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By Root 658 0

of the tower, until they reached the centre level where the main chamber was. Here, Dyvim Slorm was seated, a bottle of old Melnibonéan wine on the table before him, a large silver bowl in his hands. His sword Mournblade was on the table beside the bottle. They had found the store of wine in the secret cellars of the place, missed by the sea-reavers whom Elric had led upon Imrryr when he and his cousin had fought on opposite sides. The bowl was full of the congealed mixture of herbs, honey and barley which their ancestors had used to sustain themselves in times of need. Dyvim Slorm was brooding over it, but looked up when they came close and sat themselves on chairs opposite him. He smiled hopelessly.

“I fear, Elric, that I have done all I can to rouse our sleeping friends. No more is possible—and they still slumber.”

Elric remembered the details of his vision and, half-afraid that it had been merely a figment of his own imaginings, supplying the fantasy of hope where, in reality, no hope was, said: “Forget the dragons, for a while at least. Last night I left my body, so I thought, and journeyed to places beyond the Earth, eventually to the White Lords’ plane where they told me how I might rouse the dragons by blowing upon a horn. I intend to follow their directions and seek that horn.”

Dyvim Slorm replaced his bowl upon the table. “We’ll accompany you, of course.”

“No need—and anyway impossible—I’ll have to go alone. Wait for me until I return and if I do not—well, you must do what you decide, spending your remaining years imprisoned on this isle, or going to battle with Chaos.”

“I have the idea that time has stopped in truth and if we stay here we shall live on for ever and shall be forced to face the resulting boredom,” Moonglum put in. “If you don’t return, I for one will ride into the conquered realms to take a few of our enemies with me to limbo.”

“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 that Chaos brings, burning it clean! 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’aal’nezbett.

CHAPTER 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 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 burned 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.