"Though strong, Stormbringer," he said to his sword, "I wonder if you'll be strong enough to war in this world as well as giving my body vitality. Let's test you."
He advanced to the gate and drawing back his arm delivered a mighty blow upon it with the runesword. The metal rang and a dent appeared. Again he struck, this time holding the sword with both hands, but then a voice cried from his right.
"What demon would disturb dead Roland's rest?"
"Who speaks the language of Melnibone?" Elric retorted boldly.
"I speak the language of demons, for I perceive that is what you are. I know of no Mulnebooney and am well-versed in the ancient mysteries."
"A proud boast," said Elric, who had not yet seen the speaker. She emerged, then, from around the barrow, and stood staring at him from out of her glowing green eyes. She had a long, beautiful face and was almost as pale as himself, though her hair was jet black. "What's your name?" he asked. "And are you a native of this world?"
"I am named Vivian, an enchantress, but earthly enough. Your Master knows the name of Vivian who once loved Roland, though he was too upright to indulge her, for she is immortal and a witch." She laughed good-humouredly. "Therefore I am familiar with demons of your like and do not fear you. Aroint thee! Aroint thee-or shall I call Bishop Turpin to exorcise thee?"
"Some of your words," said Elric courteously, "are unfamiliar and the speech of my folk much garbled. Are you some guardian of this hero's tomb?"
"Self-made guardian, aye. Now go!" She pointed towards the stone slabs.
"That is not possible. The corpse within has something of value to me. The Horn of Fate we call it, but you know it by another name."
"Olifant! But that's a blessed instrument. No demon would dare touch it. Even I…"
"I am no demon. I'm sufficiently human, I swear. Now stand aside. This cursed door resists my efforts too well."
"Aye," she said thoughtfully. "You could be a man-though an unlikely one. But the white face and hair, the red eyes, the tongue you speak…"
"Sorcerer I be, but no demon. Please-stand aside."
She looked carefully into his face and her look disturbed him. He took her by her shoulder. She felt real enough, yet somehow she had little real presence. It was as if she were far away rather than close to him. They stared at one another, both curious, both troubled. He whispered: "What knowledge could you have of my language? Is this world a dream of mine or of the gods? It seems scarcely tangible. Why?"
She heard him. "Say you so of us? What of your ghostly self? You seem an apparition from the dead past!"
"From the past! Aha-and you are of the future, as yet unformed. Perhaps that brings us to a conclusion?"
She did not pursue the topic but said suddenly: "Stranger, you will never break this door down. If you can touch Olifant, that speaks of you as mortal, despite your appearance. You must need the horn for an important task."
Elric smiled. "Aye-for if I do not take it back whence it came, you will never exist!"
She frowned. "Hints! Hints! I feel close to a discovery yet cannot grasp why, and that's unusual for Vivian. Here-" she took a big key from her gown and offered it to him-"this is the key to open Roland's tomb. It is the only one. I had to kill to get it, but oftimes I venture into the gloom of his grave to stare down at his face and pine that I might revive him and keep him living for ever on my island home. Take the horn! Rouse him-and when he has slain you, he will come to me and my warmth, my offer of everlasting life, rather than lie in that cold place again. Go-be slain by Roland!"
He took the key.
"Thanks, Lady Vivian. If it were possible to convince one who in truth did not yet exist, I would tell you that Roland's slaying of me would be worse for you than if I am successful."
He put the large key in the lock and it turned easily. The doors swung open and he saw that a long, low-roofed corridor twisted before him. Unhesitatingly, he advanced down it towards a flickering light that he could see through the cold and misty gloom. Yet, as he walked, it was as if he glided in a dream less real than that he had experienced the previous night. Now he entered the funeral chamber, illuminated by tall candles surrounding the bier of a man who lay upon it dressed in armour of a crude and unfamiliar design, a huge broadsword, almost as large as Stormbringer gripped to his chest and, upon the hilt, attached to his neck by a silver chain-the Horn of Fate, Olifant!
The man's face, seen in the candlelight, was strange; old and yet with a youthful appearance, the brow smooth and the features unlined.
Elric took Stormbringer in his left hand and reached out to grasp the horn. He made no attempt at caution, but wrenched it off Roland's neck.
A great roar came from the hero's throat. Immediately he had raised himself to a sitting position, the sword shifting into his two hands, his legs swinging off the bier. His eyes widened as he saw Elric with the horn in his hands, and he jumped at the albino, the sword Durandana whistling downwards towards Elric's head. He raised the shield and blocked the blow, slipped the horn into his jerkin and, backing away, returned Stormbringer to his right hand. Roland was now shouting something in a language completely unfamiliar to Elric. He did not bother trying to understand, since the angry tones were sufficient to tell him the knight was not suggesting a peaceful negotiation.
He continued defending himself without once carrying the offensive to Roland, backing inch by inch down the long tunnel towards the barrow's mouth. Every time Durandana struck the Chaos Shield, both sword and shield gave out wild notes of great intensity. Implacably the hero continued to press Elric backwards, his broadsword whirling and striking the shield, sometimes the blade, with fantastic strength. Then they had broken into daylight and Roland seemed momentarily blinded. Elric glimpsed Vivian watching them eagerly for it appeared Roland was winning.
However, in daylight and with no chance of avoiding the angered knight, Elric retaliated with all the energy he had been saving until this moment. Shield high, sword swinging, he now took the attack, surprising Roland who was evidently unused to this behaviour on the part of an opponent. Stormbringer snarled as it bit into Roland's poorly forged armour of iron, riveted with big unsightly nails, painted on the front with a dull red cross that was a scarcely adequate insignia for so famous a hero. But there was no mistaking Durandana's powers for, though seemingly as crudely forged as the armour, it did not lose its edge and threatened to bite through the Chaos Shield with every stroke. Elric's left arm was numb from the blows and his right arm ached. Lord Donblas had not lied to him when he had said that the strength of his weapons would be diminished on this world.
Roland paused, shouting something, but Elric did not heed him, seized his opportunity and rushed in to crush his shield against Roland's body. The knight reeled and staggered, his sword giving off a keening note. Elric struck at a gap between Roland's helmet and gorget. The head sprang off the shoulders and rolled grotesquely away, but no blood pumped from the jugular. The eyes of the head remained open, staring at Elric.
Vivian screamed and shouted something in the same language which Roland had used. Elric stepped back, his face grim.
"Oh, his legend, his legend!" she cried. "The only hope the people have is that Roland will some day ride once more to their aid. Now you have slain him! Fiend!"
"Possessed I may be," he said quietly as she sobbed by the headless corpse, "but I was ordained by the gods to do this work. I'll take my leave of your drab world, now."