The Vanishing Tower

by Michael Moorcock

  Doom-haunted, full of guilt, of sorrow, of despair, Elric of Melnibone prayed that this time Tanelorn might hold even him. ...

  Book Three

  Three Heroes with a Single Aim

  "... Elric, of all the manifestations of the Champion Eternal, was to find Tanelorn without effort. And of all those manifestations he was the only one to choose to leave that city of myriad incarnations ..."

  —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 Time 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 Time 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 there—the 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 his 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 wate
r 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 blade—Stormbringer, 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 his 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."

  "You are, in that case, many leagues from Castle Kaneloon, my lady. You have come from the other side of the world—from edge to edge."

  "I have been seeking you, Elric."

  "Then you have broken your word, Myshella, for when we parted you said that you would not see me again, that our fates had ceased to be twined."

  "I thought then that Theleb K'aarna was dead—that our mutual enemy had perished in the Noose of Flesh." The sorceress spread her arms wide and it was almost as if the gesture summoned the sun, for it appeared over the horizon, suddenly. "Why did you walk thus in the desert, my lord?"

  "I sought death."

  "Yet you know it is not your destiny to die in such a way."

  "I have been told as much but I do not know it, Lady Myshella. However," he stumbled upright and stood swaying before her, "I am beginning to suspect that it is so."

  She came forward, bringing a goblet from beneath her robes. It was full to the brim with a cool, silvery liquid. "Drink," she said.

  He did not lift his hands towards the cup. "I am not pleased to see you, Lady Myshella."

  "Why? Because you are afraid to love me?"

  "If it flatters you to think that—aye."

  "It does not flatter me. I know you are reminded of Cymoril and that I made the mistake of letting Kaneloon become that which you most desire—be­fore I understood that it is also what you most fear."

  He lowered his head. "Be silent!"

  "I am sorry. I apologised then. We drove away the desire and terror together for a little while, did we not?"

  He looked up and she was staring intently into his eyes. "Did we not?"

  "We did." He took a deep breath and stretched out his hands for the goblet. "Is this some potion to sap my will and make me work for your interests?"

  "No potion could do that. It will revive you, that is all."

  He sipped the liquid and immediately his mouth was clean and his head clear. He drained the goblet and he felt a glow of strength in all his limbs and vitals.

  "Do you still wish to die?" she asked as she re­ceived back the cup, replacing it beneath her robes.

  "If death will bring me peace."

  "It will not—not if you die now. That I know."

  "How did you find me here?"

  "Oh, by a variety of means, some of them sorcer­ous. But my bird brought me to you." She extended her right arm to point behind him.

  He turned and there was the bird of gold and silver and brass which he himself had once ridden while in Myshella's service. Its great metallic wings were folded but there was intelligence in its emerald eyes as it waited for its mistress.

  "Have you come, then, to return me to Tanelorn?"

  She shook her head. "Not yet. I have come to tell you where you may discover our enemy Theleb K'aarna."

  He smiled. "He threatens you again?"

  "Not directly."

  Elric shook sand from his cloak. "I know you well, Myshella. You would not interfere in my destiny un­less it had again become in some way linked with your own. You have said that I am afraid to love you. That may be true, for I think I am afraid to love any woman. But you make use of love—the men to whom you give your love are men who will serve your purpose."

  "I do not deny that. I love only heroes—and only heroes who work to ensure the presence of the Power of Law upon this plane of our Earth. ..."

  "I care not whether Law or Chaos gains predomi­nance. Even my hatred of Theleb K'aarna has waned—and that was a personal hatred, nothing to do with any cause."

  "What if you knew Theleb K'aarna once again threatens the folk of Tanelorn?"

&nbs
p; "Impossible. Tanelorn is eternal."

  "Tanelorn is eternal—but its citizens are not. I know. More than once has some catastrophe fallen upon those who dwell in Tanelorn. And the Lords of Chaos hate Tanelorn, though they cannot attack it directly. They would aid any mortal who thought he could destroy those whom the Chaos Lords regard as traitors."

  Elric frowned. He knew of the enmity of the Lords of Chaos to Tanelorn. He had heard that on more than one occasion they had made use of mortals to attack the city.

  "And you say Theleb K'aarna plans to destroy Tanelorn's citizens? With Chaos' aid?"

  "Aye. Your thwarting of his schemes concerning Nadsokor and Rackhir's caravan made him extend his hatred to all dwelling in Tanelorn. In Troos he discovered some ancient grimoires—things which survived from the Age of the Doomed Folk."

  "How can that be? They existed a whole time cycle before Melnibone!"

  "True—but Troos itself has lasted since the Age of the Doomed Folk and these were people who had many great inventions, a means of preserving their wisdom. . . ."

  "Very well. I will accept that Theleb K'aarna found their grimoires. What did those grimoires tell him?"

  "They showed him the means of causing a rupture in the division which separates one plane of Earth from another. This knowledge of the other planes is largely mysterious to us—even your ancestors only guessed at the variety of existences obtaining in what the ancients termed the 'multiverse'—and I know only a little more than do you. The Lords of the Higher Worlds can, at times, move freely between these temporal and spatial layers, but mortals cannot—at least not in this period of our being."

  "And what has Theleb K'aarna done? Surely great power would be needed to cause this 'rupture' you describe? He does not have that power."

  "True. But he has powerful allies in the Chaos Lords. The Lords of Entropy have leagued them­selves with him as they would league themselves with anyone who was willing to be the means of destruc­tion of those who dwell in Tanelorn. He found more than manuscripts in the Forest of Troos. He dis­covered those buried devices which were the inven­tions of the Doomed Folk and which ultimately brought about their destruction. These devices, of course, were meaningless to him until the Lords of Chaos showed him how they could be activated using the very forces of creation for their energy."