«That is not true. We recovered it-that was part of Fate's purpose for us. We have it here in Nihrain. The blades were forged for your ancestors who drove the Dead Gods away by means of them. They were made by other unhuman smiths who were also enemies of the Dead Gods. These smiths were compelled to combat evil with evil, although they, themselves, were not pledged to Chaos, but to Law. They forged the swords for several reasons-ridding the world of the Dead Gods was but one! »

«The other reasons?»

«Those you shall learn in times to come-for our relationship will not be ended until the whole destiny has been worked out. We are obliged not to reveal the other reasons until the proper time. You have a dangerous destiny, Elric, and I do not envy it»

«But what is the message you have?» Elric said impatiently.

«Due to the disturbance created by Jagreen Lern, one of the Dead Gods has been enabled to return to earth, as I told you. He has gathered acolytes about him. They kidnapped your wife.»

Elric felt a mood of deep despair creep over him. Must he defy such power as this?

«Why...?» he whispered.

«Darnizhaan is aware that Zarozinia is important to you. He wishes to barter her for the two swords. We, in this matter, are merely messengers. We must give up the sword we keep at the request of you or Dyvim Slorm, for they rightfully belong to any of the royal line. Darnizhaan's terms are simple. He will dispatch Zarozinia to Limbo unless you give him the blades which threaten his existence. Her death, it would not be death as we know it, would be unpleasant and eternal.»

«And if I agreed to do that, what would happen?»

«All the Dead Gods would return. Only the power of the swords keeps them from doing so now! »

«And what would happen if the Dead Gods came back?»

«Even without the Dead Gods, Chaos threatens to conquer the planet, but with them it would be utterly invincible, its effect immediate. Evil would sweep the world. Chaos would plunge this earth into a stinking inferno of terror and destruction. You have already had a taste of what is happening, and Darnizhaan has only been back for a short time.»

«You mean the defeat of Yishana's armies and the conquest by Sarosto and Jagreen Lern?»

«Exactly. Jagreen Lern has a pact with Chaos-all the Lords of Chaos, not merely the Dead Gods-for Chaos fears Fate's plan for earth's future and would attempt to tamper with it by gaining domination of our planet The Lords of Chaos are strong enough without the help of the Dead Gods. Darnizhaan must be destroyed.»

«I have an impossible choice, Sepiriz. If I give up Stormbringer I can probably survive on herbs and the like. But if I do give it up for Zarozinia, then Chaos will be unleashed to its full extent and I will have a monstrous crime upon my conscience.»

«The choice is yours alone to make.»

Elric deliberated but could think of no way of solving the problem.

«Bring the other blade, » he said at last.

Sepiriz rejoined them a while later, with a scabbarded sword that seemed little different from Stormbringer.

«So, Elric is the prophecy explained?» he asked, still keeping hold of Mournblade.

«Aye-here is the twin of that I bear. But the last part where are we to go?»

«I will tell you in a moment. Though the Dead Gods, and the powers of Chaos, are aware that we possess the sister blade, they do not know whom we really serve. Pate, as I told you, is our master, and Fate has wrought a fabric for this earth which would be hard to alter. But it could be altered and we are entrusted to see that Fate is not cheated. You are about to undergo a test. How you fare in it, what your decision is, will decide what we must tell you upon your return to Nihrain.»

«You wish me to return here?»

«Yes.»

«Give me Mournblade, » Elric said quickly. Sepiriz handed him the sword and Elric stood there with one twin blade in each hand, as if weighing something between them.

Both blades seemed to moan in recognition and their powers swam through his body so that he seemed to be built of steel-hard fire.

«I remember now that I hold them both that their powers are greater than I realise. There is one quality they possess when paired, a quality we may be able to use against this Dead God.» He frowned. «But more of that in a moment.» He stared sharply at Sepiriz. «Now tell me, where is Darnizhaan?»

«The Vale of Xanyaw in Myyrrhn! »

Elric handed Mournblade to Dyvim Slorm who accepted it gingerly.

«What will your choice be?» Sepiriz asked.

«Who knows?» Elric said with bitter gaiety. «Perhaps there is a way to beat this Dead God...»

«But I tell you this, Sepiriz - given the opportunity I shall make that God rue his homecoming, for he has done the one thing that can move me to real anger. And the anger of Elric of Melnibone and his sword Stormbringer can destroy the world! »

Sepiriz rose from his chair, his eyebrows lifting.

«And gods, Elric, can it destroy gods?»

Elric rode like a giant scarecrow, gaunt and rigid on the massive back of the Nihramian steed. His grim face was set fast in a mask that hid emotion and his crimson eyes burned like coals in their sunken socket'. The wind whipped his hair this way and that, but he sat straight, staring ahead, one long-fingered hand gripping Stormbringer's hilt.

Occasionally Dyvim Slonn, who bore Mournblade both proudly and warily, heard the blade moan to its sister and felt it shudder at his side. Only later did he begin to ask himself what the blade might make him, what it would give him and demand of him. After that, he kept his hand away from it as much as possible.

Close to the borders of Myyrrhn, a pack of Dharijorian hirelings-native Jharkorians in the livery of their conquerors-came upon them. Unsavoury louts they were, who should have known better than to ride across Elric's path. They steered their horses towards the pair, grinning. The black plumes of their helmets nodded, armour straps creaked and metal clanked. The leader, a squint-eyed bully with an axe at his belt, pulled his mount short in front of Elric.

At a direction from its master, the albino's horse came to a stop. His expression unchanged, Elric drew Stormbringer in an economic, catlike gesture. Dyvim Slonn copied him, eyeing the silently laughing men. He was surprised at how easily the blade sprang from its scabbard.

Then, with no challenges, Elric began to fight.

He fought like an automaton, quickly, efficiently, expressionlessly, cleaving the leader's shoulder plate in a stroke that cut through the man from shoulder to stomach in one raking movement which peeled back armour and flesh, rupturing the body so that a great scarlet gash appeared in the black metal and the leader wept as he slowly died, sprawling for a moment over his horse before slumping from the mount one leg high, caught in a stirrup strap.

Stormbringer let out a great metallic purr of pleasure and Elric directed arm and blade about him, emotionlessly slaving the horsemen as if they were unarmed and chained, so little chance did they have.

Dyvim Slonn unused to the semi-sentient Mournblade, tried to wield her like an ordinary sword but she moved in his hand, making cleverer strokes than he. A peculiar sense of power, at once sensual and cool poured into him and he heard his voice veiling exultantly, realised what his ancestors must have been like in war.

The fight was quickly done with and leaving the souldrained corpses on the ground behind them, they were soon in the land of Myyrrhn. Both blades had now been commonly blooded.

Elric was now better able to think and act coherently, but he could spare nothing for Dyvim Slonn while intratemporally asking nothing of his cousin who rode at his side, frustrated in that he was not called upon for his help.