II

Elric dreamed.

He dreamed not merely of the end of his world but of the end of an entire cycle in the history of the cosmos. He dreamed that he was not only Elric of Melnibonè but that he was other men, too-men who were pledged to some numinous cause which even they could not describe. And he dreamed that he had dreamed of the Dark Ship and Tanelorn and Agak and Gagak while he lay exhausted upon a beach somewhere beyond the borders of Pikarayd; and when he woke up he was smiling sardonically, congratulating himself for the possession of a grandiose imagination. But he could not clear his head entirely of the impression left by that dream.

This shore was not the same, so plainly something had befallen him-perhaps he had been drugged by slavers, then later abandoned when they found him not what they expected. . . . But, no, the explanation would not do. If he could discover his whereabouts, he might also recall the true facts.

It was dawn, for certain. He sat up and looked about him.

He was sprawled upon a dark, sea-washed limestone pavement, cracked in a hundred places, the cracks so deep that the small streams of foaming salt water rushing through these many narrow channels made raucous what would otherwise have been a very still morning.

Elric climbed to his feet, using his scabbarded rune-sword to steady himself. His bone-white lids closed for a moment over his crimson eyes as he sought, again, to recollect the events which had brought him here.

He recalled his flight from Pikarayd, his panic, his falling into a coma of hopelessness, his dreams. And, because he was evidently neither dead nor a prisoner, he could at least conclude that his pursuers had, after all, given up the chase, for if they had found him they would have killed him.

Opening his eyes and casting about him, he remarked the peculiar blue quality of the light (doubtless a trick of the sun behind the gray clouds) which made the landscape ghastly and gave the sea a dull, metallic look.

The limestone terraces which rose from the sea and stretched above him shone intermittently, like polished lead. On an impulse he held his hand to the light and inspected it. The normally lusterless white of his skin was now tinged with a faint, bluish luminosity. He found it pleasing and smiled as a child might smile, in innocent wonder.

He had expected to be tired, but he now realized that he felt unusually refreshed, as if he had slept long after a good meal, and, deciding not to question the fact of this fortunate (and unlikely) gift, he determined to climb the cliffs in the hope that he might get some idea of his bearings before he decided which direction he would take.

Limestone could be a little treacherous, but it made easy climbing, for there was almost always somewhere that one terrace met another.

He climbed carefully and steadily, finding many footholds, and seemed to gain considerable height quite quickly, yet it was noon before he had reached the top and found himself standing at the edge of a broad, rocky plateau which fell away sharply to form a close horizon. Beyond the plateau was only the sky. Save for sparse, brownish grass, little grew here and there were no signs at all of human habitation. It was now, for the first time, that Elric realized the absence of any form of wildlife. Not a single seabird flew in the air, not an insect crept through the grass. Instead, there was an enormous silence hanging over the brown plain.

Elric was still remarkably untired, so he decided to make the best use he could of his energy and reach the edge of the plateau in the hope that, from there, he would sight a town or a village. He pressed on, feeling no lack of food and water, and his stride was singularly energetic, still; but he had misjudged his distance and the sun had begun to set well before his journey to the edge was completed. The sky on all sides turned a deep, velvety blue and the few clouds that there were in it were also tinged blue, and now, for the first time, Elric realized that the sun itself was not its normal shade, that it burned blackish purple, and he wondered again if he still dreamed.

The ground began to rise sharply and it was with some effort that he walked, but before the light had completely faded he was on the steep flank of a hill, descending toward a wide valley which, though bereft of trees, contained a river which wound through rocks and russet turf and bracken.

After a short rest, Elric decided to press on, although night had fallen, and see if he could reach the river where he might at least drink and, possibly, in the morning find fish to eat.

Again, no moon appeared to aid his progress and he walked for two or three hours in a darkness which was almost total, stumbling occasionally into large rocks, until the ground leveled and he felt sure he had reached the floor of the valley.

He had developed a strong thirst by now and was feeling somewhat hungry, but decided that it might be best to wait until morning before seeking the river when, rounding a particularly tall rock, he saw, with some astonishment, the light of a camp fire.

Hopefully this would be the fire of a company of merchants, a trading caravan on its way to some civilized country which would allow him to travel with it, perhaps in return for his services as a mercenary swordsman (it would not be the first time, since he had left Melnibonè, that he had earned his bread in such a way).

Yet Elric’s old instincts did not desert him; he approached the fire cautiously and let no one see him. Beneath an overhang of rock, made shadowy by the flame’s light, he stood and observed the group of fifteen or sixteen men who sat or lay close to the fire, playing some kind of game involving dice and slivers of numbered ivory.

Gold, bronze, and silver gleamed in the firelight as the men staked large sums on the fall of a dice and the turn of a slip of ivory.

Elric guessed that, if they had not been so intent on their game, these men must certainly have detected his approach, for they were not, after all, merchants. By the evidence, they were warriors, wearing scarred leather and dented metal, their weapons ready to hand, yet they belonged to no army-unless it be an army of bandits- for they were of all races and (oddly) seemed to be from various periods in the history of the Young Kingdoms.

It was as if they had looted some scholar’s collection of relics. An axman of the later Lormyrian Republic, which had come to an end some two hundred years ago, lay with his shoulder rubbing the elbow of a Chalalite bowman, from a period roughly contemporary with Elric’s own. Close to the Chalalite sat a short Ilmioran infantryman of a century past. Next to him was a Filkharian in the barbaric dress of that nation’s earliest times. Tarkeshites, Shazarians, Vilmirians, all mingled and the only thing they had in common, by the look of them, was a villainous, hungry cast to their features.

In other circumstances Elric might have skirted this encampment and moved on, but he was so glad to find human beings of any sort that he ignored the disturbing incongruities of the group; yet he remained content to watch them.

One of the men, less unwholesome than the others, was a bulky, black-bearded, baldheaded sea-warrior clad in the casual leathers and silks of the people of the Purple Towns. It was when this man produced a large gold Melnibonèan wheel-a coin not minted, as most coins, but carved by craftsmen to a design both ancient and intricate-that Elric’s caution was fully conquered by his curiosity.

Very few of those coins existed in Melnibonè and none, that Elric had heard of, outside; for the coins were not used for trade with the Young Kingdoms. They were prized, even by the nobility of Melnibonè.

It seemed to Elric that the baldheaded man could only have acquired the coin from another Melnibonèan traveler-and Elric knew of no other Melnibonèans who shared his penchant for exploration. His wariness dismissed, he stepped into the circle.

If he had not been completely obsessed by the thought of the Melnibonèan wheel he might have taken some satisfaction in the sudden scuffle to arms which resulted. Within seconds, the majority of the men were on their feet, their weapons drawn.

For a moment, the gold wheel was forgotten. His hand upon his runesword’s pommel, he presented the other in a placatory gesture.

“Forgive the interruption, gentlemen. I am but one tired fellow soldier who seeks to join you. I would beg some information and purchase some food, if you have it to spare.”

On foot, the warriors had an even more ruffianly appearance. They grinned among themselves, entertained by Elric’s courtesy but not impressed by it.

One, in the feathered helmet of a Pan Tangian sea-chief, with features to match-swarthy, sinister-pushed his head forward on its long neck and said banteringly:

“We’ve company enough, white-face. And few here are overfond of the man-demons of Melnibonè. You must be rich.”

Elric recalled the animosity with which Melnibonèans were regarded in the Young Kingdoms, particularly by those from Pan Tang who envied the Dragon Isle her power and her wisdom and, of late, had begun crudely to imitate Melnibonè.

Increasingly on his guard, he said evenly, “I have a little money.”

“Then we’ll take it, demon.” The Pan Tangian presented a dirty palm just below Elric’s nose as he growled, “Give it over and be on your way.”

Elric’s smile was polite and fastidious, as if he had been told a poor joke. .

The Pan Tangian evidently thought the joke better than did Elric, for he laughed heartily and looked to his nearest fellows for approval.

Coarse laughter infected the night and only the bald-headed, black-bearded man did not join in the jest, but took a step or two backward, while all the others pressed forward.

The Pan Tangian’s face was close to Elric’s own; his breath was foul and Elric saw that his beard and hair were alive with lice, yet he kept his head, replying in the same equable tone:

“Give me some decent food, a flask of water-some wine, if you have it-and I’ll gladly give you the money I have.”

The laughter rose and fell again as Elric continued:

“But if you would take my money and leave me with naught-then I must defend myself. I have a good sword.”

The Pan Tangian strove to imitate Elric’s irony. “But you will note, Sir Demon, that we outnumber you. Considerably.”

Softly the albino spoke: “I’ve noticed that fact, but I’m not disturbed by it,” and he had drawn the black blade even as he finished speaking, for they had come at him with a rush.

And the Pan Tangian was the first to die, sliced through the side, his vertebrae sheared, and Stormbringer, having taken its first soul, began to sing.

A Chalalite died next, leaping with stabbing javelin poised, on the point of the runesword, and Stormbringer murmured with pleasure.

But it was not until it had sliced the head clean off a Filkharian pike-master that the sword began to croon and come fully to life, black fire flickering up and down its length, its strange runes glowing.

Now the warriors knew they battled sorcery and became more cautious, yet they scarcely paused in their attack, and Elric, thrusting and parrying, hacking and slicing, needed all of the fresh, dark energy the sword passed on to him.

Lance, sword, ax, and dirk were blocked, wounds were given and received, but the dead had not yet outnumbered the living when Elric found himself with his back against the rock and nigh a dozen sharp weapons seeking his vitals.

It was at this point, when Elric had become somewhat less than confident that he could best so many, that the baldheaded warrior, ax in one gloved hand, sword in the other, came swiftly into the firelight and set upon those of his fellows closest to him.

“I thank you, sir!” Elric was able to shout, during the short respite this sudden turn produced. His morale improved, he resumed the attack.

The Lormyrian was cleaved from hip to pelvis as he dodged a feint; a Filkharian, who should have been dead four hundred years before, fell with the blood bubbling from lips and nostrils, and the corpses began to pile one upon the other. Still Stormbringer sang its sinister battle-song and still the runesword passed its power to its master so that with every death Elric found strength to slay more of the soldiers.

Those who remained now began to express their regret for their hasty attack. Where oaths and threats had issued from their mouths, now came plaintive petitions for mercy and those who had laughed with such bold braggadocio now wept like young girls, but Elric, full of his old battle-joy, spared none.

Meanwhile the man from the Purple Towns, unaided by sorcery, put ax and sword to good work and dealt with three more of his one-time comrades, exulting in his work as if “he had nursed a taste for it for some time.

“Yoi! But this is worthwhile slaughter!” cried the black-bearded one.

And then that busy butchery was suddenly done and Elric realized that none were left save himself and his new ally, who stood leaning on his ax, panting and grinning like a hound at the kill, replacing a steel skullcap upon his pate from where it had fallen during the fight, and wiping a bloody sleeve over the sweat glistening on his brow, and saying, in a deep, good-humored tone:

“Well, now, it is we who are wealthy, of a sudden.”

Elric sheathed a Stormbringer still reluctant to return to its scabbard. “You desire their gold. Is that why you aided me?”

The black-bearded soldier laughed. “I owed them a debt and had been biding my time, waiting to pay. These rascals are all that were left of a pirate crew which slew everyone aboard my own ship when we wandered into strange waters-they would have slain me had I not told them I wished to join them. Now I am revenged. Not that I am above taking the gold, since much of it belongs to me and my dead brothers. It will go to their wives and their children when I return to the Purple Towns.”

“How did you convince them not to kill you, too?” Elric sought among the ruins of the fire for something to eat. He found some cheese and began to chew upon it.

“They had no captain or navigator, it seemed. None were real sailors at all, but coast-huggers, based upon this island. They were stranded here, you see, and had taken to piracy as a last resort, but were too terrified to risk the open sea. Besides, after the fight, they had no ship. We had managed to sink that as we fought. We sailed mine to this shore, but provisions were already low and they had no stomach for setting sail without full holds, so I pretended that I knew this coast (may the gods take my soul if I ever see it again after this business) and offered to lead them inland to a village they might loot. They had heard of no such village, but believed me when I said it lay in a hidden valley. That way I prolonged my life while I waited for the opportunity to be revenged upon them. It was a foolish hope, I know. Yet”-grinning-“as it happened, it was well-founded, after all! Eh?”

The black-bearded man glanced a little warily at Elric, uncertain of what the albino might say, hoping, however, for comradeship, though it was well known how haughty Melnibonèans were. Elric could tell that all these thoughts went through his new acquaintance’s mind; he had seen many others make similar calculations. So he smiled openly and slapped the man on the shoulder.

“You saved my life, also, my friend. We are both fortunate.”

The man sighed in relief and slung his ax upon his back. “Aye-lucky’s the word. But shall our luck hold, I wonder?”

“You do not know the island at all?”

“Nor the waters, either. How we came to them I’ll never guess. Enchanted waters, though, without question. You’ve seen the color of the sun?”

“I have.”

“Well”-the seaman bent to remove a pendant from around the Pan Tangian’s throat-“you’d know more about enchantments and sorceries than I. How came you here, Sir Melnibonèan?”

“I know not. I fled from some who hunted me. I came to a shore and could flee no further. Then I dreamed a great deal. When next I awoke I was on the shore again, but of this island.”

“Spirits of some sort-maybe friendly to you-took you to safety, away from your enemies.”

“That’s just possible,” Elric agreed, “for we have many allies among the elementals. I am called Elric and I am self-exiled from Melnibonè. I travel because I believe I have something to learn from the folk of the Young Kingdoms. I have no power, save what you see....”

The black-bearded man’s eyes narrowed in appraisal as he pointed at himself with his thumb. “I’m Smiorgan Baldhead, once a sea-lord of the Purple Towns. I commanded a fleet of merchantmen. Perhaps I still do. I shall not know until I return-if I ever do return.”

“Then let us pool our knowledge and our resources, Smiorgan Baldhead, and make plans to leave this island as soon as we can.”

Elric walked back to where he saw traces of the abandoned game, trampled into the mud and the blood. From among the dice and the ivory slips, the silver and the bronze coins, he found the gold Melnibonèan wheel. He picked it up and held it in his outstretched palm. The wheel almost covered the whole palm. In the old days, it had been the currency of kings.

“This was yours, friend?” he asked Smiorgan.

Smiorgan Baldhead looked up from where he was still searching the Pan Tangian for his stolen possessions. He nodded.

“Aye. Would you keep it as part of your share?”

Elric shrugged. “I’d rather know from whence it came. Who gave it you?”

“It was not stolen. It’s Melnibonèan, then?”

“Yes.”

“I guessed it.”

“From whom did you obtain it?”

Smiorgan straightened up, having completed his search. He scratched at a slight wound on his forearm. “It was used to buy passage on our ship-before we were lost- before the raiders attacked us.”

“Passage? By a Melnibonèan?”

“Maybe,” said Smiorgan. He seemed reluctant to speculate.

“Was he a warrior?”

Smiorgan smiled in his beard. “No. It was a woman gave that to me.”

“How came she to take passage?”

Smiorgan began to pick up the rest of the money. “It’s a long tale and, in part, a familiar one to most merchant sailors. We were seeking new markets for our goods and had equipped a good-sized fleet, which I commanded as the largest shareholder.” He seated himself casually upon the big corpse of the Chalalite and began to count the money. “Would you hear the tale or do I bore you already?”

“I’d be glad to listen.”

Reaching behind him, Smiorgan pulled a wine-flask from the belt of the corpse and offered it to Elric, who accepted it and drank sparingly of a wine which was unusually good.

Smiorgan took the flask when Elric had finished. “That’s part of our cargo,” he said. “We were proud of it. A good vintage, eh?”

“Excellent. So you set off from the Purple Towns?”

“Aye. Going east toward the Unknown Kingdoms. We sailed due east for a couple of weeks, sighting some of the bleakest coasts I have ever seen, and then we saw no land at all for another week. That was when we entered a stretch of water we came to call the Roaring Rocks-like the Serpent’s Teeth off Shazar’s coast, but much greater in expanse, and larger, too. Huge volcanic cliffs which rose from the sea on every side and around which the waters heaved and boiled and howled with a fierceness I’ve rarely experienced. Well, in short, the fleet was dispersed and at least four ships were lost on those rocks. At last we were able to escape those waters and found ourselves becalmed and alone. We searched for our sister ships for a while and then decided to give ourselves another week before turning for home, for we had no liking to go back into the Roaring Rocks again. Low on provisions, we sighted land at last-grassy cliffs and hospitable beaches and, inland, some signs of cultivation, so we knew we had found civilization again. We put into a small fishing port and satisfied the natives-who spoke no tongue used in the Young Kingdoms-that we were friendly. And that was when the woman approached us.”

“The Melnibonèan woman?”

“If Melnibonèan she was. She was a fine-looking woman, I’ll say that. We were short of provisions, as I told you, and short of any means of purchasing them, for the fishermen desired little of what we had to trade. Having given up our original quest, we were content to head westward again.”

“The woman?”

“She wished to buy passage to the Young Kingdoms- and was content to go with us as far as Menii, our home port. For her passage she gave us two of those wheels. One was used to buy provisions in the town-Graghin, I think it was called-and after making repairs we set off again.”

“You never reached the Purple Towns?”

“There were more storms-strange storms. Our instruments were useless, our lodestones were of no help to us at all. We became even more completely lost than before. Some of my men argued that we had gone beyond our own world altogether. Some blamed the woman, saying she was a sorceress who had no intention of going to Menii. But I believed her. Night fell and seemed to last forever until we sailed into a calm dawn beneath a blue sun. My men were close to panic-and it takes much to make my men panic-when we sighted the island. As we headed for it those pirates attacked us in a ship which belonged to history-it should have been on the bottom of the ocean, not on the surface. I’ve seen pictures of such craft in murals on a temple wall in Tarkesh. In ramming us, she stove in half her port side and was sinking even when they swarmed aboard. They were desperate, savage men, Elric-half-starved and blood-hungry. We were weary after our voyage, but fought well. During the fighting the woman disappeared, killed herself, maybe, when she saw the stamp of our conquerors. After a long fight only myself and one other, who died soon after, were left. That was when I became cunning and decided to wait for revenge.”

“The woman had a name?”

“None she would give. I have thought the matter over and suspect that, after all, we were used by her. Perhaps she did not seek Menii and the Young Kingdoms. Perhaps it was this world she sought, and, by sorcery, led us here.”

“This world? You think it different from our own?”

“If only because of the sun’s strange color. Do you not think so, too? You, with your Melnibonèan knowledge of such things, must believe it.”

“I have dreamed of such things,” Elric admitted, but he would say no more.

“Most of the pirates thought as I-they were from all the ages of the Young Kingdoms. That much I discovered. Some were from the earliest years of the era, some from our own time-and some were from the future. Adventurers, most of them, who, at some stage in their lives, sought a legendary land of great riches which lay on the other side of an ancient gateway, rising from the middle of the ocean; but they found themselves trapped here, unable to sail back through this mysterious gate. Others had been involved in sea-fights, thought themselves drowned and woken up on the shores of the island. Many, I suppose, had once had reasonable virtues, but there is little to support life on the island and they had become wolves, living off one another or any ship unfortunate enough to pass, inadvertently, through this gate of theirs.”

Elric recalled part of his dream. “Did any call it the ‘Crimson Gate’?”

“Several did, aye.”

“And yet the theory is unlikely, if you’ll forgive my skepticism,” Elric said. “As one who has passed through the Shade Gate to Ameeron ...”

“You know of other worlds, then?”

“I’ve never heard of this one. And I am versed in such matters. That is why I doubt the reasoning. And yet, there was the dream....”

“Dream?”

“Oh, it was nothing. I am used to such dreams and give them no significance.”

“The theory cannot seem surprising to a Melnibonèan, Elric!” Smiorgan grinned again. “It’s I who should be skeptical, not you.”

And Elric replied, half to himself: “Perhaps I fear the implications more.” He lifted his head, and with the shaft of a broken spear, began to poke at the fire. “Certain ancient sorcerers of Melnibonè proposed that an infinite number of worlds coexist with our own. Indeed, my dreams, of late, have hinted as much!” He forced himself to smile. “But I cannot afford to believe such things. Thus, I reject them.”

“Wait for the dawn,” said Smiorgan Baldhead. “The color of the sun shall prove the theory.”

“Perhaps it will prove only that we both dream,” said Elric. The smell of death was strong in his nostrils. He pushed aside those corpses nearest to the fire and settled himself to sleep.

Smiorgan Baldhead had begun to sing a strong yet lilting song in his own dialect, which Elric could scarcely follow.

“Do you sing of your victory over your enemies?” the albino asked.

Smiorgan paused for a moment, half-amused. “No, Sir Elric, I sing to keep the shades at bay. After all, these fellows’ ghosts must still be lurking nearby, in the dark, so little time has passed since they died.”

“Fear not,” Elric told him. “Their souls are already eaten.”

But Smiorgan sang on, and his voice was louder, his song more intense, than ever it had been before.

Just before he fell asleep, Elric thought he heard a horse whinny, and he meant to ask Smiorgan if any of the pirates had been mounted, but he fell asleep before he could do so.