“We have witnessed something of the like on our sea journey,” Elric nodded. “I wish you a long life of revenge, friend. I myself have scores to settle with Jagreen Lern and his accomplice.”

  “His accomplice? You mean King Sarosto of Dharijor?” A thin smile crossed the knight’s haggard face. “You’ll take no vengeance on Sarosto. He was assassinated soon after our forces were vanquished at the Battle of Sequa. Though nothing was proved, it is common knowledge that he was killed at the orders of the Theocrat who now rules unchallenged.” The knight shrugged. “And who can stand for long against Jagreen Lern, let alone his captains?”

  “Who are these captains?”

  “Why, he has summoned all the Dukes of Hell to him. Whether they will accept his mastery much longer, I do not know. It is our belief that Jagreen Lern will be the next to die—and hell unchecked will rule in his place!”

  “I hope not,” Elric said softly, “for I won’t be cheated of my vengeance.”

  The knight sighed. “With the Dukes of Hell as his allies, Jagreen Lern will soon rule the world.”

  “Let us hope I can find a means of disposing of that dark aristocracy, and keeping my vow to slay Jagreen Lern,” Elric said and, with a wave of thanks to the seer and the two knights, turned his horse towards the mountains of Jharkor, Moonglum in his wake.

  * * *

  They got little rest on their perilous ride to the mountain home of Sepiriz, for, as the knight had told them, the ground itself seemed alive and anarchy ruled everywhere. Afterwards, Elric remembered little, save a feeling of utter horror and the noise of unholy screechings in his ear, dark colours, gold, reds, blues, black, and the flaring orange that was everywhere the sign of Chaos on Earth.

  In the mountain regions close to Nihrain, they found that the rule of Chaos was not so complete as in other parts. This proved that Sepiriz and his nine black brothers were exerting at least some control against the forces threatening to engulf them.

  Through steep gorges of towering black rock, along treacherous mountain paths, down slopes that rattled with loose stones and seemed likely to start an avalanche, they pressed deeper and deeper into the heart of the ancient mountains. These were the oldest mountains in the world, and they held one of the Earth’s most ancient secrets—the domain of the immortal Nihrain who had ruled for centuries even before the coming of the Melnibonéans. At last, they came to the Hewn City of Nihrain, its towering palaces, temples and fortresses carved into the living black granite, hidden in the depths of the chasm that might have been bottomless. Virtually cut off from all but the faintest filterings of sunlight, it had brooded here since earliest times.

  Down the narrow paths they guided their reluctant steeds until they had reached a huge gateway, its pillars carved with the figures of titans and half-men looming above them, so that Moonglum gasped and immediately fell silent, overawed by the genius which could accomplish the twin feats of gigantic engineering and powerful art.

  In the caverns, also carved to represent scenes from the legends of the Nihrain, Sepiriz awaited them, a welcoming smile on his thin-lipped ebony face.

  “Greetings, Sepiriz,” Elric dismounted and allowed slaves to lead his horse away. Moonglum did likewise, a trifle warily.

  “I was informed correctly,” Sepiriz clasped Elric’s shoulders in his hands. “I am glad for I learned you were bound to Sorcerers’ Isle to seek the White Lords’ help.”

  “True. Is their help, then, unobtainable?”

  “Not yet. We ourselves are trying to contact them, with the aid of the hermit magicians of the island, but so far Chaos has blocked our attempts. But there is work for you and your sword closer to home. Come to my chamber and refresh yourselves. We have some wine which will revitalise you and when you have drunk your fill I’ll tell you what task Fate has decided for you now.”

  * * *

  Sitting in his chair, sipping his wine and glancing around Sepiriz’s dark chamber, lighted only by the fires which burned in its several grates, Elric searched his mind for some clue to the unidentifiable impressions which seemed to drift just below the surface of his conscious brain. There was something mysterious about the chamber, a mystery that was not solely created by its vastness and the shadows that filled it. Without knowing why, Elric thought that though it was bounded by miles of solid rock in all directions, it had no proper dimensions that could be measured by the means normally employed; it was as if it extended into planes that did not conform to the Earth’s space and time—planes that were, in fact, timeless and spaceless. He felt that he might attempt to cross the chamber from one wall to the other—but could walk for ever without ever reaching the far wall. He made an attempt to dismiss these thoughts and put down his cup, breathing in deeply. There was no doubt that the wine relaxed and invigorated him. He pointed to the wine jar on the stone table and said to Sepiriz: “A man might easily become addicted to such a brew!”

  “I’m addicted already,” Moonglum grinned, pouring himself another cup.

  Sepiriz shook his head. “It has a strange quality, our Nihrain wine. It tastes pleasant and refreshes the weary, yet once his strength is regained, the man who drinks it then is nauseated. That is why we still have some of it left. But our stocks are low—the vines from which it was made have long since passed from the Earth.”

  “A magic potion,” Moonglum said, replacing his cup on the table.

  “If you like so to designate it. Elric and I are of an earlier age when what you call magic was part of normal life and Chaos ruled entirely, if more quietly than now. You men of the Young Kingdoms are perhaps right to be suspicious of sorcery, for we hope to ready the world for Law soon and then, perhaps, you’ll find similar brews by more painstaking methods, methods you can understand better.”

  “I doubt it,” Moonglum laughed.

  Elric sighed. “If we are not luckier than we have been, we’ll see Chaos unleashed on the globe and Law forever vanquished,” he said gloomily.

  “And no luck for us if Law is triumphant, eh?” Sepiriz poured himself a cup of the wine.

  Moonglum looked sharply at Elric, understanding that much more of his friend’s unenviable predicament.

  “You said there was work for me and my sword, Sepiriz,” Elric said. “What’s its nature?”

  “You have already learned that Jagreen Lern has summoned some of the Dukes of Hell to captain his men and keep his conquered lands under control?”

  “Yes.”

  “You understand the import of this? Jagreen Lern has succeeded in making a sizeable breach in the Law-constructed barrier which once kept the creatures of Chaos from wholly ruling the planet. He is forever widening this breach as his power increases. This explains how he could summon such a mighty assembly of hell’s nobility where, in the past, it was hard to bring one to our plane. Arioch is among them…”

  “Arioch!” Arioch had always been Elric’s patron demon, the principal god worshipped by his ancestors. That matters had reached such a stage conveyed to him, deeper than anything else, that he was now a total outcast, unprotected either by Law or Chaos.

  “Your only close supernatural ally is your sword,” Sepiriz said grimly. “And, perhaps, its brothers.”

  “What brothers? There is only the sister sword Mournblade, which Dyvim Slorm has!”

  “Do you remember that I told you how the twin swords were actually only an earthly manifestation of their supernatural selves?” Sepiriz said calmly.

  “I do.”

  “Well, I can tell you now that Stormbringer’s ‘real’ being is related to other supernatural forces on another plane. I know how to summon them, but these entities are also creatures of Chaos and therefore, as far as you’re concerned, somewhat hard to control. They could well get out of hand—perhaps even turn against you. Stormbringer, as you have discovered in the past, is bound to you by ties even stronger than those which bind it to its brothers who are lesser beings altogether, but its brothers outnumber it, and Stormbringer might not be able to protect you against them.”

  “Why have I never known this?”

  “You have known it, in a way. Do you remember times when you have called to the Dark Ones for help and help has come?”

  “Yes. You mean that this help has been supplied by Stormbringer’s brethren?”

  “Much of the time, yes. Already they are used to coming to your help. They are not what you and I would call intelligent, though sentient, and are therefore not so strongly bound to Chaos as its reasoning servants. They can be controlled, to a degree, by anyone who has power such as you have over one of their brothers. If you need their help, you will need to remember a rune which I shall tell you later.”

  “And what is my task?”

  “To destroy the Dukes of Hell.”

  “Destroy the—Sepiriz, that’s impossible. They are Lords of Chaos, one of the most powerful groups in the whole Realm of Chance. Sepiriz, I could not do it!”

  “True. But you control one of the mightiest weapons. Of course, no mortal can destroy the dukes entirely—all he can hope to do is banish them to their own plane by wrecking the substance which they use for bodies on Earth. That is your task. Already there are hints that the Dukes of Hell—namely Arioch, and Balan, and Maluk—have taken some of Jagreen Lern’s power from him. The fool still thinks he can rule over such supernatural might as they represent. It suits them, perhaps, to let him think so, but it is certain that with these friends Jagreen Lern can defeat the Southlands with a minimum of expenditure in arms, ships or men. Without them, he could do it—but it would take more time and effort and therefore give us a slight advantage to prepare against him while he subdues the Southlands.”

  Elric did not bother to ask Sepiriz how he knew of the Southerners’ decision to fight Jagreen Lern alone. Sepiriz obviously had many powers as was proved by his ability to contact Elric through the seer. “I have sworn to help the Southlands in spite of their refusal to side with us against the Theocrat,” he said calmly.

  “And you’ll keep your oath—by destroying the dukes if you can.”

  “Destroying Arioch, and Balan, and Maluk…” Elric whispered the names, fearful that even here he might invoke them.

  “Arioch has always been an unhelpful demon,” Moonglum pointed out. “Many’s the time in the past he has refused to aid you, Elric.”

  “Because,” Sepiriz said, “he already had some knowledge that you and he were to fight in the future.”

  Though the wine had refreshed his body, Elric’s mind was close to snapping. The strain on his soul was almost at breaking point. To fight the demon-god of his ancestors… The old blood was still strong in him, the old loyalties still present.

  Sepiriz rose and gripped Elric’s shoulder, staring with black eyes into the dazed and smouldering crimson ones.

  “You have pledged yourself to this mission, remember?”

  “Aye, pledged—but Sepiriz—the Dukes of Hell—Arioch—I—oh, I wish that I were dead now…”

  “You have much to do before you’ll be allowed to die, Elric,” Sepiriz said quietly. “You must realise how important you and your great sword are to Fate’s cause. Remember your pledge!”

  Elric drew himself upright, nodded vaguely. “Even had I been given this knowledge before I made that pledge, I would still have made it. But…”

  “What?”

  “Do not place too much faith on my ability to fulfil this part, Sepiriz.”

  The black Nihrain said nothing. Moonglum’s normally animated face was grave and miserable as he looked at Elric standing in the mighty hall, the firelight writhing around him, his arms folded on his chest, the huge broadsword hanging straight at his side, and a look of stunned shock on his white face. Sepiriz walked away into the darkness and returned later with a white tablet on which old runes were engraved. He handed it to the albino.

  “Memorise the spell,” Sepiriz said softly, “and then destroy the tablet. But remember, only use it in extreme adversity for, as I warned you, Stormbringer’s brethren may refuse to aid you.”

  Elric made an effort and controlled his emotions. Long after Moonglum had gone to rest, he studied the rune under the guidance of the Nihrainian, learning not only how to vocalise it, but also the twists of logic which he would have to understand, and the state of mind into which he must put himself if it were to be effective.

  When both he and Sepiriz were satisfied, Elric allowed a slave to take him to his sleeping chamber, but slumber came hard to him and he spent the night in restless torment until the slave came to wake him the next morning and found him fully dressed and ready to ride for Pan Tang where the Dukes of Hell were assembled.

  4

  Through the stricken lands of the West rode Elric and Moonglum, astride sturdy Nihrain steeds that seemed to need no rest and contained no fear. The Nihrain horses were a special gift, for they had certain additional powers to their unnatural strength and endurance. Sepiriz had told them how, in fact, the steeds did not have full existence on the earthly plane and that their hoofs did not touch the ground in the strict sense, but touched the stuff of their other plane. This gave them the ability to appear to gallop on air—or water.

  Scenes of terror were everywhere to be found. At one time they saw a frightful sight; a wild and hellish mob destroying a village built around a castle. The castle itself was in flames and on the horizon a mountain gouted smoke and fire—yet another volcano in lands previously free of them. Though the looters had human shape, they were degenerate creatures, spilling blood and drinking it with equal abandon. And directing them without joining their orgy, Elric and Moonglum saw what seemed to be a corpse astride the living skeleton of a horse, bedecked in bright trappings, a flaming sword in its hand and a golden helm on its head.

  They skirted the scene and rode fast away from it, through mists that looked and smelled like blood, over steaming rivers dammed with death, past rustling forests that seemed to follow them, beneath skies often filled with ghastly, winged shapes bearing even ghastlier burdens.

  At other times, they met groups of warriors, many of them in the armour and trappings of the conquered nations, but depraved and obviously sold to Chaos. These they fought or avoided, depending on circumstance and, when at last they reached the cliffs of Jharkor and saw the sea which would take them to the Isle of Pan Tang, they knew they had ridden through a land to which hell had come.

  Along the cliffs they galloped, high above the churning, grey sea, the lowering sky dark and cold; down to the beaches to pause for a second time on the water’s edge.

  “Come!” Elric cried, urging his horse forward. “To Pan Tang!”

  Scarcely stopping, they rode their magical steeds over the water towards the evil-heavy island of Pan Tang, where Jagreen Lern and his terrible allies prepared to sail with their giant fleet and smash the sea power of the South before conquering the Southlands themselves.

  “Elric!” Moonglum called above the whining wind. “Should we not proceed with more caution?”

  “Caution? What need of that when the Dukes of Hell must surely know their turncoat servant comes to fight them!”

  Moonglum pursed his long lips, disturbed, for Elric was in a wild, maddened mood. He got little comfort, also, from the knowledge that Sepiriz had charmed his shortsword and his sabre both, with one of the few white spells he had at his command.

  Now the bleak cliffs of Pan Tang rose into sight, spray-lashed and ominous, the sea moaning about them as if in some special torture which Chaos could inflict on nature itself.

  And also around the island a peculiar darkness hovered, shifting and changing.

  They entered the darkness as the Nihrain steeds pounded up the steep, rocky beach of Pan Tang, a place that had always been ruled by its black priesthood, a grim theocracy that had sought to emulate the legendary Sorcerer Emperors of the Bright Empire of Melniboné. But Elric, last of those emperors, and landless now, with few subjects, knew that the dark arts had been natural and lawful to his ancestors, whereas these human beings had perverted themselves to worship an unholy hierarchy they barely understood.

  Sepiriz had given them their route and they galloped across the turbulent land towards the capital—Hwamgaarl, City of Screaming Statues.

  Pan Tang was an island of green, obsidian rock that gave off bizarre reflections; rock that seemed alive.

  Soon they could see the looming walls of Hwamgaarl in the distance. As they drew nearer, an army of black-cowled swordsmen, chanting a particularly horrible litany, seemed to rise from the ground ahead and block their way.

  Elric had no time to spare for these, recognisable as a detachment of Jagreen Lern’s warrior-priests.

  “Up, steed!” he cried, and the Nihrain horse leapt skywards, passing over the disconcerted priests with a fantastic bound. Moonglum did likewise, his laughter mocking the swordsmen as he and his friend thundered on towards Hwamgaarl. Their way was clear for some distance, since Jagreen Lern had evidently expected the detachment to hold the pair for a long time. But, when the City of Screaming Statues was barely a mile away, the ground began to grumble and gaping cracks split its surface. This did not overly disturb them, for the Nihrain horses had no use for earthly terrain in any case.

  The sky above heaved and shook itself, the darkness became flushed with streaks of luminous ebony, and from the fissures in the ground, monstrous shapes sprang up!

  Vulture-headed lions, fifteen feet high, prowled in hungry anticipation towards them, their feathered manes rustling as they approached.