Prologue 

THE DREAM OF EARL AUBEC 

In which we learn something of how the-
Age of the Young Kingdoms emerged
and of the part played by the Dark Lady,
Myshella, whose fate would later be in-
tertwined with that of Elric of Melnibone

 

From the glassless window of the stone tower it was
possible to see the wide river winding off between
loose, brown banks, through the heaped terrain of
solid green copses which blended very gradually into
the mass of the forest proper. And out of the forest,
the cliff rose, grey and light-green, up and up, the
rock darkening, lichen-covered, to merge with the
lower, and even more massive, stones of the castle. It
was the castle which dominated the countryside in
three directions, drawing the eye from river, rock, or
forest. Its walls were high and of thick granite, with
towers; a dense field of towers, grouped so as to
shadow one another.
Aubec of Malador marveled and wondered how
human builders could ever have constructed it, save
by sorcery. Brooding and mysterious, the castle
seemed to have a defiant air, for it stood on the very
edge of the world.
At this moment the lowering sky cast a strange,
deep-yellow light against the western sides of the
towers, intensifying the blackness untouched by it.
Huge billows of blue sky rent the general racing
greyness above, and mounds of red cloud crept
through to blend and produce more and subtler
colourings. Yet, though the sky was impressive, it
could not take the gaze away from the ponderous
series of man-made crags that were Castle Kaneloon.
Earl Aubec of Malador did not turn from the win-
dow until it was completely dark outside; forest,

cliff, and castle but shadowy tones against the overall
blackness. He passed a heavy, knotted hand over his
almost bald scalp and thoughtfully went towards the
heap of straw which was his intended bed.
The straw was piled in a niche created by a
buttress and the outer wall and the room was well-
lighted by Malador's lantern. But the air was cold as
he lay down on the straw with his hand dose to the
two-handed broadsword of prodigious size. This was
his only weapon. It looked as if it had been forged
for a giant--Malador was virtually that himself--with
its wide crosspiece and heavy, stone-encrusted hilt
and five-foot blade, smooth and broad. Beside it was
Malador's old, heavy armour, the casque balanced on
top with its somewhat tattered black plumes waving
slightly in a current of air from the window.
Malador slept.


His dreams, as usual, were turbulent: of mighty
armies surging across the blazing landscapes, curling
banners bearing the blazons of a hundred nations,
forests of shining lance-tips, seas of tossing helmets,
the brave, wild blasts of the war-horns, the clatter of
hooves, and the songs and cries and shouts of sol

diers. These were dreams of earlier times, of his
youth when, for Queen Eloarde of Klant, he had
conquered all the Southern nations--almost to the
edge of the world. Only Kaneloon, on the very edge,
had he not conquered, and this because no army
would follow him there.
For one of so martial an appearance, these dreams
were surprisingly unwelcome, and Malador woke
several times that night, shaking his head in an at-
tempt to rid himself of them.
He would rather have dreamed of Eloarde,
though she was the cause of his restlessness, but he
saw nothing of her in his sleep; nothing of her soft, 

black hair that billowed around her pale face, noth-
ing of her green eyes and red lips and her proud,
disdainful posture. Eloarde had assigned him to this
quest and he had not gone willingly, though he had
no choice, for as well as his mistress she was also his
Queen. The Champion was traditionally her lover--
and it was unthinkable to Earl Aubec that any other
condition should exist. It was his place, as Champion
of Klant, to obey and go forth from her palace to
seek Castle Kaneloon alone and conquer it and de-
clare it part of her Empire, so that it could be said
Queen Eloarde's domain stretched from the Dragon
Sea to World's Edge.
Nothing lay beyond World's Edge--nothing save
the swirling stuff of unformed Chaos which stretched
away from the Cliffs of Kaneloon for eternity, roiling
and broiling, multicoloured, full of monstrous half-
shapes--for Earth alone was Lawful and constituted
of ordered matter, drifting in the sea of Chaos-stuff
as it had done for aeons.
In the morning, Earl Aubec of Malador extin-
guished the lantern which he had allowed to remain
alight, drew greaves and hauberk on to him, placed
his black plumed helm upon his head, put his broad-
sword over his shoulder and sallied out of the stone
tower which was all that remained whole of some an-
cient edifice.
His leathern-shod feet stumbled over stones that
seemed partially dissolved, as if Chaos had once
lapped here instead of against the towering Cliffs of
Kaneloon. That, of course, was quite impossible,
since Earth's boundaries were known to be constant.
Castle Kaneloon had seemed closer the night be-
fore and that, he now realised, was, because it was so
huge. He followed the river, his feet sinking in the
loamy soil, the great branches of the trees shading
him from the increasingly hot sun as he made his

way towards the cliffs. Kaneloon was now out of
sight, high above him. Every so often he used his
sword as an axe to clear his way through the places
where the foliage was particularly thick.
He rested several times, drinking the cold water of
the river and mopping his face and head. He was
unhurried, he had no wish to visit Kaneloon, he
resented the interruption to his life with Eloarde
which he thought he had earned. Also he, too, had a
superstitious dread of the mysterious castle, which
was said to be inhabited only by one human occu-
pant-the Dark Lady, a sorceress without mercy who
commanded a legion of demons and other Chaos crea-
tures.
He regarded the cliffs at midday and regarded the
path leading upward with a mixture of wariness and
relief. He had expected to have to scale the cliffs. He
was not one, however, to take a difficult route where
an easy one presented itself, so he looped a cord
around his sword and slung it over his back, since it
was too long and cumbersome to carry at his side.
Then, still in bad humour, he began to climb the
twisting path.
The lichen-covered rocks were evidently ancient,
contrary to the speculations of certain philosophers
who asked why Kaneloon had only been heard of a
few generations since. Malador believed in the gen-
eral answer to this question--that explorers had
never ventured this far until fairly recently. He
glanced back down the path and saw the tops of the
trees below him, their foliage moving slightly in the
breeze. The tower in which he'd spent the night was
just visible in the distance and, beyond that, he
knew, there was no civilisation, no outpost of Man
for many days' journey North, East, or West-can
Chaos lay to the South? He had never been so close

to the edge of the world before and wondered how
the sight of unformed matter would affect his brain.
At length he clambered to the top of the cliff and
stood, arms akimbo, staring up at Castle Kaneloon
which soared a mile away, its highest towers hidden
in the clouds, its immense walls rooted on the rock
and stretching away, limited on both sides only by
the edge of the cliff. And, on the other side of the
cliff, Malador watched the churning, leaping Chaos-
substance, predominantly grey, blue, brown, and
yellow at this moment, though its colours changed
constantly, spew like the sea-spray a few feet from the
castle.
He became filled with a feeling of such indescrib-
able profundity that he could only remain in this
position for a long while, completely overwhelmed
by a sense of his own insignificance. It came to him,
eventually, that if anyone did dwell in the Castle
Kaneloon, then they must have a robust mind or else
must be insane, and then he sighed and strode on
towards his goal, noting that the ground was per-
fectly flat, without blemish, green, obsidian, and re-
flecting imperfectly the dancing Chaos-stuff from
which he averted his eyes as much as he could.
Kaneloon had many entrances, all dark and unwel-
coming, and had they all not been of regular size
and shape they might have been so many cave-
mouths.
Malador paused before choosing which to take,
and then walked with outward purposefulness
towards one. He went into blackness which appeared
to stretch away forever. It was cold; it was empty and
he was alone.

He was soon lost. His footsteps made no echo,
which was unexpected; then the blackness began to
give way to a series of angular outlines, like the

walls of a twisting corridor--walls which did not
reach the unsensed roof, but ended several yards
above his head: It was a labyrinth, a maze. He
paused and looked back and saw with horror that
the maze wound off in many directions, though he
was sure he had followed a straight path from the
outside.
For an instant, his mind became diffused and
madness threatened to engulf him, but he battened
it down, unslung his sword, shivering. Which way?
He pressed on, unable to tell, now, whether he went
forward or backward.
The madness lurking in the depths of his brain
filtered out and became fear and, immediately fol-
lowing the sensation of fear, came the shapes. Swift-
moving shapes, darting from several different direc-
tions, gibbering, fiendish, utterly horrible.
One of these creatures kept at him and he struck
at it with his blade. It fled, but seemed unwounded.
Another came and another and he forgot his panic as
he smote around him, driving them back until all
had fled. He paused and leaned, panting, on his
sword. Then, as he stared around him, the fear be-
gan to flood back into him and more creatures ap-
peared-creatures with wide, blazing eyes and
clutching talons, creatures with malevolent faces,
mocking him, creatures with half-familiar faces,
some recognisable as those of old friends and rela-
tives, yet twisted into horrific parodies. He screamed
and ran at them, whirling his huge sword, slashing,
hacking at them, rushing past one group to turn a
bend in the labyrinth and encounter another.
Malicious laughter coursed through the twisting
corridors, following him and preceding him as he
ran. He stumbled and fell against a wall. At first the
wall seemed of solid stone, then, slowly it became
soft and he sank through it, his body lying half in

one corridor, half in another. He hauled himself
through, still on hands and knees, looked up and saw
Eloarde, but an Eloarde whose face grew old as he
watched.
"I am mad," he thought. "Is this reality or fantasy--
or both?"
He reached out a hand, "Eloarde"
She vanished but was replaced by a crowding
horde of demons. He raised himself to his feet and
flailed around him with his blade, but they skipped
outside his range and he roared at them as he ad-
vanced. Momentarily, while he thus exerted himself,
the fear left him again and, with the disappearance
of the fear, so the visions vanished until he realised
that the fear preceded the manifestations and he tried
to control it.
He almost succeeded, forcing himself to relax, but
it welled up again and the creatures bubbled out of
the walls, their shrill voices full of malicious mirth.
This time he did not attack them with his sword,
but stood his ground as calmly as he could and
concentrated upon his own mental condition. As he
did so, the creatures began to fade away and then
the walls of the labyrinth dissolved and it seemed to
him that he stood in a peaceful valley, calm and idyl-
lic. Yet, hovering close to his consciousness, he
seemed to see the walls of the labyrinth faintly out-
lined, and disgusting shapes moving here and there
along the many passages.
He realised that the vision of the valley was as
much an illusion as the labyrinth and, with this con-
clusion, both valley and labyrinth faded and he
stood in the enormous hall of a castle which could
only be Kaneloon.
The hall was unoccupied though well-furnished,
and he could not see the source of the light, which
was bright and even. He strode towards a table, on

which were heaped scrolls, and his feet made a satis-
fying echo. Several great metal-studded doors led off
from the hall, but for the moment he did not investi-
gate them, intent on studying the scrolls and seeing
if they could help him unravel Kaneloon's mystery.
He propped his sword against the table and took
up the first scroll.
It was a beautiful thing of red vellum, but the
black letters upon it meant nothing to him and he
was astounded for, though dialects varied from place
to place, there was only one language in all the lands
of the Earth. Another scroll bore different symbols
still, and a third he unrolled carried a series of highly
stylised pictures which were repeated here and there
so that he guessed they formed some kind of alphabet.
Disgusted, he flung the scroll down, picked up his
sword, drew an immense breath, and shouted:
'Who dwells here? Let them know that Aubec,
Earl of Malador, Champion of Klant and Conqueror
of the South claims this castle in the name of Queen
Eloarde, Empress of all the Southlands
In shouting these familiar words, he felt somewhat
more comfortable, but he received no reply. He
lifted his casque a trifle and scratched his neck.
Then he picked up his sword, balanced it over his
shoulder, and made for the largest door.
Before he reached it, it sprang open and a huge,
manlike thing with hands like grappling irons
grinned at him.
He took a pace backward and then another until,
seeing that the thing did not advance, stood his
ground observing it.
It was a foot or so taller than he, with oval, multi-
faceted eyes that, by their nature, seemed blank. Its
face was angular and had a grey, metallic sheen.
Most of its body was comprised of burnished metal,
jointed in the manner of armour. Upon its head was

a tight-fitting hood, studded with brass. It had about
it an air of tremendous and insensate power, though
it did not move. 

A golem Malador exclaimed for it seemed to
him that he remembered such man-made creatures
from legends. 'What sorcery created you'
The golem did not reply but its hands--which
were in reality comprised of four spikes of metal
apiece--began slowly to flex themselves; and still the
golem grinned.
This thing, Malador knew, did not have the same
amorphous quality of his earlier visions. This was
solid, this was real and strong, and even Malador's
manly strength, however much he exerted it, could
not defeat such a creature. Yet neither could he turn
away.
With a scream of metal joints, the golem entered
the hall and stretched its burnished hands towards
the earl.
Malador could attack or flee, and fleeing would be
senseless. He attacked.
His great sword clasped in both hands, he swung
it sideways at the golem's torso, which seemed to be
its weakest point. The golem lowered an arm and
the sword shuddered against metal with a mighty
clang that set the whole of Malador's body quaking.
He stumbled backward. Remorselessly, the golem
followed him.
Malador looked back and searched the hall in the
hope of finding a weapon more powerful than his
sword, but saw only shields of an ornamental kind
upon the wall to his right. He turned and ran to the
wall, wrenching one of the shields from its place and
slipping it on to his arm. It was an oblong thing,
very light, and comprising several layers of cross-
grained wood. It was inadequate, but it made him

feel a trifle better as he whirled again to face the go-
lem.
The golem advanced, and Malador thought he
noticed something familiar about it, just as the
demons of the labyrinth had seemed familiar, but
the impression was only vague. Kaneloon's weird sor-
cery was affecting his mind, he decided.
The creature raised the spikes on its right arm
and aimed a swift blow at Malador's head. He
avoided it, putting Up his sword as protection. The
spikes clashed against the sword and then the left
arm pistoned forward, driving at Malador's stomach.
The shield stopped his blow, though the spikes
pierced it deeply. He yanked the buckler off the
spikes, slashing at the golem's leg-joints as he did so.
Still staring into the middle-distance, with ap-
parently no real interest in Malador, the golem ad-
vanced like a blind man as the earl turned and leapt
on to the table, scattering the scrolls. Now he
brought his huge sword down upon the golem's
skull, and the brass studs sparked and the hood and
head beneath it was dented. The golem staggered
and then grasped the table, heaving it off the floor so
that Malador was forced to leap to the ground. This
time he made for the door and tugged at its latch-
ring, but the door would not open.
His sword was chipped and blunted. He put his
back to the door as the golem reached him and
brought its metal hand down on the top edge of the
shield. The shield shattered and a dreadful pain shot
up Malador's arm. He lunged at the golem, but he
was unused to handling the big sword in this manner
and the stroke was clumsy.
Malador knew that he was doomed. Force and
fighting skill were not enough against the golem's in-
sensate strength. At the golem's next blow he swung
aside, but was caught by one of its spike-fingers

which ripped through his armour and drew blood,
though at that moment he felt no pain.
He scrambled up, shaking away the grip and frag-
ments of wood which remained of the shield, grasp-
ing his sword firmly.
"The soulless demon has no weak spot," he
thought, "and since it has no true intelligence, it can-
not be appealed to. What would a golem fear?"
The answer was simple. The golem would only
fear something as strong or stronger than itself.
He must use cunning.
He ran for the upturned table with the golem
after him, leaped over the table and wheeled as the
golem stumbled but did not, as he'd hoped, fall. How-
ever, the golem was slowed by its encounter, and Au-
bec took advantage of this to rush for the door
through which the golem had entered. It opened.
He was in a twisting corridor, darkly shadowed, not
unlike the labyrinth he had first found in Kaneloon.
The door closed, but he could find nothing to bar it
with. He ran up the corridor as the golem tore the
door open and came lumbering swiftly after him.
The corridor writhed about in all directions, and,
though he could not always see the golem, he could
hear it and had the sickening fear that he would
turn a corner at some stage and run straight into it.
He did not--but he came to a door and, upon open-
ing it and passing through it, found himself again in
the hall of Castle Kaneloon.
He almost welcomed this familiar sight as he
heard the golem, its metal parts screeching, continue
to come after him. He needed another shield, but
the part of the hall in which he now found himself
had no wall-shields--only a large, round mirror of
bright, clear-polished metal. It would be too heavy
to be much use, but he seized it, tugging it from its
hook. It fell with a clang and he hauled it up, drag-

ging it with him as he stumbled away from the go
lem which had emerged into the room once more.
Using the chains by which the mirror had hung,
he gripped it before him and, as the golem's speed
increased and the monster rushed upon him, he
raised this makeshift shield.
The golem shrieked.
Malador was astounded. The monster stopped
dead and cowered away from the mirror. Malador
pushed it towards the golem and the thing turned its
back and fled, with a metallic howl, through the door
it had entered by.
Relieved and puzzled, Malador sat down on the
floor and studied the mirror. There was Certainly
nothing magical about it, though its quality was
good. He grinned and said aloud:
'The creature�s afraid of something. It is afraid of
itself'
He threw back his head and laughed loudly in his
relief. Then he frowned. 'Now to find the sorcerers
who created him and take vengeance on them' He
pushed himself to his feet, twisted the chains of the
mirror more securely about his arm and went to an-
other door, concerned lest the golem complete its cir-
cuit of the maze and return through the door. This
door would not budge, so he lifted his sword and
hacked at the latch for a few moments until it gave.
He strode into a well-lit passage with what appeared
to be another room at its far end--the door open.
A musky scent came to his nostrils as he progressed
along the passage--the scent that reminded him of
Eloarde and the comforts of Klant.
When he reached the circular chamber, he saw
that it was a bedroom -- a woman's bedroom full of
the perfume he had smelled in the passage. He con-
trolled the direction his mind took, thought of loy-

alty and Klant, and went to another door which led
off from the room. He lugged it open and discovered
a stone staircase winding upward. This he mounted,
passing windows that seemed glazed with emerald or
ruby, beyond which shadow-shapes flickered so that
he knew he was on the side of the castle overlooking
Chaos.
The staircase seemed to lead up into a tower, and
when he finally reached the small door at its top he
was feeling out of breath and paused before enter-
ing. Then he pushed the door open and went in.
A huge window was set in one wall, a window of
clear glass through which he could see the ominous
stuff of Chaos leaping. A woman stood by this win-
dow as if awaiting him.
'You are indeed a champion, Earl Aubec,' said she
with a smile that might have been ironic.
'How do you know my name?'
'No sorcery gave it me, Earl of Malador -- you
shouted it loudly enough when you first saw the hall
in its true shape.'
'Was not that, then, sorcery,' he said ungraciously,
'the labyrinth, the demons--even the valley? Was not
the golem made by sorcery? Is not this whole cursed
castle of a sorcerous nature?'
She shrugged. 'Gall it so if you'd rather not have
the truth. Sorcery, in your mind at least, is a crude
thing which only hints at the true powers existing in
the universe.'
He did not reply, being somewhat impatient of
such statements. He had learned, by observing the
philosophers of Klant, that mysterious words often
disguised commonplace things and ideas. Instead, he
looked at her sulkily and over-frankly.
She was fair, with green-blue eyes and a light com-
plexion. Her long robe was of a similar colour to her
eyes. She was, in a secret sort of way, very beautiful

as the heroes who had earlier won over the dangers
of Kaneloon. And then, she thought, she knew what
to say.
'Think, Earl Aubec,' she whispered. 'Think--new
lands for your queen's Empire!'
He frowned.
'Why not extend the Empire's boundaries farther?'
"she continued. 'Why not make new territories?'
She watched him anxiously as he took off his helm
and scratched his heavy, bald head. 'You have made
a point at last,' he said dubiously. 

'Think of the honours you would receive in Klant
if you succeeded in winning not merely Kaneloon--
but that which lies beyond!'
Now he rubbed is chin. 'Aye,' he said, 'Aye . .:
His great brows frowned deeply.
'New plains, new mountains, new seas-new popu-
lations, even--whole cities full of people fresh-sprung
and yet with the memory of generations of ancestors
behind them! All this can be done by you, Earl of
Malador--for Queen Eloarde and Lormyr!'
He smiled faintly, his imagination fired at last.
'Aye! If I can defeat such dangers here--then I can
do the same out there! It will be the greatest adven-
ture in history! My name will become a legend--
Malador, Master of Chaos!'
She gave him a tender look, though she had half-
cheated him.
He swung his sword up on to his shoulder,. 'I'll try
this, lady.'
She and he stood together at the window, watching
the Chaos-stuff whispering and rolling for eternity
before them. To her it had never been wholly famil-
lar, for it changed all the time. Now its tossing col-
ours were predominantly red and black. Tendrils of
mauve and orange spiralled out of this and writhed
away.

Weird shapes flitted about in it, their outlines
never clear, never quite recognisable.
He said to her: 'The Lords of Chaos rule this ter-
ritory. What will they have to say?'
'They can say nothing, do little. Even they have to
obey the Law of the Cosmic Balance which ordains
that if man can stand against Chaos, then it shall be
his to order and make Lawful. Thus the Earth
grows, slowly.'
'How do I enter it?"
She took the opportunity to grasp his heavily
muscled arm and point through the window. 'See--
there--a causeway leads down from this tower to the
cliff.' She glanced at him sharply. 'Do you see it?'
'Ah-yes--I had not, but now I do. Yes, a cause-
way.'
Standing behind him, she smiled a little to herself.
'I will remove the barrier,' she said.
He straightened his helm on his head. 'For Klant
and Eloarde and only those do I embark upon this
adventure.'
She moved towards the wall and raised the win-
dow. He did not look at her as he strode down the
causeway into the multicoloured mist.
As she watched him disappear, she smiled to her-
self. How easy it was to beguile the strongest man by
pretending to go his way! He might add lands to his
Empire, but he might find their populations un-
willing to accept Eloarde as their Empress. In fact, if
Aubec did his work well, then he would be creating
more of a threat to Klant than ever Kaneloon had
been.
Yet she admired him, she was attracted to him,
perhaps, because he was not so accessible, a little
more than she had been to that earlier hero who had
claimed Aubec's own land from Chaos barely two
hundred years before. Oh, he had been a man! But

he, like most before him, had needed no other per-
suasion than the promise of her body.
Earl Aubec's weakness had lain in his strength, she
thought. By now he had vanished into the heaving
mists.
She felt a trifle sad that this time the execution of
the task given her by the Lords of Law had not
brought her the usual pleasure.
Yes perhaps, she thought, she felt a more subtle
pleasure in his steadfastness and the means she had
used to convince him.
For centuries had the Lords of Law entrusted her
with Kaneloon and its secrets. But the progress was
slow, for there were few heroes who could survive
Kaneloon's dangers--few who could defeat self-
created perils.
Yet, she decided with a slight smile on her lips,
the task had its various rewards. She moved into an-
other chamber to prepare for the transition of the
castle to the new edge of the world.
Thus were the seeds sewn of the Age of the Young
Kingdoms, the Age of Men, which was to produce
the downfall of Melnibone.

 

 

 

Book One

 

THE DREAMING CITY

 

Which tells how Elric came back to
Imrryr, what he did there, and how, at
last, his weird fell upon him . . .

 

 

 

ONE

 

"What's the hour?' The black-bearded man
wrenched off his gilded helmet and flung it from
him, careless of where it fell. He drew off his
leathern gauntlets and moved closer to the roaring
fire, letting the heat soak into his frozen bones.
'Midnight is long past,' growled one of the other
armoured men who gathered around the blaze. 'Are
you still sure he'll come?'
'It's said that he's a man of his word, if that com-
forts you.'
It was a tall, pale-faced youth who spoke. His thin
lips formed the words and spat them out mali-
ciously. He grinned a Wolf-grin and stared the new
arrival in the eyes, mocking him.
The newcomer turned away with a shrug. 'That's
so--for all your irony, Yaris. He'll come.' He spoke as
a man does when he wishes to reassure himself.
There were six men, now, around the fire. The
sixth was Smiorgan--Count Smiorgan Baldhead of
the Purple Towns. He was a short, stocky man of
fifty years with a scarred face partially covered with
a thick, black growth of hair. His eyes smouldered
morosely and his lumpy fingers plucked nervously at
his-rich-hilted longsword. His pate was hairless, giv-
ing him his name, and over his ornate, gilded ar-
mour hung a loose woollen cloak, dyed purple.
Smiorgan said thickly, 'He has no love for his

cousin. He has become bitter. Yyrkoon sits on the
Ruby Throne in his place and has proclaimed him
an outlaw and a traitor. Elric needs us if he would
take his throne and his bride back. We can trust him.'
'You're full of trust tonight, Count,' Yaris smiled
thinly, 'a rare thing to find in these troubled times. I
say this--' He paused and took a long breath, stating
at his comrades, summing them up. His gaze flicked
from lean-faced Dharmit of Jharkor to Fadan of Lor-
myr who pursed his podgy lips and looked into the
fire.
, 'Speak up, Yaris,' petulantly urged the patrician-
featured Vilmirian, Naclon. 'Let's hear what you
have to say, lad, if it's worth hearing.'
Yaris looked towards Jiku the dandy, who yawned
impolitely and scratched his long nose.
'Well!' Smiorgan was impatient. 'What d'you say,
Yaris?'
'I say that we should start now and' waste no more
time waiting on Elric's pleasure! He's laughing at us
in some tavern a hundred miles from here--or else
plotting with the Dragon Princes to trap us. For
years we have planned this raid. We have little time
in which to strike--our fleet is too big, too notice-
able. Even if Elric has not betrayed us, then spies
will soon be running eastwards to warn the Dragons
that there is a fleet massed against them. We stand to
win a fantastic fortune--to vanquish the greatest
merchant city in the world--to reap immeasurable
riches--or horrible death at the hands of the Dragon
Princes, if we wait overlong. Let's bide our time no
more and set sail before our prize hears of our plan
and brings up reinforcements!'
'You always were too ready to mistrust a man,
Yaris.' King Naclon of Vilmir spoke slowly, Care-
fully-distastefully eyeing the taut-featured youth.
'We could not reach Imrryr without Elric's

knowledge of the maze-channels which lead to its
secret ports. If Elric will not join us--then our en-
deavour will be fruitless--hopeless. We need him.
We must wait for him--or else give up our plans and
return to our homelands.'
'At least I'm willing to take a risk,' yelled Yaris,
anger lancing from his slanting eyes. 'You're getting
old--all of you. Treasures are not won by care and
forethought but by swift slaying and reckless attack.'
'Fool!' Dharmit's voice rumbled around the fire-
flooded hall. He laughed wearily. 'I spoke thus in
my youth--and lost a fine fleet soon after. Cunning
and Elric's knowledge will win us Imrryr--that and
the mightiest fleet to sail the Sighing Sea since
Melnibone's banners fluttered over all the nations of
the Earth. Here we are--the most powerful Sea
Lords in the world, masters, every one of us, of more
than a hundred swift vessels. Our names are feared
and famous--our fleets ravage the coasts of a score of
lesser nations. We hold power!' He clenched his
great fist and shook it in Yaris' face. His tone became
more level and he smiled viciously, glaring at the
youth and choosing his words with precision.
'But all this is worthless--meaningless--without
the power which Elric has. That is the power of
knowledge--of sorcery, if I must use the cursed word.
His fathers knew of the maze which guards Imrryr
from sea-attack. And his fathers passed that secret on
to him. Imrryr, the Dreaming City, dreams in
peace--and will continue to do so unless we have a
guide to help us steer a course through the treacher-
ous waterways which lead to her harbours. We need
Elric--we know it, and he knows it. That's the truth!'
'Such confidence, gentlemen, is warming to the
heart.' There was irony in the heavy voice which
came from the entrance to the hall. The heads of the
six Sea Lords jerked towards the doorway.

Yaris' confidence fled from him as he met the eyes
of Elric of Melnibon. They were old eyes in a fine
featured, youthful face. Crimson eyes which stared
into eternity. Yaris shuddered, turned his back on
Elric, preferring to look into the bright glare of the
fire.
Elric smiled warmly as Count Smiorgan gripped
his shoulder. There was a certain friendship be-
tween the two. He nodded condescendingly to the
other four and walked with lithe grace towards the
fire. Yaris stood aside and let him pass. Elric was tall,
broad-shouldered and slim-hipped. He wore his long
hair bunched and pinned at the nape of his neck
and, for an obscure reason, affected the dress of a
Southern barbarian. He had long, knee-length boots
of soft doe-leather, a breastplate of strangely wrought
silver, a jerkin of chequered blue and white linen,
britches of scarlet wool and a cloak of rustling green
velvet. At his hip rested his runesword of black iron--
the feared Stormbringer, forged by ancient and alien
sorcery.
His bizarre dress was tasteless and gaudy, and did
not match his sensitive face and long-fingered, almost
delicate hands, yet he flaunted it since it emphasised
the fact that he did not belong in any company--that
he was an outsider and an outcast. But, in reality, he
had little need to wear such outlandish gear--for his
eyes and skin were enough to mark him.
Elric, Last Lord of Melniborne, was a pure albino
who drew his power from a secret and terrible
source.
Smiorgan sighed. 'Well, Elric, when do we raid
Imrryr?'
Elric shrugged. 'As soon as you like; I care not.
Give me a little time in which to do certain things.'
'Tomorrow? Shall we sail tomorrow?' Yaris said

hesitantly, conscious of the strange power dormant
in the man he had earlier accused of treachery.
Elric smiled, dismissing the youth's statement.
'Three days' time,' he said. 'Three--or more.,
'Three days! But Imrryr will be warned of our
presence by then!' Fat, cautious Fadan spoke.
I�ll see that your fleet's not found,' Elric promised.
'I have to go to Imrryr first--and return.'
'You won't do the journey in three days--the fast-
est ship could not make it.' Smiorgan gaped.
I�ll be in the Dreaming City in less than a day,'
Elric said softly, with finality.
Smiorgan shrugged. 'If you say so, I'll believe it--
but why this necessity to visit the city ahead of the
raid?'
'I have my own compunctions, Count Smiorgan.
But worry not, I shan't betray you. I'll lead the raid
myself, be sure of that.' His dead-white face was
lighted eerily by the fire and his red eyes smoul-
dered. One lean hand firmly gripped the hilt of his
runesword and he appeared to breathe more heavily.
'Imrryr fell, in spirit, five hundred years ago-she
will fall completely soon--for ever! I have a little
debt to settle. This is my only reason for aiding you.
As you know I have made only a few conditions--
that you raze the city to the ground and a certain
man and woman are not harmed. I refer to my
cousin Yyrkoon and his sister Cymoril...'
Yaris' thin lips felt uncomfortably dry. Much of
his blustering manner resulted from the early death
of his father. The old sea-king had died--leaving
young Yaris as the new ruler of his lands and his
fleets. Yaris was not at all certain that he was capable
of commanding such a vast kingdom--and tried to
appear more confident than he actually felt. Now he
said: 'How shall we hide the fleet, Lord Elric?'
The Melnibonean acknowledged the question. I�ll

hide it for you,' he promised. "I go now to do this--
but make sure all your men are off the ships first--
will you see to it, Smiorgan?'
'Aye,' rumbled the stocky count.
He and Elric departed from the hall together,
leaving five men behind; five men who sensed an air
of icy doom hanging about the overheated hall.
'How could he hide such a mighty fleet when we,
who know this fjord better than any, could find
nowhere?' Dharmit of Jharkor said bewilderedly.
None answered him.
They waited, tensed and nervous, while the fire
flickered and died untended. Eventually Smiorgan
returned, stamping noisily on the boarded floor.
There was a haunted haze of fear surrounding him;
an almost tangible aura, and he was shivering, terri-
bly. Tremendous, racking undulations swept up his
body and his breath came short.
'Well? Did Elrlc hide the fleet--all at once? What
did he do?' Dharmit spoke impatiently, choosing not
to heed Smiorgan's ominous condition.
'He has hidden it.' That was all Smiorgan said,
and his voice was thin, like that of a sick man, weak
from fever.
Yaris went to the entrance and tried to stare be-
yond the fjord slopes where many campfires burned,
tried to make out the outlines of ships' masts and
rigging, but he could see nothing.
'The night mist's too thick,' he murmured, 'I can't
tell whether our ships are anchored in the fiord or
not.' Then he gasped involuntarily as a white face
loomed out of the clinging fog. 'Greetings, Lord E1-
ric,' he stuttered, noting the sweat on the Melni-
bonean's strained features.
Elric staggered past him, into the hall. 'Wine,' he
mumbled, 'I've done what's needed and it's cost me
hard.'

Dharmit fetched a jug of strong Cadsandrian wine
and with a shaking hand poured some into a carved
wooden goblet. Wordlessly he passed the cup to Elric
who quickly drained it. 'Now I will sleep,' he said,
stretching himself into a chair and wrapping his
green cloak around him. He dosed his disconcerting
crimson eyes and fell into a slumber born of utter
weariness.
Fadan scurried to the door, closed it and pulled
the heavy iron bar down.
None of the six slept much that night and, in the
morning, the door was unbarred and Elric was miss-
ing from the chair. When they went outside, the
mist was so heavy that they soon lost sight of one an-
other, though scarcely two feet separated any of
them.
Elric stood with his legs astraddle on the shingle
of the narrow beach. He looked back at the entrance
to the fjord and saw, with satisfaction, that the mist
was still thickening, though it lay only over the
fjord itself, hiding the mighty fleet. Elsewhere, the
weather was clear and overhead a pale winter sun
shone sharply on the black rocks of the rugged cliffs
which dominated the coastline. Ahead of him the sea
rose and fell monotonously, like the chest of a sleep-
ing water-giant, grey and pure, glinting in the cold
sunlight. Elric fingered the raised runes on the hilt
of his black broadsword and a steady north wind
blew into the voluminous folds of his dark green
cloak, swirling it around his tall, lean frame.
The albino felt fitter than he had done on the pre-
vions night when he had expended all his strength
in conjuring the mist. He was well-versed in the art
of nature-wizardry, but he did not have the reserves
of power which the Sorcerer Emperors of Melnibone
had possessed when they had ruled the world. His

ancestors had passed their knowledge down to him-
but not their mystic vitality and many of the spells
and secrets that he had were unusable, since he did
not have the reservoir of strength, either of soul or
of body, to work them. But for all that, Elric knew
of only one other man who matched his
knowledge--his cousin Yyrkoon. His hand gripped
the hilt tighter as he thought of the cousin who had
twice betrayed his trust, and he forced himself to
concentrate on his present task--the speaking of
spells to aid him on his voyage to the Isle of the
Dragon Masters whose only city, Imrryr the Beauti-
ful, was the object of the Sea Lords' massing.
Drawn up on the beach, a tiny sailing-boat lay-El-
ric's own small ship, sturdy and far stronger, far
older,-than it appeared. The brooding sea flung surf
around its timbers as the tide withdrew, and Elric re-
alised that he had little time in which to work his
helpful sorcery.
His body tensed and he blanked his conscious
mind, summoning secrets from the dark depths of
his soul. Swaying, his eyes staring unseeingly, his
arms jerking out ahead of him and making Unholy
signs in the air, he began to speak in a sibilant mon-
otone. Slowly the pitch of his voice rose, resembling
the scarcely heard shriek of a distant gale as it comes
closer--then, quite suddenly, the voice rose higher
until it was howling wildly to the skies and the air
began to tremble and quiver. Shadow-shapes began
slowly to form and they were never still but darted
around Elric's body as, stiff-legged, he started for-
,.ward towards his boat.
His voice was inhuman as it howled insistently,
summoning the wind elementals--the sylphs of the
breeze; the sharnahs, makers of gales, the h'Haar.
shanns, builders of whirlwinds--hazy and formless,
they eddied around him as he summoned their aid

with the Mien words of his forefathers who had, ages
before, made unthinkable pacts with the elemental.,
in order to procure their services.
Still stiff-limbed, Elric entered the boat and, like
an automaton, his fingers ran up the sail and set it.
Then a great wave erupted out of the placid sea,
rising higher and higher until it towered over the
vessel. With a surging crash, the water smashed
down on the boat, lifted it and bore it out to sea.
Sitting blank-eyed in the stem, Elric still crooned
his hideous song of sorcery as the spirits of the air
plucked at the sail and sent the boat flying over the
water faster than any mortal ship could speed. And
all the while, the deafening, unholy shriek of the
released elementals filled the air about the boat as
the shore vanished and open sea was all that was
visible.

 

 

 

TWO

 

So it was, with wind-demons for shipmates, that
Elric, last Prince of the Royal line of Melnibone, re-
turned to the last city still ruled by his own race--the
last city and the final remnant of Melnibonean ar-
chitecture. The cloudy pink and subtle yellow tints
of her nearer towers came into sight within a few
hours of Elric's leaving the fjord and just off.shore of
the Isle of the Dragon Masters the elementals left
the boat and fled back to their secret haunts among
the peaks of the highest mountains in the world. El
ric awoke, then, from his trance, and regarded with
fresh wonder the beauty of his own city's delicate
towers which were visible even so far away, guarded
still by the formidable sea-wall with its great gate,
the five-doored maze and the twisting, high-walled
channels, of which only one led to the inner harbour
of Imrryr.
Elric knew that he dare not risk entering the hat-
bour by the maze, though he knew the route per-
fectly. He decided, instead, to land the boat further
up the coast in a small inlet of which he had
knowledge. With sure, capable hands, he guided the
little craft towards the hidden inlet which was ob-
scured by a growth-of shrubs loaded with ghastly
blue berries of a type decidedly poisonous to men
since their juice first turned one blind and then

slowly mad. This berry, the nodoil, grew only on
Imrryr as did other rare and deadly plants.
Light, low-hanging cloud wisps streamed slowly
across the sun-painted sky, like fine cobwebs caught
by a sudden breeze. All the world seemed blue and
gold and green and white, and Elric, pulling his boat
up on the beach, breathed the clean, sharp air of
winter and savoured the scent of decaying leaves and
rotting undergrowth. Somewhere a bitch-fox barked
her pleasure to her mate and Elric regretted the fact
that his depleted race no longer appreciated natural
beauty, preferring to stay close to their city and
spend many of their days in drugged slumber. It was
not the city which dreamed, but its overcivilised in.
habitants. Elric, smelling the rich, clean winter.
scents, was wholly glad that he had his birthright and
did not rule the city as he had been born to do.
Instead, Yyrkoon, his cousin, sprawled on the
Ruby Throne of Imrryr the Beautiful and hated El-
tic because he knew that the albino, for all his dis-
gust with crowns and rulership, was still the rightful
King of the Dragon Isle and that he, Yyrkoon, was an
'usurper, not elected by Elric to the throne, as
Melnibonean tradition demanded.
But Elric had better reasons for hating his cousin.
For those reasons the ancient capital would fall in all
its magnificent splendour and the last fragment of a
glorious Empire would be obliterated as the pink,
the yellow, the purple and white towers crumbled-
if Elric had his way and the Sea Lords were success-
ful.
On foot, Elric strode inland, towards Imrryr, and
as he covered the miles of soft turf, the sun cast an
ochre pall over the land and sank, giving way to a
dark and moonless night, brooding and full of evil
portent.
At last he came to the city. It stood out in stark

black silhouette, a city of fantastic magnificence, in
conception and in execution. It was the oldest city in
the world, built by artists and conceived as a work of
art rather than a functional dwelling place, but Elric
knew that squalor lurked in many narrow streets
and that the Lords of Imrryr left many of the towers
empty and uninhabited rather than let the bastard
population of the city dwell therein. There were few
Dragon Masters left; few who would claim Melni-
bonean blood.
Built to follow the shape of the ground, the city
had an organic appearance, with winding lanes
spiralling to the crest of the hill where stood the
castle, tall and proud and many-spired, the final,
crowning masterpiece of the ancient, forgotten artist
who had built it. But there was no life-sound ema-
nating from Imrryr the Beautiful, only a sense of sop-
orific desolation. The city slept--and the Dragon
Masters and their ladies and their special slaves
dreamed drug-induced dreams of grandeur and in-
credible horror while the rest of the population, or-
dered by curfew, tossed on tawdry mattresses and
tried not to dream at all.
Elric, his hand ever near his sword-hilt, slipped
through an unguarded gate in the city wall and be-
gan to walk cautiously through the unlighted streets,
moving upwards, through the winding lanes, towards
Yyrkoon's great palace.
Wind sighed through the empty rooms of the
Dragon towers and sometimes Elric would have to
withdraw into places where the shadows were deeper
when he heard the tramp of feet and a group of
guards would pass, their duty being to see that the
curfew was rigidly obeyed. Often he would hear
wild laughter echoing from one ;of the towers, still
ablaze with bright torchlight which flung strange,
disturbing shadows on the walls; often, too, he

would hear a chilling scream and a frenzied, idiot's
yell as some wretch of a slave died in obscene agony
to please his master.
Elric was not appalled by the sounds and the dim
sights. He appreciated them. He was still a Melni-
bonean -- their rightful leader if he chose to regain
his powers of kinship--and though' he had an ob-
scure urge to wander and sample the less sophisticated
pleasures of the outside world, ten thousand years of
a cruel, brilliant and malicious culture was behind
him and the pulse of his ancestry beat strongly in his
deficient veins,

 

Elric knocked impatiently upon the heavy, black-
wood door. He had reached the palace and now
stood by a small back entrance, glancing cautiously
around him, for he knew that Yyrkoon had given the
guards orders to slay him if he entered lmrryr.
A bolt squealed on the other side of the door and
it moved silently inwards. A thin, seamed face con-
fronted Elric.
'Is it the king?' whispered the man, peering out
into the night. He was a tall, extremely thin individ-
ual with long, gnarled limbs which shifted awk-
wardly as he moved nearer, straining his beady eyes
to get a glimpse of Elric.
'It's Prince Elric,' the albino said. 'But you forget,
Tanglebones, my friend, that a new king sits on the
Ruby Throne.'
Tanglebones shook his head and his sparse hair
fell over his face. With a jerking movement he
brushed it back and stood aside for Elric to enter.
'The Dragon Isle has but one king--and his name is
Elric, whatever usurper would have it otherwise.'
Elric ignored this statement, but he smiled thinly
and waited for the man to push the bolt back into
place.

'She still sleeps, sire,' Tanglebones murmured as
he climbed unlit stairs, Elric behind him.
'I guessed that,' Elric said. 'I do not underestimate
my good cousin's powers of sorcery.'
Upwards, now, in silence, the two men climbed
until at last they reached a corridor which was aflare
with dancing torchlight. The marble walls reflected
the flames and showed Elric, crouching with Tangle-
bones behind a pillar, that the room in which he was
interested was guarded by a massive archer--a eu-
nuch by the look of him--who was alert and wakeful.
The man was hairless and fat, his blue-black gleam-
ing armour tight on his flesh, but his fingers were
curled around the string of his short, ,bone bow and
there was a slim arrow resting on the string. Elric
guessed that this man was one of the crack eunuch
.
archers, a member of the Silent Guard, Imrryr's fin-
est company of warriors.
Tanglebones, who had taught the young Elric the
arts of fencing and archery, had known of the
guard's presence and had prepared for it. Earlier he
had placed a bow behind the pillar. Silently he
picked it up and, bending it against his knee, strung
it. He fitted an arrow to the string, aimed it at the
right eye of the guard and let fly--just at the eunuch
turned to face him. The shaft missed. It clattered
against the man's gorget and fell harmlessly to the
reed-strewn stones of the floor.
So Elric acted swiftly, leaping forward, his rune-
sword drawn and its alien power surging through
him. It howled in a searing arc of black steel and cut
through the bone bow which the eunuch had hoped
would deflect it. The guard was panting and his
thick lips were wet as he drew breath to yell. As he
opened his mouth, Elric saw what he had expected,
the man was tongueless and was a mute. His own
shortsword came out and he just managed to parry

Elric's next thrust. Sparks flew from the iron and
Stormbringer bit into the eunuch's finely edged
blade, he staggered and fell back before the nigro-
mantic sword which appeared to be endowed with a
life of its own. The clatter of metal echoed loudly
up and down the short corridor and Elric cursed the
fate which had made the man turn at the crucial mo-
ment. Grimly, swiftly, he broke down the eunuch's
clumsy guard.
The eunuch saw only a dim glimpse of his op-
ponent behind the black, whirling blade which ap-
peared to be so light and which was twice the length
of his own stabbing sword. He wondered, frenziedly,
who his attacker could be and he thought he recog-
nised the face. Then a scarlet eruption obscured his
vision, he felt searing agony clutch at his face and
then, philosophically, for eunuchs are necessarily
given to a certain fatalism, he realised that he was to
die.
Elric stood over the eunuch's bloated body and
tugged his sword from the corpse's skull, wiping the
mixture of blood and brains on his late opponent's
cloak. Tanglebones had wisely vanished. Elric could
hear the clatter of sandalled feet rushing up the
stairs. He pushed the door open and entered the
room which was lit by two small candles placed at ei-
ther end of a wide, richly tapestried bed. He went to
the bed and looked down at the raven-haired girl
who lay there.
Elric's mouth twitched and bright tears leapt into
his strange red eyes. He was trembling as he turned
back to the door, sheathed his sword and pulled the
bolts into place. He returned to the bedside and
knelt down beside the sleeping girl. Her features
were as delicate and of a similar mould as Elric's
own, but she had an added, exquisite beauty. She
was breathing shallowly, in a sleep induced not by

natural weariness but by her own brother's evil sor-
cery.
Elric reached out and tenderly took one fine-fin-
gered hand in his. He put it to his lips and kissed it.
'Cymoril,' he murmured, and an agony of longing
throbbed in that name. 'Cymoril--wake up.'
The girl did not stir, her breathing remained shal-
low and her eyes remained shut. Elric's white fea-
tures twisted and his red eyes blazed as he shook in
terrible and passionate rage. He gripped the hand,
so limp and nerveless, like the hand of a corpse;
gripped it until he had to stop himself for fear that
he would crush the delicate fingers.
A shouting soldier began to beat at the door.
Elric replaced the hand on the girl's firm breast
and stood up. He glanced uncomprehendingly at the
door.
A sharper, colder voice interrupted the soldier's
yelling.
'What is happening--has someone tried to see my
poor sleeping sister?'
'Yyrkoon, the black hellspawn,' said Elric to him-
self.
Confused babblings from the soldier and Yyr-
koon's voice raised as he shouted through the door.
'Whoever is in there--you will be destroyed a thou-
sand times when you are caught. You cannot escape.
If my good sister is harmed in any way--then you
will never die, I promise you that. But you will pray
to your Gods that you could!'
'Yyrkoon, you paltry rabble--you cannot threaten
one who is your equal in the dark arts. It is I, E1-
ric--your rightful master. Return to your rabbit hole
before I call down every evil power upon, above,
and under the Earth to blast you!'
Yyrkoon laughed hesitantly. 'So you have returned
again to try to waken my sister. Any such attempt

will not only slay her--it will send her soul into the
deepest hell--where you may join it, willingly!'
By Arnara's six breasts--you it will be who samples
the thousand deaths before long.'
'Enough of this.' Yyrkoon raised his voice. 'Sol-
diers--I command you to break this door down-and
take that traitor alive. Elric--there are two things
you will never again have--my sister's love and the
Ruby Throne. Make what you can of the little time
available to you, for soon you will be grovelling to
me and praying for release from your soul's agony!'
Elric ignored Yyrkoon's threats and looked at the
narrow window to the room. It was just large
enough for a man's body to pass through. He bent
down and kissed Cymoril upon the lips, then he
went to the door and silently withdrew the bolts.
There came a crash as a soldier flung his weight
against the door. It swung open, pitching the man
forward to stumble and fall on his face. Elric drew
his sword, lifted it high and chopped at the warrior's
neck. The head sprang from its shoulders and Elric
yelled loudly in a deep, rolling voice.
'Arioch! Arioch! I give you blood and souls--only
aid me now! This man I give you, mighty King of
Hell--aid your servant, Elric of Melnibone!'
Three soldiers entered the room in a bunch. Elric
struck at one and sheared off half his face. The man
screamed horribly..
'Arioch, Lord of the Darks--I give you blood and
souls. Aid me, evil one'
In the far comer of the gloomy room, a blacker
mist began slowly, to form. But the soldiers pressed
closer and Elric was hard put to hold them back.
He was screaming the name of Arioch, Lord of the
Higher Hell, incessantly, almost unconsciously as he
was pressed back further by the weight of the war-
riors' numbers. Behind them, Yyrkoon mouthed in

rage and frustration, urging his men, still, to take El-
tic alive. This necessity gave Elric some small ad-
vantage-that and the runesword Stormbringer which
was glowing with a strange black luminousness and
the shrill howling it gave out was grating into the
ears of those who heard it. Two more corpses now
littered the carpeted floor of the chamber, their blood
soaking into the fine fabric.
"Blood and souls [or my lord Arioch!"
The dark mist heaved and began to take shape,
Elric spared a look towards the corner and shud-
dered despite his inurement to hell-born horror.
The warriors now had their backs to the thing in the
corner and Elric was by the window. The amor-
phous mass that was a less than pleasant manifesta-
tion of Elric's fickle patron God, heaved again and
Elric made out its intolerably alien shape. Bile
flooded into his mouth and as he drove the soldiers
towards the thing which was sinuously flooding for-
ward he fought against madness.
Suddenly, the soldiers seemed' to sense that there
was something behind them. They turned, four of
them, and each screamed insanely as the black hor-
ror made one final rush to engulf them. Arioch
crouched over them, sucking out their souls. Then,
slowly, their bones began to give and snap and still
shrieking bestially the men flopped like obnoxious
invertebrates upon the floor: their spines broken,
they still lived. Elric turned away, thankful for once
that Cymoril slept, and leapt to the window ledge.
He looked down and realised with despair that he
was not going to escape by that route after all.
Several hundred feet lay between him and the ground.
He rushed to the door where Yyrkoon, his eyes wide
with fear, was trying to drive Arioch back. Arioch was
already fading.
Elric pushed past his cousin, spared a final glance

for Cymoril, then ran the way he had come, his feet
flipping on blood. Tanglebones met him at the head
of the dark stairway.
'What has happened, King Elric--what's in there?'
Elric seized Tanglebones by his lean shoulder and
made him descend the stairs. 'No time,' he panted,
'but we must hurry while Yyrkoon is still engaged
with his current problem. In five days' time Imrryr
will experience a new phase in her history-perhaps
the last. I want you to make sure that Cymoril is
safe. Is that dear?'
'Aye, Lord, but...'
They reached the door and Tanglebones shot the
bolts and opened it.
'There is no time for me to say anything else. I
must escape while I can. I will return in five days--
with companions. You will realise what I mean when
that time comes. Take Cymoril to the Tower of
D'a'rputna--and await me there.'
Then Elric was gone, soft-footed, running into the
night with the shrieks of the dying still ringing
through the blackness after him.

 

 

 

THREE

 

Elric stood unspeaking in the prow of Count Smior-
gan's flagship. Since his return to the fjord and the
fleet's subsequent sailing for open sea, he had spoken
only orders, and those in the tersest of terms. The
Sea Lords muttered that a great hate lay in him, that
it festered his soul and made him a dangerous man
to have as comrade or enemy; and even Count Smior-
gan avoided the moody albino.
The reaver prows struck eastward and the sea was
black with light ships dancing on the bright water in
all directions; they looked like the shadow of some
enormous sea-bird flung on the water. Nearly half a
thousand fighting ships stained the ocean--all of
them of similar form, long and slim and built for
speed rather than battle, since they were for coast-
raiding and trading. Sails were caught by the pale
sun; bright colours of fresh canvas--orange, blue,
black, purple, red, yellow, light green or white. And
every ship had sixteen or more rowers--each rower a
fighting man. The crews of the ships were also the
warriors who would attack Imrryr--there was no
wastage of good man-power since the sea-nations
were underpopulated, losing hundreds of men each
year in their regular raids.
In the centre of the great fleet, certain larger
vessels sailed. These carried great catapults on their
decks and were to be used for storming the sea wall

of Imrryr. Count Smiorgan and the other Lords
looked at their ships with pride, but Elric only
stared ahead of him, never sleeping, rarely moving,
his white face lashed by salt spray and wind, his
white hand tight upon his swordhilt.
The reaver ships ploughed steadily eastwards--
forging towards the Dragon Isle and fantastic
wealth--or hellish horror. Relentlessly, doom-driven,
they beat onwards, their oars splashing in unison,
their sails bellying taut with a good wind.
Onwards they sailed, towards Imrryr the Beauti-
ful, to rape and plunder the world's oldest city.
Two days after the fleet had set sail, the coastline
of the Dragon Isle was sighted and the rattle of arms
replaced the sound of oars as the mighty fleet hove
to and prepared to accomplish what sane men
thought impossible.
Orders were bellowed from ship to ship and the
fleet began to mass into battle formation, then the
oars creaked in their grooves and ponderously, with
sails now furled, the fleet moved forward again.
It was a clear day, cold and fresh, and there was a
tense excitement about all the men, from Sea Lord
to galley hand, as they considered the immediate fu-
ture and what it might bring. Serpent prows bent
towards the great stone wall which blocked off the
first entrance to the harbour. It was nearly a
hundred feet high and towers were built upon it--
more functional than the lace-like spires of the city
which shimmered in the distance, behind them. The
ships of Imrryr were the only vessels allowed to pass
through the great gate in the centre of the wall and
the route through the maze--the exact entrance
even--was a well-kept secret from outsiders.
On the sea wall, which now loomed tall above the
fleet, amazed guards scrambled frantically to their
posts. To them, threat of attack was well-nigh un-

thinkable, yet here it was--a great fleet, the greatest
they had ever seen--come against Imrryr the Beauti-
full They took to their posts, their yellow cloaks and
kilts rustling, their bronze armour rattling, but they
moved with bewildered reluctance as if refusing to
accept what they saw. And they went to their posts
with desperate fatalism, knowing that even if the
ships never entered the maze itself, they would not
be alive to witness the reavers' failure.
Dyvim Tarkan, Commander of the Wall, was a
sensitive man who loved life and its pleasures. He
was highbrowed and handsome, with a thin wisp of
beard and a tiny moustache. He looked well in the
bronze armour and high-plumed helmet; he did not
want to die. He issued terse orders to his men and,
with well-ordered precision, they obeyed him. He lis-
tened with concern to the distant shouts from the
ships and he wondered what the first move of the
reavers would be. He did not wait long for his an-
swer.
A catapult on one of the leading vessels twanged
throatily and its throwing arm rushed up, releasing
a great rock which sailed, with every appearance of
leisurely grace, towards the wall. It fell short and
splashed into the sea which frothed against the stones
of the wall.
Swallowing hard and trying to control the shake in
his voice, Dyvim Tarkan ordered his own catapult to
discharge. With a thudding crash the release rope
was cut and a retaliatory iron ball went hurtling
towards the enemy fleet. So tight-packed were the
ships that the ball could not miss--it struck flail on
the deck of the flagship of Dharmit of Jharkor and
crushed the timbers in. Within seconds, accompanied
by the cries of maimed and drowning men, the ship
had sunk and Dharmit with it. Some of the crew

were taken aboard other vessels but the wounded
were left to drown.
Another catapult sounded and this time a tower
full of archers was squarely hit. Masonry erupted
outwards and those who still lived fell sickeningly to
die in the foam-tipped sea lashing the wall. This
time, angered by the deaths of their comrades
Imrryrian archers sent back a stream of slim arrow
into the enemy's midst. Reavers howled as red
fletched shafts buried themselves thirstily in flesh
But reavers returned the arrows liberally and soot
only a handful of men were left on the wall as fur
ther catapult rocks smashed into towers and men
destroying their only war-machine and part of the
wall besides.
Dyvim Tarkan still lived, though red blood
stained his yellow tunic and an arrow shaft pro
truded from his left shoulder. He still lived when
the first ram-ship moved intractably towards the
great wooden gate and smashed against it, weakening
it. A second ship sailed in beside it and, between
them, they stove in the gate and glided through the
entrance; the first non-Imrryrian ships ever to do
such a thing. Perhaps it was outraged horror that
tradition had been broken which caused poor Dyvim
Tarkan to lose his footing at the edge of the wall
and fall screaming down to break his neck on the
deck of Count Smiorgan's flagship as it sailed tri
umphantly through the gate.
Now the ram-ships made way for Count Smior-
gan's craft, for Elric had to lead the way through the
maze. Ahead of them loomed five tall entrances
black gaping maws all alike in shape and size. Elric
pointed to the third from the left and with short
strokes the oarsmen began to paddle the ship into the
dark mouth of the entrance. For some minutes, they
sailed in darkness.

'Flares!' shouted Elric. 'Light the flares!'
Torches had already been prepared and these
were now lighted. The men saw that they were in a
vast tunnel hewn out of natural rock which twisted
tortuously in all directions.
'Keep close,' Elric ordered and his voice was mag-
nified a score of times in the echoing cavern. Torch-
light blazed and Elric's Face was a mask of shadow
and frisking light as the torches threw up long
tongues of flame to the bleak roof. Behind him, men
could be heard muttering in awe and, as more craft
entered the maze and lit their own torches, Elric
could see some torches waver as their bearers
trembled in superstitious fear. Elric felt some dis-
comfort as he glanced through the flickering shadows
and his eyes, caught by torchflare, gleamed fever-
bright.
With dreadful monotony, the oars splashed on-
wards as the tunnel widened and several more cave-
mouths came into sight. 'The middle entrance,' Elric
ordered.' The steersman in the stern nodded and
guided the ship towards the entrance Elric had indi-
cated. Apart from the muted murmur of some men
and the splash of oars, there was a grim and ominous
silence in the towering cavern.
Elric stared down at the cold, dark water and
shuddered.
Eventually they moved once again into bright sun-
light and the men looked Upwards, marvelling at the
height of the great walls above them. Upon those
walls squatted more yellow-clad, bronze-armoured
archers and as Count Smiorgan's vessel led the way
out of the black caverns, the torches still burning in
the cool winter air, arrows began to hurtle down
into the narrow canyon, biting into throats and
limbs.

'Faster!' howled Elric. 'Row faster--speed is our
only weapon now!'
With frantic energy the oarsmen bent to their
sweeps and the ships began to pick up speed even
though Imrryrian arrows took heavy toll of the
reaver crewmen. Now the high-walled channel ran
straight and Elric saw the quays of Imrryr ahead of
him.
"Faster? Faster? Our prize is in sight?"
Then, suddenly, the ship broke past the wails and
was in the calm waters of the harbour, facing the
warriors drawn up on the quay. The ship halted,
waiting for reinforcements to plunge out of the
channel and join them. When twenty ships were
through, Elric gave the command to attack the quay
and now Stormbringer howled from its scabbard.
The flagship's port side thudded against the quay as
arrows rained down upon it. Shafts whistled all
around Elric but, miraculously, he was unscathed as
he led a bunch of yelling rearers on to land.
Imrryrian axe-men bunched forward and confronted
the reavers, but it was plain that they had little
spirit for the fight--they were too disconcerted by the
course which events had taken.
Elric's black blade struck with frenzied force at
the throat of the leading axe-man and sheared off his
head. Howling demoniacally now that it had again
tasted blood, the sword began to writhe in Elric's
grasp, seeking fresh flesh in which to bite. There was
a hard, grim smile on the albino's colourless lips and
his eyes were narrowed as he smack without discrim-
ination at the warriors.
He planned to leave the fighting to those he had
led to Imrryr, for he had other things to do-and
quickly. Behind the yellow-garbed soldiers, the tall
towers of Imrryr rose, beautiful in their soft and
scintillating colours of coral pink and powdery blue,

of gold and pale yellow, white and subtle green. One
such tower was Elric's objective--the tower of
D'a'rputna where he had ordered Tanglebones to
take Cymoril, knowing that in the confusion this
would be possible.
Elric hacked a blood-drenched path through those
who attempted to halt him and men fell back,
screaming horribly as the runesword drank their
souls.
Now Elric was past them, leaving them to the
bright blades of the reavers who poured on to the
quayside, and was running up through the twisting
streets, his sword slaying anyone who attempted to
stop him. Like a white-faced ghoul he was, his cloth-
ing tattered and bloody, his armour chipped and
scratched, but he ran speedily over the cobble-stones
of the twisting streets and came at last to the slender
tower of hazy blue and soft gold--the Tower of
D'a'rputna. Its door was open, showing that someone
was inside, and Elric rushed through it and entered
the large ground-floor chamber. No one greeted him.
'Tanglebones!' he yelled, his voice roaring loudly
even in his own ears. 'Tanglebones--are you here?'
He leapt up the stairs in great bounds, calling his
servant's name. On the third floor he stopped sud-
denly, hearing a low groan from one of the rooms.
'Tanglebones--is that you?' Elric strode towards the
room, hearing a strangled gasping. He pushed open
the door and his stomach seemed to twist within him
as he saw the old man lying upon the bare floor of
the chamber, striving vainly to stop the flow of blood
which gouted from a great wound in his side.
'What's happened man--where's Cymoril?'
Tanglebones' old face twisted in pain and grief.
'She--I--I brought her here, master, as you ordered.
But--' he coughed and blood dribbled down his
wizened chin, 'but--Prince Yyrkoon--he--he appre-

hended me--must have followed us here. He--struck
me down and took Cymoril back with him-said
she'd be--safe in the Tower of B'aal'nezbett. Mas-
ter-I'm sorry...'
'So you should be,' Elric retorted savagely. Then
his tone softened. 'Do not worry, old friend--I'll
avenge you and myself. I can still reach Cymoril now
I know where Yyrkoon has taken her. Thank you for
trying, Tanglebones--may your long journey down
the last river be uneventful.'
He turned abruptly on his heel and left the cham-
ber, running down the stairs and out into the street
again.
The Tower of B'aal'nezbett was the highest tower
in the Royal Palace. Elric knew it well, for it was
there that his ancestors had studied their dark sor-
ceries and conducted frightful experiments. He
shuddered as he thought what Yyrkoon might be do-
ing to his own sister.
The streets of the city seemed hushed and
strangely deserted, but Elric had no time to ponder
why this should be so. Instead he dashed towards the
palace, found the main gate unguarded and the
main entrance to the building deserted. This too was
unique, but it constituted luck for Elric as he made
his way upwards, climbing familiar ways towards the
topmost tower.
Finally, he reached a door of shimmering black
crystal which had no bolt or handle to it. Frenziedly,
Elric struck at the crystal with his sorcerous blade
but the crystal appeared only to flow and re-form.
His blows had no effect.
Elric racked his mind, seeking to remember the
single alien word which would make the door open.
He dared not put himself in the trance which would
have, in time, brought the word to his lips, instead
he had to dredge his subconscious and bring the

word forth. It was dangerous but there was little else
he could do. His whole frame trembled as his face
twisted and his brain began to shake. The word was
coming as his vocal chords jerked in his throat and
his chest heaved. 
         
He coughed the word out and his whole mind and
body ached with the strain. Then he cried:
'I command thee--open!'
He knew that once the door opened, his cousin
would be aware of his presence, but he had to risk it.
The crystal expanded, pulsating and seething, and
then began to flow out. It flowed into nothingness,
into something beyond the physical universe, beyond
time. Elric breathed thankfully and passed into the
Tower of B'aal'nezbett. But now an eerie fire, chill-
ing and mind-shattering, was licking around Elric as
he struggled up the steps towards the central cham-
ber. There was a strange music surrounding him,
uncanny music which throbbed and sobbed and
pounded in his head.
Above him he saw a leering Yyrkoon, a black
runesword also in his hand, the mate of the one in
Elric's own grasp.
'Hellspawn!' Elric said thickly, weakly, 'I see you
have recovered Mournblade--well, test its powers
against its brother if you dare. I have come to
destroy you, cousin.'
Stormbringer was giving forth a peculiar moaning
sound which sighed over the shrieking, unearthly
music accompanying the licking, chilling fire. The
runesword writhed in Elric's fist and he had diffi-
culty in controlling it. Summoning all his strength
he plunged up the last few steps and aimed a wild
blow at Yyrkoon. Beyond the eerie fire bubbled yel-
low-green lava, on all sides, above and beneath. The
two men .were surrounded only by the misty fire and
the lava which lurked beyond it--they were outside

the Earth and facing one another for a final battle.
The lava seethed and began to ooze inwards, dis-
persing the fire.
The two blades met and a terrible shrieking roar
went up. Elric felt his whole arm go numb and it
tingled sickeningly. Elric felt like a puppet. He was
no longer his own master--the blade was deciding his
actions for him. The blade, with Elric behind it,
roared past its brother sword and cut a deep wound
in Yyrkoon's left arm. He howled and his eyes
widened in agony. Mournblade struck back at
Stormbringer, catching Elric in the very place he
had wounded his cousin. He sobbed in pain, but
continued to move upwards, now wounding Yyrkoon
in the right side with a blow strong enough to have
killed any other man. 
Yyrkoon laughed then--
laughed like a gibbering demon from the foulest
depths of Hell. His sanity had broken at last and El-
tic now had the advantage. But the great sorcery
which his cousin had conjured was still in evidence
and Elric felt as if a giant had grasped him,-was
crushing him as he pressed his advantage, Yyrkoon's
blood spouting from the wound and covering Elric,
also. The lava was slowly withdrawing and now Elric
saw the entrance to the central chamber. Behind his
cousin another form moved. Elric gasped. Cymoril
had awakened and, with horror on her face, was
shrieking at him.
The sword still swung in a black arc, cutting down
Yyrkoon's brother blade and breaking the usurper's
guard.
'Elric!' cried Cymoril desperately. 'Save me--save
me now, else we are doomed for eternity.'
Elric was puzzled by the girl's words. He could not
understand the sense of them. Savagely he drove
Yyrkoon upwards towards the chamber.

'Elric--put Stormbringer away. Sheath your sword
or we shall part again.'
But even if he could have controlled the whistling
blade, Elric would not have sheathed it. Hate domi-
nated his being and he would sheathe it in his
cousin's evil heart before he put it aside.
Cymoril was weeping, now, pleading with him.
But Elric could do nothing. The drooling, idiot
thing which had been Yyrkoon of Imrryr, turned at
its sister's cries and stared leeringly at her. It
cackled and reached out one shaking: hand to seize
the girl by her shoulder. She struggled to escape, but
Yyrkoon still had his evil strength. 
Taking ad-
vantage of his opponent's distraction, Elric cut deep
through his body, almost severing the trunk from
the waist.
And yet, incredibly, Yyrkoon remained alive,
drawing his vitality from the blade which still
clashed against Elric's own rune-carved sword. With
a final push he flung Cymoril forward and she died
screaming on the point of Stormbringer.
Then Yyrkoon laughed one final caching shriek
and his black soul went howling down to hell.
The tower resumed its former proportions, all fire
and lava gone. Elric was dazed--unable to marshal
his thoughts. He looked down at the dead bodies of
the brother and the sister. He saw them, at first, only
as corpses-a man's and a woman's.
Then dark truth dawned on his clearing brain and
he moaned in grief, like an animal. He had slain the
girl he loved. The runesword fell from his grasp,
stained by Cymoril's lifeblood, and clattered un-
heeded down the stairs. Sobbing now, Elric dropped
beside the dead girl and lifted her in his arms.
'Cymoril,' he moaned, his whole body throbbing.
'Cymoril--I have slain you.'

 

 

 

FOUR

 

Elric looked back at the roaring, crumbling, tum-
bling, flame-spewing ruins of Imrryr and drove his
sweating oarsmen faster. The ship, sail still un-
furled, bucked as a contrary current of wind caught
it and Elric was forced to cling to the ship's side lest
he be tossed overboard. He looked back at Imrryr and
felt a tightness in his throat as he realised that he
was truly rootless, now; a renegade and a woman-
slayer, though involuntarily the latter. He had lost
the only woman he had loved in his blind lust for re-
venge. Now it was finished--everything was finished.
He could envisage no future, for his future had been
bound up with his past and now, effectively, that
past was flaming in ruins behind him. Dry sobs
eddied in his chest and he gripped the ship's rail yet
more firmly.
His mind reluctantly brooded on Cymoril. He had
laid her corpse upon a couch and had set fire to the
Tower. Then he had gone back to find the reavers
successful, straggling back to their ships loaded with
loot and girl-slaves, jubilantly firing the tall and
beautiful, buildings as they went.
He had caused to be destroyed the last tangible
sign that the grandiose, magnificent Bright Empire
had ever existed. He felt that most of himself was
gone with it.
Elric looked back at Imrryr and suddenly a

greater sadness overwhelmed him as a tower, as deli-
cate and as beautiful as fine lace, cracked and
toppled with flames leaping about it.
He had shattered the last great monument to the
earlier race--his own race. Men might have learned
again, one day, to build strong, slender towers like
those of Imrryr, but now the knowledge was dying
with the thundering chaos of the fall of the Dream-
ing City and the fast-diminishing race of Melnibone.
But what of the Dragon Masters? Neither they nor
their golden ships had met the attacking reavers--
only their foot-soldiers had been there to defend the
city. Had they hidden/their ships in some secret
waterway and fled inland when the reavers overran
the city? They had put up too short a fight to be
truly beaten. It had been far too easy. Now that the
ships were retreating, were they planning some sud-
den retaliation? Elric felt that they might have such
a plan--perhaps a plan concerning dragons. He shud-
dered. He had told the others nothing of the beasts
which Melniboneans had controlled for centuries.
Even now, someone might be unlocking the gates of
the underground Dragon Caves. He turned his mind
away from the unnerving prospect.

As the fleet headed towards open sea, Elrics eyes
were still looking sadly towards Imrryr as he paid
silent homage to the city of his forefathers and the
dead Cymoril. He felt hot bitterness sweep over him
again as the memory of her death upon his own
sword-point came sharply to him. He recalled her
warning, when he had left her to go adventuring in
the Young Kingdoms, that by putting Yyrkoon on
the Ruby Throne as Regent, by relinquishing his
power for a year, he doubled them both. He cursed
himself. Then a muttering, like a roll .of distant
thunder, spread through the fleet and he wheeled

sharply, intent on discovering the cause of the con-
sternation.
Thirty golden-sailed Melnibonean battle barges
had appeared on both sides of the harbour, issuing
from two mouths of the maze. Elric realised that
they must have hidden in the other channels, wait-
ing to attack the fleet when they returned, satiated
and depleted. Great war-galleys they were, the last
ships of Melnibone and the secret of their building
was unknown. They had a sense of age and slumber-
ing might about them as they rowed swiftly, each
with four or five banks of great sweeping oars, to en-
circle the raven ships.
Elric's fleet seemed to shrink before his eyes until
it seemed as though it were a bobbing collection of
wood-shavings against the towering splendour of the
shimmering battle barges. They were well-equipped
and flesh for a fight, whereas the weary reapers were
intensely battle-tired. There was only one way to save
a small part of the fleet, Elric knew. He would have
to conjure a witch-wind for sailpower. Most-of the
flagships were around him and he now occupied that
of Yaris, for the youth had got himself wildly drunk
and had died by the knife of an Melnibonean slave
wench, Next to Elric's ship was Count Smiorgan's
and the stocky Sea Lord was frowning, knowing full
well that he and his ships, for all their superior num-
bers, would not stand up to a sea-fight.
But the conjuring of winds great enough to move
many vessels was a dangerous thing, for it released
colossal power and the elementals who controlled
the winds were apt to turn upon the sorcerer himself
if he was not more than careful. But it was the only
chance, otherwise the rams which sent ripples from
the golden prows would smash the reaver ships to
driftwood.
Steeling himself, Elric Began to speak the ancient

and terrible, many-vowelled names of the beings
who existed in the air. Again, he could not risk the
trance-state, for he had to watch for signs of the ele-
mentals turning upon him. He called to them in a
speech that was sometimes high like the cry of a gan-
net, sometimes rolling like the roar of shore-bound
surf, and the dim shapes of the Powers of the Wind
began to flit before his blurred gaze. His heart
throbbed horribly in his ribs and his legs felt weal
He summoned all hisstrength and conjured a wind
which shrieked wildly and chaotically about him,
rocking even the huge Melnibonean ships back and
forth. Then he directed the wind and sent it into the
sails of some forty of the reaver ships. Many he could
not save for they lay even outside his wide range.
But forty of the craft escaped the smashing rams
and, amidst the sound of howling wind and sun-
dered timbers, leapt on the waves, their masts creak-
ing as the wind cracked into their sails. Oars were
torn from the hands of the rowers, leaving a wake of
broken wood on the white salt trail which boiled be-
hind each of the reaver ships.
Quite suddenly, they were beyond the slowly dos-
ing circle of Melnibonean ships and careering madly
across the open sea, while all the crews sensed a dif-
ference in the air and caught glimpses of strange,
soft-shaped forms around them. There was a discom--
forting sense of evil about the beings which aided
them, an awesome alienness.
Smiorgan waved to Elric and grinned thankfully.
'We're safe, thanks to you, Elric!' he yelled across
the water. 'I knew you'd bring us luck!'
Elric ignored him.
Now the Dragon Lords, vengeance-bent, gave chase.
Almost as fast as the magic-aided reaver fleet were the
golden barges of Imrryr, and some reaver galleys,

whose masts cracked and split beneath the force of
the wind driving them, were caught.
Elric saw mighty grappling hooks of dully gleam-
ing metal swing out from the decks of the Imrryrian
galleys and thud with a moan of wrenched timber
into those of the fleet which lay broken and power-
less behind him. Fire leapt from catapults upon the
Dragon Lords' ships and careered towards many a
fleeing reaver craft. Seating, foul-stinking flame
hissed like lava across the decks and ate into planks
like vitriol into paper. Men shrieked, beating vainly
at brightly burning clothes, some leaping into water
which would not extinguish the fire. Some sank
beneath the sea and it was possible to trace their
descent as, flaming even below the surface, men and
ships fluttered to the bottom like blazing, tired moths.
Reaver decks, untouched by fire, ran red with
reaver blood as the enraged Imrryrian warriors
swung down the grappling ropes and dropped
among the raiders, wielding great swords and battle-
axes and wreaking terrible havoc amongst the sea-
ravens. Imrryrian arrows and Imrryrian javelins
swooped from the towering decks of Imrryrian gal-
leys and tore into the panicky men on the smaller
ships.
All this Elric saw as he and his vessels began
slowly to overhaul the leading Imrryrian ship, flag-
galley of Admiral Magum Colim, commander of the
Melnibonean fleet.
Now Elric spared a word for Count Smiorgan.
'We've outrun them!' he shouted above the howling
wind to the next ship where Smiorgan stood star-
ing wide-eyed at the sky. 'But keep your ships heading
westwards or we're finished!'
But Smiorgan did not reply. He still looked sky-
ward and there was horror in his eyes; in the eyes of
a man who, before this, had never known the quiver-

ing bite of fear. Uneasily, Elric let his own eyes fol-
low the gaze of Smiorgan. Then he saw them.
They were dragons, without doubt! The great
reptiles were some miles away, but Elric knew the
stamp of the huge flying beasts. Theaverage wing-
span of these near-extinct monsters was some thirty
feet across. Their snake-like bodies, beginning in a
narrow-snouted head and terminating in a dreadful
whip of a tail were forty feet long and although
they did not breathe the legendary fire and smoke,
Elric knew that 'their venom was combustible and
could set fire to wood or Fabric on contact.
Imrryrian warriors rode the dragon backs. Armed
with long, spear-like goads, they blew strangely
shaped horns which sang out curious notes over the
turbulent sea and calm blue sky. Nearing the golden
fleet, now half-a-league away, the leading dragon
sailed down and circled towards the huge golden
flag-galley, its wings making a sound like the crack of
lightning as they beat through the air.
The grey-green, scaled monster hovered over the
golden ship as it heaved in the white-foamed turbu-
lent sea. Framed against the cloudless sky, the
dragon was in sharp perspective and it was possible
for Elric to get a clear view of it. The goad which
the Dragon Master waved to Admiral Magum Colim
was a long, slim spear upon which the strange pen-
nant of black and yellow zig-zag lines was, even at
this distance, noticeable. Elric recognised the insig-
nia on the pennant.
Dyvim Tvar, friend of Elric's youth, Lord of the
Dragon Caves, was leading his charges to claim ven-
geance for Imrryr the Beautiful.
Elric howled across the water to Smiorgan. 'These
are your main danger, now. Do what you can to
stave them off!' There was a rattle of iron as the men
prepared, near-hopelessly, to repel the new menace.

Witch-wind would give little advantage over the
fast-flying dragons. Now Dyvim Tvar had evidently
conferred with Magum Colim and his goad lashed
out at the dragon throat. The huge reptile jerked
upwards and began to gain altitude. Eleven other
dragons were behind it, joining it now.
With seeming slowness, the dragons began to beat
relentlessly towards the reaver fleet as the crewmen
prayed to their own Gods for a miracle.
They were doomed. There was no escaping the
fact. Every reaver ship was doomed and the raid had
been fruitless.
Elric could see the despair in the faces of the men
as the masts of the reaver ships continued to bend
under the strain of the shrieking witch-wind. They
could do nothing, now, but die...
Elric fought to rid his mind of the swirling uncer-
tainty which filled it. He drew his sword and felt the
pulsating, evil power which lurked in rune-carved
Stormbringer. But he hated that power now--for it
had caused him to kill the only human he had cher-
ished. He realised how much of his strength he owed
to the black-iron sword of his fathers and how weak
he might be without it. He was an albino and that
meant that he lacked the vitality of a normal human
being. Savagely, futilely, as the mist in his mind was
replaced by red fear, he cursed the pretensions of re-
venge he had held, cursed the day when he had
agreed to lead the raid on Imrryr and most of all he
bitterly vilified dead Yyrkoon and his twisted envy
which had been the cause of the whole doom-ridden
course of events.
But it was too late now for curses of any kind.
The loud slapping of beating dragon wings filled the
air and the monsters loomed over the fleeing reaver
craft. He had to make some kind of decision-though
he had no love for life, he refused to die by the

hands of his own people. When he died, he promised
himself, it would be by his own hand. He made his
decision, hating himself.
He called off the witch-wind as the dragon venom
seared down and struck the last ship in line.
He put all his powers into sending a stronger
wind into the sails of his own boat while his bewil-
deled comrades in the suddenly becalmed ships
called over the water, inquiring desperately the rea-
son for his act. Elric's ship was moving fast, now, and
might just escape the dragons. He hoped so.
He deserted the man who had trusted him, Count
Smiorgan, and watched as venom" poured from the
sky and engulfed him in blazing green and scarlet
flame. Elric fled, keeping his mind from thoughts of
the future, and sobbed aloud, that proud prince of
ruins; and he cursed the malevolent Gods for the
black day when idly, for their amusement, they had
spawned men.
Behind him, the last reaver ships flared into sud-
den appalling brightness and, although half-thankful
that they had escaped the fate of their comrades, the
crew looked at Elric accusingly. He sobbed on, not
heeding them, great griefs racking his soul.
A night later, off the coast of an island called Pan
Tang, when the ship was safe from the dreadful re-
criminations of the Dragon Masters and their beasts,
Elric stood brooding in the stern while the men eyed
him with fear and hatred, muttering of betrayal and
heartless cowardice. They appeared to have forgot-
ten their own fear and subsequent safety.,
Elric brooded, and he held the black runesword in
his two hands. Stormbringer was more than an ordi-
nary battle-blade, this he had known for years, but
now he realised that it was possessed of more sen-
tience than he had imagined. The frightful thing had

used its wielder and had made Elric destroy
Cymoril. Yet he was horribly dependent upon it: he
realised this with .soul-rending certainty. But he
feared and resented the sword's power--hated it bit-
terly for the chaos it had wrought in his brain and
spirit. In an agony of uncertainty he held the blade
in his hands and forced himself to weigh the factors
involved. Without the sinister sword, he would lose
pride--perhaps even life--but he might know the
soothing tranquillity of pure rest; with it he would
have power and strength--but the sword would
guide him into a doom-racked future. He would sa-
vour power--but never peace.
He drew a great, sobbing breath and, blind mis-
giving influencing him, threw the sword into the
moon-drenched sea.
Incredibly, it did not sink. It did not even float on
the water. It fell point forwards into the sea and
stuck there, quivering as if it were embedded in tim-
ber. It remained 
throbbing in the water, six inches
of its blade immersed, and began to give off a weird
devil-scream--a howl of horrible malevolence.
With a choking curse Elric stretched out his slim,
whitely gleaming hand, trying to recover the sen-
tient hellblade. He stretched further, leaning far out
over the rail. He could not grasp it--it lay some feet
from him, still. Gasping, a sickening sense of defeat
overwhelming him, he dropped over the side and
plunged into the bone-chilling water, striking out
with strained, grotesque strokes, towards the hovering
sword. He was beaten--the sword had won.
He reached it and put his fingers around the hilt.
At once it settled in his hand and Elric felt strength
seep slowly back into his aching body. Then he real-
ised that he and the sword were interdependent, for
though he needed the blade, Stormbringer, parasitic,

required a user--without a man to wield it, the
blade was also powerless.
'We must be bound to one another then,' Elric
murmured despairingly. 'Bound by hell-forged
chains and fate-haunted circumstance. Well, then-
let it be thus so--and men will have cause to tremble
and flee when they hear the names of Elric of Melni-
bone and Stormbringer, his sword. We are two of a
kind--produced by an age which has deserted us. Let
us give this age cause to hate us!'
Strong again, Elric sheathed Stormbringer and the
sword settled against his side; then, with powerful
strokes, he began to swim towards the island while
the men he left on the ship breathed with relief and
speculated whether he would live or perish in the
bleak waters of that strange and nameless sea...

 

 

 

Book Two

 

WHILE THE GODS LAUGH

 

I, while the gods laugh, the world's
vortex am;
Maelstrom of passions in that hidden
sea
Whose waves of all-time lap the coasts
of me,
And in small compass the dark waters
cram.

 

Mervyn Peake, Shapes and Sounds,
1941.

 

 

 

ONE

 

One night, as Elric sat moodily drinking alone in
a tavern, a wingless woman of Myyrrhn came gliding
out of the storm and rested her lithe body against
him.
Her face was thin and frail-boned, almost as white
as Elric's own albino skin, and she wore flimsy pale-
green robes which contrasted well with her dark red
hair.
The tavern was ablaze with candle-flame and alive
with droning argument and gusty laughter, but the
words of the woman of Myyrrhn came clear and liq-
uid, carrying over the zesty din.
'I have sought you twenty days,' she said to Elric
who regarded her insolently through hooded crim-
son eyes and lazed in a high-backed chair; a silver
wine-cup in his long-fingered right hand and his left
on the pommel of his sorcerous runesword Storm-
bringer.
'Twenty days,' murmured the Melnibonean softly,
speaking as if to himself; deliberately rude. 'A long
time for a beautiful and lonely woman to be wander-
ing the world.' He opened his eyes a trifle wider and
spoke to her directly: 'I am Elric of Melnibone, as
you evidently know. I grant no favours and ask none.
Bearing this in mind, tell me why you have sought
me for twenty days.'
Equably, the woman replied, undaunted by the al-

bino's supercilious tone. 'You are a bitter man, Elric;
I know this also--and you are grief-haunted for rea-
sons which are already legend. I ask you no fa-
vours-but bring you myself and a proposition. What
do you desire most in the world?'
'Peace,' Elric told her simply. Then he smiled
ironically and said: 'I am an evil man, lady, and my
destiny is hell-doomed, but I am not unwise, nor un-
fair. Let me remind you a little of the truth. Call
this legend if you prefer--I do not care.
'A woman died a year ago, on the blade of my
trusty sword.' He patted the blade sharply and his
eyes were suddenly hard and self-mocking. 'Since
then I have courted no woman and desired none.
Why should I break such secure habits? If asked; I
grant you that I could speak poetry to you, and that
you have a grace and beauty which moves me to in-
teresting speculation, but I would not !0ad any part
of my dark burden upon one as exquisite as you.
Any relationship between us, other than formal,
would necessitate my unwilling shifting of part of
that burden.' He paused for an instant and then said
slowly: 'I should admit that I scream in my sleep
sometimes and am often tortured by incommunicable
self-loathing. Go while you can, lady, and forget Elric
for he can bring only grief to your soul.'
With a quick movement he turned his gaze from
her and lifted the silver wine-cup, draining it and re-
plenishing it from a jug at his side.
'No,' said the wingless Woman of Myyrrhn calmly,
'I will not. Come with me.'
She rose and gently took Elric's hand. Without
knowing why, Elric allowed himself to be led from
the tavern and out into the wild, rainless storm
which howled around the Filkharian city of Raschil.
A protective and cynical smile hovered about his
mouth as she drew him towards the sea-lashed quay-

side where she told him her name. Shaarilla of the
Dancing Mist, wingless daughter of a dead necro-
mancer--a cripple in her own strange land, and an
outcast.     -
Elric felt uncomfortably drawn to this calm-eyed
woman who wasted few words. He felt a great surge
of emotion well within him; emotion, he had never
thought to experience again, and he wanted to take
her finely moulded shoulders and press her slim
body to his. But he quelled the urge and studied her
marble delicacy and her wild hair which flowed in
the wind about her head.
Silence rested comfortably between them while
the chaotic wind howled mournfully over the sea.
Here, Elric could ignore the warm stink of the city
and he felt almost relaxed. At last, looking away
from him towards the swirling sea, her .green robe
curling in the wind, she said: 'You have heard, of
course, of the Dead Gods' Book?'
Elric nodded. He was interested, despite the need
he felt to disassociate himself as much as possible
from his fellows. The mythical book was believed to
contain knowledge which could solve many problems
that had plagued men for centuries--it held a holy
and mighty wisdom which every sorcerer desired to
sample. But it was believed destroyed, hurled into
the sun when the Old Gods were dying in the cosmic
wastes which lay beyond the outer reaches of the so-
lar system. Another: legend, apparently of later
origin, spoke vaguely of the dark ones who had in-
terrupted the Book's sunward coursing and had
stolen it before it could be destroyed. Most scholars
discounted this legend, arguing that, by this time,
the book would have come to light if it did still ex-
ist.
Elric made himself speak flatly so that he ap-

peared to be disinterested when he answered Shaa-
rilla. 'Why do you mention the Book?'
'I know that it exists,' Shaarilla replied intensely,
'and I know where it is. My father acquired the
knowledge just before he died. Myself--and the
book--you may have if you will help me get it.'
Could the secret of peace be contained in the
book? Elric wondered. Would he, if he found it, be
able to dispense with Stormbringer?
'If you want it so badly that you seek my help,' he
said eventually, 'why do you not wish to keep it?'
'Because I would be afraid to have such a thing
perpetually in my custody--it is not a book for a
woman to own, but you are possibly the last mighty
nigromancer left in the world and it is fitting that
you should have it. Besides, you might kill me to ob-
tain it--I would never be safe with such a volume in
my hands. I need only one small part of its wisdom.'
'What is that?' Elric inquired, studying her patti-
clan beauty with a new pulse stirring within him.
Her mouth set and the lids fell over her eyes.
'When we have the book in our hands--then you will
have your answer. Not before.'
'This answer is good enough,' Elric remarked
quickly, seeing that he would gain no more informa-
tion at that stage. 'And the answer appeals to me.'
Then, half before he realised it, he seized her shoul-
ders in his slim, pale hands and pressed his colour-
less lips to her scarlet mouth.

 

Elric and Shaarilla rode westwards, towards the
Silent Land, across the lush plains of Shazaar where
their ship had berthed two days earlier. The border
country between Shazaar and the Silent Land was a
lonely stretch of territory, unoccupied even by
peasant dwellings; a no-man's land, though fertile
and rich in natural wealth. The inhabitants of Sha-

zaar had deliberately refrained from extending their
borders further, for though the dwellers in the
Silent Land rarely ventured beyond the Marshes of
the Mist, the natural borderline between the two
lands, the inhabitants of Shazaar held their unknown
neighbours in almost superstitious fear.
The journey had been clean and swift, though
ominous, with several persons who should have
known nothing of their purpose warning the tray-
tilers of nearing danger. Elric brooded, recognising
the signs of doom but choosing to ignore them and
communicate nothing to Shaarilla who, for her part,
seemed content with Elric's silence. They spoke little
in the day and so saved their breath for the wild
love-play of the night.
The thud of the two horses' hooves on the soft
turf, the muted creak and darer of Elric's harness
and sword, were the only sounds to break the
stillness of the clear winter day as the pair rode
steadily, nearing the quaking, treacherous trails of
the Marshes of the Mist.

 

One gloomy night, they reached the borders of the
SilentLand, marked by the marsh, and they halted
and made camp, pitching their silk tent on a hill
overlooking the mist-shrouded wastes.
Banked like black pillows against the horizon, the
clouds were ominous, The moon lurked behind
them, sometimes piercing them sufficiently to send a
pale tentative beam down on to the glistening marsh
or its ragged, grassy frontiers. Once, a moonbeam
glanced off silver, illuminating the dark silhouette of
Elric, but, as if repelled by the sight of a living crea-
ture on that bleak hill, the moon once again slunk
behind its cloud-shield, leaving Elric thinking deeply.
Leaving Elric in the darkness he desired.
Thunder rumbled over distant mountains, sound-

ing like the laughter of far-off Gods. Elric shivered,
pulled his blue cloak more tightly about him, and
continued to stare over the misted lowlands.
Shaarilla came to him soon, and she stood beside
him, swathed in a thick woollen cloak which could
not keep out all the damp chill in the air.
'The Silent Land,' she murmured. 'Are all the sto-
ries true, Elric? Did they teach you of it in old
Melnibone?'
Elric frowned, annoyed that she had disturbed his
thoughts. He turned abruptly to look at her, staring
blankly through his crimson-irised eyes for a mo-
ment and then saying flatly:
'The inhabitants are unhuman and feared. This I
know. Few men ventured into their territory, ever.
None have returned, to my knowledge. Even in the
days when Melnibone was a powerful Empire, this
was one nation my ancestors never ruled--nor did
they desire to do so. The denizens of the Silent Land
are said to be a dying race, far more evil than my an-
cestors ever were, who enjoyed dominion over the
Earth long before men gained any sort of power.
They rarely venture beyond the confines of their ter-
ritory, nowadays, encompassed as it is by marshland
and mountains.'
Shaarilla laughed, then, with little humour. 'So
they are unhuman are they, Elric? Then what of my
people, who are related to them? What of me, Elric?'
'You're human enough for me,' replied Elric in-
souciantly, looking her in the eyes. She smiled.
'No compliment,' she said, 'but I'll take it for
one--until your glib tongue finds a better.'
That night they slept restlessly and, as he had
predicted, Elric screamed agonisingly in his turbu-
lent, terror-filled sleep and he called a name which
made Shaarilla's eyes fill with pain and jealousy.
That name was Cymoril. Wide-eyed in his grim

sleep, Elric seemed lto be staring at the one he
named, speaking other words in a sibilant language
which made Shaarilla block her ears and shudder.

 

The next morning, as they broke camp, folding
the rustling fabric of the yellow silk tent between
them, Shaarilla avoided looking at Elric directly but
later, since he made no move to speak, she asked him
a question in a voice which shook somewhat.
It was a question which she needed to ask, but one
which came hard to her lips. 'Why do you desire the
Dead Gods' Book, Elric? What do you believe you
will find in it?'
Elric shrugged, dismissing the question, but she
repeated her words less slowly, with more insistence.
'Very well then,' he said eventually. 'But it is not
easy to answer you in a few sentences. I desire, if you
like, to know one of two things.'
'And what is that, Elric?'
The tall albino dropped the folded tent to the
grass and sighed. His fingers played nervously with
the pommel of his runesword. 'Can an ultimate God
exist--or not? That is what I need to know, Shaarilla,
if my life is to have any direction at all.
'The Lords of Law and Chaos now govern our
lives. But is there some being greater than them?'
Shaarilla put a hand on Elric's arm. 'Why must
you know?' she said.
'Despairingly, sometimes, I seek the comfort of a
benign God, Shaarilla. My mind goes out, lying
awake at night, searching through black barrenness
for something--anything--which will take me to it,
warm me, protect me, tell me that there is order in
the chaotic tumble of the universe; that it is consist-
ent, this precision of the planets, not simply a brief,
bright spark of sanity in an eternity of malevolent
anarchy.'

Elric sighed and his quiet tones were tinged with
hopelessness. 'Without some confirmation of the order
of things, my only comfort is to accept the anarchy.
This way, I can revel in chaos and know, without
fear, that we are all doomed from the start--that
our brief existence is both meaningless and damned.
I can accept then, that we are more than forsaken,
because there was never anything there to forsake us.
I have weighed the proof, Shaarilla, and must be-
lieve that anarchy prevails, in spite of all the laws
which seemingly govern our actions, our sorcery, our
logic. I see only chaos in the world. If the Book we
seek tells me otherwise, then I shall gladly believe it.
Until then, I will put my trust only in my sword and
myself.'
Shaarilla stared at Elric strangely. 'Could not this
philosophy of yours have been influenced by recent
events in your past? Do you fear the consequences of
your murder and treachery? Is it not more comfort-
ing for you to believe in deserts which are rarely
just?'
Elric turned on her, crimson eyes blazing in anger,
but even as he made to speak, the anger fled him
and he dropped his eyes towards the ground, hood-
ing them from her gaze.
'Perhaps,' he said lamely. 'I do not know. That is
the only real truth, Shaarilla. I do not know:
Shaarilla nodded, her face lit by an enigmatic sym-
pathy; but Elric did not see the look she gave him,
for his own eyes were full of crystal tears which
flowed down his lean, white face and took his
strength and will momentarily from him.
'I am a man possessed,' he groaned, 'and without
this devil-blade I carry I would not be a man at all.'

 

 

 

TWO

 

They mounted their swift, black horses and
spurred them with abandoned savagery down the
hillside towards the Marsh, their cloaks whipping be-
hind them as the wind caught them, lashing them
high into the air. Both rode with set, hard faces, re-
fusing to acknowledge the aching uncertainty which
lurked within them.
And the horses' hooves had splashed into quaking
bogland before they could halt.
Cursing, Elric tugged hard on his reins, pulling
his horse back on to firm ground. Shaarilla, too,
fought her own panicky stallion and .guided the
beast to the safety of the turf.
'How do we cross?' Elric asked her impatiently.
'There was a map--" Shaarilla began hesitantly.
"Where is it?"
'It--it was lost. I lost it. But I tried hard to memo-
rise it. I think I'll be able to get us safely across.'
'How did you lose it-and why didn't you tell me
of this before?' Elric stormed.
'I'm sorry, Elric--but for a whole day, just before I
found you in that tavern, my memory was gone.
Somehow, I lived through a day without knowing
it--and when I awoke, the map was missing.'
Elric frowned. 'There is some force working
against us, I am Sure,' he muttered, 'but what it is, I
do not know.' He raised his voice and said to her.

"Let us hope that your memory is not too faulty,
now. These Marshes are infamous the world over,
but by all accounts, only natural hazards wait for us.'
He grimaced and put his fingers around the hilt of
his runesword. 'Best go first, Shaarilla, but stay dose.
Lead the way.'
She nodded, dumbly, and turned her horse's head
towards the north, galloping along the bank until
she came to a place where a great, tapering rock
loomed. Here, a grassy path, four feet or so across,
led out into the misty marsh. They could only see a
little distance ahead, because of the dinging mist,
but it seemed that the trail remained firm for some
way. Shaarilla walked her horse on to the path and
jolted forward at a slow trot, Elric following imme-
diately behind her.
Through the swirling, heavy mist which shone
whitely, the horses moved hesitantly and their riders
had to keep them on short, tight rein. The mist
padded the marsh with silence and the gleaming,
watery fens around them stank with foul putres-
cence. No animal scurried, no bird shrieked above
them. Everywhere was a haunting, fear-laden silence
which made both horses and riders uneasy.
With panic in their throats, Elric and Shaarilla
rode on, deeper and deeper into the unnatural
Marshes of the Mist, their eyes wary and even their
nostrils quivering for scent of danger in the stinking
morass.
Hours later, when the sun was long past its zenith,
Shaarilla's horse reared, screaming and whinnying.
She shouted for Elric, her exquisite features twisted
in fear as she stared into the mist. He spurred his
own bucking horse forwards and joined her.
Something moved, slowly, menacingly in the ding-
ing whiteness. Elric's right hand whipped over to his
left side and grasped the hilt of Stormbringer.

The blade shrieked out of its scabbard, a black
fire gleaming along its length and alien power flow-
ing from it into Elric's arm and through his body. A
weird, unholy light leapt into Elric's crimson eyes
and his mouth was wrenched into a hideous grin as
he forced the frightened horse further into the
skulking mist.
'Arioch, Lord of the Seven Darks, be with me
now!' Elric yelled as he made out the shifting shape
ahead of him. It was white, like the mist, yet some-
how darker. It, stretched high above Elric's head. It
was nearly eight feet tall and almost as broad. But it
t
was still only an outline, Seeming to have no face or
limbs--only movement: darting, malevolent move-
ment! But Arioch, his patron god, chose not to hear.
Elric could feel his horse's great heart beating be-
tween his legs as the beast plunged forward under
its rider's iron control. Shaarilla was screaming some-
thing behind him, but he could not hear the words.
Elric hacked at the white shape, but his sword met
only mist and it howled angrily. The fear-crazed
horse would go no further and Elric was forced to
dismount.
'Keep hold of the steed,' he shouted behind him to
Shaarilla and moved on light feet towards the dart-
ing shape which hovered ahead of him, blocking his
path.
Now he could make out some of its saliencies.
Two eyes, the colour of thin, yellow wine, were set
high in the thing's body, though it had no separate
head. A mouthing, obscene slit, filled with fangs, lay
just beneath the eyes. It had no nose or ears that El-
tic could see. Four appendages sprang from its upper
parts and its lower body slithered along the ground,
unsupported by any limbs. Elric's eyes ached as he
looked at it. It was incredibly disgusting to behold
and its amorphous body gave off a stench of death

and decay. Fighting down his fear, the albino inched
forward warily, his sword held high to parry any
thrust the thing might make with its arms. Elric
recognised it from a description in one of his gri-
moires. It was a Mist Giant--possibly the only Mist
Giant, Bellbane. Even the wisest wizards were uncer-
tain how many existed--one or many. It was a ghoul
of the swamp-lands which fed off the souls and the
blood of men and beasts. But the Marshes of this
Mist were Par to the east of Bellbane's reputed
haunts.
Elric ceased to wonder why so few animals in-
habited that stretch of the swamp. Overhead the sky
was beginning to darken.
Stormbringer throbbed in Elric's grasp as he
called the names of the ancient Demon-Gods of his
people. The nauseous ghoul obviously recognised
the names, For an instant, it wavered backwards. El-
tic made his legs move towards the thing. Now he
saw that the ghoul was not white at all. But it had
no colour to it that Elric could recognise. There was
a suggestion of orangeness dashed with sickening
greenish yellow, but he did not see the colours with
his eyes--he only sensed the alien, unholy tinctures.
Then Elric rushed towards the thing, shouting the
names which now had no meaning to his surface con-
sciousness. "Balaan--Marthim! Aesma! Alastor! Sae-
bos! Verdelet! Nizilfkm! Haborym! Haborym of the
Fires Which Destroy!' His whole mind was torn in
two. Part of him wanted to run, to hide, but
he .had no control over the power which now
gripped him and pushed him to meet the horror.
His sword blade hacked and slashed at the shape. It
was like trying to cut through water--sentient, pul-
sating water. But Stormbringer 
had effect. The

whole shape of the ghoul quivered as if in dreadful
pain. Elric felt himself plucked into the air and his

vision went. He could see nothing-do nothing but
hack and cut at the thing which now held him.
Sweat poured from him as, blindly, he fought on.
Pain which was hardly physical--a deeper, horrify-
ing pain, filled his being as he howled now in agony
and struck continually at the yielding bulk which
embraced him and was pulling him slowly towards
its gaping maw. He struggled and writhed in the ob-
scene grasp of the thing. With powerful arms, it was
holding him, almost lasciviously, drawing him closer
as a rough lover would draw a girl. Even the mighty
power intrinsic in the runesword did not seem
enough to kill the monster. Though its efforts were
somewhat weaker than earlier, it still drew Elric
nearer to the gnashing, slavering mouth-slit.
Elric cried the names again, while Stormbringer
danced and sang an evil song in his right hand. In
agony, Elric writhed, praying, begging and promis-
ing, but still he was drawn inch by inch towards the
grinning maw.
Savagely, grimly, he fought and again he screamed
for Arioch. A mind touched his--sardonic, powerful,
evil--and he knew Arioch responded at last! Almost
imperceptibly, the Mist Giant weakened. Elric pressed
his advantage and the knowledge that the ghoul was
losing its strength gave him more power. Blindly,
agony piercing every nerve of his body, he struck and
struck, Then, quite suddenly, he was falling.
He seemed to fall for hours, slowly, weightlessly
until he landed upon a surface which yielded
beneath him. He began to sink.
Far off, beyond time and space, he heard a distant
voice calling to him. He did not want to hear it; he
was content to lie where he was as the cold, comfort-
ing stuff in which he lay dragged him slowly into it-
self.

Then some sixth sense made him realise that it
was Shaarilla's voice calling him and he forced him-
self to make sense out of her words.
"Elric--the marshy You're in the marsh. Don't
move!"
He smiled to himself. Why should he move?
Down he was sinking, slowly, calmly--down into the
welcoming marsh ... Had there been another time
like this; another marsh? -
With a mental jolt, full awareness of the situation
came back to him and he jerked his eyes open.
Above him was mist. To one side a pool of unnam-
able colouring was slowly evaporating, giving off a
foul odour. On the other side he could lust make
out a human form, gesticulating wildly. Beyond the
human form were the barely discernible shapes of
two horses. Shaarilla was there. Beneath him-- .
Beneath him was the marsh.
Thick, stinking slime was sucking him downwards
as he lay spread-eagled upon it, half-submerged al-
ready. Stormbringer was still in his right hand. He
could just see it if he turned his head. Carefully, he
tried to lift the top half of his body from the sucking
morass. He succeeded, only to feel his legs sink
deeper. Sitting upright, he shouted to the girl 
   
'Shaarilla! Quickly-a rope!'
'There is no rope, Elric!' She was ripping off her
top garment, frantically tearing it into strips.
Still Elric sank, his feet finding no purchase
beneath them.
Shaarilla hastily knotted the strips of cloth. She
flung the makeshift rope inexpertly towards the sink-
ing albino. It fell short. Fumbling in her haste, she
threw it again. This time his groping left hand
found it. The girl began to haul on the fabric. Elric
felt himself rise a little and then stop.
  'It's no good, Elric--I haven't the strength.'

Cursing her, Elric shouted: 'The horse--tie it to
the horse!'
She ran towards one of the horses and looped the
cloth around the pommel of the saddle. Then she
tugged at the beast's reins and began to walk it
away.
Swiftly, Elric was dragged from the sucking bog
and, still gripping Stormbringer was pulled to the
inadequate safety of the strip of turf.
Gasping, he tried to stand, but found his legs in-
credibly weak beneath him. He rose; staggered, and
fell. Shaarilla knelt down beside him.
'Are you hurt?'
Elric smiled in spite of his weakness. 'I don't think
SO.'
'It was dreadful. I couldn't see properly what was
happening. You seemed to disappear and then-then
you screamed that--that name!' She was trembling,
her face pale and taut.
'What name?' Elric was genuinely puzzled. 'What
name did I scream?'
She shook her head. 'It doesn't matter--but what-
ever it was--it saved you. You reappeared soon after-
wards and fell into the marsh...'
Stormbringer's power was still flowing into the al-
bino. He already felt stronger.
With an effort, he got up and stumbled unsteadily
towards his horse.
'I'm sure that the Mist Giant does not usually
haunt this marsh--it was sent here. By what-or
whom--I don't know, but we must get to firmer
ground while we can.'
Shaarilla said: 'Which way--back or forward?'
Elric frowned. 'Why, forward, of course. Why do
you ask?'
She swallowed and shook her head. 'Let's hurry,
then,' she said.

They mounted their horses and rode with little
caution until the marsh and its cloak of mist was be-
hind them.
Now the journey took on a new urgency as Elric
realised that some force was attempting to put obsta-
cles in their way. They rested little and savagely
rode their powerful horses to a virtual standstill.
On the fifth day they were riding through barren,
rocky country and a light rain was Falling.
The hard ground was slippery so that they were
forced to ride more slowly, huddled over the sodden
necks of their horses, muffled it/ cloaks which only
inadequately kept out the drizzling rain. They had
ridden in silence for some time before they heard a
ghastly cackling baying ahead of them and the rattle
of hooves.
Elric motioned towards a large rock looming to
their right. 'Shelter there,' he said. 'Something comes
towards us--possibly more enemies. With luck,
they'll pass us.' Shaarilla mutely obeyed him and to-
gether they waited as the hideous baying grew
nearer.
'One rider--several other beasts,' Elric said, listen-
ing intently. 'The beasts either follow or pursue the
rider.'
Then they were in sight--racing through the rain.
A man frantically spurring an equally frightened
horse-and behind him, the" distance decreasing, a
pack of what at first appeared to be dogs. But these
were not dogs--they were half-dog and half-bird,
with the lean, shaggy bodies and legs of dogs but
possessing birdlike talons in place of paws and sav-
agely curved beaks which snapped where muzzles
should have been.
'The hunting dogs of the Dharzi!' gasped Shaa-
rilla. 'I thought that they, like their masters, were
long extinct!'

'I, also,' Elric said. 'What are they doing in these
parts? There was never contact between the Dharzi
and the dwellers of this Land.'
'Brought here--by something; Shaarilla whispered.
'Those devil-dogs will scent us to be sure.'
Elric reached for his runesword. 'Then we can lose
nothing by aiding their quarry,' he said, urging his
mount forward. 'Wait here, Shaarilla.'
By this time, the devil-pack and the man they pur-
sued were rushing past the sheltering rock, speeding
down a narrow defile. Elric spurred his horse down
the slope.
'Ho there!' he shouted to the frantic rider. 'Turn
and stand, my friend--I'm here to aid you!'
His moaning runesword lifted high, Elric thun-
dered towards the snapping, howling devil-dogs and
his horse's hooves struck one with an impact which
broke the unnatural beast's spine. There were some
five or six" of the weird dogs left. The rider turned
his horse and drew a long sabre from a scabbard at
his waist. He was a small man, with a broad ugly
mouth. He grinned in relief.
'A lucky chance, this meeting, good master!'
This was all he had time to remark before two of
the dogs were leaping at him and he was forced to
give his whole attention to defending himself from
their slashing talons and snapping beaks.
The other three dogs concentrated their vicious at-
tention upon Elric. One leapt high, its beak aimed
at Elric's throat. He felt foul breath on his Face and
hastily brought Stormbringer round in an arc which
chopped the dog in two. Filthy blood spattered Elric
and his horse and the scent of it seemed to increase
the fury of the other dogs' attack. But the blood
made the dancing black runesword sing an almost ec-
static tune and Elric felt it writhe in his grasp and
stab at another of the hideous dogs. The point

Elric said coldly, 'The Lady Shaarilla--Master
Moonglum of--?'
'Of Elwher,' Moonglum supplied, 'The mercantile
capital of the East--the finest city in the world.'
Elric recognised the name. 'So you are from El-
wher, Master Moonglum. I have heard of the place.
A new city, is it not? Some few centuries old. You
have ridden far.'
'Indeed I have, sir. Without knowledge of the lan-
guage used in these parts, the journey would have
been harder, but luckily the slave who inspired me
with tales of his homeland taught me the speech
thoroughly.'
'But why do you travel these parts--have you not
heard the legends?' Shaarilla spoke incredulously.
'Those very legends were what brought me
hence-and I'd begun to discount them, until those
unpleasant pups set uPon me. For what reason they
decided to give chase, I will not know, for I gave
them no cause to take a dislike to me. This is,
indeed, a barbarous land;'
Elric was uncomfortable. Light talk 
of the kind
which Moonglum seemed to enjoy was contrary to
his own brooding nature. But in spite of this, he
found that he was liking the man more and more.
It was Moonglum who suggested that they travel
together for a while. Shaarilla objected, giving Elric
a warning glance, but he ignored it.
'Very well then, friend Moonglum, since three are
stronger than two, we'd appreciate your company.
We ride towards the mountains.' Elric, himself, was
feeling in a more cheerful mood.
'And what do you seek there?, Moonglum in.
quired. 
�A secret,' Elric said, and his new-found compan-
ion was discreet enough to drop the question.

 

 

 

THREE

 

So they rode, while the rainfall increased and
splashed and sang among the rocks with the sky like
dull steel above them and the wind crooning a dirge
about their ears. Three small figures riding swiftly
towards the black mountain barrier which rose over
the world like a brooding God. And perhaps it was a
God that laughed sometimes as they neared the
foothills of the range, or perhaps it was the wind
whistling through the dark mystery of canyons and
precipices and the tumble of basalt and granite which
climbed towards lonely peaks: Thunder clouds
formed around those peaks and lightning smashed
downwards like a monster finger searching the earth
for grubs. Thunder rattled over the range and
Shaarilla spoke her thoughts at last to Elric; spoke
them as the mountains came in sight.
'Elric--let us go back, I beg you. Forget the
Book--there are too many forces working against us.
Take heed of the signs, Elric, or we are doomed!'
But Elric was grimly silent, for he had long been
aware that the girl was losing her enthusiasm for the
quest she had started.
'Elric--please. We will never reach the Book. El,
ric, turn back.:
She rode beside him, pulling at his garments until
impatiently he shrugged himself clear of her grasp
and said:

"I am intrigued too much to stop now. Either con-
tinue to lead the way--or tell me what you know and
stay here. You desired to sample the Book's wisdom
once--but now a few minor pitfalls on our journey
have frightened you. What was it you needed to
learn, Shaarilla?'
She did not answer him, but said instead: 'And
what was it you desired, Elric? Peace, you told me.
Well, I warn you, you'll find no peace in those grim
mountains--if we reach them at all.'
'You have not been frank with me, Shaarilla,' Elric
said coldly, still looking ahead of him at the black
peaks. 'You know something of the forces seeking to
stop us.'
She shrugged. 'It matters not--I know little. My fa-
ther spoke a few vague warnings before he died, that
is all.' 
               
'What did he say?' 
       
'He said that He who guards the Book would use
all his power to stop mankind from using its wis-
dom.' 
                 
'What else?'
'Nothing else. But it is enough, now that I see that
my father's warning was truly spoken. It was this
guardian who killed him, Elric--or one of the
guardian's minions. I do not wish to suffer that fate,
in spite of what the Book might do for me. I had
thought you Powerful enough to aid me--but now I
doubt it.'
'I have protected you so far,' Elrie said simply.
'Now tell me what you seek from the Book?"
'I am too ashamed.'
Elric did not press the question, but eventually
she spoke softly, almost whispering. 'I sought my
wings,' she said.
'Your wings-y0u mean the Book might give you a
spell so that you could grow wings!' Elric smiled

ironically. 'And that is why you seek the vessel of the
world's mightiest wisdom!'
'If you Were thought deformed in your own
land--it would seem important enough to you,' she
shouted defiantly.
Elric turned his face towards her, his crimson-
irised eyes burning with a strange emotion. He put a
hand to his dead white skin and a crooked smile
twisted his lips. 'I, too, have felt as you do,' lie said
quietly. That was all he said and Shaarilla dropped
behind him again, shamed.
They rode on in silence until Moonglum, who had
been riding discreetly ahead, cocked his overlarge
skull on one side and suddenly drew rein.
Elric joined him. 'What is it, Moonglum?'
'I hear horses coming this way,' the little man said.
'And voices which are disturbingly familiar. More of
those devil-dogs, Elric--and this time accompanied
by riders!'
Elric, too, heard the sounds, now, and shouted a .
warning to Shaarilla.
'Perhaps you were right,' he called. 'More trouble
comes towards us.'
�What now?' Moonglum said, frowning.
'Ride for the mountains,' Elric replied, 'and we
may yet outdistance them.'
They spurred their steeds into a fast gallop and
sped towards the hills.
But their flight was hopeless. Soon a black, pack
was visible on the horizon and the sharp birdlike
baying of the devil-dogs-drew nearer. Elric stared
backward at their pursuers. Night was beginning to
fall, and visibility was decreasing with every passing
moment but he had a vague impression of the riders
who raced behind the pack. They were swathed in
dark cloaks and carried long spears. Their faces were

invisible, lost in the shadow of the hoods which cov-
ered their heads.
Now Elric and his companions were forcing their
horses up a steep incline, seeking the shelter of the
rocks which lay above.
'We'll halt here,' Elric ordered, 'and try to hold
them off. In the open they could easily surround us.'
Moonglum nodded affirmatively, agreeing with
the good sense contained in Elric's words. They
pulled their sweating steeds tO a standstill and
prepared to join battle with the howling pack and
their dark-cloaked masters.
Soon the first of the devil-dogs were rushing up the
incline, their beak-jaws slavering and their talons
rattling on stone. Standing between two rocks, block-
ing the way between with their bodies, Elric and
Moonglum met the first attack and quickly dis-
patched three of the animals. Several more took
the place of the dead and the first of the riders was
visible behind them as night crept closer.
'Arioch!' swore Elric, suddenly recognising the
riders. 'These are the Lords of Dharzi---dead these
ten centuries. We're fighting dead men, Moonglum,
and the too-tangible ghosts of their dogs. Unless I
can think of a sorcerous means to defeat them, we're
doomed!'
The zombie-men appeared to have no intention of
taking part in the attack for the moment. They
waited, their dead eyes eerily luminous, as the devil-
dogs attempted to break through the swinging net-
work of steel with which Elric and his companion
defended themselves. Elric was racking his brains---
trying to dredge a spoken spell from his memory
which would dismiss these living dead. Then it came
to him, and hoping that the forces he had to invoke
would decide to aid him, he began to chant:

 

�Let the Laws which govern all things
Not so lightly be dismissed;
Let the Ones who flaunt the Earth Kings
With a fresher death be kissed.�

 

Nothing happened. 'I've failed.' Elric muttered
hopelessly as he met the attack of a mapping devil-
dog and spitted the thing on his sword.
But then--the ground rocked and seemed to seethe
beneath the feet of the horses upon whose backs the
dead men sat. The tremor lasted a few seconds and
then subsided.
'The spell was not powerful enough,' Elric sighed.
The earth trembled again and small craters
formed in the ground of the hillside upon which the
dead Lords of Dharzi impassively waited: Stones
crumbled and the horses stamped nervously. Then
the earth rumbled.
'Back!' yelled Elric warningly. 'Back--or we'll go
with them!' They retreated--backing towards Shaa-
rilla and their waiting horses as the ground gagged
beneath their feet. The Dharzi mounts were rearing
and snorting and the remaining dogs turned ner-
vously to regard their masters with puzzled, uncer-
tain eyes. A low moan was coming from the lips of
the living dead. Suddenly, a whole area of the sur-
rounding hillside split into cracks, and yawning
crannies appeared in the surface. Elric and his com-
panies swung themselves on to their horse, as, with a
frightful multi-voiced scream, the dead Lords were
swallowed by the earth, returning to the depths from
which they had been summoned.
A deep unholy chuckle arose from the shattered
pit. It was the mocking laughter of the Earth Kings
taking their rightful prey back into their keeping.
Whining, the devil-dogs slunk towards the edge of
the pit, sniffing around it. Then, with one accord,

the black pack hurled itself down into the chasm,
following its masters to whatever cold doom awaited
them.
Moonglum shuddered. 'You are on familiar terms
with the strangest people, friend Elric,' he said shak-
ily and turned his horse towards the mountains
again.
They reached the black mountains on the follow-
ing day and nervously Shaarilla led them along the
rocky route she had memorised. She no longer
pleaded with Elric to return--she was resigned to
whatever fate awaited them. Elric's obsession was
burning within him and he was filled with impa-
tience--certain that he would find, at last, the ulti-
mate truth of existence in the Dead Gods' Book.
Moonglum was cheerfully skeptical, while Shaarilla
was consumed with foreboding.
Rain still fell and the storm growled and crackled
above them, And, as the driving rainfall increased
with fresh insistence, they came, at last, to the black,
gaping mouth of a huge cave.
'I can lead you no further,' Shaarilla said wearily.
'The Book lies somewhere beyond, the entrance to
this cave.'
Elric and Moonglum looked uncertainly at one an-
other, neither of them sure what move to make next.
To have reached their goal seemed somehow anticli-
mactic-for nothing blocked the cave entrance--and
nothing appeared to guard it.
'It is inconceivable,' said Elric, 'that the dangers
which beset us were not engineered by something,
yet here we are--and no one seeks to stop us enter-
ing. Are you sure that this is the right cave, Shaarilla?'
The girl pointed upwards to the rock above the
entrance. Engraved in it was a curious symbol which
Elric instantly recognised.

'The sigh of Chaos!' Elric exclaimed. 'Perhaps I
should have guessed.'
'What does it mean, Elric?' Moonglum asked.
'That is the symbol of everlasting disruption and
anarchy,' Elric told him. 'We are standing in, terri-
tory presided over by the Lords of Entropy or one of
their minions. So that is who our enemy is! This can
only mean one thing--the Book is of extreme impor-
tance to the order of things on this plane--possibly
all the myriad planes of the universe. It was why
Arioch was reluctant to aid me--he, too, is a Lord of
Chaos!"
Moonglum stared at him in puzzlement. 'What do
you mean, Elric?'
'Know you not that two forces govern the world-
fighting an eternal battle?' Elric replied: 'Law and
Chaos. The upholders of Chaos state that in such a
world as they rule, all things are possible. Opponents
of Chaos--those who ally themselves with the forces
of Law--say that without Law nothing material is
possible.
"Some stand apart, believing that a balance be-
tween the two is the proper state of things, but we
cannot. We have become embroiled in a dispute be-.
tween the two forces. The Book is valuable to either
faction, obviously, and I could guess that the min-
ions of Entropy are worried what power we might
release if we obtain this Book. Law and Chaos rarely
interfere directly in Men's lives--that is why we have
not been fully aware of their presence. Now perhaps,
I will discover at last the answer to the one question
which concerns me--does an ultimate force rule over
the opposing factions of Law and Chaos?'
Elric stepped through the cave entrance, peering
into the gloom while the others hesitantly followed
him.

'The cave stretches back a long way. All we can do
is press on until we find its far wall,' Elric said.
'Let's hope that its far wall lies not downwards,'
Moonglum said ironically as he motioned Elric to
lead on.
They stumbled forward as the cave grew darker
and darker. Their voices were magnified and hollow
to their own ears as the floor of the cave slanted
sharply down.                  -
'This is no cave,' Elric whispered, 'it's a tunnel--
but I cannot guess where it leads.'      "
For several hours they pressed onwards in pitch
darkness, dinging to one another as they reeled for-
ward, uncertain of their footing and still aware that
they were moving down a gradual incline. They lost
all sense of time and Elric began to feel as if he were
living through a dream. Events seemed to have be,.
come so unpredictable and beyond his control that
he could no longer cope with thinking about them
in ordinary terms. The tunnel was long and dark
and wide and cold. It offered no comfort and the
floor eventually became the only thing which had
any reality. It was firmly beneath his feet. He began
to feel that possibly he was not moving--that the floor,
after all, was moving and he was remaining station-
ary. His companions clung to him but he was not
aware of them. He was lost and his brain was numb.
Sometimes he swayed and felt that he was on the
edge of a precipice. Sometimes he fell and his groan-
ing body met hard stone, disproving the proximity
of the gulf down which he half-expected to fall.
All the While he made his legs perform walking
motions, even though he was not at all sure whether
he was actually moving forward. And time meant
nothing--became a meaningless concept with relation
to nothing.

Until, at last, he was aware of a faint, blue glow
ahead of him and he knew that he had been moving
forward. He began to run down the incline, but
found that he was going too fast and had to check "his
speed. There was a scent of alien strangeness in the
cool air of the cave tunnel and fear was a fluid force
which surged over him, something separate from
himself.
The others obviously felt it, too, for though they
said nothing, Elric could sense it. Slowly they moved
downward, drawn like automatons towards the pale
blue glow below them.
And then they were out of the tunnel, staring
awestruck at the unearthly vision which confronted
them. Above them, the very air seemed of the
strange blue colour which had originally attracted
them. They were standing on a jutting slab of rock
and, although it was still somehow dark, the eerie
blue glow illuminated a stretch of glinting silver
beach beneath them. And the beach was lapped by a
surging dark sea which moved restlessly like a liquid
giant in disturbed slumber. Scattered along the sil-
ver beach were the dim shapes of wrecks--the bones
of peculiarly designed boats, each of a different pat-
tern from the rest. The sea surged away into
darkness and there was no horizon-only blackness.
Behind them, they could see a sheer cliff which was
also lost in darkness beyond a certain point. And it
was cold--bitterly cold, with an unbelievable sharp-
ness. For though the sea threshed beneath them, there
was no dampness in the air--no smell of salt. It was a
bleak and awesome sight and, apart from the sea,
they were the only things that moved--the only
things to make sound, for the sea was horribly silent
in its restless movement.
'What now, Elric?' whispered Moonglum, shiver-
ing.

Elric shook his head and they continued to stand
there for a long time until the albino--his white face
and hands ghastly in the alien light said: 'Since it is
impracticable to return--we shall venture over the sea�
His voice was hollow and he spoke as one who was
unaware of his words.
Steps, cut into the living rock, led down towards
the beach and now Elric began to descend them.
The others allowed him to lead them staring around
them, their eyes lit by a terrible fascination.

 

 

 

FOUR

 

Their feet profaned the silence as they reached
the silver beach of crystalline stones and crunched
across it. Elric's crimson eyes fixed upon one of the
objects littering the beach and he smiled. He shook
his head savagely from side to side, as if to clear it.
Trembling, he pointed to one of the boats, and the
pair saw that it was intact, unlike the others. It was
yellow and red--vulgarly gay in this environment
and nearing it they observed that it was made of
wood, yet unlike any wood they had seen. Moon-
glum ran his stubby fingers along its length.
'Hard as iron,' he breathed. 'No wonder it has not
rotted as the Others have.' He peered inside and
shuddered. 'Well the owner won't argue if we take
it,' he said wryly.
Elric and Shaarilla understood him when they saw
the unnaturally twisted skeleton which lay at the
bottom of the boat. Elric reached inside and pulled
the thing out, hurling it on to the stones. It rattled
and rolled over the gleaming shingle, disintegrating
as it did so, scattering bones over a wide area. The
skull came to rest by the edge of the beach, seeming
to stare sightlessly out over the disturbing ocean.
As Elric and Moonglum strove to push and pull
the boat down the beach towards the sea, Shaarilla
moved ahead of them and squatted down, putting

her hand into the wetness. She stood up sharply,
shaking the stuff from her hand.
'This is not water as I know it,' she said. They
heard her, but said nothing.
'We'll need a sail,' Elric murmured. The cold
breeze was moving out over the ocean. 'A cloak
should serve.' He stripped off his cloak and knotted
it to the mast of the vessel. 'Two of us will have to
hold this at either edge,' he said. 'That way we'll
have some slight control over the direction the boat
takes. It's makeshift--but the best we can manage.'
They shoved off, taking care not to get their feet
in the sea.
The wind caught the sail and pushed the boat out
over the ocean; moving at a faster pace than Elric
had at first reckoned. The boat began to hurtle for-
ward as if possessed of its own volition and Elric's
and Moonglum's muscles ached as they clung to the
bottom ends of the sail.
Soon the silver beach was out of sight and they
could see .little--the pale blue light above them
scarcely penetrating the blackness. It was then that
they heard the dry flap of wings over their heads and
looked up.
Silently descending were three massive ape-like
creatures, borne on great leathery wings. Shaarilla
recognised them and gasped.

"Clakars!"
Moonglum shrugged as he hurriedly drew his
sword--'A name only--what are they?' But he re-
ceived no answer for the leading winged ape de-
seemed with a rush, mouthing and gibbering,
showing long fangs in a slavering snout. Moonglum
dropped his portion of the sail and slashed at the
beast but it veered away, its huge wings beating, and
sailed upwards again.
Elric unsheathed Stormbringer--and was astound-

ed. The blade remained silent, its Familiar howl of
glee muted. The blade shuddered in his hand and
instead of the rush of power which usually flowed up
his arm, he felt only a slight tingling. He was panic-
stricken for a moment--without the sword, he would
soon lose all vitality. Grimly fighting down his fear,
he used the sword to protect himself from the rush-
ing attack of one of the winged apes.
The ape gripped the blade, bowling Elric over,
but it yelled in pain as the blade cut through one
knotted hand, Severing fingers which lay twitching
and bloody on the narrow deck. Elric gripped the
side of the boat and hauled himself upright once
more. Shrilling its agony, the winged ape attacked
again, but this time with more caution. Elric sum-
moned all his strength and swung the heavy sword
in a two-handed grip, ripping off one of the leathery
wings so that the mutilated beast flopped about the
deck. Judging the place where its heart should be,
Elric drove the blade in under the breast-bone. The
ape's movements subsided.
Moonglum was lashing wildly at two of the winged

apes which were attacking him from both
sides. He was-down on one knee, vainly hacking at
random. He had opened up the whole side of a
beast's head but, though in pain, it still came at him.
Elric hurled Stormbringer through the darkness and
it struck the wounded beast in the throat, point first.
The ape clutched with clawing fingers at the steel
and fell overboard. Its corpse floated on the liquid
but slowly began to sink. Elric grabbed with frantic
fingers at the hilt of his sword, reaching far over the
side of the boat. Incredibly, the blade was sinking
with the beast. Knowing Stormbringer's properties as
he did, Elric was amazed--once when he had hurled
the runesword into the ocean, it had refused to sink.
Now it was being dragged beneath the surface as any

ordinary blade would bedraggled. He gripped the
hilt and hauled the sword out of the winged ape's

carcass.

His strength was seeping swiftly from him. It was
incredible. What alien laws governed this cavern
world? He could not guess--and all he was concerned
with was regaining his waning strength. Without the
runesword's power, this was impossible!
Moonglum's curved blade had disemboweled the
remaining beast and the little man was busily tossing
the dead thing over the side. He turned, grinning
triumphantly, to Elric.
'A good fight,' he said.
Elric shook his head. 'We must cross this sea
speedily,' he replied, 'else we're lost--finished. My
power is gone'
'How? Why?'
'I know not--unless the forces of Entropy rule
more strongly here. Make haste--there is no time for
speculation.'
Moonglum's eyes were disturbed. He could do
nothing but act as Elric said.
Elric was trembling in his Weakness, holding the
billowing sail with draining strength. Shaarilla
moved to help him, her thin hands close to his; her
deep-set eyes bright with sympathy.
'What were those things?' Moonglum gasped, his
teeth naked and white beneath his back-drawn lips,
his breath coming short.
'Clakars,' Shaarilla replied. 'They are the primeval
ancestors of my people, older in origin than recorded
time. My people are thought the oldest inhabitants
of this planet.'
'Whoever seeks to stop us in this quest of yours
had best find some--original means.' Moonglum
grinned. 'The old methods don't work.' But the
other two did not smile, for Elric was half-fainting

and the woman was concerned only with his plight.
Moonglum shrugged, staring ahead.
When he spoke .again, sometime later, his voice
was excited. 'We're nearing land/'
Land it was, and they were traveling fast, towards
it. Too fast. Elric heaved himself uptight and spoke
heavily and with difficulty. 'Drop the sail!' Moon-
glum obeyed him. The boat sped on, struck another
stretch of silver beach and ground up it, the prow
ploughing a dark scar through the glinting shingle.
It stopped suddenly, tilting violently to one side so
that the three were tumbled against the boat's rail.
Shaarilla and Moonglum pulled themselves up-
right and dragged the limp and nerveless albino on
to the beach. Carrying him between them, they
struggled up the beach until the crystalline shingle
gave way to thick, fluffy moss, padding their foot-
falls. They laid the albino down and stared at him
worriedly, uncertain of their next actions.
Elric strained to rise, but was unable to do so.
�Give me time,' he gasped. 'I Won't die--but already
my eyesight is fading. I can only hope that the
blade's power will return on dry land.'
With a mighty effort, he pulled Stormbringer
from its scabbard and he smiled in relief as the evil
runesword moaned faintly and then, slowly, its song
increased in power as black flame flickered along its
length. Already the power was flowing into Elric's
body, giving him renewed vitality. But even as
strength returned, Elric's crimson eyes flared with
terrible misery.
'Without this black blade,' he groaned, 'I am noth-
ing, as you see. But what is it making of me? Am I to
be bound to it for ever?'     
The others did not answer him and they were
both moved by an emotion they could not define-an

emotion blended of fear, hate and pity--linked with
something else ...
Eventually, Elric rose, trembling, and silently led
them up the mossy hillside towards a more natural
light which filtered from above. They could see that
it came from a wide chimney, leading apparently to
the upper air. By means of the light, they could soon
make out a dark, irregular shape which towered in
the shadow of the gap.
As they neared the shape, they saw that it was a
castle of black stone--a sprawling pile covered with
dark green crawling lichen which curled over its an-
cient bulk with an almost sentient protectiveness.
Towers appeared to spring at random from it and it
covered a vast area. There seemed to be no windows
in any part of it and the only orifice was a rearing
doorway blocked by thick bars of a metal which
glowed with dull redness, but without heat. Above
this gate, in flaring amber, was the sign of the Lords
of Entropy, representing eight arrows radiating from
a central hub in all directions. It appeared to hang
in the air without touching the black, Lichen-covered
stone.
'I think our quest ends here,' Elric said grimly.
'Here, or nowhere.'
'Before I go further, Elric, I'd like to know what it
is you seek,' Moonglum murmured. 'I think I've
earned the right.'
'A book,' Elric said carelessly. 'The Dead Gods'
Book. It lies within those castle walls--of that I'm
certain. We have reached the end of our journey.'
Moonglum shrugged. 'I might not have asked,' he
smiled, 'for all your words mean to me. I hope that I
will be allowed some small share of whatever
treasure it represents.'
Elric ginned, in spite of the coldness which

gripped his bowels, but he did not answer Moon-

glum 'We need to enter the castle, first,' he said instead.
As if the gates had heard him, the metal bars
flared to a pale green and then their glow faded back
to red and finally dulled into non-existence. The en-
trance was unbarred and their way apparently clear.
'I like not that," growled Moonglum. 'Too easy. A
trap awaits us--are we to spring it at the pleasure of
whoever dwells within the castle confines?'
'What else can we do?' Elric spoke quietly.
'Go back--or forward. Avoid the castle-do not
tempt He who guards the Book!' Shaarilla was grip-
ping the albino's right arm, her whole face moving
with fear, her eyes pleading. 'Forget the Book, Elric!'
'Now?" Elric laughed humourlessly. 'Now--after
this journey? No, Shaarilla, not when the truth is so
close. Better to die than never to have tried to secure
the wisdom in the Book when it lies so near.'
Shaarilla's clutching fingers relaxed their grip and
her shoulders slumped in hopelessness. 'We cannot
do battle with the minions of Entropy...'
'Perhaps we will not have to.' Elric did not believe
his own words but his mouth was twisted with
some dark emotion, intense and terrible. Moonglum
glanced at Shaarilla.
'Shaarilla is right,' he said with conviction. 'You'll
find nothing but bitterness, possibly death, inside
those castle walls. Let us, instead, climb yonder steps
and attempt to reach the surface.' He pointed to
some twisting steps which led towards the yawning
rent in the cavern roof.
Elric shook his head. 'No. You go if you like.'
Moonglum grimaced in perplexity. 'You're a stub-
born one, friend Elric. Well, if it's all or nothing--
then I'm with you. But personally, I have always pre-
ferred compromise.'

Elric began to walk slowly forward towards the
dark entrance of the bleak and towering castle.
In a wide, shadowy courtyard a tall figure,
wreathed in scarlet fire, stood awaiting them.
Elric marched on, passing the gateway. Moonglum
and Shaarilla nervously followed.
Gusty laughter roared from the mouth of the
giant and the scarlet fire fluttered about him. He
was naked and unarmed, but the power which
flowed from him almost forced the three back. His
skin was scaly and of smoky purple colouring. His
massive body was alive with rippling muscle as he
rested lightly on the balls of his feet. His skull was
long, slanting sharply backwards at the forehead and
his eyes were like slivers of blue steel, showing no
pupil. His whole body shook with mighty, malicious
joy.
"Greetings to you, Lord Elric of Melnibone--I con-
gratulate you for your remarkable tenacity?'
'Who are you?' Elric growled, his hand on his
sword.
"My name is Orunlu the Keeper and this is a
stronghold of the Lords of Entropy." The giant
smiled cynically. "You need not finger your puny
blade so nervously, ]or you should know that 1 can-
not harm you now. I gained power to remain in
your realm only by making that vow."
Elric's voice betrayed his mounting excitement.-
'You cannot stop us?'
"I do not dare to--since my oblique efforts have
failed. But your foolish endeavours perplex me
somewhat, I'll admit. The Book is of importance to
us--.but what can it mean to you? I have guarded it
for three hundred centuries and have never been
curious enough to seek to discover why my Masters
place so much importance upon it--why they both-
ered to rescue it on its sunward course and incarcer-

ate it on this boring ball of earth populated by the
capering, briefly-lived clowns called Men?" 
    
'I seek in it the Truth,' Elric said guardedly. -
"There is no Truth but that of Eternal struggle,'
the scarlet-flamed giant said with conviction;
'What rules above the forces of Law and Chaos?'
Elric asked. 'What controls your destinies as it con-
trols mine?'             " '
The giant frowned.    "
"That question, I cannot answer. I do not know,
There is only the Balance."
'Then perhaps the Book will tell us who holds it.'
Elric said purposefully. 'Let me pass--tell me where
it lies.'
The giant moved back, smiling ironically. "It lies
in a small chamber in the central tower. I have
sworn never to venture there, otherwise I might
even lead the way. Go if you like--my duty is over."
Elric, Moonglum and Shaarilla stepped towards
the entrance of the castle, but before they entered,
the giant spoke warningly from behind them.
'I have been told that the knowledge contained in
the Book could swing the balance on the side of the
forces of Law. This disturbs me--but, it appears,
there is another possibility which disturbs me even
more.'

'What is that?' Elric said.
"It could create such a tremendous impact on the
multiverse that complete entropy would result. My
Masters do not desire that, for it could mean the
destruction of all matter in the end. We exist only
to fight--not to win, but to preserve the eternal
struggle.�
'I care not,' Elric told him. 'I have little to lose,
Orunlu the Keeper.'
"Then go." The giant strode across the courtyard
into blackness.

Inside the tower, light of a pale quality illumi-
nated winding steps leading upwards. Elric began to
climb them in silence, moved by his own doom-filled
purpose. Hesitantly, Moonglum and Shaarilla fob
lowed in his path, their faces set in hopeless accept-
ante.
On and upward the steps mounted, twisting tortu-
ously towards their goal, until at last they came to
the chamber, full of blinding light, many-coloured
and scintillating, which did not penetrate outwards
at all-but remained confined to the room which
housed it.
Blinking, shielding his red eyes with his arm, Elric
pressed forward and, through slitted pupils saw the
source of the light lying on a small stone dais in
the centre of the room.
Equally troubled by the bright light, Shaarilla and
Moonglum followed him into the room and stood in
awe at what they saw.
It was a huge book--the Dead Gods' Book, its cov-
ers encrusted with alien gems from which the light
sprang. It gleamed, it throbbed with light and bril-
liant colour.
'At last,' Elric breathed, 'At last--the Truth!'
He stumbled forward like a man made stupid
with drink, his pale hands reaching for the thing he
had sought with such savage bitterness. His hands
touched the pulsating cover of the Book and, trem-
bling, turned it back.
'Now, I shall learn,' he said, half-gloatingly.
With a crash, the cover fell to the floor, sending
the bright-gems skipping and dancing over the pav-
ing stones.
Beneath Elric's twitching hands lay nothing but a
pile of yellowish dust.
'No!' His scream was anguished, unbelieving. 'No!'
Tears flowed down his contorted face as he ran his

hands through the fine dust. With a groan which
racked his whole being, he fell forward, his face
hitting the disintegrated parchment, Time had
destroyed the Book--untouched, possibly forgotten,
for three hundred centuries. Even the wise and pow-
erful Gods who had created it had perished--and
now its knowledge followed them into oblivion.
They stood on the slopes of the high mountain,
staring down into the green valleys below them. The
sun shone and the sky was clear and blue. Behind
them lay the gaping hole which led into the strong-
hold of the Lords of Entropy.
Elric looked with sad eyes across the world and his
head was lowered beneath a weight of weariness and
dark despair. He had not spoken since his compan-
ions had dragged him sobbing from the chamber of
the Book. Now he raised his pale face and spoke in a
voice tinged with self-mockery, sharp with bitter-
ness--a lonely voice: the calling of hungry seabirds
circling cold skies above bleak shores.
'Now,' he said, 'I will live my life without ever
knowing why I live it--whether it has purpose or
not. Perhaps the Book could have told me. But
would I have believed it, even then? I am the eter-
nal sceptic---never sure that my actions are my own;
never certain that-an ultimate entity is not guiding
me.
'I envy those who know. All I can do now is to con-
tinue my quest and hope, without hope, that before
my span is ended, the truth will be presented to me.'
Shaarilla took his limp hands in hers and her eyes
were wet.
'Elric--let me comfort you.'
The albino sneered bitterly. 'Would that we'd
never met, Shaarilla of the Dancing Mist. For a
while, you gave me hope--I had thought to be at last
at peace with myself. But, because of you. I am left

more hopeless than before. There is no salvation in
this world--only malevolent doom. Goodbye.'
He took his hands away from her grasp and set off
down the mountainside.
Moonglum darted a glance at Shaarilla and then
at Elric. He took something from his purse and put
it in the girl's hand.
'Good luck,' he said, and then he was running af-
ter Elric until he caught him up.
Still striding, Elric turned at Moonglum's ap-
proach and, despite his brooding misery said: 'What
is it, friend Moonglum? Why do you follow me?'
I�ve followed you thus far, Master Elric, and I see
no reason to stop,' grinned the little man. 'Besides,
unlike yourself, I'm a materialist. We'll need to eat,
you know.'
Elric frowned, feeling a warmth growing within
him. 'What do you mean, Moonglum?'
Moonglum chuckled. 'I take advantage of situa-
tions of any kind, where I may,' he answered. He
reached into his purse and displayed something on
his outstretched hand which shone with a dazzling
brilliancy. It was one of the jewels from the cover of
the Book. 'There are more in my purse,' he said,
'And each one worth a fortune.' He took Elric's arm.
'Come, Elric--what new lands shall we visit so that
we may change these baubles into wine and pleasant
company?'
Behind them, standing stock still on the hillside,
Shaarilla stared miserably after them until they were
no longer visible. The jewel Moonglum had given
her dropped from her fingers and fell, bouncing and
bright, until it was lost amongst the heather. Then
she turned--and the dark mouth of the cavern yawned
before her.

 

 

 

Book Three

 

THE SINGING CITADEL

 

In which Elric has his first dealings with Pan
Tang, Yishana of Jharkor, the sorcerer The-
leb K'aarna, and learns something more of
the Higher Worlds...

 

 

 

ONE

 

The turquoise sea was peaceful in the golden light
of early evening, and the two men at the rail of the
ship stood in silence, looking north to the misty hori-
zon. One was tall and slim, wrapped in a heavy black
cloak, its cowl flung back to reveal his long, milk-
white hair; the other was short and red-headed.
'She was a fine woman and she loved you,' said the
short man at length. 'Why did you leave her so
abruptly?'
'She was a fine woman,' the tall one replied, 'but
she would have loved me to her cost. Let her seek
her own land and stay there. I have already slain one
woman whom I loved, Moonglum. I would not slay
another.'
Moonglum shrugged. 'I sometimes wonder, Elric,
if this grim destiny of yours is the figment of your
own guilt-ridden mood.'
'Perhaps,' Elric replied carelessly. 'But I do not
care to test the theory. Let's speak no more of this.'
The sea foamed and rushed by as the oars disrupt-
ed the surface, driving the ship swiftly towards the
port of Dhakos, capital of Jharkor, one of the most
powerful of the Young Kingdoms. Less than two
years previously Jharkor's king, Darmit, had died in
the ill-fated raid on Imrryr, and Elric had heard that
the men of Jharkor blamed him for the young king's
death, though this was not the case. He cared little

whether they blamed him or not, for he was still dis-
dainful of the greater part of mankind.
'Another hour will see nightfall, and it's unlikely
we'll sail at night,' Moonglum said. 'I'm to bed, I
think.'
Elric was about to reply when he was interrupted
by a high-pitched shout from the crows nest.
"Sail on larboard stern!"
The lookout must have been half asleep, for the
ship bearing down on them could easily be made out
from the deck. Elric stepped aside as the captain, a
dark-faced Tarkeshite, came running along the deck.
'What's the ship, captain?' called Moonglum.
'A Pan Tang trireme--a warship. They're on ram-
ming course.' The captain ran on, yelling orders to
the helm to turn the ship aside.
Elric and Moonglum crossed the deck to see the
trireme better. She was a black-sailed ship, painted
black and heavily gilded, with three rowers to an oar
as against their two. She was big and yet elegant,
with a high curving stern and a low prow. Now they
could see the waters broken by her big, brass-
sheathed ram. She had two lateen-rigged sails, and
the wind was in her favour.
The rowers were in a panic as they sweated to
turn the ship according to the helmsman's orders.
Oars rose and fell in confusion and Moonglum
turned to Elric with a half-smile.
'They'll never do it. Best ready your blade,
friend.'
Pan Tang was an isle of sorcerers, fully human,
who sought to emulate the old power of Melnibone.
Their fleets were among the best in the Young King-
doms and raided with little discrimination. The
Theocrat of Pan Tang, chief of the priest-aristoc-
racy, was Jagreen Lern, who was reputed to have a

pact with the powers of Chaos and a plan to rule the
world.
Elric regarded the men of Pan Tang as upstarts
Who could never hope to mirror the glory of his an-
cestors, but even he had to admit that this ship was
impressive and would easily win a fight with the
Tarkeshite galley.
Soon the great trireme was bearing down on them
and captain and helmsman fell silent as they realised
they could not evade the ram. With a harsh sound of
crushed timbers, the ram connected with the stern,
holing the galley beneath the waterline.
Elric stood immobile, watching as the trireme's
grappling irons hurtled towards their galley's deck.
Somewhat half-heartedly, knowing they were no
match for the well-trained and well-armoured Pan
Tang crew, the Tarkeshites ran towards the stern,
preparing to resist the boarders.
Moonglum cried urgently: 'Elric--we must help!'
Reluctantly Elric nodded. He was loathe to draw
the runesword from its scabbard at his side. Of late
its power seemed to have increased.
Now the scarlet-armoured warriors were swinging
towards where the Tarkeshites waited. The first wave,
armed with broadswords and
battle-axes, hit the
sailors, driving them back.
Now Elric's hand fell to the hilt of Stormbringer.
As he gripped it and drew it, the blade gave an odd,
disturbing moan, as if of anticipation, and a weird
black radiance flickered along its length. Now it
throbbed in Elric's hand like something alive as
the albino ran forward to aid the Tarkeshite sailors.
Already half the defenders had been hewed down
and as the rest retreated, Elric, with Moonglum at
his heels, moved forward. The scarlet-armoured war-
riors' expressions changed from grim triumph to
startlement as Elric's great black-blade shrieked up

and down and clove through a man's armour from
shoulder to lower ribs.
Evidently they recognized him and the sword, for
both were legendary. Though Moonglum was a
skilled swordsman, they all but ignored him as they
realised that they must concentrate all their strength
on bringing Elric down if they were to survive.
The old, wild killing-lust of his ancestors now
dominated Elric as the blade reaped souls. He and
the sword became one and it was the sword, not El-
ric, that was in control. Men fell on all sides, scream-
ing more in horror than in pain as they realised
what the sword had drawn from them. Four came at
him with axes whistling. He sliced off one's head, cut
a deep gash in another's midriff, lopped off an arm,
and drove the blade point first into the heart of the
last. Now the Tarkeshites were cheering, following
after Elric and Moonglum as they cleared the sink-
hag galley's decks of attackers. "
Howling like a wolf, Elric grabbed a" rope--part of
the black and gold trireme's rigging--and swung to-
wards the enemy's decks.
'Follow him!' Moonglum yelled. 'This is our, only
chance--this ship's doomed!'
The trireme had raised decks fore and aft. On the
foredeck stood the captain, splendid in scarlet and
blue, his face aghast at this turn of events. He had
expected to get his prize effortlessly, now it seemed
he was to be the prize!
Stormbringer sang a wailing song as Elric pressed
towards the foredeck, a song that was at once tri-
umphant and ecstatic. The remaining warriors no
longer rushed at him, and concentrated on Moon-
glum, who was leading the Tarkeshite crew, leaving
Elric's path to the captain clear.
The captain, a member of the theocracy, would be
harder to vanquish than his men. As Elric moved

towards him, he noted that the man's armour had a
peculiar glow to it--it had been sorcerously treated.
The captain was typical of his kind--stocky, heav-
ily-bearded, with malicious black eyes over a strong,
hooked nose. His lips were thick and red and he was
smiling a little as, with axe in one hand and sword
in the other, he prepared to meet Elric, who was
running up the steps.
Elric gripped Stormbringer in both hands and
lunged for the captain's stomach, but the man
stepped sideways and parried with his sword, swing-
ing the axe left-handed at Elric's unprotected head.
The albino had to sway to one side, staggered, and
fell to the deck, rolling as the broadsword thudded
into the deck, just missing his shoulder. Stormbringer
seemed to-rise of its own accord to block a further axe
blow and then chopped upwards to sheer off the head
near the handle. The captain cursed and discarded
the handle, gripped his broadsword in both hands
and raised it. Again Stormbringer acted a fraction
sooner than Eric's own reactions. He drove the
blade up towards the man's heart. The magic treated
armour stopped it for a second; but then Storm-
bringer shrilled a chilling, wailing song, shuddered
as if summoning more strength, slipped on the
armour again. And then the magic armour split like
a nutshell, leaving Elric's opponent bare-chested, his
arms still raised for the strike. His eyes widened. He
backed away, his sword forgotten, his gaze fixed on
the evil runeblade as it struck him under the breast-
bone and drove in. He grimaced, whimpered, and
dropped his sword, clutching instead at the blade,
which was sucking out his soul.
'By Chardros--not--not--aahhh!'

He died knowing that even his soul was not safe
from the hell-blade borne by the wolf-faced albino.

Elric wrenched Stormbringer from the. corpse,
feeling his own vitality increase as the sword passed
on its stolen energy: refusing to consider the
knowledge that he needed the sword the more he
used it.
On the deck of the trireme, only the galley-slaves
were left alive. But the deck was tilting badly, for
the trireme's ram and grapples still tied it to the
sinking Tarkeshite ship.
'Cut the grappling ropes and back water--quickly!'
Elric yelled. Sailors, realising what was happening,
leapt forward to do as he ordered. The slaves backed
water, and the ram came out: with a groan of split
wood. The grapples were cut and the doomed galley
set adrift.
Elric counted the survivors. Less than half the
crew were alive, and their captain .had died in the
first onslaught. He addressed the slaves.
'If you'd have your freedom, row well towards
Dhakos,' he called. The sun was setting, but now
that he was in command he decided to sail through
the night by the stars.
Moonglum shouted incredulously: 'Why offer
them their freedom? We could sell them in Dhakos
and thus be paid for today's exertion!' 
Elric shrugged. 'I offer them freedom because I
choose to, Moonglum.'
The redhead sighed and turned to supervise the
throwing of the dead and wounded overboard. He
would never understand the albino, he decided. It
was probably for the best.
And that was how Elric came to enter Dhakos in
some style, when he had originally intended to slip
into the city without being recognised.
Leaving Moonglum to negotiate the sale of the
trireme and divide the money between the crew and

himself, Elric drew his hood over his head and
pushed through the crowd which had collected, mak-
ing for an inn he knew of by the west gate of the
city.

 

 

 

Two

 

 

Later that night, when Moonglum had gone to
bed, Elric sat in the tavern room drinking. Even the
most enthusiastic of the night's roisterers had left
when they had noticed with whom they shared the
room; and now Elric sat alone, the only light coming
from a guttering reed torch over the outside door,
Now the door opened and a richly-dressed youth
stood there, staring in.
'I seek the White Wolf,' he said, his head at a
questioning angle. He could not see Elric clearly.
'I'm sometimes called that name in these parts,' El-
tic said calmly. 'Do you seek Elric of Melnibone?'
'Aye. I have a message.' The youth came in, keep-
ing his cloak wrapped about him, for the room was
cold though Elric did not notice it.
'I am Count Yolan, deputy-commander of the city
guard,' the youth said arrogantly, coming up to the
table at which Elric sat and studying the albino
rudely. 'You are brave to come here so openly. Do
you think the folk of Jharkor have such short
memories they can forget that you led their king
into a trap scarce two years since?'
Elric sipped his wine, then said from behind the
rim of his cup: 'This is rhetoric, Count Yolan. What
is your message?'
Yolan's assured manner left him; he made a rather
weak gesture. 'Rhetoric to you, perhaps--but I for

one feel strongly on the matter. Would not King
Darmit be here today if you had not fled from the
battle that broke the power of the Sea Lords and
your own folk? Did you not use your sorcery to aid
you in your flight, instead of using it to aid the men
who thought they were your comrades?' _
Elric sighed. 'I know your purpose here was not to
bait me in this manner. Darmit died on board his
flagship during the first attack on Imrryr's sea-maze,
not in the subsequent battle.'
'You sneer at my questions and then proffer lame
lies to cover your own cowardly deed,' Yolan said
bitterly. 'If I had my way you'd be fed to your hell-
blade there--I've heard what happened earlier.'
Elric rose slowly. 'Your taunts tire me. When you
feel ready to deliver your message, give it to the
inn-keeper.'
He walked around the table, moving towards the
stairs, but stopped as Yolan turned and plucked at
his sleeve.
Elric's corpse-white face stared down at the young
noble. His crimson eyes flickered with a dangerous
emotion. 'I am not used to such familiarity, young
man.'
Yolan's hand fell away. 'Forgive me. I was self-in-
dulgent and should not have let my emotions over-
ride diplomacy. I came on a matter of discretion--a
message from Queen Yishana. She seeks your help.'
'I'm as disinclined to help others as I am to ex-
plain my actions,' Elric spoke impatiently. 'In the
past my help has not always been to the advantage of
those who've sought it. Darmit, your queen's half-
brother; discovered that.'
Yolan said sullenly: 'You echo my own warnings to
the queen, sir. For all that, she desires to see you in
private--tonight...' he scowled and looked away. 'I

would point out that I could have you arrested
should you refuse.'
'Perhaps.' Elric moved again towards the steps.
'Tell Yishana that I stay the night here and move on
at dawn. She may visit me if her request is so ur-
gent.' He climbed the stairs, leaving a gape-mouthed
Yolan sitting alone in the quiet of the tavern.
Theleb K'aarna scowled. For all his skill in the
black arts, he was a fool in love; and Yishana,
sprawled on her fur-rich bed, knew it. It pleased her
to have power over a man who could destroy her
with a simple incantation if it were not for his love.
weakness. Though Theleb K'aarna stood high in the
hierarchy of Pan Tang, it was clear to her that she
was in no danger from the sorcerer. Indeed, her in-
tuition informed her that this man who loved to
dominate others also needed to be dominated. She
filled this need for him--with relish.
Theleb K'aarna continued to scowl at her. �How
can that decadent spell-singer help you where I can-
not?' he muttered, sitting down on the bed and
stroking her bejewelled foot.
Yishana was pot a young woman, neither was she
pretty. Yet there was an hypnotic quality about her
tall, full body, her lush black hair, and her wholly
sensuous face. Few of the men she had singled out
for her pleasure had been able to resist her.
Neither was she sweet-natured, just, wise, nor
self-sacrificing. The historians would append no
noble soubriquet to her name. Still, there was some-
thing so self-sufficient about her, something denying
the usual standards by which a person was judged,
that all who knew her admired her, and she was
well-loved by those she ruled--loved rather as a wil-
ful child is loved, yet loved with firm loyalty.

Now she laughed quietly, mockingly at her sorcerer
lover.
'You're probably right, Theleb K'aarna, but Elric
is a legend--the most spoken-of, least-known man in 
the world. This is my opportunity to discover what
others have only speculated on--his true character.'
Theleb K'aarna made a pettish gesture. He
stroked his long black beard and got up, walking to
a table bearing fruit and wine. He poured wine for
them both. 'if you seek to make me jealous again,
you are succeeding, of course. I hold little hope for
your ambition. Elric's ancestors were half-demons--
his race is not human and cannot be judged by our
yardsticks. To us, sorcery is learned after years of
study and sacrifice--to Elric's kind, sorcery is intui-
tive-natural, You may not live to learn his secrets.
Cymoril, his beloved cousin, died on his blade--and
she was his betrothed!'
'Your concern is touching.' She lazily accepted the
goblet he handed to her. 'But I'll continue with my
plan, none the less. After all, you can hardly claim to
have had much success in discovering the nature of
this citadel!'
'There are subtleties I have not properly plumbed
as yet!'
'Then perhaps Elric's intuition will provide an-
swers where you fail,' she smiled. Then he got up
and looked through the window at the sky where the
full moon hung in a clear sky over the spires of
Dhakos. 'Yolan is late. If-all went properly, he
should have brought Elric here by now.'
'Yolan was a mistake, You should not have sent
such a close friend of Darmit's. For all we know, he's
challenged Elric and killed him!'
Again she couldn't resist laughter. 'Oh, you wish
too hard--it clouds your reason. I sent Yolan because
I knew he would be rude to the albino and perhaps

weaken his usual insouciance--arouse his curiosity.
Yolan was a kind of bait to bring Elric to us!'
'Then possibly Elric sensed this?'
'I am not overly intelligent, my love-but I think
my instincts rarely betray, me. We shall see soon.'
A little later there was a discreet scratch at the
door and a handmaiden entered.
'Your Highness, Count Yolan has returned.'
'Only Count Yolan?' There was a smile on Theleb
K'aarna's face. It was to disappear in a short while as
Yishana left the room, garbed for the street.
'You are a fool!' he snarled as the door slammed.
He flung down his goblet. Already he had been un-
successful in the matter of the citadel and, if Elric
displaced him, he could lose everything. He began to
think very deeply,' very carefully.

 

 

 

THREE

 

Though he claimed lack of conscience, Elric's tor-
mented eyes belied the claim as he sat at his win-
dow, drinking strong wine and thinking on the past.
Since the sack of Imrryr, he had quested the world,
seeking some purpose to his existence, some meaning
to his life.
He had failed to find the answer in the Dead
God's Book. He had failed to love Shaarilla, the
wingless woman of Myyrrhn, failed to forget
Cymoril, who still inhabited his nightmares. And
there were memories of other dreams-of a fate he
dare not think upon.
Peace, he thought, was all he sought. Yet even
peace in death was denied him. It was in this mood
that he continued to brood until his reverie was bro-
ken by a soft scratching at the door.
Immediately his expression hardened. His crimson
eyes took on a guarded look, his shoulders lifted so
that when he stood up he was all cool arrogance. He
placed the cup on the table and said lightly:
'Enter!'
A woman entered, swathed in a dark red cloak,
unrecognizable in the gloom of the room. She closed
the door behind her and stood there, motionless and
unspeaking.
When at length she spoke, her voice was almost
hesitant, though there was some irony in it, too.

'You sit in darkness, Lord Elric, I had thought to
find you asleep ...'
'Sleep, madam, is the occupation that bores me
most. But I will light a torch if you find the darkness
unattractive.' He went to the table and removed the
cover from the small bowl of charcoal which lay
there. He reached for a thin wooden spill and placed
one end in the bowl, blowing gently. Soon the char-
coal glowed, and the taper caught, and he touched it
to a reed torch that hung in a bracket on the wall
above the table.
The torch flared and sent shadows skipping
around the small chamber. The woman drew back
her cowl and the light caught her dark, heavy fea-
tures and the masses of black hair which framed
them. She contrasted strongly with the slender, aes-
thetic albino who stood a head taller, looking at her
impassively.
She was unused to impassive looks and the novelty
pleased her.
'You sent for me, Lord Elric--and you see I am
here.' She made a mock curtsey.
'Queen Yishana,' he acknowledged the curtsey with
a slight bow. Now that she confronted him, she
sensed his power--a power that perhaps attracted
even more strongly than her own. And yet, he gave
no hint that he responded to her. She reflected that a
situation she had expected to be interesting might,
ironically, become frustrating. Even this amused her.
Elric, in turn, was intrigued by this woman in
spite of himself. His jaded emotions "hinted that
Yishana might restore their edge. This excited him
and perturbed him at once.
He relaxed a little and shrugged. 'I have heard of
you, Queen Yishana, in other lands than Jharkor. Sit
down if you wish.' He indicated a bench and seated
himself on the edge of the bed. 
'You are more courteous than your summons sug-
gested,' she smiled as she sat down, crossed her legs,
and folded her arms in front of her. 'Does this mean
that you will listen to a proposition I have?'
He smiled back. It was a rare smile for him, a
little grim, but without the usual bitterness. 'I think
so. You are an unusual woman, Queen Yishana.
Indeed, I would suspect that you had Melnibonean
blood if I did not know better.'
'Not all your Young Kingdom "upstarts" are quite
as unsophisticated as you believe, my lord.'
'Perhaps.'
'Now that I see you at last, face to face, I find your
dark legend a little hard to credit in parts--and yet,
on the other hand,' she put her head on one side
and regarded him frankly, 'it would seem that the
legends speak of a less subtle man than the one I see
before me.'
'That is the way with legends."
'Ah,' she half-whispered, 'what a force we could be
together, you and I...'
'Speculation of that sort irritates me, Queen
Yishana. What is your purpose in coming here?'
'Very _well, I did not expect you to listen, even.'
'I'll listen--but expect nothing more.'
'Then listen. I think the story will be appreciated,
even by you.'
Elric listened and, as Yishana had suspected, the-
tale she told began to catch his interest�

Several months ago, Yishana told Elric, peasants in
the Gharavian province of Jharkor began to talk of
some mysterious riders who were carrying off young
men and women from the villages.
Suspecting bandits, Yishana had sent a detachment
of her White Leopards, Jharkor's finest fighting men,
to the province to put down the brigands.

None of the White Leopards had returned. A sec-
ond expedition had found no trace of them but, in a
valley close to the town of Thokora, they had come
upon a strange citadel. Descriptions of the citadel
were confused. Suspecting that the White Leopards
had attacked and been defeated, the officer in charge
had used discretion, left a few men to watch the cita-
del and report anything they saw, and returned at
once to Dhakos. One thing was certain--the citadel
had not been in the valley a few months before.
Yishana and Theleb K'aarna had led a large force
to the valley. The men left behind had disappeared
but, as soon as he saw the citadel, Theleb K'aarna
had warned Yishana not to attack.   '
'It was a marvellous sight, Lord Elric,' Yishana
continued. 'The citadel scintillated with shining,
rainbow colours--colours that were constantly alter-
hag, changing. The whole building looked unreal--
sometimes it stood out sharply: sometimes it seemed
misty, as if about to vanish. Theleb K'aarna said its
nature was sorcerous, and we did not doubt him.
Something from the Realm of Chaos, he said, and
that seemed likely.' She got up.
She spread her hands. 'We are not used to large-
scale manifestations of sorcery in these parts. Theleb
K'aarna was familiar enough with sorcery--he comes
from the City of Screaming Statues on Pan Tang,
and such things are seen frequently--but even he was
taken aback.'
'So you withdrew,' Elric promoted impatiently.
'We were about to--in fact Theleb K'aarna and
myself were already riding back at the head of the
army when the music came... It was sweet, beauti-
ful, unearthly, painful--Theleb K'aarna shouted to
me to ride as swiftly as I could away from it. I dab
lied, attracted by the music, but he slapped the
rump of my horse and we rode, fast as dragons in

flight, away from there. Those nearest us also es-
caped-but we saw the rest turn and move back
towards the citadel, drawn by the music. Nearly two
hundred men went back--and vanished.'
'What did you do then?' Elric asked as Yishana
crossed the floor and sat down-beside him. He
moved to give her more room.
'Theleb K'aarna has been trying to investigate the
nature of the citadel--its purpose and its controller.
So far, his divinations have told him little more than
he guessed: that the Realm of Chaos has sent the cit-
adel to the Realm of Earth and is slowly extending
its range. More and more of our young men and
women are being abducted by the minions of Chaos.'
'And these minions?' Yishana had moved a little
closer, and this time Elric did not move away,
'None who has sought to stop them has succeeded--
few have lived.' 
   
'And what do you seek of me?"
'Help.' She looked closely into his face and
reached out a hand to touch him. 'You have
knowledge of both Chaos and Law--old knowledge,
instinctive knowledge if Theleb K'aarna is right.
Why, your very Gods are Lords of Chaos.'
'That is exactly true, Yishana--and because our pa-
tron Gods are of Chaos, it is not in my interest to
fight against any one of them.'
Now he moved towards her and he was smiling,
looking into her eyes. Suddenly, he took her in his
am. 'Perhaps you will be strong enough,' he said
enigmatically, just before their lips met. 'And as for
the other matter--we can discuss that later.'

In the deep greenness of a dark mirror, Theleb
K'aarna saw something of the scene in Elric's room
and he glowered impotently. He tugged at his beard
as the scene faded for the tenth time in a minute.

None of his mutterings could restore it. He sat back
in his chair of serpent skulls and planned vengeance.
That vengeance could take time maturing, he de-
tided; for, if Elric could be useful in the matter of
the citadel, there was no point in destroying him
yet ....

 

 

 

FOUR

 

 

Next afternoon, three riders set off for the town of
Thokora. Elric and Yishana rode close together; but
the third rider, Theleb K'aarna, kept a frowning dis-
tance. If Elric was at all embarrassed by this display
on the part of the man he had ousted in Yishana's af-
fections, he did not show it.
Elric, finding Yishana more than attractive in spite
of himself, had agreed at least to inspect the citadel
and suggest what it might be and how it might be
fought. He had exchanged a few words with Moon-
glum before setting off.
They rode across the beautiful grasslands of
Jharkor, golden beneath a hot sun. It was two days'
ride to Thokora, and Elric intended to enjoy it.
Feeling less than miserable, he galloped along
with Yishana, laughing with her in her enjoyment.
Yet, buried deeper than it would normally have
been, there was a deep foreboding in his heart as
they neared the mysterious citadel, and he noted
that Theleb K'aarna occasionally looked satisfied
when he should have looked disgruntled.
Sometimes Elric would shout to the sorcerer. 'Ho,
old spell-maker, do you feel no joyful release from
the cares of the court out here amidst the beauties of
nature? Your face is long, Theleb K'aarna--breathe
in the untainted air and laugh with us!' Then The-

leb K'aarna would scowl and mutter, and Yishana
would laugh at him and glance brightly at Elric.
So they came to Thokora and found it a smoulder-
ing pit that stank like a midden of hell.
Elric sniffed. 'This is Chaos work. You were right
enough there, Theleb K'aarna. Whatever fire de-
stroyed such a large town, it was not natural fire.
Whoever is responsible for this is evidently increas-
ing his power. As you know, sorcerer, the Lords of
Law and Chaos are usually in perfect balance, nei-
ther tampering directly with our Earth. Evidently
the balance has tipped a little way to one side, as it
sometimes does, favouring the Lords of Disorder--al-
lowing them access to our realm. Normally it is pos-
sible for an earthly sorcerer to summon aid from
Chaos or Law for a short time, but it is rare for either
side to establish itself so firmly as our friend in the
citadel evidently has. What is more disturbing--for
you of the Young Kingdoms, at least--is that, _once
such power is gained, it is possible to increase it, and
the Lords of Chaos could in time conquer the Realm
of Earth by gradual increase of their strength here.'
'A terrible possibility,' muttered the sorcerer, gen-
uinely afraid. Even though he could sometimes sum-
mon help from Chaos, it was in no human being's
interest to have Chaos ruling over him.
Elric climbed back into his saddle. 'We'd best
make speed to the valley,' he said.
'Are you sure it is wise, after witnessing this?'
Theleb K'aarna was nervous.
Elric laughed. 'What? And you a sorcerer from
Pan Tang--that isle that claims to know as much of
sorcery as my ancestors, the Bright Emperors! No,
no--besides, I'm not in a cautious mood today!'
'Nor am I,' cried Yishana, clapping her steed's
sides. 'Come, gentlemen--to the Citadel of Chaos!'

By late afternoon, they had topped the range of
hills surrounding the valley and looked down at the
mysterious citadel.
Yishana had described it well-but not perfectly.

Elric's eyes ached as he looked at it, for it seemed to
extend beyond the Realm of Earth into a different
plane, perhaps several.
It shimmered and glittered and all Earthly colours
were there, as well as many which Elric recognised
as belonging to other planes. Even the basic outline
of the citadel was uncertain. In contrast, the sur-
rounding valley was a sea of dark ash, which some-
times seemed to eddy, to undulate and send up
spurting geysers of dust, as if the basic elements of
nature had been disturbed, and warped by the
presence of the supernatural citadel.
'Well?' Theleb K'aarna tried to calm his nervous
horse as it backed away from the citadel. 'Have you
seen the like in the world before?'
Elric shook his head. 'Not in this world, certainly:
but I've seen it before. During my final initiation
into the arts of Melnibone, my father took me with
him in astral form to the Realm of Chaos, there to
receive the audience of my patron the Lord Arioch
of the Seven Darks...'
Theleb K'aarna shuddered. 'You have been to
Chaos? It is Arioch's citadel, then?'
Elric laughed in disdain. 'That! No, it is a hovel
compared to the palaces of the Lords of Chaos.'
-Impatiently, Yishana said; 'Then who dwells
there?'
'As I remember, the one who dwelt in the citadel
when I passed through the Chaos Realm in my
youth--he was no Lord of Chaos, but a kind of ser-
vant to the Lords. Yet,' he frowned, 'not exactly a
servant .... '
'Ach! You speak in riddles. Theleb K'aarna

turned his horse to ride down the hills, away from
the citadel. 'I know you Melniboneans! Starving,
you'd rather have a paradox than food!'
Elric and Yishana followed him some distance,

  then Elric stopped. Elric pointed behind him.
'The one who dwells yonder is a paradoxical sort
of fellow. He's a kind of Jester to the Court of
Chaos. The Lords of Chaos respect him--perhaps
fear him slightly--even though he entertains them.
He delights them with cosmic riddles; with farcical
satires purporting to explain the nature of the Cos-
mic Hand that holds both Chaos and Law in bal-
ance, he juggles enigmas like baubles, laughs at what
Chaos holds dear, takes seriously that which they
mock at . . .' He paused and shrugged. 'So I have
heard, at least.'
'Why should he be here?'
'Why should he be anywhere? I could guess at the
motives of Chaos or Law and probably be right. But
not even the Lords of the Higher Worlds can under-
stand the motives of Balo the Jester. It is said that
he is the only one allowed to move between the
Realms of Chaos and Law at will, though I have
never heard of him coming to the Realm of Earth
before. Neither, for that matter, have I ever heard
him credited with such acts of destruction as that
which we've witnessed. It is a puzzle to me--one
which would no doubt please him if he knew.'
'There would be one way of discovering the pur-
pose of his visit,' Theleb K'aarna said with a faint
smile. 'If someone entered the citadel...'
'Come now, sorcerer,' Elric mocked. 'I've little
love for life, to be sure, but there are some things of
value to me--my soul, for one!'
Theleb K'aarna began to ride on down the hill,
but. Elric remained thoughtfully where he was,
Yishana beside him.

'You seem more troubled by this than you should
be, Elric,' she said.
'It is disturbing. There is a hint here that, if we
investigate the citadel further, we should become
embroiled in some dispute between Balo and his
masters--perhaps even the Lords of Law, too. To be-
come so involved could easily mean our destruction,
since the forces at work are more dangerous and
powerful than anything we are familiar with on
Earth.'
'But we cannot simply watch this Balo laying our
cities waste, carrying off our fairest, threatening to
rule Jharkor himself within a short time!'
Elric sighed, but did not reply.
'Have you no sorcery, Elric, to send Balo back to
Chaos where he belongs, to seal the breach he has
made in our Realm?'
'Even Melniboneans cannot match the power of
the Lords of the Higher Worlds--and my forefathers
knew much more of sorcery than do I. My best allies
serve neither Chain nor Law, they are elementals:
lords of fire, earth, air, and water, entities with affin-
ities with beasts and plants. Good allies in an earthly
battle--but of no great use when matched against one
such as Balo. I must think. ... At least, if I opposed
Balo it would not necessarily incur the wrath of my
patron Lords. Something, I suppose .... '
The hills rolled green and lush to the grasslands at
their feet, the sun beat down from a clear sky on the
infinity of grass stretching to the horizon. Above
them a large predatory bird wheeled; and Theleb
K'aarna was a tiny figure, turning in the saddle to
call to them in a thin voice, but his words could not
be heard.
Yishana seemed dispirited. Her shoulders slightly
slumped, and she did not look at Elric as she began
to guide her horse slowly down towards the sorcerer

of Pan Tang. Elric followed, conscious of his own in-
decision, yet half-careless of it. What did it matter to
him if... ?


The music began, faintly at first, but beginning to
swell with an attractive, poignant sweetness, evoking
nostalgic memories, offering peace and giving life a
sharp meaning, all at once. If the music came from
instruments, then they were not earthly. It produced
in him a yearning to turn about and discover its
source, but he resisted it. Yishana, on the other hand,
was evidently not finding the music so easily resisted.
She had wheeled completely round, her face radiant,
her lips trembling and tears shining in her eyes.
Elric, in his wanderings in unearthly realms, had
heard music like it before--it echoed many of the bi-
zarre symphonies of old Melnibone--and it did not
draw him as it drew Yishana. He recognised swiftly
that she was in danger, and as she came past him,
spurring her horse, he reached out to grab her
bridle.
Her whip slashed at his hand and, cursing with
unexpected pain, he dropped the bridle. She went
past him, galloping up to the crest of the hill and
vanishing over it in an instant.
'Yishana!' He shouted at her desperately, but his
voice would not carry over the pulsing music. He
looked back, hoping that Theleb K'aarna would
lend help, but the sorcerer was riding rapidly away.
Evidently, on hearing the music, he had come to a
swift decision.
Elric raced after Yishana, screaming for her to
turn back. His own horse reached the top of the hill
and he saw her bent over her steed's neck as she
goaded it towards the shining citadel.
"Yishana! You go to your doom!"
Now she had reached the outer limits of the
citadel, and her horse's feet seemed to strike off

shimmering waves of colour as they touched the
Chaos-disturbed ground surrounding the place. Al-
though he knew it was too late to stop her, Elric
continued to speed after her, hoping to reach her
before she entered the citadel itself.
But, even as he entered the rainbow swirl, he saw
what appeared to be a dozen Yishanas going through
a dozen gateways into the citadel. Oddly refracted
light created the illusion and made it impossible m
tell which was the real Yishana.
With Yishana's disappearance the music stopped
and Elric thought he heard a faint whisper of laugh-
ter following it. His horse was by this time becoming
increasingly difficult to control, and he did not trust
himself to it. He dismounted, his legs wreathed in ra-
diant mist, and let the horse go. It galloped off,
snorting its terror.
Elric's left hand moved to the hilt of his rune-
sword, but he hesitated to draw it. Once pulled from
its scabbard, the blade would demand souls before it
allowed itself to be resheathed. Yet it was his only
weapon. He withdrew his hand, and the blade
seemed to quiver angrily at his side.
'Not yet, Stormbringer. There may be forces
within who are stronger even than you!'
He-began to wade through the Faintly-resisting
light swirls. He was halt-blinded by the scintillating
colours around him, which sometimes shone dark
blue, silver, and red; sometimes gold, light green,
amber. He also felt the sickening lack of any sort of
orientation-distance, depth, breadth were mean-
ingless. He recognised what he had only experienced
in an astral form--the odd, timeless, spaceless quality
that marked a Realm of the Higher Worlds.
He drifted, pushing his body in the direction in
which he Yishana had for now guessed gone, by he

had lost sight of the gateway or any of its mirage
images.
He realised that, unless he was doomed to drift
here until he starved, he must draw Stormbringer;
for the runeblade could resist the influence of Chaos.
This time, when he gripped the sword's hilt, he
felt a shock run up his arm and infuse his body with
vitality. The sword came free from the scabbard.
From the huge blade, carved with strange old runes,
a black radiance poured, meeting the shifting
colours of Chaos and dispersing them.
Now Elric shrieked the age-old battle-ululation of
his folk and pressed on into the citadel, slashing at
the intangible images that swirled on all sides. The
gateway was ahead, and Elric knew it now, for his
sword had shown him which were the mirages. It was
open as Elric reached the portal. He paused for a
moment, his lips moving as he remembered an invo-
cation that he might need later. Arioch, Lord of
Chaos, patron god-demon of his ancestors, 
was a
negligent power and whimful--he could not rely on
Arioch to aid him here, unless...
In slow, graceful strides, a golden beast with eyes
of ruby-fire was loping down the passage that led
from the portal. Bright though the eyes were, they
seemed blind, and its huge, doglike muzzle was
closed. Yet its path could only lead it to Elric and, as
it neared him, the mouth suddenly gaped showing
coral fangs. In silence it came to a halt, the blind eyes
never once settling on the albino, and then sprang!
Elric staggered back, raising the sword in defense.
He was flung to the ground by the beast's weight
and felt its body cover him. It was cold, cold, and it
made no attempt to savage him--just lay on top of
him and let the cold permeate his body.
Elric began to shiver as he pushed at the chilling
body of the beast. Stormbringer moaned and tour-

mured in his hand, and then it pierced some part of
the beast's body, and a horrible cold strength began
to fill the albino. Reinforced by the beast's own life-
force, he heaved upwards. The" beast continued to
smother him, though now a thin, barely audible
sound was coming from it. Elric guessed that
Stormbringer's small wound was hurting the crea-
ture.
Desperately, for he was shaking and aching with
cold, he moved the sword and stabbed again. Again
the thin sound from the beast; again cold energy
flooded through him, and again he heaved. This
time the beast was flung off and crawled back
towards the portal. Elric sprang up, raised Storm-
bringer high, and brought the sword down on the
golden creature's skull. The skull shattered as ice
might shatter.
Elric rang forward into the passage and, once
within, the place became filled with roars and
shrieks that echoed and were magnified. It Was as if
the voice that the cold beast had lacked outside Was
shouting its death-agonies here.
Now the floor rose until he was running up a spi-
ral ramp. Looking down, he shuddered, for he
looked into an infinite pit of subtle, dangerous
colours that swam about in such a way that he could
hardly take his eyes from them. He even felt his
body begin to leave the ramp and go towards the pit,
but he strengthened his grip on the sword and dis-
ciplined himself to climb on.
Upwards, as he looked, was the same as down'
wards. Only the ramp had any kind of constancy,
and this began to take on the appearance of a thinly-
cut jewel, through which he could See the pit and in
which it was reflected.
Greens and blues and yellows predominated, but
there were also traces of dark red, black, and orange,

and many other colours not in an ordinary human
spectrum.
Elric knew he was in some province of the Higher
Worlds and guessed that it would not be long before
the ramp led him to new danger.
Danger did not seem to await him when at last he
came to the end of the ramp and stepped on to a
bridge of similar stuff, which led over the scintillat-
ing pit to an archway that shone with a steady blue
light.
He crossed the bridge cautiously and as cautiously
entered the arch. Everything was blue-tinged here,
even himself: and he trod on, the blue becoming
deeper and deeper as he progressed.
Then Stormbringer began to murmur and, either
warned by the sword or by some sixth sense of his
own, Elric wheeled to his right. Another archway
had appeared there and from this there began to
shine a light as deep red as the other was blue.
Where the two met was a purple of fantastic richness
and Elric stared at this, experiencing a similar hyp-
notic pull as he had had when climbing the ramp.
Again his mind was stronger, and he forced himself
to enter the red arch. At once another arch appeared
to his left, sending a beam of green light to merge
with the red, and another to his left brought yellow
light, one ahead brought mauve until he seemed
trapped within the criss-cross of beams. He slashed at
them with Stormbringer, and the black radiance
reduced .the beams for a moment to streamers of
light, which reformed again. Elric continued to
move forward.

Now, looming through the confusion of colour, a
shape appeared and Elric thought it was that of a
man.
Man it was in shape--but not in size it seemed.
Yet, when it drew closer, it was no giant--less than

Elric's height.-Still it gave the impression of vast pro-
portions, rather as if it were a giant and Elric had
grown to its size.
It blundered towards Elric and went through him.
It was not that the man was intangible--it was Elric
who felt the ghost. The creature's mass seemed of in-
credible density. The creature was turning, its huge
hands reaching out, its face a mocking grimace. Elric
struck at it with Stormbringer and was astonished as
the runesword was halted, making no impression on
the creature's bulk.
Yet when it grasped Elric, its hands went through
him. Elric backed away, grinning now in relief.
Then he saw with some terror that the light was
gleaming through him. He had been right--he was
the ghost!
The creature reached out for him again, grabbed
him again, failed to hold him.
Elric, conscious that he was in no physical dan-
ger from the monster, yet also highly conscious that
his sanity was about to be permanently impaired,
turned and fled.
Quite suddenly he was in a hall, the walls of
which were of the same unstable, shifting colours as
the rest of the place. But sitting on a stool in the
centre of the hall, holding in his hands some tiny
creatures that seemed to be running about on his
palm, was a small figure who looked up at Elric and
grinned merrily.
'Welcome, King of Melnibone. And how fares the
last ruler of my favourite earthly race?'
The figure was dressed in shimmering motley. On
his head was a tall, spiked crown--a travesty of and a
comment upon the crowns of the mighty. His face
was angular and his mouth wide.
'Greetings, Lord Balo,' Elric made a mock bow.
'Strange hospitality you offer in your welcome.'

'Ahaha--it did" not amuse you, eh? Men are so
much harder to please than gods--you would not
think it, would you?'
'Men's pleasures are rarely so elaborate. Where is
Queen Yishana?'
'Allow me my pleasures also, mortal. Here she is, I
think.' Balo plucked at one of the tiny creatures on
his palm. Elric stepped forward and saw that
Yishana was indeed there, as were many of the lost
soldiers. Balo looked up at him and winked. 'They
are so much easier to handle in this size.'
'I do not doubt it, though I wonder if it is not we
who are larger rather than they who are smaller .... '
'You are astute, mortal. But can you guess how
this came to be?'
'Your creature back there--your pits and colours
and archways--somehow they warp--what?'
'Mass, King Elric. But you would not understand
such concepts. Even the Lords of Melnibone, most
godlike and intelligent of mortals, only learned how
to manipulate the elements in ritual, invocation, and
spell, but never understood what they manipu-
lated-that is where the Lords of the Higher Worlds
score, whatever their differences.'
'But I survived without need for spells. I survived
by disciplining my mind!'
'That helped, for certain--but you forget your
greatest asset-that disturbing blade there. You use
it in your petty problems to aid you, and you never
realise that it is like making use of a mighty war gal-
ley to catch a sprat. That sword represents power in
any Realm, King Elric!'
'Aye, so it might. This does not interest me. Why
are you here, Lord Balo?'
Balo chuckled, his laughter rich and musical.
'Oho, I am in disgrace. I quarrelled with my mas-
ters, who took exception to a joke of mine about

their insignificance and egotism, about their destiny
and their pride. Bad taste to them, King, is any hint
of their own oblivion. I made a joke in bad taste. I
fled from the Higher Worlds to Earth, where, unless
invoked, the Lords of Law or Chaos can rarely inter-
fere. You will like my intention, Elric, as would any
Melnibonean--I intend to establish my own Realm
on Earth--the Realm of Paradox. A little from Law,
a little from Chaos--a Realm of opposites, Of curiosi-
ties and jokes.'
'I'm thinking we already have such a world as you
describe, Lord Balo, with no need for you to create
it!'
'Earnest irony, King Elric, for an insouciant man
of Melnibone.'
'Ah, that it may be. I am a boor on occasions such
as these. Will you release Yishana and myself?'
'But you and I are giants--I have given you the
status and appearance of a god. You and I could be
partners in this enterprise Of miner'
'Unfortunately, Lord Balo, I do not possess your
range of humour and am unfitted for such an exalt-
ed role. Besides,' Elric grinned suddenly, 'it is in my
mind that the Lords of the Higher Worlds will not
easily let drop the matter of your ambition, since it
appears to conflict so strongly with theirs.'
Balo laughed but said nothing.
Elric also smiled, but it was an attempt to hide his
racing thoughts. 'What do you intend to do if I re-
fuse?'
'Why, Elric, you would not refuse I can think of
many subtle pranks that I could play on you...'
'Indeed? And the Black Swords?'
'Ah, yes ...'
'Balo, in your mirth and obsessions you have not
considered everything thoroughly. You should have

exerted more effort to .vanquish me before I came
here.'
Now Elric's eyes gleamed hot and he lifted the
sword, crying:
"Arioch! Master! I invoke thee, Lord of Chaos!"
Balo started. 'Cease that, King Elric!'
"Arioch--here is a soul for you to claim!'
'Quiet, I say!'
"Arioch! Hear me!" Elric's voice was loud and des-
perate.
Balo let his tiny playthings fall and rose hurriedly,
skipping towards Elric.
'Your invocation is unheeded!' He laughed, reach-
ing out for Elric. But Stormbringer moaned and
shuddered in Elric's hand and Balo withdrew his
hand. His face became serious and frowning.
'Arioch of the Seven Darks--your servant calls
you!'
The walls of flame trembled and began to fade.
Balo's eyes widened and jerked this way and that.
"Oh, Lord Arioch--come reclaim your straying
Balo!"
'You cannot!' Balo scampered across the room
where one section of the flame had faded entirely,
revealing darkness beyond.
'Sadly for you, little jester, he can..." The voice
Was sardonic and yet beautiful. From the darkness
stepped a tall figure, no longer the shapeless gibber-
ing thing that had, until now, been Arioch's fa-
voured manifestation when visiting the Realm of
Earth. Yet the great beauty of the newcomer, filled
as it was with a kind of compassion mingled with
pride, cruelty, and sadness, showed at once that he
could not be human. He was clad in doublet of puls-
ing scarlet, hose of ever-changing hue, a long golden
sword at his hips. His eyes were large, but slanted

high, his hair was long and as golden as the sword,
his lips were full and his chin pointed like his ears.
'Arioch!' Balo stumbled backwards as the Lord of
Chaos advanced.
'It was your mistake, Balo,' Elric said from behind
the jester. 'Did you not realise only the Kings of
Melnibone may invoke Arioch and bring him to the
Realm of Earth? It has been their age-old privilege.'
'And much have they abused it,' said Arioch,
smiling faintly as Balo groveled. 'However, this
service you have done us, Elric, will make up for
past misuses. I was not amused by the matter of the
Mist Giant ...'
Even Elric was awed by the incredibly powerful
presence of the Chaos Lord. He also felt much re-
lieved, for he had not been sure that Arioch could
be summoned in this way.
Now Arioch stretched an arm down towards Balo
and lifted the jester by his collar so that he jerked
and struggled in the air, his face writhing in fear
and consternation.

Arioch took hold of Balo's head and squeezed it.
Elric looked on in amazement as the head began to
shrink. Arioch took Balo's legs and bent them in,
folding Balo up and kneading him in his slender, in-
human hands until he was a small, solid ball. Arioch
then popped the ball into his mouth and swallowed it.
'I have not eaten him, Elric,' he said with another
faint smile. 'It is merely the easiest way of transport-
ing him back to the Realms from which he came.
He has transgressed and will be punished. All this'-
he waved an arm to indicate the citadel--'is unfortu-
nate and contradicts the plans we of Chaos have for
Earth--plans which will involve you, our servant,
and make you mighty.'

Elric bowed to his master. 'I am honoured, Lord
Arioch, though I seek no favours.'
Arioch's silvery voice lost some of its beauty and
his face seemed to cloud for a second. 'You are
pledged to serve Chaos, Elric, as were your an-
cestors. You will serve Chaos! The time draws near
when both Law and Chaos will battle for the Realm
of Earth--and Chaos shall win! Earth will be incor-
porated into our Realm and you will join the hierar-
chy of Chaos, become immortal as we are!'
'Immortality offers little to me, my lord.'
'Ah, Elric, have the men of Melnibone become as
the half-apes who now dominate Earth with their
puny "civilisations"? Are you no better than these
Young Kingdom upstarts? Think what we offer!'
'I shall, my lord, when" the time you mention
comes.' Elric's head was still lowered.
'You shall indeed,' Arioch raised his arms. 'Now to
transport this toy of Balo's to its proper Realm, and
redress the trouble he has caused, lest some hint
reaches our opponents before the proper time.'
Arioch's voice swelled like the singing of a million
brazen bells and Elric sheathed his sword and
clapped his hands over his ears to stop the pain.
Then Elric felt his body seem to shred apart, swell
and stretch until it became like smoke drifting on
air. Then, faster, the smoke began to be drawn to-
gether, becoming denser and denser and he seemed
to be shrinking now. All around him were rolling
banks of colour, flashes and indescribable noises.
Then came a vast blackness and he closed his eyes
against the images that seemed reflected in the
blackness.
When he opened them he stood in the valley and
the singing citadel was gone. Only Yishana and a few
surprised-looking soldiers stood there. Yishana ran
towards him.

 

'Elric--was it you who saved us?'
'I must claim only part of the credit,' he said.
'Not all my soldiers are here,' she said, inspecting
the men. Where are the rest--and the villagers ab-
ducted earlier?'
'If Balo's tastes are like his masters', then I fear
they now have the honour of being part of a demi-
god. The Lords of Chaos are not flesh-eaters, of
course, being of the Higher Worlds, but there is
something they savour in men which satisfies
them...'
Yishana hugged her body as if in cold. 'He was
huge--I cannot believe that his citadel could contain
his bulk!'
'The citadel was more than a dwelling-place, that
was obvious. Somehow it changed size, shape-and
other things I cannot describe. Arioch of Chaos
transported it and Balo back to where they belong,'
'Arioch! But he is one of the Greatest Six! How
did he come to Earth?'
'An old pact with my remote ancestors. By calling
him they allow him to spend a short time in our
realm, and he repays them with some favour. This
was done.'
'Come, Elric,' she took his arm. 'Let's away from
the valley.'
Elric was weak and enfeebled by the efforts of
summoning Arioch, and the experiences he had had
before and since the episode. He could hardly walk;
and soon it was Yishana who supported him as they
made slow progress, the dazed warriors following in
their wake, towards the nearest village, where they
could obtain rest and horses to take them back to
Dhakos.

 

 

 

FIVE

 

As they staggered past the blasted ruins of Tho-
kara, Yishana pointed suddenly at the sky.
'What is that?
A great shape was winging its way towards them.
It had the appearance of a butterfly, but a butterfly
with wings so huge they blotted out the sun.
'Can it be some creature of Balo's left behind?" she
speculated.
'Hardly likely,' he replied. 'This has the appear-
ance of a monster conjured by a human sorcerer.'
'Theleb K'aarna!'
'He has surpassed himself,' Elric said wryly. 'I did
not think him capable.'
'It is his vengeance on us, Elric!'
'That seems reasonable. But I am weak, Yishana--
and Stormbringer needs souls if it is to replenish my
strength.' He turned a calculating eye on the warriors
behind him who were gaping up at the creature as it
came nearer. Now they could see it had a man's
body, covered with hairs or feathers hued like a
peacock's.
The air whistled as it descended, its fifty-foot
wings dwarfing the seven feet of head and body.
From its head grew two curling horns, and its arms
terminated in long talons.
'We are doomed, Elric!' cried Yishana. She saw
that the warriors were fleeing and she cried after

them to come back. Elric stood there passively,
knowing that alone he could not defeat the butter-
fly-creature.
'Best go with them, Yishana,' he murmured. 'I
think it will be satisfied with me.'
'No!'
He ignored her and stepped towards" the creature
as it landed and began to glide over the ground in
his direction. He drew a quiescent Stormbringer,
which felt heavy in his hand. A little strength flowed
into him, but not enough. His only hope was to
strike a good blow at the creature's vitals and draw
some of its own life-force into himself.
The creature's voice shrilled at him, and the
strange, insane face twisted as he approached. Elric
realised that this was no true supernatural denizen
of the nether worlds, but a once-human creature
warped by Theleb K'aarna's sorcery. At least it was
mortal, and he had only physical strength to contend
with. In better condition it would have been easy for
him--but now ....
The wings beat at the air as the taloned hands
grasped at him. He took Stormbringer in both hands
and swung the runeblade at the thing's neck. Swiftly
the wings folded in to protect its neck and Storm-
bringer became entangled in the strange, sticky flesh.
A talon caught Elric's arm, ripping it to the bone.
He yelled in pain and yanked the sword from the en-
folding wing.
He tried to steady himself for another blow, but
the monster grabbed his wounded arm and began
drawing him towards its now lowered head--and the
horns that curled from it.
He struggled, hacking at the thing's arms with the
extra strength that came with the threat of death.
Then he heard a cry from behind him and saw a
figure from the corner of his eye, a figure that leapt

forward with two blades gleaming in either hand.
The swords slashed at the talons and with a shriek
the creature turned on Elric's w0uld-be rescuer.
It was Moonglum. Elric fell backwards, breathing
hard, as he watched his little red-headed friend en-
gage the monster. 

But Moonglum would not survive for long, unless
aided.
Elric racked his brain for some spell that would
help; but he was too' weak, even if he could think of
one, to raise the energy necessary to summon super-
natural help.
And then it came to him! Yishana! She was not as
exhausted as he. But could she do it?
He turned as the air moaned to the beating of the
creature's wings. Moonglum was only just managing
to hold it off, his two swords flashing rapidly as he
parried every effort to grasp him.
'Yishana!' croaked the albino.
She came up to him and placed a hand on his. "We
could leave, Elric--perhaps hide from that thing.'
'No. I must help Moonglum. Listen--you realise
how desperate our position is, do you not? Then
keep that in mind while you recite this rune with
me. Perhaps together we may succeed. There are
many kinds of lizards in these parts, are there not?'
'Aye--many.'



'Then this is what you must say--and remember
that we shall all perish by Theleb K'aarna's servant
if you are not successful.'

In the half worlds, where dwelt the master-types
of all creatures other than Man, an entity stirred,
hearing its name. The entity was called Haaashaas-
taak; and it was scaly and cold, with no true intellect,
such as men and gods possessed, but an awareness,
which served it as well if not better. It was brother,

on this plane, to such entities as Meerclar, Lord of
the Cats, Roofdrak, Lord of the Dogs, Nuru-ah,
Lord of the Cattle, and many, many others. This was
Haaashaastaak, Lord of the Lizards. It did not really
hear words in the exact sense, but it heard rhythms
which meant much to it, even though it did not know
why. The rhythms were being repeated over and over
again, but seemed too faint to be worth much atten-
tion. It stirred and yawned, but did nothing...



'Haaashaastaak, Lord of Lizards,
Your children were fathers of men,
Haaashaastaak, Prince of Reptiles.
Come aid a grandchild now.

 

'Haaashaastaak, Father of Scales,
Cold-blooded bringer of life..."

 

It was a bizarre scene, with Elric and Yishana des-
perately chanting the rune over and over again as
Moonglum fought on, slowly losing strength,
Haaashaastaak quivered and became more curi-
ous. The rhythms were no stronger, yet they seemed
more insistent. He would travel, he decided, to that
place where those he watched over dwelt. He knew
that if he answered the rhythms, he would have to
obey whatever source they had. He was not, of
course, aware that such decisions had been implant-
ed into him in a far distant age--the time before the
creation of Earth, when the Lords of Law and Chaos,
then inhabitants of a single realm and known by an-
other name, had watched over the forming of things
and laid down the manner and logic in which things
should behave, following their great edict from the
voice of the Cosmic Balance--the voice which had
never spoken since.

Haaashaastaak betook himself, a little slothfully,
to Earth.
Elric and Yishana were still chanting hoarsely, as
Haaashaastaak made his sudden appearance. He had
the look of a huge iguana, and his eyes were many-
coloured, many faceted jewels, his scales seeming of
gold, silver, and other rich metals. A slightly hazy
outline surrounded him, as if he had brought part of
his own environment with him.
Yishana gasped and Elric breathed a deep sigh. As
a child he had learned the languages of all animal-
masters, and now he must recall the simple language
of the lizard-master, Haaashaastaak.
His need fired his brain, and the words came sud-
denly.
'Haaashaastaak,' he cried pointing at the butterfly-
creature, 'mokik ankkuh!'
The lizard lord turned its jewelled eyes on the
creature and its great tongue suddenly shot out
towards it, curling around the monster. It shrilled in
terror as it was drawn towards the lizard lord's great
maw. Legs and arms kicked as the mouth closed on
it. Several gulps and Haaashaastaak had swallowed
Theleb K'aarna's prize creation. Then it turned its
head uncertainly about for a few moments and van-
ished.
Pain began to throb now through Elric's torn arm
as Moonglum staggered towards him, grinning in re-
lief.
'I followed behind you at a distance as you re-
quested,' he said, 'since you suspected treachery from
Theleb K'aarna. But than I spied the sorcerer coming
this way and followed him to a cave in yonder hills,'
he pointed. 'But when the deceased,' he laughed
shakily, 'emerged from the cave, I decided that it
would be best to chase that, for I had the feeling it
-was going in your direction.'

'I am glad you were so astute,' Elric said.
,It was your doing, really,' Moonglum replied.
'For, if you hadn't anticipated treachery from The-
leb K'aarna, I might not have been here at the right
moment.' Moonglum suddenly sank to the grass,
leaned back, grinned, and fainted.
Elric felt very dazed himself. 'I do not think we
need fear anything more from your sorcerer just
yet, Yishana,' he said. 'Let us rest here and refresh
ourselves. Perhaps then your cowardly soldiers will
have returned, and we can send them to a village to
get us some horses.'
They stretched out on the grass and, lying in each
other's arms, went to sleep.
Elric was astonished to Wake in a bed, a soft bed.
He opened his eves and saw Yishana and Moonglum
smiling down at him.
�How long have I been here?'
'More than two days. You did not wake when the
horses came, so we had the warriors construct a
stretcher to bear you to Dhakos. You are in my
palace.'
Elric cautiously moved his stiff, bandaged arm. It
was still painful. 'Are my belongings still at the inn?'
'Perhaps, if they have not been stolen. Why?'
'I have a pouch of herbs there, which will heal this
arm quickly and also supply me with a little
strength, which I need badly.'
'I will go and see if they are still there,' Moon-
glum said and walked from the chamber.
Yishana stroked Elric's milk-white hair. 'I have
much to thank you for, wolf,' said she. "You have
saved my kingdom--perhaps all the Young King-
doms. In my eyes you are redeemed for my brother's

death.�

'Oh, I thank you, madam,' said Elric with a mock-
hag tone.
She laughed, 'You are still a Melnibonean.'
'Still that, aye.'
'A strange mixture, however. Sensitive and cruel,
sardonic and loyal to your little friend Moonglum. I
look forward to knowing you better, my lord.'
'As to that, I am not sure if you will have the op-
portunity.'
She gave him a hard look. 'Why?'
'Your resume of my character was incomplete,
Queen Yishana--you should have added "careless of
the world--and yet vengeful." I wish to be revenged
on your pet wizard.'
'But he is spent, surely, you said so yourself.�
'I am, as you remarked, still a Melnibonean! My
arrogant blood calls vengeance on an upstart!'

  'Forget Theleb K'aarna. I will have him hunted
by my White Leopards. Even his sorcery will not
win against such savages as they are!'
'Forget him?
Oh, no!'
'Elric, Elric--I will give yon my kingdom, declare
you ruler of Jharkor, if you will let me be your con-
sort.'
He reached out and stroked her bare arm with his
good hand.
'You are unrealistic, queen. To take such an ac-
tion would bring wholesale rebellion in your land.
To your folk, I am still the Traitor of Imrryr.'
'Not now--now you are the Hero of Jharkor.'
'How so? They did not know of their peril and
thus will feel no gratitude. It were best that I settled
my debt with your wizard and went on my way. The
streets must already be full of rumours that you
have taken your brother's murderer to your bed. Your
popularity with your subjects must be at its lowest,
madam.'

'I do not care.'
'You will if your nobles lead the people in insurrec-
tion and crucify yon naked in the city square.'
'You are familiar with our customs.�
�We Melniboneans are a learned folk, queen.�
'Well versed in all the arts.'
'All of them.' Again he felt his blood race as she
rose and barred the door. At that moment he felt no
need for the herbs which Moonglum had gone to
find.
When he tiptoed from the room that night, he
found Moonglum waiting patiently in the antecham-
ber. Moonglum proffered the pouch with a wink.
But Elric's mood was not light. He took bunches of
herbs from the pouch and selected what he needed.
Moonglum grimaced as he watched Elric chew
and swallow the stuff. Then together they stole from
the palace.
Armed with Stormbringer and mounted, Elric rode
slightly behind his friend as Moonglum led the way
towards the hills beyond Dhakos.
'If I know the sorcerers of Pan Tang', murmured
the albino, 'then Theleb K'aarna will be more ex-
hausted than was I. With luck we will come upon
him sleeping.'
'I shall wait outside the cave in that case," said
Moonglum, for he now had some experience of
Elric's vengeance-taking and did not relish watching
Theleb K'aarna's slow death.
They galloped speedily unto the hills were
reached and Moonglum showed Elric the cave
mouth.
Leaving his horse, the albino went soft-footed into
the cave, his runesword ready.
Moonglum waited nervously for Theleb K'aarna's
first shrieks, but none came. He waited until dawn

began to bring the first faint light and then Elric,
face frozen with anger emerged from the cave.
Savagely he grasped his horse's reins and swung
himself into the saddle.
'Are you satisfied?' Moonglum asked tentatively.
'Satisfied, no! The dog has vanished!'
'Gone--but...'
'He was more cunning than I thought. There are
several caves and I sought him in all of them. In the
farthest I discovered traces of sorcerous runes on the
walls and floor. He has transported himself some-
where and I could not discover where, in spite of de-
ciphering most of the runes! Perhaps he went to
Pan Tang.' 
               
'Ah, then our quest has been futile. Let us return
to Dhakos and enjoy a little more of Yishana's hospi-
tality.'
'No--we go to Pan Tang.'
'But, Elric, Theleb K'aarna's brother sorcerers dwell
there in strength; and Jagreen Lern, the theocrat, for-
bids Visitors!'
'No matter. I wish to finish my business with The-
leb K'aarna.'
'You have no proof that he is there!'    ..
"No matter!"
And then Elric was spurring his horse away, riding
like a man possessed or fleeing from dreadful peril--
and perhaps he was both possessed and fleeing.
Moonglum did not follow at once but thoughtfully
watched his friend gallop off. Not normally intro-
spective, he wondered if Yisbana had perhaps af-
fected the albino more strongly than he would have
wished. He did not think that vengeance on Theleb
K'aarna was Elric's prime desire in refusing to re-
turn to Dhakos.
Then he shrugged and clapped his heels to his
steed's flank, racing to catch up with Elric as the

cold dawn rose, wondering if they would continue
towards Pan Tang once Dhakos was far enough be-
hind.
But Elric's head contained no thoughts, only emo-
tion flooded him-emotion he did not wish to ana-
lyse. His white hair streaming behind him, his dead-
white, handsome face set, his slender hands tightly
clutching the stallion's reins, he rode. And only his
strange, crimson eyes reflected the misery and con-
flict within him.
In Dhakos that morning, other eyes held misery,
but not for too long. Yishana was a pragmatic queen.