Voilodion Ghagnasdiak.

He was a dwarf clad all in puffed multicoloured silks,
furs and satins, a tiny sword in his hand. His head
was too large for his body, but it was a handsome head
with thick black eyebrows which met in the middle. He
smiled at them. "At last someone new to relieve my
ennui. But lay down your swords, gentlemen, I beg
you, for you are to be my guests."

"I know what fate your guests may expect," Corum
said. "Know this, Voilodion Ghagnasdiak, we have
come to release Jhary-a-Conel whom you hold prisoner.
Give him up to us and we will not harm you."

The dwarf's handsome features grinned cheerfully
at these words. "But I am very powerful. You cannot
defeat me. Watch."

He waved his sword and more lightning lashed
about the room. Elric half-raised his sword to ward it
off, but it never quite touched him. He stepped angrily
towards the dwarf. "Know this, Voilodion Ghagnas-
diak, I am Elric of Melnibone" and I have much power.
I bear the Black Sword and it thirsts to drink your soul
unless you release Prince Corum's friend!"

Again the dwarf laughed. "Swords? What power
have they?"

"Our swords are not ordinary blades," Erekose said.
"And we have been brought here by forces you could
not comprehend—wrenched from our own ages by

the power of the gods themselves—specifically to de-
mand that this Jhary-a-Conel be given up to us."

"You are deceived," said Voilodion Ghagnasdiak,
"or you seek to deceive me. This Jhary is a witty fellow,
I'd agree, but what interest could gods have in him?"

Elric raised Stormbringer. The Black Sword moaned
in anticipation of a quenching.

Then the dwarf produced a tiny yellow ball from
nowhere and flung it at Elric. It bounced on his fore-
head and he was flung backward across the room,
Stormbringer clattering from his hand. Dizzily Elric
tried to rise, reached out to take his sword, but he was
too weak. On impulse he began to cry for the aid of
Arioch, but then he remembered that Arioch had been
banished from this world. There were no supernatural
allies to call upon here—none but the sword and he
could not reach the sword.

Erekose leapt backward and kicked the Black Sword
in Elric's direction. As the albino's hand encircled the
hilt he felt strength come back to him, but it was no
more than ordinary mortal strength. He climbed to bis
feet.

Corum remained where he was. The dwarf was still
laughing. Another ball appeared in his hand. Again he
flung it at Elric, but this time he brought up the Black
Sword in time and deflected it. It bounced across the
room and exploded against the far wall. Something
black writhed from the fire.

"It is dangerous to destroy the globes," said Voilo-
dion Ghagnasdiak equably, "for now what is in them
will destroy you."

The black thing grew. The flames died.

"I am free," said a voice.

"Aye." Voilodion Ghagnasdiak was gleeful. 'Free
to kill these fools who reject my hospitality!"

"Free to be slain," Elric replied as he watched the
thing take shape.

At first it seemed all made of flowing hair which
gradually compressed until it formed the outline of a
creature with the heavily muscled body of a gorilla,

though the hide was thick and warted like that of a
rhinoceros. From behind the shoulders curved great
black wings and on the neck was the snarling head of
a tiger. It clutched a long, scythe-like weapon in its
hairy hands. The tiger head roared and the scythe
swept out suddenly, barely missing Elric.

Erekose and Corum began to move forward to
Elric's aid. Elric heard Corum cry: "My eye—it will
not see into the netherworld. I cannot summon help!"
It seemed that Corum's sorcerous powers were also
limited on this plane. Then Voilodion Ghagnasdiak
threw a yellow ball at the black giant and the pale man
with the jewelled hand. Both barely managed to de-
flect the missiles and, in so doing, caused them to burst.
Immediately shapes emerged and became two more of
the winged tiger-men and Elric's allies were forced to
defend themselves.

As he dodged another swing of the scythe Elric tried
to think of some rune which would summon super-
natural aid to him, but he could think of none which
would work here. He thrust at the tiger-man but his
blow was blocked by the scythe. His opponent was
enormously strong and swift. The black wings began to
beat and the snarling thing flapped upwards to the
ceiling, hovered for a moment and then rushed down
on Elric with its scythe whirling, a chilling scream
coming from its fanged mouth, its yellow eyes glaring.

Elric felt something close to panic. Stormbringer was
not supplying him with the strength he expected. Its
powers were diminished on this plane. He barely man-
aged to dodge the scythe again and lash at the crea-
ture's exposed thigh. The blade bit but no blood came.
The tiger-man did not seem to notice the wound.
Again it began to flap towards the ceiling.

Elric saw that his companions were experiencing a
similar plight. Corum's face was full of consternation as
if he had expected an easy victory and now foresaw
defeat.

Meanwhile Voilodion Ghagnasdiak continued to
scream his glee and flung more of the yellow balls about

the room. As each one burst there emerged another
snarling winged tiger creature. The room was full of
them. Elric, Erekose and Corum backed to the far wall
as the monsters bore down on them, their ears full of
the fearful beating of the giant wings, the harsh
screams of hatred.

"I fear I have summoned you two to your destruc-
tion," Corum panted. "I had no warning that our
powers would be so limited here. The tower must shift
so fast that even the ordinary laws of sorcery do not
apply within its walls."

"They seem to work well enough for the dwarf,"
Elric said as he brought up his blade to block first one
scythe and then another. "If I could slay but a sin-
gle . . ."

His back was hard against the wall, a scythe nicked
his cheek and drew blood, another tore his cloak,
another slashed his arm. The tiger faces were grinning
now as they closed in.

Elric aimed a blow at the head of the nearest crea-
ture, struck off its ear so that it howled. Stormbringer
howled back and stabbed at the thing's throat.

But the sword hardly penetrated and served only to
put the tiger-man slightly off balance.

As the thing staggered Elric wrenched the scythe
from its hands and reversed the weapon, drawing the
blade across the chest. The tiger-man screamed as
blood spurted from the wound.

"I was right!" Elric shouted at the others. "Only
their own weapons can harm them!" He moved for-
ward with the scythe in one hand and Stormbringer in
the other. The tiger-men backed off and then began to
flap upwards to hover near the ceiling.

Elric ran towards Voilodion Ghagnasdiak. The
dwarf gave a yell of terror and disappeared through a
doorway too small easily to admit Elric.

Then, with thundering wings, the tiger creatures
descended again.

This tune the other two strove to capture scythes
from their enemies. Driving back those who attacked

him, the albino prince took Corum's main assailant
from behind and the thing fell with its head sliced off.
Corum sheathed his longsword and plucked up the
scythe, killing a third tiger-man almost immediately and
kicking the fallen scythe towards Erekose. Black feath-
ers drifted in the stinking air. The flagstones of the
floor were slippery with blood. The three heroes drove
a path through their enemies into the smaller room they
had lately left. Still the tiger creatures came on, but
now they had to pass through the door and this was
more easily defended.

Glancing back Elric saw the window slit of the
tower. Outside the scenery altered constantly as the
Vanishing Tower continued its erratic progress through
the planes of existence. But the three were wearying
and all had lost some blood from minor wounds.
Scythes clashed on scythes as the fight continued,
wings beat loudly and the snarling faces spat at them
and spoke words which could barely be understood.
Without the strength supplied him by his hell-forged
sword Elric was weakening rapidly. Twice he staggered
and was borne up by the others. Was he to die in some
alien world with his friends never knowing how he had
perished? But then he remembered that his friends
were even now under attack from the reptilian beasts
Theleb K'aarna had sent against Tanelorn, that they,
too, would soon be dead. This knowledge gave him a
little more strength and enabled him to sweep his
scythe deep into the belly of another tiger creature.

This gap in the ranks of the sorcerous things enabled
him to see the small doorway on the far side of the
other room. Voilodion Ghagnasdiak was crouched
there, hurling still more of the yellow globes. New
winged tiger-men grew up to replace those who had
fallen.

But then Elric heard Voilodion Ghagnasdiak give a
yell and saw that something was covering his face. It
was a black and white animal with small black wings
which beat in the air. Some offspring of the beasts who
attacked him? Elric could not tell. But Voilodion Ghag-

nasdiak was plainly terrified of it, trying to drag it from
his face.

Another figure appeared behind the dwarf. Bright
eyes peered from an intelligent face framed by long
black hair. He was dressed as ostentatiously as the
dwarf, but he was unarmed. He was calling to
Elric and the albino strained to catch the words even
as another tiger-creature came at him.

Corum saw the newcomer now. "Jhary!" he shouted.

"The one you came to save?" Elric asked.

"Aye."

Elric made to press forward into the room, but
Jhary-a-Conel waved him back. "No! No! Stay there!"

Elric frowned, was about to ask why when he was
attacked from two sides by the tiger creatures and had
to retreat, slashing his scythe this way and that.

"Link arms!" Jhary-a-Conel cried. "Corum in the
centre—and you two draw your swords!"

Elric was panting. He slew another tiger-man and
felt a new pain shoot through his leg. Blood gushed
from his calf.

Voilodion Ghagnasdiak was still struggling with
the thing which clung to his face.

"Hurry!" cried Jhary-a-Conel. "It is your only
chance—and mine!"

Elric looked at Corum.

"He is wise, my friend," Corum said. "He knows
many things which we do not. Here, I will stand in the
centre."

Erekose linked his brawny arm with Corum's and
Elric did the same on the other side. Erekose drew his
sword in his left hand and Elric brought forth Storm-
bringer in his right.

And something began to happen. A sense of energy
came back, then a sense of great physical well-being.
Elric looked at his companions and laughed. It was al-
most as if by combining their powers they had made
them four tunes stronger—as if they had become one
entity.

A peculiar feeling of euphoria filled Elric and he

knew that Erekose had spoken the truth—that they
were three aspects of the same being.

"Let us finish them!" he shouted—and he saw that
they shouted the same. Laughing the linked three
strode into the chamber and now the two swords
wounded whenever they struck, slaying swiftly and
bringing them more energy still.

The winged tiger-men became frantic, flapping about
the room as the Three Who Were One pursued them.
All three were drenched in their own blood and that of
their enemies, all three were laughing, invulnerable,
acting completely in unison.

And as they moved the room itself began to shake.
They heard Voilodion Ghagnasdiak screaming.

"The tower! The tower! This will destroy the
tower!"

Elric looked up from the last corpse. It was true that
the tower was swaying wildly from side to side like a
ship in a storm.

Jhary-a-Conel pushed past the dwarf and entered
the room of death. The sight seemed obnoxious to him
but he controlled his feelings. "It is true. The sorcery
we have worked today must have its effect. Whiskers—
to me!"

The thing on Voilodion Ghagnasdiak's face flew into
the air and settled on Jhary's shoulder. Elric saw that
it was a small black and white cat, ordinary in every
detail save for its neat pair of wings which it was now
folding.

Voilodion Ghagnasdiak sat crumpled in the doorway
and he was weeping through sightless eyes. Tears of
blood flowed down his handsome face.

Elric ran back into the other room, breaking his link
with Corum. He peered through the window slit. But
now there was nothing but a wild eruption of mauve
and purple cloud.

He gasped. "We are in limbo!"

Silence fell. Still the tower swayed. The lights were
extinguished by a strange wind blowing through the

rooms and the only illumination came from outside
where the mist still swirled.

Jhary-a-Conel was frowning to himself as he joined
Elric at the window.

"How did you know what to do?" Elric asked him.

"I knew because I know you, Elric of Melnibone"—
just as I know Erekose there—for I travel in many ages
and on many planes. That is why I am sometimes called
Companion to Champions. I must find my sword and
my sack—also my hat. Doubtless all are in Voilodion's
vault with his other loot."

"But the tower? If it is destroyed shall we, too, be
destroyed?"

"A possibility. Come, friend Elric, help me seek my
hat."

"At such a time, you look for a—hat?"

"Aye." Jhary-a-Conel returned to the larger room,
stroking the black and white cat. Voilodion Ghagnas-
diak was still there and he was still weeping. "Prince
Corum—Lord Erekose—will you come with me, too."

Corum and the black giant joined Elric and they
squeezed into the narrow passage, inching their way
along until it widened to reveal a flight of stairs leading
downward. The tower shuddered again. Jhary lit a
brand and removed it from its place in the wall. He
began to descend the steps, the three heroes behind
him.

A slab of masonry fell from the roof and crashed
just in front of Elric. "I would prefer to seek a means
of escape from the tower," he said to Jhary-a-Conel.
"If it falls now, we shall be buried."

"Trust me, Prince Elric," was all that Jhary would
say.

And because Jhary had already shown himself to
possess great knowledge Elric allowed the dandy to
lead him further into the bowels of the tower.

At last they reached a circular chamber and in it
was set a huge metal door.

"Voilodion's vault," Jhary told them. "Here you will
find all the things you seek. And I, I hope, will find my

bat. The hat was specially made and is the only one
which properly matches my other clothes. . . ."

"How do we open a door like that?" Erekose asked.
"It is made of steel, surely!" He hefted the black blade
he still bore in his left hand.

"If you link arms again, my friends," Jhary suggested
with a kind of mocking deference, "I will show you how
the door may be opened."

Once again Elric, Corum and Erekose linked their
arms together. Once again the supernatural strength
seemed to flow through them and they laughed at
each other, knowing that they were all part of the same
creature.

Jhary's voice seemed to come faintly to Elric's ears.
"And now, Prince Corum, if you would strike with your
foot once upon the door. . . ."

They moved until they were close to the door. That
part of them which was Corum struck out with his foot
at the slab of steel—and the door fell inward as if made
of the lightest wood.

This tune Elric was much more reluctant to break
the link which held them. But he did so at last as Jhary
stepped into the vault chuckling to himself.

The tower lurched. All three were flung after Jhary
into Voilodion's vault. Elric fell heavily against a great
golden chair of a kind he had once seen used as an
elephant saddle. He looked around the vault. It was full
of valuables, of clothes, shoes, weapons. He felt nau-
seated as he realised that these had been the posses-
sions of all those Voilodion had chosen to call his
guests.

Jhary pulled a bundle from under a pile of furs.
"Look, Prince Elric. These are what you will need
where Tanelorn is concerned." It seemed to be a bunch
of long sticks rolled in thin sheets of metal.

Elric accepted the heavy bundle. "What is it?"

"They are the banners of bronze and the arrows of
quartz. Useful weapons against the reptilian men of
Pio and their mounts."

"You know of those reptiles? You know of Theleb
K'aarna, too?"

"The sorcerer of Pan Tang? Aye."

Elric stared almost suspiciously at Jhary-a-Conel.
"How can you know all this?"

"I have told you. I have lived many lives as a Friend
of Heroes. Unwrap this bundle when you return to
Tanelorn. Use the arrows of quartz like spears. To use
the banners of bronze, merely unfurl them. Aha!"
Jhary reached behind a sack of jewels and came up
with a somewhat dusty hat. He smacked off the dust
and placed it on his head. "Ah!" He bent again and
displayed a goblet. He offered this to Prince Corum.
"Take it. It will prove useful, I think."

From another corner Jhary took a small sack and
put it on his shoulder. Almost as an afterthought he
hunted about in a chest of jewels and found a gleaming
ring of unnamable stones and peculiar metal. "This is
your reward, Erekose, in helping to free me from my
captor."

Erekose smiled. "I have the feeling you needed no
help, young man."

"You are mistaken, friend Erekose. I doubt if I have
ever been in greater peril." He looked vaguely about
the vault, staggering as the floor tilted alarmingly.

Elric said: "We should take steps to leave."

"Exactly." Jhary-a-Conel crossed swiftly to the fat
side of the vault. "The last thing. In his pride Voilodion
showed me his possessions, but he did not know the
value of all of them."

"What do you mean?" asked the Prince in the Scar-
let Robe.

"He killed the traveller who brought this with him.
The traveller was right in assuming he had the means
to stop the tower from vanishing, but he did not have
time to use it before Voilodion had slain him." Jhary
picked up a small staff coloured a dull ochre. "Here it
is. The Runestaff. Hawkmoon had this with him when
I travelled with him to the Dark Empire. . . ."

Noticing their puzzlement, Jhary-a-Conel, Compan-

ion to Champions, apologised. "I am sorry. I some-
times forget that not all of us have memories of other
careers. . . ."

"What is the Runestaff?" Corum asked.

"I remember one description—but I am poor at
naming and explaining things. . . ."

"That has not escaped my notice," Elric said, al-
most smiling.

"It is an object which can only exist under a certain
set of spatial and temporal laws. In order to continue to
exist, it must exert a field in which it can contain itself.
That field must accord with those laws—the same laws
under which we best survive."

More masonry fell.

"The tower is breaking up!" Erekose growled.

Jhary stroked the dull ochre staff. "Please gather
near me, my friends."

The three heroes stood around him. And then the
roof of the tower fell in. But it did not fall on them for
they stood suddenly on firm ground breathing fresh air.
But there was blackness all around them. "Do not step
outside this small area," Jhary warned, "or you will be
doomed. Let the Runestaff seek what we seek."

They saw the ground change colour, breathed
warmer, then colder, air. It was as if they moved from
plane to plane of the universe, never seeing more than
the few feet of ground upon which they stood.

And then there was harsh desert sand beneath their
feet and Jhary shouted. "Now!" The four of them
rushed out of the area and into the blackness to find
themselves suddenly in sunlight beneath a sky like
beaten metal.

"A desert," Erekose murmured. "A vast desert...."

Jhary smiled. "Do you not recognise it, friend Elric?"

"Is it the Sighing Desert?"

"Listen."

And sure enough Elric heard the familiar sound of
the wind as it made its mournful passage across the
sands. A little way away he saw the Runestaff where
they had left it. Then it was gone.

"Are you all to come with me to the defence of
Tanelorn?" he asked Jhary.

Jhary shook his head. "No. We go the other way.
We go to seek the device Theleb K'aarna activated
with the help of the Lords of Chaos. Where lies it?"

Elric tried to get his bearings. He lifted a hesitant
finger. "That way, I think."

"Then let us go to it now."

"But I must try to help Tanelorn."

"You must destroy the device after we have used it,
friend Elric, lest Theleb K'aarna or his like try to acti-
vate it again."

"But Tanelorn . . ."

"I do not believe that Theleb K'aarna and his beasts
have yet reached the city."

"Not reached it! So much time has passed!"

"Less than a day."

Elric rubbed at his face. He said reluctantly: "Very
well. I will take you to the machine."

"But if Tanelorn lies so near," Corum said to Jhary,
"why seek it elsewhere?"

"Because this is not the Tanelorn we wish to find,"
Jhary told him.

"It will suit me," Erekose said. "I will remain with
Elric. Then, perhaps . . ."

A look almost of terror spread over Jhary's features
then. He said sadly: "My friend—already much of
time and space is threatened with destruction. Eternal
barriers could soon fall—the fabric of the multiverse
could decay. You do not understand. Such a thing as
has happened in the Vanishing Tower can only happen
once or twice in an eternity and even then it is danger-
ous to all concerned. You must do as I say. I promise
that you will have just as good a chance of finding
Tanelorn where I take you. Your opportunity lies in
Elric's future."

Erekose bowed his head. "Very well."

"Come," Elric said impatiently, beginning to strike
off to the North-east. "For all your talk of Tune, there
is precious little left for me."

CHAPTER SIX

Pale Lord Shouting in Sunlight

The machine in the bowl was where Elric
had last seen it, just before he had attacked it and
found himself plunged into Corum's world.

Jhary seemed completely familiar with it and soon
had its heart beating strongly. He shepherded the other
two up to it and made them stand with their backs
against the crystal. Then he handed something to Elric.
It was a small vial.

"When we have departed," he said, "hurl this
through the top of the bowl, then take your horse
which I see is yonder and ride as fast as you can for
Tanelorn. Follow these instructions perfectly and you
will serve us all."

Elric accepted the vial. "Very well."

"And," Jhary said finally as he took his place with
the others, "please give my compliments to my brother
Moonglum."

"You know him? What—?"

"Farewell, Elric! We shall doubtless meet many
times in the future, though we may not recognise each
other."

Then the beating of the thing in the bowl grew
louder and the ground shook and the strange darkness
surrounded it—then the three figures had gone. Swiftly
Elric hurled the vial upwards so that it fell through the
opening of the bowl, then he ran to where his golden
mare was tethered, leapt into the saddle with the bun-
dle Jhary had given him under his arm, and galloped
as fast as he could go towards Tanelorn.

Behind him the beating suddenly ceased. The dark-

ness disappeared. A tense silence fell. Then Elric heard
something like a giant's gasp and blinding blue light
filled the desert. He looked back. Not only the bowl
and the device had gone—so also had the rocks which
had once surrounded it.

He came up behind them at last, just before they
reached the walls of Tanelorn. Elric saw warriors on
those walls.

The massive reptilian monsters bore their equally re-
pulsive masters upon their backs, their feet leaving
deep marks in the sand as they moved. And Theleb
K'aarna rode at their head on a chestnut stallion—and
there was something draped across his saddle.

Then a shadow passed over Elric's head and he
looked up. It was the metal bird which had borne
Myshella away. But it was riderless. It wheeled over
the heads of the lumbering reptiles whose masters
raised their strange weapons and sent hissing streams
of fire in its direction, driving it higher into the sky.
Why was the bird here and not Myshella? A peculiar
cry came again and again from its metal throat and
Elric realised what that cry resembled—the pathetic
sound of a mother bird whose young is in danger.

He stared hard at the bundle over Theleb K'aarna's
saddle and suddenly he knew what it must be. Myshella
herself! Doubtless she had given Elric up for dead and
had tried to go against Theleb K'aarna only to be
beaten.

Anger boiled in the albino. All his intense hatred
for the sorcerer revived and his hand went to his sword.
But then he looked again at the vulnerable walls of
Tanelorn, at his brave companions on the battlements,
and he knew that his first duty was to help them.

But how was he to reach the walls without Theleb
K'aarna seeing him and destroying him before he could
bring the banners of bronze to his friends? He prepared
to spur his horse forward and hope that he would be
lucky. Then a shadow passed over his head again and
he saw that it was the metal bird flying low, something

CHAPTER SIX

Pale Lord Shouting in Sunlight

The machine in the bowl was where Elric
had last seen it, just before he had attacked it and
found himself plunged into Corum's world.

Jhary seemed completely familiar with it and soon
had its heart beating strongly. He shepherded the other
two up to it and made them stand with their backs
against the crystal. Then he handed something to Elric.
It was a small vial.

"When we have departed," he said, "hurl this
through the top of the bowl, then take your horse
which I see is yonder and ride as fast as you can for
Tanelorn. Follow these instructions perfectly and you
will serve us all."

Elric accepted the vial. "Very well."

"And," Jhary said finally as he took his place with
the others, "please give my compliments to my brother
Moonglum."

"You know him? What—?"

"Farewell, Elric! We shall doubtless meet many
times in the future, though we may not recognise each
other."

Then the beating of the thing in the bowl grew
louder and the ground shook and the strange darkness
surrounded it—then the three figures had gone. Swiftly
Elric hurled the vial upwards so that it fell through the
opening of the bowl, then he ran to where his golden
mare was tethered, leapt into the saddle with the bun-
dle Jhary had given him under his arm, and galloped
as fast as he could go towards Tanelorn.

Behind him the beating suddenly ceased. The dark-

ness disappeared. A tense silence fell. Then Elric heard
something like a giant's gasp and blinding blue light
filled the desert. He looked back. Not only the bowl
and the device had gone—so also had the rocks which
had once surrounded it

He came up behind them at last, just before they
reached the walls of Tanelorn. Elric saw warriors on
those walls.

The massive reptilian monsters bore their equally re-
pulsive masters upon their backs, their feet leaving
deep marks in the sand as they moved. And Theleb
K'aarna rode at their head on a chestnut stallion—and
there was something draped across his saddle.

Then a shadow passed over Elric's head and he
looked up. It was the metal bird which had borne
Myshella away. But it was riderless. It wheeled over
the heads of the lumbering reptiles whose masters
raised their strange weapons and sent hissing streams
of fire in its direction, driving it higher into the sky.
Why was the bird here and not Myshella? A peculiar
cry came again and again from its metal throat and
Elric realised what that cry resembled—the pathetic
sound of a mother bird whose young is in danger.

He stared hard at the bundle over Theleb K'aarna's
saddle and suddenly he knew what it must be. Myshella
herself! Doubtless she had given Elric up for dead and
had tried to go against Theleb K'aarna only to be
beaten.

Anger boiled in the albino. All his intense hatred
for the sorcerer revived and his hand went to his sword.
But then he looked again at the vulnerable walls of
Tanelorn, at his brave companions on the battlements,
and he knew that his first duty was to help them.

But how was he to reach the walls without Theleb
K'aarna seeing him and destroying him before he could
bring the banners of bronze to his friends? He prepared
to spur his horse forward and hope that he would be
lucky. Then a shadow passed over his head again and
he saw that it was the metal bird flying low, something

like agony in its emerald eyes. He heard its voice.
"Prince Elric! We must save her."

He shook his head as the bird settled in the sand.
"First I must save Tanelorn."

"I will help you," said the bird of gold and silver and
brass. "Climb up into my saddle."

Elric cast a glance towards the distant monsters.
Their attention was now wholly upon the city they in-
tended to destroy. He jumped from his horse and
crossed the sand to clamber into the onyx saddle of the
bird. The wings began to clash and with a rush they
swept into the sky, turning towards Tanelorn.

More streaks of fire hissed around them as they
neared the city, but the bird flew rapidly from side to
side and avoided them. Down they drifted now to the
gentle city, to land on the wall itself.

"Elric!" Moonglum came running along the defences.
"We were told you were dead!"

"By whom?"

"By Myshella and by Theleb K'aarna when he de-
manded our surrender."

"I suppose they could only believe that," Elric said,
separating the staffs around which were furled the thin
sheets of bronze. "Here, you must take these. I am told
that they will be useful against the reptiles of Pio. Un-
furl them along the walls. Greetings, Rackhir." He
handed the astounded Red Archer one of the banners.

"You do not stay to fight with us?" Rackhir asked.

Elric looked down at the twelve slender arrows in
his hand. Each one was perfectly carved from multi-
coloured quartz so that even the fletchings seemed like
real feathers. "No," he said. "I hope to rescue Myshella
from Theleb K'aarna—and I can use these arrows
better from the air, also."

"Myshella, thinking you dead, seemed to go mad,"
Rackhir told him. "She conjured up various sorceries
against Theleb K'aarna—but he retaliated. At last she
flung herself from the saddle of that bird you ride—
flung herself upon him armed only with a knife. But he
overpowered her and has threatened to slay her if we

do not allow ourselves to be killed without retaliating.
I know that he will kill Myshella anyway. I have been
in something of a quandary of conscience. . . ."

"I will resolve that quandary, I hope." Elric stroked
the metallic neck of the bird. "Come, my friend, into
the air again. Remember, Rackhir—unfurl the banners
along the walls as soon as I have gamed a good height."

The Red Archer nodded, his face puzzled, and once
again Elric was rising into the air, the arrows of quartz
clutched in his left hand.

He heard Theleb K'aarna's laughter from below.
He saw the monstrous beasts moving inexorably to-
wards the walls. The gates opened suddenly and a
group of horsemen rode out. Plainly they had hoped to
sacrifice themselves in order to save Tanelorn and
Rackhir had not had time to warn them of Elric's mes-
sage.

The riders galloped wildly towards the reptilian
monsters of Pio, their swords and lances waving, their
yells rising to where Elric drifted high above. The mon-
sters roared and opened their huge jaws, their masters
pointed their ornate weapons at the horsemen of Tane-
lorn. Flames burst from the muzzles, the riders shrieked
as they were devoured by the dazzling heat.

In horror Elric directed the metal bird downwards.
And at last Theleb K'aarna saw him and reined in his
horse, his eyes wide with fear and rage. "You are
dead! You are dead!"

The great wings beat at the air as the bird hovered
over Theleb K'aarna's head. "I am alive, Theleb
K'aarna—and I come to destroy you at long last!
Give Myshella up to me."

A cunning expression came over the sorcerer's
face. "No. Destroy me and she is also destroyed.
Beings of Pio—turn your full strength against Tane-
lorn. Raze it utterly and show this fool what we can
do!"

Each of the reptilian riders directed their oddly
shaped weapons at Tanelorn where Rackhir, Moon-
glum and the rest waited on the battlements.

"No!" shouted Elric. "You cannot—"

There was something flashing on the battlements.
They were unfurling at last the banners of bronze.
And as each banner was unfurled a pure golden light
blazed out from it until there was a vast wall of light
stretching the whole length of the defences, making it
impossible to see the banners themselves or the men
who held them. The beings of Pio aimed their weap-
ons and released streams of fire at the barrier of light
which immediately repelled them.

Theleb K'aarna's face was suffused with anger.
"What is this? Our earthly sorcery cannot stand
against the power of Pio!"

Elric smiled savagely. "This is not our sorcery—it
is another sorcery which can resist that of Pio! Now,
Theleb K'aarna, give up Myshella!"

"No! You are not protected as Tanelorn is pro-
tected. Beings of Pio—destroy him!"

And, as the weapons began to be directed at him,
Elric flung the first of the arrows of quartz. It flew
true—directly into the face of the leading reptilian
rider. A high whining escaped the rider's throat as it
raised its webbed hands towards the arrow embedded
in its eye. The beast the rider sat upon reared, for it
was plain that it was only barely controlled. It turned
away from the blinding light from Tanelorn and it
galloped at earth-shaking speed away into the desert,
the dead rider falling from its back. A streak of fire
barely missed Elric and he was forced to take the
bird up higher, flinging down another arrow and see-
ing it strike a rider's heart. Again the mount went out
of control and followed its companion into the desert.
But there were ten more of the riders and each now
turned his weapon against Elric, though finding it
hard to aim as all the mounts grew restive and sought
to accompany the two who had fled. Elric left it to the
metal bird to duck and to dive through the criss-cross
of beams and he hurled down another arrow and
another. His clothes and his hair were singed and he
remembered another tune when he had ridden the

bird across the Boiling Sea. Part of the bird's right
wing-tip had been melted and its flight was a little
more erratic. But still it climbed and dived and still
Elric threw the arrows of quartz into the ranks of the
beings of Pio. Then, suddenly, there were only two
left and they were turning to flee, for nearby a cloud
of unpleasant blue smoke had begun to erupt where
Theleb K'aarna had been. Elric flung the last arrows
after the reptiles of Pio and took each rider in the
back. Now there were only corpses upon the sand.

The blue smoke cleared and Theleb K'aarna's
horse stood there. And there was another corpse re-
vealed. It was that of Myshella, Empress of the
Dawn, and her throat had been cut. Theleb K'aarna
had vanished, doubtless with the aid of sorcery.

Sickened, Elric descended on the bird of metal. On
the walls of Tanelorn the light faded. He dismounted
and he saw that the bird was weeping dark tears from
its emerald eyes. He knelt beside Myshella.

An ordinary mortal could not have done it, but
now she opened her lips and she spoke, though blood
bubbled from her mouth and her words were hard to
make out.

"Elric . . ."

"Can you live?" Elric asked her. "Have you some
power to . . ."

"I cannot live. I am slain. Even now I am dead.
But it will be some comfort to you to know that
Theleb K'aarna has earned the disdain of the great
Chaos Lords. They will never aid him again as they
aided him this tune, for in their eyes he has proved
himself incompetent."

"Where has he gone? I will pursue him. I will slay
him the next time, that I swear."

"I think that you will. But I do not know where he
went. Elric—I am dead and my work is threatened.
I have fought against Chaos for centuries and now, I
think, Chaos will increase its power. Soon the great
battle between the Lords of Law and the Lords of
Entropy will take place. The threads of destiny be-

come much tangled—the very structure of the uni-
verse seems about to transform itself. You have some
part in this . . . some part. . . . Farewell, Elric!"

"Oh, Myshella!"

"Is she dead now?" It was the sombre voice of the
bird of metal.

"Aye." The word was forced from Elric's tight
throat.

"Then I must take her back to Kaneloon."

Gently Elric picked up Myshella's bloody corpse,
supporting the half-severed head on his arm. He
placed the body in the onyx saddle.

The bird said: "We shall not see each other again,
Prince Elric, for my death shall follow closely upon
Lady Myshella's."

Elric bowed his head.

The shining wings spread and, with the sound of
cymbals clashing, beat at the air.

Elric watched the beautiful creature circle in the
sky, and then turn and fly steadily towards the south
and World's Edge.

He buried his face in his hands, but he was beyond
weeping now. Was it the fate of all the women he
loved to die? Would Myshella have lived if she had
let him die when he had wanted to? There was no
rage left in him, only a sense of impotent despair.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned.
Moonglum stood there, with Rackhir beside him.
They had ridden out from Tanelorn to find him.

"The banners have vanished," Rackhir told him.
"And the arrows, too. Only the corpses of those crea-
tures remain and we shall bury them. Will you come
back with us, now, to Tanelorn?"

"Tanelorn cannot give me peace, Rackhir."

"I believe that to be true. But I have a potion in my
house which will deaden some of your memories,
help you forget some of what has happened lately."

"I would be grateful for such a potion. Though I
doubt ..."

"It will work. I promise. Another would achieve

complete forgetfulness from drinking this potion. But
you may hope to forget a little."

Elric thought of Corum and Erekose and Jhary-a-
Conel and the implications of his experiences—that
even if he were to die he would be reincarnated in
some other form to fight again and to suffer again.
An eternity of warfare and of pain. If he could forget
that knowledge it would be enough. He had the
impulse to ride far away from Tanelorn and concern
himself as much as he could in the pettier affairs of
men.

"I am so weary of gods and their struggles," he
murmured as he mounted his golden mare.

Moonglum stared out into the desert.

"But when will the gods themselves weary of it, I
wonder?" he said. "If they did, it would be a happy
day for Man. Perhaps all our struggling, our suffering,
our conflicts are merely to relieve the boredom of the
Lords of the Higher Worlds. Perhaps that is why
when they created us they made us imperfect."

They began to ride towards Tanelorn while the
wind blew sadly across the desert. The sand was
already beginning to cover up the corpses of those
who had sought to wage war against eternity and had,
inevitably, found that other eternity which was death.

For a while Elric walked his horse beside the
others. His lips formed a name but did not speak it.

And then, suddenly, he was galloping towards
Tanelorn dragging the screaming runesword from its
scabbard and brandishing it at the impassive sky,
making the horse rear up and lash its hooves in the
air, shouting over and over again in a voice full of
roaring misery and bitter rage:

"Ah, damn you! Damn you! Damn you!"

But those who heard him—and some might have
been the Gods he addressed—knew that it was Elric
of Melnibone himself who was truly damned.