Elric let his mind drift about in time, encompassing past, present and future and forming it into a whole-a pattern. He was suspicious of pattern, disliking shape, for he did not trust it. To him, life was chaotic, chance-dominated, unpredictable. It was a trick, an illusion of the mind, to be able to see a pattern to it.

He knew a few things, judged nothing.

He knew he bore a sword which physically and psychologically he needed to bear. It was an unalterable admission of a weakness in him, a lack of confidence in either himself or the philosophy of cause and effect. He believed himself a realist

Through the bleak night they rode, buffeted by a vicious wind.

And as they came closer to the Vale of Xanyaw, the whole sky, the earth, the air became filled with heavy, throbbing music. Melodious, sensual, great chords of sound, on and on it rose and fell, and following it came the white-faced ones.

Each had a black cowl and a sword which split at the end into three curved barbs. Each grinned a fixed grin. The music followed them as they came running like mad things at the two men who reined in their horses, restraining the urge to turn and flee. Elric had seen horrors in his life, had seen much that would make others insane, but for some reason these shocked him more deeply than any. They were men, ordinary men by the look of them-but men possessed by an unholy spirit.

Prepared to defend themselves, Elric and Dyvim Slonn drew their blades and waited for the encounter, but none came. The music and the men rushed past them and away beyond them in the direction from which they had come.

Overhead, suddenly, they heard the beat of wings, a shriek from out of the sky and a ghastly wail. Fleeing, two women rushed by and Elric was disturbed to sec that the women were from the winged race of Myyrrhn, but were wingless. These, unlike a woman Elric remembered, had had their wings deliberately hacked off. They paid no attention to the two riders, but disappeared, running into the night, their eyes blank and their faces insane.

«What is happening, Elric?» cried Dyvim Slorm, resheathing his runeblade, his other hand striving to control the prancing horse.

«I know not what does happen in a place where the Dead Gods' rule has come back?» All was rushing noise and confusion; the night was full of movement and terror.

«Come! » Elric slapped his sword against his mount's rump and sent the beast into a jerking gallop, forcing himself and the steed forward into the terrible night.

Then mighty laughter greeted them as they rode between hills into the Vale of Xanyaw. The valley was pitch-black; and alive with menace, the very hills seeming sentient. They slowed their pace as they lost their sense of direction, and Elric had to call to his unseen cousin, to make sure he was still close. The echoing laughter sounded again, roaring from out of the dark, so that the earth shook. It was as if the whole planet laughed in ironic mirth at their efforts to control their fears and push on through the valley.

Elric wondered if he had been betrayed and this was a trap set by the Dead Gods. What proof had he that Zarozinia was here? Why had he trusted Sepiriz? Something slithered against his leg as it passed him and he put his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it.

But then, shooting upwards into the dark sky, there arose, seemingly from the very earth, a huge figure which barred their way. Hands on hips, wreathed in golden light, a face of an ape, somehow blended with another shape to give it dignity and wild grandeur, its body alive and dancing with colour and light, its lips grinning with delight and knowledge - Darnizhaan, the Dead God!

«Finer»

«Darnizhaan! » cried Elric fiercely, craning his head to stare up at the Dead God's face. He felt no fear now. «I have come for my wife! »

Around the Dead God's heels appeared acolytes with wide lips and pale, triangular faces, conical caps on their heads and madness in their eyes. They giggled and shrilled and shivered in the light of Darnizhaan's grotesque and beautiful body. They gibbered at the two riders and mocked them, but they did not move away from the Dead God's heels.

Elric sneered. «Degenerate and pitiful minions.» he said.

«Not so pitiful as you, Elric of Melnibone.» laughed the Dead God. «Have you come to bargain, or to give your wife's soul into my custody, so that she may spend eternity 's dying?»

Elric did not let his hate show on his face.

«I would destroy you; it is instinctive for me to do so. But-» The Dead God smiled, almost with pity. «You must be destroyed, Elric. You are an anachronism. Your Time is gone.»

«Speak for yourself, Darnizhaan! »

«I could destroy you.»

«But you will not.» Though passionately hating the being, Eric also felt a disturbing sense of comradeship for the Dead God. Both of them represented an age that was gone; neither were really part of the new earth.

Then I will destroy her.» the Dead God said. «That I could do with impunity.»

«Zarozinia! Where is she?»

Once again Darnizhaan's mighty laughter shook the Vale of Xanyaw. «Oh, what have the old folk come to? There was a time when no man of Melnibone, particularly of the royal line, would admit to caring for another mortal soul, especially if they belonged to the beast-race, the new race of the age you call that of the Young Kingdoms. What? Are you noting with animals, King of Melnibone? Where is your blood, your cruel and brilliant blood? Where the glorious malice? Where the evil, Elric! »

Peculiar emotions stirred in Elric as he remembered his ancestors, the sorcerer emperors of the Dragon Isle. He realised that the Dead God was deliberately awakening these emotions and, with an effort, he refused to let them dominate him.

«That is past, » he shouted, »a new time has come upon the earth. Our time will soon be gone - and yours is over! »

«No, Elric. Mark my words, whatever happens. The dawn is over and will soon be swept away like dead leaves before the wind of morning. The earth's history has not even begun. You, your ancestors, these men of the new races even, you are nothing but a prelude to history. You will all be forgotten if the real history of the world begins. But we can avert that-we can survive, conquer the earth and hold it against the Lords of Law, against Fate herself, against the Cosmic Balance-we can continue to live, but you must give me the swords! «

«I fail to understand you, » Elric said, his lips thin and his teeth tight in his skull. «I am here to bargain or do battle for my wife.»

«You do not understand, » the Dead God guffawed, »because we are all of us, gods and men, but shadows playing puppet parts before the true play begins. You would best not fight me-rather side with me, for I know the truth. We share a common destiny. We do not, any of us, exist. The old folk are doomed, you, myself and my brothers, unless you give me the swords. We must not fight one another. Share our frightful knowledge-the knowledge that turned us insane. There is nothing. Elric - no past, present, or future. We do not exist, any of us! »

Elric shook his head quickly. «I do not understand you, still. I would not understand you if I could. I desire only the return of my wife-not baffling conundrums! »

Darnizhaan laughed again. «No! You shall not have the woman unless we are given control of the swords. You do not realise their properties. They were not only designed to destroy us or exile us-their destiny is to destroy the world as we know it. If you retain them, Elric, you will be responsible for wiping out your own memory for those who come after you.»

«I'd welcome that, » Elric said, Dyvim Slorm remained silent, not altogether in sympathy with Elric. The Dead God's argument seemed to contain truth.

Darnizhaan shook his body so that the golden light danced and its area widened momentarily. «Keep the swords and all of us will be as we had never existed, » he said impatiently.