«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.
«So be it, » Elric's tone was stubborn, »do you think I wish the memory to live on-the memory of evil, ruin and destruction? The memory of a man with deficient blood in his veins-a man called Friends-layer, Woman-slayer and many other such names?»
Darnizhaan spoke urgently, almost in terror. «Elric, you have been duped! Somewhere you have been given a conscience. You must join with us. Only if the Lords of Chaos can establish their reign will we survive. If they fail, we shall be obliterated! »
«Good.»
«Limbo, Elric. Limbo! Do you understand what that means?»
«I do not care. Where is my wife?» Elric blocked the truth from his mind, blocked out the terror in the meaning of the Dead God's words. He could not afford to listen or fully to comprehend. He must save Zarozinia.
«I have brought the swords, » said he, «and wish my wife to be returned to me.»
«Very well, » the Dead God smiled hugely in his relief. «At least if we keep the blades, in their true shape, beyond the earth, we may be able to retain control of the world. In your hands they could destroy not only us but you, your world, all that you represent. Beasts would rule the earth for millions of years before the age of intelligence began again. And it would be a duller age than this. We do not wish it to occur. But if you had kept the swords, it would have come about almost inevitably! »
«Oh, be silent! » Elric cried. «For a god, you talk too much. Take the swords-and give me back my wife! »
At the Dead God's command, some of the acolytes scampered away. Elric saw their gleaming bodies disappear into the darkness. He waited nervously until they returned, carrying the struggling body of Zarozinia. They set her on the ground and Elric saw that her face bore the blank look of hock.
«Zarozinia! »
The girl's eyes roamed about before they saw Elric. She began to move towards him' but the acolytes held her bade, giggling. Darnizhaan stretched forward two gigantic, glowing hands.
«The swords first.»
Elric and Dyvim Slorm put them into his hands. The Dead God straightened up, clutching his prizes and roaring his mirth. Zarozinia was now released and she ran forward to grasp her husband's hand, weeping and trembling. Elric leant down and stroked her hair, too disturbed to say anything.
Then he turned to Dyvim Slorffl, shouting: «Let us see if our plan will work, cousin! »
Elric stared up at Stormbringer writhing in Daraizhaan's grasp. «Stormbringer! Kerana soliem, o'glara...»
Dyvim Slorm also called to Mournblade in the Ancient Tongue of Melnibone, the mystic, sorcerous tongue which had been used for rune-casting and demon-raising all through Melnibone's twenty thousand years of history.
Together, they commanded the blades, as if they were actually wielding them in their hands, so that merely by shouting orders, Elric and Dyviro Slorm began their work. This was the remembered quality of both blades when paired in a common fight. The blades twisted in Darnizhaan's glowing hands. He started backwards, his shape faltering, sometimes manlike, sometimes beastlike, sometimes totally alien. But he was evidently horrified, this god.
Now the swords wrenched themselves from the clutching hands and turned on him. He fought against them, fending them off as they wove about in the air, whining malevolently, triumphantly, attacking him with vicious power. At Elric's command, Stormbringer slashed at the supernatural being and Dyvim Slorm's Mournblade followed its example. Because the runeblades were also supernatural, Darnizhaan was harmed dreadfully whenever they struck his form.
«Elric! » he raved, »Elric - you do not know what you are doing! Stop them! Stop them; You should have listened more carefully to what I told you. Stop them! »
But Elric in his hate and malice urged on the blades, made them plunge into the Dead God's being time after time so that his shape sometimes faltered, faded, the colours of its bright beauty dulling. The acolytes fled upwards into the vale, convinced that their lord was doomed. Their lord, also, was so convinced. He made one lunge towards the mounted men and then the fabric of his being began to shred before the blades' attack; wisps of his body-stuff seemed to break away and drift into the air to be swallowed by the black night
Viciously and ferociously, Elric goaded the blades while Dyvim Slorm's voice blended with his in a cruel joy to see the bright being destroyed.
«Fools! » he screamed, «in destroying me, you destroy yourselves! »
But Elric did not listen and at last there was nothing left of the Dead God and the swords crept back to lie contentedly in their masters' hands.
Quickly, with a sudden shudder, Elric scabbarded Stormbringer.
He dismounted and helped his girl-wife on to the back of his great stallion and then swung up into the saddle again. It was very quiet in the Vale of Xanyaw.
Six
Three people, bent in their saddles with weariness, reached the Chasm of Nihrain days later. They rode down the twisting paths into the black depths of the mountain city and were there welcomed by Sepiriz whose face was grave. though his words were encouraging.
«So you were successful, Elric, » he said with a small smile.
Elric paused while he dismounted and aided Zarozinia down. He turned to Sepriz. «I am not altogether satisfied with this adventure, » he said grimly, »though I did what I had to in order to save my wife. I would speak with you privately, Sepiriz.»
The black Nihrainian nodded gravely. «When we have eaten, » he said, »we will talk alone.»
They walked wearily through the galleries, noting that there was considerably more activity in the city now, but there was no sign of Sepiriz's nine brothers. He explained their absence as he led Elric and his companions towards his own chamber. «As servants of Fate they have been called to another plane where they can observe something of the several different possible futures of the earth and thus keep me informed of what I must do here.»