-The Chronicle of the Black Sword
CHAPTER ONE
Tanelorn Eternal
Tanelorn had taken many forms in her endless existence, but all those forms, save one, had been beautiful.
She was beautiful now, with the soft sunlight on her pastel towers and her curved turrets and domes. And banners flew from her spires, but they were not battle banners, for the warriors who had found Tanelorn and had stayed there were weary of war.
She had been here always. None knew when Tanelorn had been built, but some knew that she had existed before Tune and would exist after the end of Time and that was why she was known as Eternal Tanelorn.
She had played a significant role in the struggles of many heroes and many gods and because she existed beyond Tune she was hated by the Lords of Chaos who had more than once sought to destroy her. To the north of her lay the rolling plains of Ilmiora, a land where justice was known to prevail, and to the south of her lay desolation which was the Sighing Desert, endless wasteland over which hissed a constant wind. If Ilmiora represented Law, then the Sighing Desert certainly mirrored something of the barrenness of Ultimate Chaos. Those who dwelled in her had loyalty neither to Law nor to Chaos and they had chosen to have no part in the Cosmic Struggle which was waged continuously by the Lords of the Higher Worlds. There were no leaders and there were no followers in Tanelorn and her citizens lived in harmony with each other, even
though many had been warriors of great reputation before they chose to stay there. But one of the most admired citizens of Tanelorn, one who was often consulted by the others, was Rackhir of the ascetic features who had once been a fierce warrior-priest in P'hum where he had gained the name of the Red Archer because his skill with a bow was great and he dressed all in scarlet. His skill and his dress remained the same, but his urge to fight had left him since he had come to live in Tanelorn.
Close to the low west wall of the city lay a house of two storeys surrounded by a lawn in which grew all manner of wild flowers. The house was of pink and yellow marble and, unlike most of the other dwellings in Tanelorn, it had a tall, pointed roof. This was Rackhir's house and Rackhir sat outside it now, sprawled on a bench of plain wood while he watched his guest pace the lawn. The guest was his old friend the tormented albino Prince of Melnibone.
Elric wore a simple white shirt and britches of heavy black silk. He had a band of the same black silk tied around his head to keep back the mane of milk-white hair which grew to his shoulders. His crimson eyes were downcast as he paced and he did not look at Rackhir at all.
Rackhir was unwilling to intrude upon his friend's reverie and yet he hated to see Elric as he was now. He had hoped that Tanelorn would comfort the albino, drive away the ghosts and the doubts inhabiting his skull, but it seemed that even Tanelorn could not bring Elric tranquillity.
At last Rackhir broke his silence. "It has been a month since you came to Tanelorn, my friend, yet still you pace, still you brood."
Elric looked up with a slight smile. "Aye-still I brood. Forgive me, Rackhir. I am a poor guest."
"What occupies your thoughts?"
"No particular subject. It seems that I cannot lose myself in all this peace. Only violent action helps me
drive away my melancholy. I was not meant for Tanelorn, Rackhir."
"But violent action-or the results of it-produces further melancholy does it not?"
"It is true. It is the dilemma with which I live constantly. It is a dilemma I have been in since the burning of Imrryr-perhaps before."
"It is a dilemma known to all men, perhaps, " Rackhir said. "At least to some degree."
"Aye-to wonder what purpose there is to one's existence and what point there is to purpose, even if it should be discovered."
"Tanelorn makes such problems seem meaningless to me, " Rackhir told him. "I had hoped that you, too, would be able to dismiss them from your thoughts. Will you stay on in Tanelorn?"
"I have no other plans. I still thirst for vengeance upon Theleb K'aarna, but I now have no idea of his whereabouts. And, as you or Moonglum told me, Theleb K'aarna is sure to seek me out sooner or later. I remember once, when you first found Tanelorn, you suggested that I bring Cymoril here and forget Melnibone. I wish I had listened to you then, Rackhir, for now, I think, I would know peace and Cymoril's dead face would not be infesting my nights."
"You mentioned this sorceress who, you said, resembled Cymoril...?"
"Myshella? She who is called Empress of the Dawn? I first saw her in a dream and when I left her side it was I who was in a dream. We served each other to achieve a common purpose. I shall not see her again."
"But if she-"
"I shall not see her again, Rackhir."
"As you say."
Once more the two friends fell silent and there was only birdsong and the splash of fountains in the air as Elric continued his pacing of the garden.
Some while later Elric suddenly turned on his heel
and went into the house followed by Rackhir's troubled gaze.
When Elric came out again he was wearing the great wide belt around his waist-the belt which supported the black scabbard containing his runesword Stormbringer. Over his shoulders was flung a cloak of white silk and he wore high boots.
"I go riding, " he said. "I will go by myself into the Sighing Desert and I will ride until I am exhausted. Perhaps exercise is all I need."
"Be careful of the desert, my friend, " Rackhir cautioned him. "It is a sinister and treacherous wilderness."
"I will be careful."
"Take the big golden mare. She is used to the desert and her stamina is legendary."
"Thank you. I will see you in the morning if I do not return earlier."
"Take care, Elric. I trust your remedy is successful and your melancholy disappears."
Rackhir's expression had little of relief in it as he watched his friend stride towards the near-by stables, his white cloak billowing behind him like a sea fog suddenly risen.
Then he heard the sound of Elric's horse as its hooves struck the cobbles of the street and Rackhir got to his feet to watch as the albino urged the golden mare into a canter and headed for the northern wall beyond which the great yellow waste of the Sighing Desert could be seen.
Moonglum came out of the house, a large apple in his hand, a scroll under his arm.
"Where goes Elric, Rackhir?"
"He looks for peace in the desert."
Moonglum frowned and bit thoughtfully into his apple. "He has sought peace in all other places and I fear he'll not find it there, either."
Rackhir nodded his agreement. "But it is my premonition he'll discover something else, for Elric is not always motivated by his own wishes. There are
times when other forces work within him to make him take some fateful action."
"You think this is such a time?"
"It could be."
CHAPTER TWO
Return of a Sorceress
The sand rippled as the wind blew it so that the dunes seemed like waves in an almost petrified sea. Stark fangs of rock jutted here and therethe remains of mountain ranges which had been eroded by the wind. And a mournful sighing could just be heard, as if the sand remembered when it had been rock and the stones of cities and the bones of men and beasts and longed for its resurrection, sighed at the memory of its death.
Elric drew the cloak's cowl over Ms head to protect it from the fierce sun which hung in the steel-blue sky.
One day, he thought, I too shall know this peace of death and perhaps then I shall also regret it. He let the golden mare slow to a trot and took a sip of water from one of his canteens.