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Elric shrugged. “That’s the legend—the fleet of the dead will rise from the depths when the final struggle comes, when Chaos shall be divided against itself, when Law shall be weak and mankind shall choose sides in the battle that will result in a new Earth dominated either by total Chaos or by almost-total Law. When Sepiriz told us this was the case, I felt a response. Since then, in studying my manuscripts, I have been fully reminded.”

“Is this, then, to be the final battle?”

“It might be,” Elric answered. “It is certain to be one of the last when it will be decided for all time whether Law or Chaos shall rule here.”

“If we’re defeated, then Chaos will undoubtedly rule.”

“Perhaps, but remember that the struggle need not be decided by battles alone.”

“So Sepiriz said, but if we’re defeated this day, we’ll have little chance to discover the truth of that.” Dyvim Slorm gripped Mournblade’s hilt. “Someone must wield these blades—these destiny-swords—when the time comes for the deciding duel. Our allies diminish, Elric.”

“Aye. But I’ve a hope that we can summon a few others. Straasha, King of the Water Elementals, has ever fought against the death fleet—and he is brother to Graoll and Misha, the Wind Lords. Perhaps through Straasha, I can summon his unearthly kin. In this way we will be better matched, at least.”

“I know only a fragment of the spell for summoning the water-king,” Dyvim Slorm said.

“I know the whole rune. I had best make haste to meditate upon it, for our fleets will clash in two hours or less and then I’ll have no time for the summoning of spirits but will have to keep tight hold on my own less some Chaos creature releases it.”

Elric moved towards the prow of the ship, and, leaning over, stared into the ocean depths, turning his mind inward and contemplating the strange and ancient knowledge which lay there. He became almost hypnotized as he lost contact with his own personality and began to identify with the swirling ocean below.

Involuntarily, old words began to form in his throat and his lips began to move in the rune which his ancestors had known when they and all the elementals of the Earth had been allies and sworn to aid one another long ago in the dawn of the Bright Empire, more than ten thousand years before.

“Waters of the sea, thou gave us birth

And were our milk and mother both

In days when skies were overcast

You who were first shall be the last.

“Sea-rulers, fathers of our blood,

Thine aid is sought, thine aid is sought,

Your salt is blood, our blood your salt,

Your blood the blood of Man.

“Straasha, eternal king, eternal sea

Thine aid is sought by me;

For enemies of thine and mine

Seek to defeat our destiny, and drain away our sea.”

The spoken rune was merely a vocalization of the actual invocation which was produced mentally and went plunging into the depths, through the dark green corridors of the sea until it finally found Straasha in his domain of curving, coral-coloured, womblike constructions which were only partially in the natural sea and partially in the plane where the elementals spent a large part of their immortal existence.

Straasha knew of the Ships of Hell rising to the surface and had been pleased that his domain was now cleared of them, but Elric’s summons awakened his memory and he remembered the folk of Melniboné upon whom all the elementals had once looked with a sense of comradeship; he remembered the ancient invocation, and felt bound to answer it, though he knew his people were badly weakened by the effect Chaos had had in other parts of the world. Not only humans had suffered; the elemental spirits of nature had been sorely pressed as well.

But he stirred so that water and the stuff of his other plane were both disturbed. He summoned some of his followers and began to glide upwards into the domain of the Air.

Semi-conscious now, Elric knew that his invocation had met with success. Sprawled in the prow, he waited.

At last the waters heaved and broke and revealed a great