«Aahh», the Sea King nodded, «yet even if you are successful and the seats unspoiled, it will mean the passing of us both, will it not?»
«True.»
«Then let it be so, for I at least am weary of my long existence. But come-now I must return to my folk and hope to withstand Chaos for -a little longer. Farewell! »
And the Sea King sank into the waves again and vanished.
When they eventually reached the Fortress of Evening, heralds ran out to assist them.
«How went the battle? Where is the fleet?» one asked Moonglum.
«Have the survivors not yet returned?»
«Survivors? Then...?»
«We were defeated.» Elric said hollowly. «Is my wife still here?»
«No, she left soon after the fleet sailed, riding for Karlaak.»
«Good. At least we shall have time to erect new defences against Chaos before they reach that far. Now, we must have food and wine. We must devise a fresh plan of battle.»
«Battle, my lord? With what shall we fight?»
«We shall see, » Elric said, «we shall see.»
Later, they watched as the battered remnants of the fleet began to sail into the harbour. Moonglum counted despairingly.
«Too few.» he said. «This is a black day.» From behind them in the courtyard a trumpet sounded.
«An arrival from the mainland, » Dyvim Storm said.
They strode together down to the courtyard, in time to see a scarlet-clad archer dismounting from his horse. His near fleshless face might have been carved from bone. He stooped with weariness.
Elric was surprised. «Rackhir! You command the Ilmioran coast Why are you here?»
«We were driven back. The Theocrat launched not one fleet but two. The other came in from the Pale Sea and took us by surprise. Our defences were crushed. Chaos swept in and we were forced to flee. The enemy has established itself less than a hundred miles from Bakshaan and marches across country-if march is the word, rather it flows. Presumably it expects to meet up with the army the Theocrat intends to land here.»
«Aaahh, we are surely defeated...» Moonglum's voice was little more than a sigh.
«We must have that shield, Elric, » Dyvim Slorm said. Elric frowned, his heart sinking. «Any further steps we take against Chaos will be doomed unless we have its protection. You, Rackhir, will be the fourth man in the prophecy.» «What prophecy?»
«I’ll explain later. Are you fit enough to ride back with us now?»
«Give me two hours to sleep and then I will be.»
«Good. Two hours. Make your preparations, my friends, for we go to claim the sad giant's shield! »
It was not until three days' later that they met the first survivors, many of them with bodies twisted by Chaos, straggling along a white road that lead towards Jadmar, a city still free.
Of them, they learned that half Ilmiora, parts of Vilmir and the tiny independent kingdom of Org, had all fallen. Chaos was closing in, its shadow spreading more and more swiftly as its conquests increased.
It was with relief that Elric and his companions finally reached Karlaak to find it so far not under attack. But reports placed the armies of Chaos less than two hundred miles away and marching in that direction.
Zarozinia greeted Elric with trouble-tinged joy. «There were rumours you were dead-killed to the sea battle.»
Elric clasped her to him.
«I cannot stay long, » he said, «I have a mission beyond the Signing Desert.»
«I know.»
«You know? How?»
«Sepiriz was here. He left a gift in our stables for yon. Four Nihrain horses.»
«A useful gift. They may carry us far more swiftly than any other beasts. But will that be swift enough? I hesitate to leave you here with Chaos encroaching at such a rate.»
«You must leave me, Elric. If all seems lost here, we shall flee into the Weeping Waste. Even Jagreen Lern can have scant interest in the barrens.»
«Promise me that you will.»
«I promise.»
Feeling a little more relieved. Elric took her by the hand. «I spent the most restful period of my life in this palace, » he said. «Let me spend this last night with you and perhaps we shall find a little of the old peace we once had-before I ride on to the sad giant's lair.»
So they made love, but when they slept, their dreams were so full of dark portent that each wakened the other with their groans so that they lay side by side, clinging to one another until the dawn, when Elric rose, kissed her lightly, clasped her hand and then went to the stables where he found his friends waiting-around a fourth figure. It was Sepiriz.
«Sepiriz, thanks for your gift. They will probably make the difference between our being too late or not, » Elric said sincerely. «But why are you here now?»
«Because I can perform another small service before your main journey begins, » said the black seer. «All of you save Moonglum have weapons endowed with some special power. Elric and Dyvim Slonn have their runeblades, Rackhir, the Arrows of Law, which the sorcerer Lamsar gave him at the time of the Siege of Tanelorn - but Moonglum’s weapon has nothing save the skill of its bearer.»
«I think I prefer it thus, » retorted Moonglum. «I've seen what a charmed blade can take from a man.»
«I can give you nothing so strong-nor so evil - as Stormbringer, » Sepiriz said. «But I have a charm for your sword, a slight one that my contact with the White Lords has enabled me to use. Give me your sword, Moonglum.» A trifle unwillingly, Moonglum unsheathed his curved steel made and banded it to the Nihrain who took a small engraving tool from his robe and, whispering a rune, scratched several symbols on the sword near its hilt then he gave it back to the Eastlander.
«There. Now the sword has the blessing of Law and you will find it more able to withstand Law's enemies.»
Elric said impatiently. «We must ride now, Sepiriz, for time grows desperately short.»
«Ride, men. But be wary for patrolling bands of Jagreen Lern's warriors. I do not think they will be anywhere along your route when you journey there-but watch for them coming back.»
They mounted the magical Nihrain steeds which had it, helped Elric more than once, and rode away from Karlaak by the Weeping Waste. Rode away perhaps for ever.
In a short while they had entered the Weeping Waste, for thus was the quickest route to the Signing Desert. Rackhir alone knew this country well, and he guided them. The Nihrain steeds, treading the ground of their own strange plane, seemed literally to fly for it could be observed that their hooves did not touch the damp grasses of the Weeping Waste. They moved at incredible speed and Rackir, until he became used to the pace, gripped his reins tightly.
In this place of eternal rainfall, the land ahead was difficult to see, and the drizzle spread down their faces and into their eyes as they peered through it, trying to make out the high mountain range, which ran along the edge of the Weeping Waste, separating it from the Signing Desert. Then at last, after a journey of a day, they could observe the high crags with their tops lost in cloud and soon, thanks to the marvellous speed of the Nihrain stallions, they were riding through the deep gorges and the rain ceased until, on the evening of the second day, the breeze became warm and finally harsh and hot as they left the mountains and felt the famous rays of the sun blazing down on them, knowing they had come to the edge of the Signing Desert. This wind coughed constantly over the barren sand and rocks, its continuous Signing giving the desert its name.
They protected their faces, particularly their eyes, with their hoods as best they could, for the stinging sand was ever present.
Resting only for a few hours at a time, Rackhir directing them, they allowed the horses to carry them at ten times the speed of ordinary steeds, further and further into the depths of the vast desert.