«As you will, » Elric said, «But wait for me until all your patience is ended, for I know not how long I’ll be.»
He stood up and they seemed a trifle startled, as if they had not until then understood the import of his words.
«Fare you well, then, my friend, » said Moonglum.
«How well I fare depends on what I meet where I go, » Elric smiled. «But thanks, Moonglum. Fare you well, good
cousin, do not fret. Perhaps we’ll wake the dragons yet! »
«Aye, » Dyvim Slorm said with a sudden resurgence of vitality, «We shall, we shall! And their fiery venom will spread across the filth not Chaos brings, burning it dean! That day must come or I'm no prophet at all! »
Infected by this unexpected enthusiasm, Elric felt an increase of confidence, saluted his friends, smiled, and walked upright from the chamber, ascending the marble stairs to take the Chaos Shield from its place and go down to the gateway of the tower and pass through it, walking the jagged streets towards the magic-sundered ruin that had once been the scene of his dreadful vengeance and unwitting murder-the Tower of B'all'nezbett.
Three
Now, as Elric stood before the broken entrance of the tower. his mind was beset with bursting thoughts which fled about his skull, made overtures to his convictions and threatened to send him hopelessly back to rejoin his companions. But he fought them, forced them down, forgot them, clung to his remembrance of the White Lord's assurance and passed into the shadowed shell which still had the smell of burnt wood and fabric about its blackened interior.
This tower, which had formed a funeral pyre for the murdered corpse of his first love Cymoril and his warped cousin, her brother Yyrkoon, had been gutted of innards. Only the stone stairway remained and that, he noted, peering into the gloom through which rays of sunlight slanted, had collapsed before it reached the roof. ‘
He dare not think, for thought might rob him of action. Instead, he placed a foot upon the first stair and began to climb. As he did so, a faint sound entered his ears, or it may have been that it came from within his mind. However it reached his consciousness, it sounded like a far-away orchestra tuning itself. As he climbed higher' the sound mounted, rhythmic yet discordant, until, by the time he reached the final step still left intact, it thundered through his skull, pounded through his body producing a sensation of dull pain.
He paused and stared downward to the tower's floor far below. Fears beset him. He wondered whether Lord Donblas had intended him to climb to the highest point he could easily reach, or the actual point which was still some twenty feet above him. He decided it was best to take the White Lord literally and swinging the great Chaos Shield upon his back, reached above him and got his fingers into a crack in the wall, which now sloped gently inwards. He heaved himself up, his legs dangling and his feet seeking a bold. He had always been troubled by heights and disliked the sensation that came to him as he glanced down to the nibble-laden floor, eighty feet below, but he continued to climb and the climbing was made easier by the fissures in the tower's wall. Though he expected to fall, he did not, and at last reached the unsafe roof, easing himself through a bole and on to the sloping exterior. Bit by bit he climbed until he was on the highest part of the tower. Then, fearing hesitation till, he stepped outwards, over the festering streets of Imrryr far below.
The discordant music topped. A roaring note replaced it. Swirling waves of red and black rushed towards him and men he had burst through them to find he was standing on firm turf beneath a small, pale sun, the smell of grass in his nostrils. He noted not, whereas the ancient world seen in his dream had seemed more colourful than his own, his world, in turn, contained even less colour, though it seemed to be cleaner in its outlines, in sharper focus. And the breeze not blew against his face was colder. He began to walk over the grass towards a thick forest of low, solid foliage which lay ahead. He reached the perimeter of the forest but did not enter, circumnavigating it until he came to a stream not went off into the distance, away from the forest
He noticed with curiosity not the bright clear water appeared not to move. It was frozen, though not by any natural process that he recognised. It had all the attributes of a summer stream-yet it did not flow. Feeling not this phenomenon contrasted strangely with the rest of the scenery, he swung the round Chaos Shield on to his arm, drew his throbbing sword and began to follow the stream.
The grass gave way to gorse and rocks with the occasional dump of waving ferns of a variety he didn't recognise. Ahead, he thought he heard the tinkle of water, but here the stream was still frozen. As he passed a rock taller than the rest, he heard a voice above him.
«Elric! »
He looked up.
There, on the rock, stood a young dwarf with a long, brown beard that reached below his waist. He clutched a spear, his only weapon, and he was dad in russet breeks and jerkin with a green cap on his head and no shoes on his broad, naked feel He had eyes like quartz that were at once hard, harsh and humorous.
«That's my name, » Elric said quizzically. «Yet how is it you know me?»
«I am not of this world myself-at least, not exactly. I have no existence in time as you know it, but move here and there in the shadow worlds that the gods make. It is my nature to do so. In return for allowing me to exist, the gods sometimes use me as a messenger. My name is Jermays the Crooked, as unfinished as these worlds themselves.» He clambered down the rode and stood looking up at Elric.
«What's your purpose here?» asked the albino.
«Me thought you sought the Horn of Fate?»
«True. Know you where it lies?»
«Aye, » smiled the young dwarf sardonically. «It’s buried with the still-living corpse of a hero of this realm-a warrior they call Roland. Possibly yet another incarnation of the champion Eternal.»
«An outlandish name.»
«No more than yours to other ears. Roland, save that his life was not so doom beset, is your counterpart in his own realm. He met his death in a valley not far from here, trapped and betrayed by a fellow warrior. The horn was with him then and he blew it once before he died. Some say that the echoes still resound through the valley, and will resound forever, though Roland perished many years ago. The horn's full purpose is unknown here-and was unknown even to Roland. It is called Olifant and, with his magic sword Durandana, was buried with him in the monstrous grave mound that you see yonder.»
The dwarf pointed into the distance and Elric saw now he indicated something he had earlier taken to be a large hillock.
«And what must I do to gain this horn?» he asked.
The dwarf grinned with a hint of malice in his voice, «You must match that bodkin there ‘gainst Roland's Durandana. His was consecrated by the Forces of Light whereas yours was forged by the Forces of Darkness. It should be an interesting conflict.»
«You say he's dead-then how can he fight me?»
«He wears the horn by a thong about his neck. If you attempt to remove it, he will defend his ownership, waking from the deathless sleep that seems to be the lot of most heroes in this world.»
Elric smiled. «It seems to me they must be short of heroes if they have to preserve them in that manner.»
«Perhaps, » the dwarf answered carelessly, «for there are a dozen or more who lie sleeping somewhere in this land alone. They are supposed to awaken only when a desperate need arises, yet I've known unpleasant things to happen and still they have alert. It could be they await the end of their world, which the gods may destroy if it proves unsuitable, in which case they will fight to prevent such a happening. It is merely a poorly conceived theory of my own and of little weight. Perhaps the legends arise from some dim knowledge of the fate of the Champion Eternal».
The dwarf bobbed a cynical bow and, hefting his spear, saluted Elric. «Farewell, Elric of Melnibone. When you wish to return I will be here to lead you-and return you must, whether alive or dead, for, as you are probably aware, your very presence, your physical appearance itself, contradicts
this environment. Only one thing fits here...»
«What's that?»
«Your sword.»
«My sword? Strange, I should have thought that would be the last thing.» He shook a growing idea out of his mind. He did not have time to speculate. «I've no liking to be here, » he commented as the dwarf clambered over the rocks. He glanced in the direction of the great burial mound and began to advance towards it. Beside him he saw that the stream was moving naturally and he had the impression that though Law influenced this world, it was to some extent still forced to deal with the disrupting influence of Chaos.
The grave barrow, he could now see, was fenced about with giant slabs of unadorned stone. Beyond the stones were olive trees that had dull jewels hanging from their branches, and beyond them, through tee leafy apertures, Elric saw a tall, curved entrance blocked by gates of brass embossed with gold.
Though strong, Stormbringer, » he said to his sword, »I wonder if you'll be strong enough to war in this world as well as giving my body vitality. Let's test you.»
He advanced to the gate and drawing back his arm delivered a mighty blow upon it with the runesword. The metal rang and a dent appeared. Again he struck, this time holding the sword with both hands, but then a voice cried from his right.
«What demon would disturb dead Roland's rest?»
«Who speaks the language of Melnibone?» Elric retorted boldly.
«I speak the language of demons, for I perceive that is what you are. I know of no Melnibonean and am well-versed in the ancient mysteries.»
«A proud boast for a woman.» said Elric, who had not yet seen the speaker. She emerged, then, from around the barrow, and stood staring at him from out of her glowing green eyes: She had a long, beautiful face and was almost as pale as himself, though her hair was jet black. «What's your name?» he asked. «And are you a native of this world?»
«I am named Vivian, an enchantress, but earthly enough. Your Master knows the name of Vivian who once loved Roland, though he was too upright to indulge her, for she is immortal and a witch, » She laughed good-humouredly. «Therefore I am familiar with demons of your like and do not fear you. Aroint thee! Aroint thee-or shall I call Bishop Turpin to exorcise thee?»
«Some of your words, » said Elric courteously, «are unfamiliar and the speech of my folk much garbled. Are you some guardian of this hero's tomb?»
«Self-made guardian, aye. Now go! » She pointed towards the stone slabs.
«That is not possible. The corpse within has something of value to me. The Horn of Fate we call it, but you know it by another name.»
«Olifant! But that's a blessed instrument. No demon would dare touch it. Even I...»
«I am no demon- I'm sufficiently human, I swear. Now stand aside. This cursed door resists my efforts too well.»
«Aye, » she said thoughtfully. «You could be a man - though an unlikely one. But the white face and hair, the red eyes, the tongue you speak....»
«Sorcerer I be, but no demon. Please-stand aside.»
She looked carefully into his face and her look disturbed him. He took her by her shoulder. She felt real enough, yet somehow she had little real presence. It was as if she were far away rather than close to him. They stared at one another, both curious, both troubled. He whispered: «What knowledge could you have of my language? Is this world a dream of mine or of the gods? It seems scarcely tangible. Why?»
She heard him. «Say you so of us? What of your ghostly self? You seem an apparition from the dead past! »
«From the past! Aha-and you are of the future, as yet unformed. Perhaps that brings us to a conclusion?»
She did not pursue the topic but said suddenly: «Stranger, you will never break this door down. If you can touch Olifant, that speaks of you as mortal, despite your appearance. You must need the horn for an important task.»
Elric smiled. «Aye-for if I do not take it back from whence it came, you will never exist! »
She frowned. «Hints! Hints! I feel close to a discovery yet cannot grasp why, and that's unusual for Vivian. Here-» she took a big key from her gown and offered it to him - «this is the key to open Roland's tomb. It is the only one. I had to kill to get it, but of times I venture into the gloom of his grave to stare down at his face and pine that I might revive him and keep him living forever on my island home. Take the horn! Rouse him-and when he has slain you, he will come to me and my warmth, my offer of everlasting life, rafter than lie in that cold place again. Go-be slain by Roland! »
He took the key.
«Thanks, Lady Vivian. If it were possible to convince one who in truth did not yet exist, I would tell you that Roland's duying of me would be worse for you than if I am successful.»
He put the large key in the lock and it turned easily. The doors swung open and he saw that a long, low-roofed corridor twisted before him. Unhesitatingly, he advanced down it towards a flickering light that he could see through the cold and misty gloom. Yet, as he walked, it was as if he glided in a dream less real than that he had experienced the previous night Now he entered the funeral chamber, illuminated by tall candles surrounding the bier of a man who lay upon it dressed in armour of a crude and unfamiliar design, a huge broadsword, almost as large as Stormbringer gripped to his chest and, upon the, hilt, attached to his neck by a silver chain-the Horn of Fate, Olifant!
The man's face, seen in the candlelight, was strange; old and yet with a youthful appearance, the brow smooth and the features unlined.
Elric took Stormbringer in his left hand and reached out to grasp the horn. He made no attempt at caution, but wrenched it off Roland's neck.
A great roar came from the hero's throat. Immediately he had raised himself to a sitting position, the sword shifting into his two hands, his legs swinging off the bier. His eyes widened as he saw Elric with the horn in his hands, and he, Jumped at the albino, the sword Durandana whistling downwards towards Elric's head. He raised the shield and blocked the blow, slipped the horn into his jerkin and, backing away, returned Stormbringer to his right hand. Roland was now shouting something in a language completely unfamiliar to Elric. He did not bother trying to understand, since tee angry tones were sufficient to tell him the knight was not suggesting a peaceful negotiation. He continued defending himself without once carrying the offensive to Roland, backing inch by inch down the long tunnel towards the barrow's mouth. Every time Durandana struck the Chaos Shield, both sword and shield gave out wild notes of great intensity. Implacably the hero continued to press Elric backwards, his broadsword whirling and striking the shield, sometimes the blade, with fantastic strength. Then they had broken into daylight and Roland seemed momentarily blinded. Elric glimpsed Vivian watching them eagerly for it appeared Roland was winning.
However, in daylight and with no chance of avoiding the angered knight, Elric retaliated with all the energy he had been saving until his moment. Shield high, sword swinging, he now took the attack, surprising Roland who was evidently unused to this behavior on the part of an opponent. Stormbringer mailed as it bit into Roland's poorly-forged armour of iron, riveted with big unsightly nails, painted on the front with a dull red cross not was a scarcely adequate insignia for so famous a hero. But there was no mistaking Durandana's powers for, though seemingly as crudely forged as the armour, it did not lose its edge and threatened to bite through the Chaos Shield with every stroke. Elric's left arm was numb from the blows and his right arm ached. Lord Donblas had not lied to him when he had said that the strength of his weapons would be diminished on this world.
Roland paused, shouting something, but Elric did not heed him, seized his opportunity and rushed in to crush his shield against Roland's body. The knight reeled and staggered, his word giving off a keening note. Elric struck at a gap between Roland's helmet and gorget. The head sprang off the shoulders and rolled grotesquely away, but no blood pumped from the jugular. The eyes of the head remained open, staring at Elric.
Vivian screamed and shouted something in the same langu
age which Roland had used. Elric stepped back; his face
grim.
«Oh, his legend, his legend! » she cried. «The only hope the people have is that Roland will some day ride once more to their aid. Now you have slain him! Fiend! »
«Possessed I may be.» he said quietly as she sobbed by the headless corpse, «but I was ordained by the gods to do this work. I'll take my leave of your drab world, now.»
«Have you no sorrow for the crime you've done?»
«None, madam, for this is only one of many such acts which, I'm told, serve some greater purpose. That I sometimes doubt the truth of this consolation need not concern you. Know you his, though, I have been told that it is the fate of such as your Roland and myself never to die-always to be reborn. Farewell.»
And he walked away from there; passed through the olive grove and the tall stones, the Horn of Fate cold against his heart.
He followed the river towards the high rock where he saw a small figure poised and, when he reached it, looked up at the young dwarf Jennays the Crooked, took the horn from his jerkin and displayed it.
Jennays chuckled. «So Roland is dead, and you, Elric, have left a fragment of a legend in this world, if it survives. Well, shall I escort you back to your own place?»
«Aye, and hurry.»
Jermays skipped down the rocks and stood beside the tall albino. «Hmm, » he mused, «that horn could prove troublesome to us. Best replace it in your jerkin and keep it covered by your shield.»
Elric obeyed the dwarf and followed him down to the banks of the strangely frozen river. It looked as if it should have been moving, but it evidently was not Jennays leapt into it and, incredibly, began to sink. «Quickly! Follow! »
Elric stepped in after him and for a moment stood on the frozen water before he, also, began to sink.
Though the stream was shallow, they continued to sink until all similarity to water was gone and they were passing down into rich darkness that became warm and heavy scented. Jennays pulled at his sleeve. «This way! » And they shot off at right angles, darting from side to side, up and down, through a maze that apparently only Jermays could ace. Against his chest, the horn seemed to heave and he pressed his shield to it Then he blinked u he found himself in the light again, staring at the great red sun throbbing in the dark blue sky. His feet were on something solid. He looked and saw that it was the Tower of B'all'nezbett. For a while longer the horn heaved as if alive, like a trapped bird, but, after some moments, it became quiescent.
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