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“Arioch! Arioch! Blood and souls for my lord Arioch!”

“Then I must have the runeblades. I must pass through the Shade Gate. There I still have allies—supernatural allies who shall deal easily with Elric, if need be. But I need time . . .” Yyrkoon mumbled to himself as he paced about the room. Valharik continued to watch the fighting.

“They come closer,” said the captain.

Cymoril smiled. “Closer, Yyrkoon? Who is the fool now? Elric? Or you?”

“Be still! I think. I think . . .” Yyrkoon fingered his lips.

Then a light came into his eye and he looked cunningly at Cymoril for a second before turning his attention to Captain Valharik.

“Valharik, you must destroy the Mirror of Memory.”

“Destroy it? But it is our only weapon, my lord?”

“Exactly—but is it not useless now?”

“Aye.”

“Destroy it and it will serve us again.” Yyrkoon flicked a long finger in the direction of the door. “Go. Destroy the mirror.”

“But, Prince Yyrkoon—emperor, I mean—will that not have the effect of robbing us of our only weapon?”

“Do as I say, Valharik! Or perish!”

“But how shall I destroy it, my lord?”

“Your sword. You must climb the column behind the face of the mirror. Then, without looking into the mirror itself, you must swing your sword against it and smash it. It will break easily. You know the precautions I have had to take to make sure that it was not harmed.”

“Is that all I must do?”

“Aye. Then you are free from my service—you may escape or do whatever else you wish to do.”

“Do we not sail against Melniboné?”

“Of course not. I have devised another method of taking the Dragon Isle.”

Valharik shrugged. His expression showed that he had never really believed Yyrkoon’s assurances. But what else had he to do but follow Yyrkoon, when fearful torture awaited him at Elric’s hands? With shoulders bowed, the captain slunk away to do his prince’s work.

“And now, Cymoril . . .” Yyrkoon grinned like a ferret as he reached out to grab his sister’s soft shoulders. “Now to prepare you for your lover, Elric.”

One of the blind warriors cried: “They no longer resist us, my lord. They are limp and allow themselves to be cut down where they stand. Why is this?”

“The mirror has robbed them of their memories,” Elric called, turning his own blind head towards the sound of the warrior’s voice. “You can lead us into a building now—where, with luck, we shall not glimpse the mirror.”

At last they stood within what appeared to Elric, as he lifted his helm, to be a warehouse of some kind. Luckily it was large enough to hold their entire force and when they were all inside Elric had the doors shut while they debated their next action.

“We should find Yyrkoon,” Dyvim Tvar said. “Let us interrogate one of those warriors . . .”

“There’ll be little point in that, my friend,” Elric reminded him. “Their minds are gone. They’ll remember nothing at all. They do not at present remember even what they are, let alone who. Go to the shutters yonder, where the mirror’s influence cannot reach, and see if you can see the building most likely to be occupied by my cousin.”

Dyvim Tvar crossed swiftly to the shutters and looked cautiously out. “Aye—there’s a building larger than the rest and I see some movement within, as if the surviving warriors were regrouping. It’s likely that’s Yyrkoon’s stronghold. It should be easily taken.”

Elric joined him. “Aye. I agree with you. We’ll find Yyrkoon there. But we must hurry, lest he decides to slay Cymoril. We must work out the best means of reaching the place and instruct our blind warriors as to how many streets, how many houses and so forth, we must pass.”

“What is that strange sound?” One of the blind warriors raised his head. “Like the distant ringing of a gong.”

“I hear it too,” said another blind man.

And now Elric heard it. A sinister noise. It came from the air above them. It shivered through the atmosphere.

“The mirror!” Dyvim Tvar looked up. “Has the mirror some property we did not anticipate?”

“Possibly . . .” Elric tried to remember