"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.
Now the desert surrounded him and it seemed infinite. Nothing grew. No animals lived there. There were no birds in the sky.
For some reason he shuddered and he had a presentiment of a moment in the future when he would be alone, as he was now, in a world even more barren than this desert, without even a horse for company. He shook off the thought, but it had left him so stunned that for a little while he achieved his ambition and did not brood upon his fate and his situation. The wind dropped slightly and the sighing became little more than a whisper.
Dazed, Elric fingered the pommel of his bladeStormbringer, the Black Sword-for he associated his
presentiment with the weapon but could not tell why. And it seemed to him that he heard an ironic note in the murmuring of the wind. Or did the sound emanate from his sword itself? He cocked his head, listening, but the sound became even less audible, as if aware that he listened.
The golden mare began to climb the gentle slope of a dune, stumbling once as her foot sank into deeper sand. Elric concentrated on guiding her to firmer ground.
Reaching the top of the dune he reined his horse in. The desert dunes rolled on, broken only by the occasional rock. He had it in mind then to ride on and on until it would be impossible to return to Tanelorn, until both he and his mount collapsed from exhaustion and were eventually swallowed by the sands. He pushed back his cowl and wiped sweat from his brow.
Why not? he thought. Life was not bearable. He would try death.
And yet would death deny him? Was he doomed to live? It sometimes seemed so.
Then he considered the horse. It would not be fair to sacrifice it to his desire. Slowly he dismounted.
The wind grew stronger and the sound of its sighing increased. Sand blew around Elric's booted feet. It was a hot wind and it tugged at his voluminous white cloak. The horse snorted nervously.
Elric looked towards the north east, towards the edge of the world.
And he began to walk.
The horse whinnied enquiringly at him when he did not call it, but he ignored the sound and had soon left his mount behind him. He had not even bothered to bring water with him. He flung back his cowl so that the sun beat directly upon his head. His pace was even, purposeful and he marched as if at the head of an army. Perhaps he did sense an army behind him-the
army of the dead, of all those friends and enemies whom he had slain in the course of his pointless search for a meaning to his existence.
And still one enemy remained alive. An enemy even stronger, even more malevolent than Theleb K'aarna-the enemy of his darker self, of that side of his nature which was symbolised by the sentient blade still resting at his hip. And when he died, then that enemy would also die. A force for evil would be removed from the world.
For several hours Elric of Melnibone" tramped on through the Sighing Desert and gradually, as he had hoped, his sense of identity began to leave him so that it was almost as if he became one with the wind and the sand and, in so doing, was united at last with the world which had rejected him and which he had rejected.
Evening came, but he hardly noticed the sun's setting. Night fell, but he continued to march, unaware of the cold. Already he was weakening. He rejoiced in the weakness where previously he had fought to retain the strength he enjoyed only through the power of the Black Sword.
And sometime around midnight, beneath a pale moon, his legs buckled and he fell sprawling in the sand and lay there while the remains of his sensibilities left him.
"Prince Elric. My Lord?"
The voice was rich, vibrant, almost amused. It was a woman's voice and Elric recognised it. He did not move.
"Elric of Melnibone."
He felt a hand on his arm. She was trying to pull him upright. Rather than be dragged he raised himself with some difficulty to a sitting position. He tried to speak, but at first no words would come from his mouth which was dry and full of sand. She stood there as the dawn rose behind her and brightened her long black hair framing her beautiful features. She
was dressed in a flowing gown of blue, green and gold and she was smiling.
As he cleared the sand from his mouth he shook Ms head, saying at last: "If I am dead, then I am still plagued by phantoms and illusions."
"I am no more illusion than anything else in this world. You are not dead, my lord."