To Rescue Tanelorn ...

In which we learn of the further adventures
of Rackhir the Red Archer and other heroes
and places Elric has hitherto encountered
only in what he chooses to consider, his
dreams . . .

TO RESCUE TANELORN ...

Beyond the tall and ominous glass-green forest of Troos,
well to the North and unheard of in Bakshaan, Elwher
or any other city of the Young Kingdoms, on the shift-
ing shores of the Sighing Desert lay Tanelorn, a lonely,
long-ago city, loved by those it sheltered.

Tanelorn had a peculiar nature in that it welcomed
and held the wanderer. To its peaceful streets and low
houses came the gaunt, the savage, the brutalised, the
tormented, and in Tanelorn they found rest.

Now, most of these troubled travellers who dwelt in
peaceful Tanelorn had thrown off earlier allegiances to
the Lords of Chaos who, as gods, took more than a mild
interest in the affairs of men. It happened, therefore,
that these same Lords grew to resent the unlikely city of
Tanelorn and, not for the the first time decided to act
against it.

They instructed one of their number (more they could
not, then, send) Lord Narjhan, to journey to Nadsokor,
the City of Beggars, which had an old grudge against
Tanelorn and raise an army that would attack undefend-
ed Tanelorn and destroy it and its inhabitants. So he
did this, arming his ragged army and promising them
many things.

Then, like a ferocious tide, did the beggar rabble set
off to tear down Tanelorn and slay its residents. A great
torrent of men and women in rags, on crutches, blind,
maimed, but moving steadily, ominously, implacably
Northwards towards the Sighing Desert

In Tanelorn dwelt the Red Archer, Rackhir, from the
Eastlands beyond the Sighing Desert, beyond the Weep-

ing Waste. Rackhir had been born a Warrior Priest, a
servant of the Lords of Chaos, but had forsaken this life
for the quieter pursuits of thievery and learning. A man
with harsh features slashed from the bone of his skull,
strong, fleshless nose, deep eye-cavities, a thin mouth
and a thin beard. He wore a red skull-cap, decorated
with a hawk's feather, a red jerkin, tight-fitting and
belted at the waist, red breeks, and red boots. It was as if
all the blood in him had transferred itself to his gear
and left him drained. He was happy, however, in Tane-
lorn, the city which made all such men happy, and felt
he would die there if men died there. He did not know
if they did.

One day he saw Brut of Lashmar, a great, blond-
headed noble of shamed name, ride wearily, yet ur-
gently, through the low wall-gate of the city of peace.
Brut's silver harness and trappings were begrimed, his
yellow cloak torn and his broad-brimmed hat battered.
A small crowd collected around him as he rode into the
city square and halted. Then he gave his news.

"Beggars from Nadsokor, many thousands, move
against our Tanelorn," he said, "and they are led by
Narjhan of Chaos."

Now, all the men in there were soldiers of some kind,
good ones for the most part, and they were confident
warriors, but few in number. A horde of beggars, led by
such a being as Narjhan, could destroy Tanelorn, they
knew.

"Should we, then, leave Tanelorn?" said Uroch of
Nieva, a young, wasted man who had been a drunkard.

"We owe this city too much to desert her," Rackhir
said. "We should defend herfor her sake and ours.
There will never be such a city again."

Brut leaned forward in his saddle and said: "In prin-
ciple, Red Archer, I am in agreement with you. But
principle is not enough without deeds. How would you
suggest we defend this low-walled city against siege and
the powers of Chaos?"

"We should need help," Rackhir replied, "supernatu-
ral help if need be."

"Would the Grey Lords help us?" Zas the One-handed
asked the question. He was an old, torn wanderer who
had once gained a throne and lost it again.

"Ayethe Grey Lords!" Several voices chorused this
hopefully.

"Who are the Grey Lords?" said Uroch, but no one
heard him.

"They are not inclined to aid anyone at all," Zas the
One-handed pointed out, "but surely Tanelorn, coming
as it does under neither the Forces of Law nor the Lords
of Chaos, would be worth their while preserving. After
all, they have no loyalties either."

"I'm for seeking the Grey Lords' aid," Brut nodded.
"What of the rest of us?" There was general agreement,
then silence when they realised that they knew of no
means of contacting the mysterious and insouciant
beings. At last Zas pointed this out.

Rackhir said: "I know a seera hermit who lives in
the Sighing Desert. Perhaps he can help?"

"I think that, after all, we should not waste time look-
ing for supernatural assistance against this beggar
rabble," Uroch said. "Let us prepare, instead, to meet
the attack with physical means."

"You forget," Brut said wearily, "that they are led by
Narjhan of Chaos. He is not human and has the whole
strength of Chaos behind him. We know that the Grey
Lords are pledged neither to Law nor to Chaos but will
sometimes help either side if the whim takes them. They
are our only chance."

"Why not seek the aid of the Forces of Law, sworn en-
emies of Chaos and mightier than the Grey Lords?"
Uroch said.

"Because Tanelorn is a city owing allegiance to nei-
ther side. We are all of us men and women who have
broken our pledge to Chaos but have made no new one
to Law. The Forces of Law, in matters of this kind, will
help only those sworn to them. The Grey Lords only
may protect us, if they would." So said Zas.

"I will go to find my seer," Rackhir the Red Archer
said, "and if he knows how I may reach the Domain of

the Grey Lords, then I'll continue straight on, for there
is so little time. If I reach them and solicit their help
you will soon know I have done so. If not, you must die
in Tanelorn's defence and, if I live, I will join you in
that last battle."

"Very well," Brut agreed, "go quickly, Red Archer.
Let one of your own arrows be the measure of your
speed."

And taking little with him save his bone bow and
quiver of scarlet-fletched arrows, Rackhir set off for the
Sighing Desert.

From Nadsokor, South West through the land of Vil-
mir, even through the squalid country of Org which has
in it the dreadful forest of Troos, there was flame and
black horror in the wake of the beggar horde, and inso-
lent, disdainful of them though he led them, rode a
being completely clad in black armour with a voice that
rang hollow in the helm. People fled away at their ap-
proach and the land was made barren by their passing.
Most knew what had happened, that the beggar citizens
of Nadsokor had, contrary to their traditions of cen-
turies, vomited from their city in a wild, menacing
horde. Someone had armed themsomeone had made
them go Northwards and Westwards towards the Sighing
Desert. But who was the one who led them? Ordinary
folk did not know. And why did they head for the Sigh-
ing Desert? There was no city beyond Karlaak, which
they had skirted, only the Signing Desertand beyond
that the edge of the world. Was that their destination?
Were they heading, lemming-like, to their destruction?
Everyone hoped so, in their hate for the horrible horde.

Rackhir rode through the mournful wind of the Sigh-
ing Desert, his face and eyes protected against the parti-
cles of sand which flew about. He was thirsty and had
been riding a day. Ahead of him at last were the rocks
he sought.

He reached the rocks and called above the wind.

"Lamsar!"

The hermit came out in answer to Rackhir's shout

He was dressed in oiled leather to which sand clung. His
beard, too, was encrusted with sand and his skin seemed
to have taken on the colour and texture of the desert.
He recognised Rackhir immediately, by his dress, beck-
oned him into the cave, and disappeared back inside.
Rackhir dismounted and led his horse to the cave en-
trance and went in.

Lamsar was seated on a smooth rock. "You are wel-
come, Red Archer," he said, "and I perceive by your
manner that you wish information from me and that
your mission is urgent."

"I seek the help of the Grey Lords, Lamsar," said
Rackhir.

The old hermit smiled. It was as if a fissure had sud-
denly appeared in a rock. "To risk the journey through
the Five Gates, your mission must be important. I will
tell you how to reach the Grey Lords, but the road is a
difficult one."

"I'm willing to take it," Rackhir replied, "for Tane-
lorn is threatened and the Grey Lords could help her."

"Then you must pass through the First Gate, which
lies in our own dimension. I will help you find it."

"And what must I do then?"

"You must pass through all five gates. Each gateway
leads to a realm which lies beyond and within our own
dimension. In each realm you must speak with the dwell-
ers there. Some are friendly to men, some are not, but
all must answer your question; "Where lies the next
Gate?" though some may seek to stop you passing. The
last gate leads to the Grey Lords' Domain."

"And the first gate?"

"That lies anywhere in this realm. I will find it for
you now."

Lamsar composed himself to meditate and Rackhir,
who had expected some sort of gaudy miracle-working
from the old man, was disappointed.

Several hours went by until Lamsar said: "The gate is
outside. Memorise the following: If X is equal to the
spirit of humanity, then the combination of the two

must be of double power, therefore the spirit of human-
ity always contains the power to dominate itself."

"A strange equation," said Rackhir.

"Ayebut memorise it, meditate upon it and then we
will leave."

"We-you as well?"

"I think so."

The hermit was old. Rackhir did not want him on the
journey. But then he realised that the hermit's
knowledge could be of use to him, so did not object. He
thought upon the equation and, as he thought, his mind
seemed to glitter and become diffused until he was in a
strange trance and all his powers felt greater, both those
of mind and body. The hermit got up and Rackhir fol-
lowed him. They went out of the cave-mouth but, in-
stead of the Sighing Desert, there was a hazy cloud of
blue shimmering light ahead and when they had passed
through this, in a second, they found themselves in the
foothills of a low mountain-range and below them, in a
valley, were villages. The villages were strangely laid
out, all the houses in a wide circle about a huge am-
phitheatre containing, at its centre, a circular dais.

"It will be interesting to learn the reason why these
villages are so arranged," Lamsar said, and they began
to move down into the valley.

As they reached the bottom and came close to one of
the villages, people came gaily out and danced joyfully
towards them. They stopped in front of Rackhir and
Lamsar and, jumping from foot to foot as he greeted
them, the leader spoke.

"You are strangers, we can telland you are welcome
to all we have, food, accommodation, and entertain-
ment."

The two men thanked them graciously and accompa-
nied them back to the circular village. The amphithe-
atre was made of mud and seemed to have been stamped
out, hollowed into, the ground encompassed by the
houses. The leader of the villagers took them to his
house and offered them food.

"You have come to us at a Rest Time," he said, "but

do not worry, things will soon commence again. My
name is Yerleroo."

"We seek the next Gate," Lamsar said politely, "and
our mission is urgent. You will forgive us if we do not
stay long?"

"Come," said Yerleroo, "things are about to com-
mence. You will see us at our best, and must join us."

All the villagers had assembled in the amphitheatre,
surrounding the platform in the centre. Most of them
were light-skinned and light-haired, gay and smiling, ex-
citedbut a few were evidently of a different race, dark,
black-haired, and these were sullen.

Sensing something ominous in what he saw, Rackhir
asked the question directly: "Where is the next Gate?"

Yerleroo hesitated, his mouth worked and then he
smiled. "Where the winds meet," he said.

Rackhir declared angrily: "That's no answer."

"Yes it is," said Lamsar softly behind him. "A fair an-
swer."

"Now we shall dance," Yerleroo said. "First you shall
watch our dance and then you shall join in."

"Dance?" said Rackhir, wishing he had brought a
sword, or at least a dagger.

"Yesyou will like it. Everyone likes it. You will find
it will do you good."

"What if we do not wish to dance?"

"You mustit is for your own good, be assured."

"And he" Rackhir pointed at one of the sullen
men. "Does he enjoy it?"

"It is for his own good."

Yerleroo clapped his hands and at once the fair-haired
people leapt into a frenetic, senseless dance. Some of
them sang. The sullen people did not sing. After a little
hesitation, they began to prance dully about, their
frowning features contrasting with their jerking bodies.
Soon the whole village was dancing, whirling, singing a
monotonous song.

Yerleroo flashed by, whirling. "Come, join in now."

"We had better leave," Lamsar said with a faint smile.
They backed away.

Yerleroo saw them. "Noyou must not leaveyou
must dance."

They turned and ran as fast as the old man could go.
The dancing villagers changed the direction of their
dance and began to whirl menacingly towards them in a
horrible semblance of gaiety.

"There's nothing for it," Lamsar said and stood his
ground, observing them through ironic eyes. "The
mountain gods must be invoked. A pity, for sorcery wea-
ries me. Let us hope their magic extends to this plane.
Gordar!"

Words in an unusually harsh language issued from
Lamsar's old mouth. The whirling villagers came on.

Lamsar pointed at them.

The villagers became suddenly petrified and slowly,
disturbingly, their bodies caught in a hundred positions,
turned to smooth, black basalt.

"It was for their own good," Lamsar smiled grimly.
"Come, to the place where the winds meet," and he took
Rackhir there quite swiftly.

At the place where the winds met they found the sec-
ond gateway, a column of amber-coloured flame, shot
through with streaks of green. They entered it and, in-
stantly, were in a world of dark, seething colour. Above
them was a sky of murky red in which other colours
shifted, agitated, changing. Ahead of them lay a forest,
dark, blue, black, heavy, mottled green, the tops of its
trees moving like a wild tide. It was a howling land of
unnatural phenomena.

Lamsar pursed his lips. "On this plane Chaos rules,
we must get to the next gate swiftly for obviously the
Lords of Chaos will seek to stop us."

"Is it always like this?" Rackhir gasped.

"It is always boiling midnightbut the rest, it changes
with the moods of the Lords. There are no rules at all."

They pressed on through the bounding, blossoming
scenery as it erupted and changed around them. Once
they saw a huge winged figure in the sky, smoky yellow,
and roughly man-shaped.

"Vezhan," Lamsar said, "let's hope he did not see us."

"Vezhan!" Rackhir whispered the namefor it was to
Vezhan that he had once been loyal.

They crept on, uncertain of their direction or even of
their speed in that disturbing land.

At length, they came to the shores of a peculiar ocean.

It was a grey, heaving, timeless sea, a mysterious sea
which stretched into infinity. There could be no other
shores beyond this rolling plain of water. No other lands
or rivers or dark, cool woods, no other men or women or
ships. It was a sea which led to nowhere. It was com-
plete to itselfa sea.

Over this timeless ocean hovered a brooding ochre
sun which cast moody shadows of black and green across
the water, giving the whole scene something of the look
of being enclosed in a vast cavern, for the sky above was
gnarled and black with ancient clouds. And all the
while the doom-carried crash of breakers, the lonely,
fated monotony of the ever-rearing white-topped waves;
the sound which portended neither death nor life nor
war nor peacesimply existence and shifting inharmony.
They could go no further.

"This has the air of our death about it," Rackhir said
shivering.

The sea roared and tumbled, the sound of it increas-
ing to a fury, daring them to go on towards it, welcom-
ing them with wild temptationoffering them nothing
but achievementthe achievement of death.

Lamsar said: "It is not my fate wholly to perish." But
then they were running back towards the forest, feeling
that the strange sea was pouring up the beach towards
them. They looked back and saw that it had gone no
further, that the breakers were less wild, the sea more
calm. Lamsar was little way behind Rackhir.

The Red Archer gripped his hand and hauled him
towards him as if he had rescued the old man from a
whirlpool. They remained there, mesmerised, for a long
time, while the sea called to them and the wind was a
cold caress on their flesh.

In the bleak brightness of the alien shore, under a sun
which gave no heat, their bodies shone like stars in the
night and they turned towards the forest, quietly.

"Are we trapped, then, in this Realm of Chaos?"
Rackhir said at length. "If we meet someone, they will
offer us harmhow can we ask our question?"

Then there emerged from the huge forest a great fig-
ure, naked and gnarled like the trunk of a tree, green as
lime, but the face was jovial.

"Greetings, unhappy renegades," it said.

"Where is the next gate?" said Lamsar quickly.

"You almost entered it, but turned away," laughed
the giant. "That sea does not existit is there to stop
travellers from passing through the gate."

"It exists here, in the Realm of Chaos," Rackhir said
thickly.

"You could say sobut what exists in Chaos save the
disorders of the minds of gods gone mad?"

Rackhir had strung his bone bow and fitted an arrow
to the string, but he did it in the knowledge of his own
hopelessness.

"Do not shoot the arrow," said Lamsar softly. "Not
yet." And he stared at the arrow and muttered.

The giant advanced carelessly towards them, unhur-
ried.

"It will please me to exact the price of your crimes
from you," it said, "for I am Hionhurn the Executioner.
You will find your death pleasantbut your fate unbear-
able." And he came closer, his clawed hands out-
stretched.

"Shoot!" croaked Lamsar and Rackhir brought the
bow-string to his cheek, pulled it back with might and
released the arrow at the giant's heart. "Run!" cried
Lamsar, and in spite of their forebodings they ran back
down the shore towards the frightful sea. They heard
the giant groan behind them as they reached the edge of
the sea and, instead of running into water, found them-
selves in a range of stark mountains.

"No mortal arrow could have delayed him," Rackhir
said. "How did you stop him?"

"I used an old charmthe Charm of Justice, which,

when applied to any weapon, makes it strike at the
unjust."

"But why did it hurt Hionhurn, an immortal?" Rack-
hir asked.

"There is no justice in the world of Chaossomething
constant and inflexible, whatever its nature, must harm
any servant of the Lords of Chaos."

"We have passed through the third gate," Rackhir
said, unstringing his bow, "and have the fourth and fifth
to find. Two dangers have been avoidedbut what new
ones will we encounter now?"

"Who knows?" said Lamsar, and they walked on
through the rocky mountain pass and entered a forest
that was cool, even though the sun had reached its ze-
nith and was glaring down through parts of the thick fo-
liage. There was an air of ancient calm about the place.
They heard unfamiliar bird-calls and saw tiny golden
birds which were also new to them.

"There is something calm and peaceful about this
placeI almost distrust it," Rackhir said, but Lamsar
pointed ahead silently.

Rackhir saw a large domed building, magnificent in
marble and blue mosaic. It stood in a clearing of yellow
grass and the marble caught the sun, flashing like fire.

They neared the domed construction and saw that it
was supported by big marble columns set into a plat-
form of milky jade. In the centre of the platform, a
stairway of blue-stone curved upwards and disappeared
into a circular aperture. There were wide windows set
into the sides of the raised building but they could not
see inside. There were no inhabitants visible and it
would have seemed strange to the pair if there had
been. They crossed the yellow glade and stepped on to
the jade platform. It was warm, as if it had been ex-
posed to the sun. They almost slipped on the smooth
stone.

They reached the blue steps and mounted them, star-
ing upwards, but they could still see nothing. They did
not attempt to ask themselves why they were so as-
suredly invading the building; it seemed quite natural
that they should do what they were doing. There was no

alternative. There was an air of familiarity about the
place. Rackhir felt it but did not know why. Inside was
a cool, shadowy hall, a blend of soft darkness and bright
sunlight which entered by the windows. The floor was
pearl-pink and the ceiling deep scarlet. The hall re-
minded Rackhir of a womb.

Partially hidden by deep shadow was a small doorway
and beyond it, steps. Rackhir looked questioningly at
Lamsar. "Do we proceed in our exploration?"

"We mustto have our question answered, if
possible."

They climbed the steps and found themselves in a
smaller hall similar to the one beneath them. This hall,
however, was furnished with twelve wide thrones placed
in a semicircle in the centre. Against the wall, near the
door, were several chairs, upholstered in purple fabric.
The thrones were of gold, decorated with fine silver,
padded with white cloth.

A door behind the throne opened and a tall, fragile-
looking man appeared, followed by others whose faces
were almost identical. Only their robes were noticeably
different. Their faces were pale, almost white, their
noses straight, their lips thin but not cruel. Their eyes
were unhumangreen-flecked eyes which stared out-
wards with sad composure. The leader of the tall men
looked at Rackhir and Lamsar. He nodded and waved a
pale, long-fingered hand gracefully.

"Welcome," he said. His voice was high and frail, like
a girl's, but beautiful in its modulation. The other
eleven men seated themselves in the thrones but the first
man, who had spoken, remained standing. "Sit down,
please," he said.

Rackhir and Lamsar sat down on two of the purple
chairs.

"How did you come here?" enquired the man.

"Through the gates from Chaos," Lamsar replied.

"And were you seeking our realm?"

"Nowe travel towards the Domain of the Grey
Lords."

"I thought so, for your people rarely visit us save by
accident"

"Where are we?" asked Rackhir as the man seated
himself in the remaining throne.

"In a place beyond time. Once our land was part of
the earth you know, but in the dim past it became sep-
arated from it. Our bodies, unlike yours, are immortal.
We choose this, but we are not bound to our flesh, as
you are."

"I don't understand," frowned Rackhir. "What are
you saying?"

"I have said what I can in the simplest terms under-
standable to you. If you do not know what I say then I
can explain no further. We are called the Guardians
though we guard nothing. We are warriors, but we fight
nothing."

"What else do you do?" enquired Rackhir.

"We exist. You will want to know where the next
gateway lies?"

"Yes."

"Refresh yourselves here, and then we shall show you
the gateway."

"What is your function?" asked Rackhir.

"To function," said the man.

"You are unhuman!"

"We are human. You spend your lives chasing that
which is within you and that which you can find in any
other human beingbut you will not look for it there
you must follow more glamorous pathsto waste your
time in order to discover that you have wasted your
time. I am glad that we are no longer like youbut I
wish that it were lawful to help you further. This, how-
ever, we may not do."

"Ours is no meaningless quest," said Lamsar quietly,
with respect. "We go to rescue Tanelorn."

"Tanelorn?" the man said softly. "Does Tanelorn still
remain?"

"Aye," said Rackhir, "and shelters tired men who are
grateful for the rest she offers." Now he realised why the

building had been familiarit had the same quality, but
intensified, as Tanelorn.

"Tanelorn was the last of our cities," said the
Guardian. "Forgive us for judging youmost of the trav-
ellers who pass through this plane are searchers, restless,
with no real purpose, only excuses, imaginary reasons
for journeying on. You must love Tanelorn to brave the
dangers of the gateways?"

"We do," said Rackhir, "and I am grateful that you
built her."

"We built her for ourselves, but it is good that others
have used her welland she them."

"Will you help us?" Rackhir said. "For Tanelorn?"

"We cannotit is not lawful. Now, refresh yourselves
and be welcome."

The two travellers were given foods, both soft and
brittle, sweet and sour, and drink which seemed to enter
the pores of their skin as they quaffed it, and then the
Guardian said: "We have caused a road to be made. Fol-
low it and enter the next world. But we warn you, it is
the most dangerous of all."

And they set off down the road that the Guardians
had caused to be made and passed through the fourth
gateway into a dreadful realmthe Ream of Law.

Nothing shone in the grey-lit sky, nothing moved, noth-
ing marred the grey.

Nothing interrupted the bleak grey plain stretching
on all sides of them, forever. There was no horizon. It
was a bright, clean wasteland. But there was a sense
about the air, a presence of something past, something
which had gone but left a faint aura of its passing.

"What dangers could be here?" said Rackhir shudder-
ing, "here where there is nothing?"

"The danger of the loneliest madness," Lamsar re-
plied. Their voices were swallowed in the grey expanse.

"When the Earth was very young'" Lamsar continued,
his words trailing away across the wilderness, "things
were like thisbut there were seas, there were seas. Here
there is nothing."

"You are wrong," Rackhir said with a faint smile. "I
have thoughthere there is Law."

"That is truebut what is Law without something to
decide between? Here is Lawbereft of justice."

They walked on, all about them an air of something
intangible that had once been tangible. On they walked
through this barren world of Absolute Law.

Eventually, Rackhir spied something. Something that
flickered, faded, appeared again until, as they neared it,
they saw that it was a man. His great head was noble,
firm, and his body was massively built, but the face was
twisted in a tortured frown and he did not see them as
they approached him.

They stopped before him and Lamsar coughed to at-
tract his attention. He turned that great head and re-
garded them abstractedly, the frown clearing at length,
to be replaced by a calmer, thoughtful expression.

"Who are you?" asked Rackhir.

The man sighed. "Not yet," he said, "not yet, it seems.
More phantoms."

"Are we the phantoms?" smiled Rackhir. "That seems
to be more your own nature." He watched as the man
began slowly to fade again, his form less definite,
melting. The body seemed to make a great heave, like a
salmon attempting to leap a dam, then it was back again
in a more solid form.

"I had thought myself rid of all that was superfluous,
save my own obstinate shape," the man said tiredly,
"but here is something, back again. Is my reason
failingis my logic no longer what it was?"

"Do not fear," said Rackhir, "we are material beings."

"That is what I feared. For an eternity I have been
stripping away the layers of unreality which obscure the
truth. I have almost succeeded in the final act, and now
you begin to creep back. My mind is not what it was, I
think."

"Perhaps you worry lest we do not exist?" Lamsar said
slowly, with a clever smile.

"You know that is not soyou do not exist, just as I
do not exist." The frown returned, the features twisted,
the body began, again, to fade, only to resume, once
more, its earlier nature. The man sighed. "Even to reply
to you is betraying myself, but I suppose a little relax-
ation will serve to rest my powers and equip me for the
final effort of will which will bring me to the ultimate
truththe truth of non-being."

"But non-being involves non-thought, non-will, non-
action," Lamsar said. "Surely you would not submit
yourself to such a fate?"

"There is no such thing as self. I am the only reason-
ing thing in creationI am almost pure reason. A little
more effort and I shall be what I desire to bethe one
truth in this non-existent universe. That requires first
ridding myself of anything extraneous around mesuch
as yourselvesand then making the final plunge into the
only reality."

"What is that?"

"The state of absolute nothingness where there is
nothing to disturb the order of things because there is
no order of things."

"Scarcely a constructive ambition," Rackhir said.

"Construction is a meaningless wordlike all words,
like all so-called existence. Everything means nothing-
thai is the only truth."

"But what of this world? Barren as it is, it still has
light and firm rock. You have not succeeded in reason-
ing that out of existence," Lamsar said.

"That will cease when I cease," the man said slowly,
"just as you will cease to be. Then there can be nothing
but nothing and Law will reign unchallenged."

"But Law cannot reignit will not exist either, ac-
cording to your logic."

"You are wrongnothingness is the Law. Nothingness
is the object of Law. Law is the way to its ultimate state,
the state of non-being."

"Well," said Lamsar musingly, "then you had better
tell us where we may find the next gate."

"There is no gate."

"If there were, where would we find it?" Rackhir said.

"If a gate existed, and it does not, it would have been
inside the mountain, close to what was once called the
Sea of Peace."

"And where was that?" Rackhir asked, conscious, now
of their terrible predicament. There were no landmarks,
no sun, no starsnothing by which they could determine
direction.

"Close to the Mountain of Severity."

"Which way do you go?" Lamsar enquired of the
man.

"Outbeyondto nowhere."

"And where, if you succeed in your object, will we be
consigned?"

"To some other nowhere. I cannot truthfully answer.
But since you have never existed in reality, therefore you
can go on to no non-reality. Only I am realand I do not
exist."

"We are getting nowhere," said Rackhir with a smirk
which changed to a frown.

"It is only my mind which holds the non-reality at

bay," the man said, "and I must concentrate or else it

will all come flooding back and I shall have to start from

the   beginning   again.   In   the   beginning,   there   was

everythingChaos. I created nothing."

With resignation, Rackhir strung his bow, fitted an ar-
row to the string and aimed at the frowning man.

"You wish for non-being?" he said.

"I have told you so." Rackhir's arrow pierced his
heart, his body faded, became solid and slumped to the
grass as mountains, forests, and rivers appeared around
them. It was still a peaceful, well-ordered world and
Rackhir and Lamsar, as they strode on in search of the
Mountain of Severity, savoured it. There seemed to be
no animal life here and they talked, in puzzled terms,
about the man they had been forced to kill, until, at
length, they reached a great smooth pyramid which
seemed, though it was of natural origin, to have been
carved into this form. They walked around its base until
they discovered an opening.

There could be no doubt that this was the Mountain
of Severity, and a calm ocean lay some distance away.

They went into the opening and emerged into a delicate
landscape. They were now through the last gateway and
in the Domain of the Grey Lords.

There were trees like stiffened spider-webs.

Here and there were blue pools, shallow, with shining
water and graceful rocks balanced in them and around
their shores. Above them and beyond them the light
hills swept away towards a pastel yellow horizon which
was tinted with red, orange, and blue, deep blue.

They felt overlarge, clumsy, like crude, gross giants
treading on the fine, short grass. They felt as if they
were destroying the sanctity of the place.

Then they saw a girl come walking towards them.

She stopped as they came closer to her. She was
dressed in loose black robes which flowed about her as if
in a wind, but there was no wind. Her face was pale and
pointed, her black eyes large and enigmatic. At her long
throat was a jewel.

"Sorana," said Rackhir thickly, "you died."

"I disappeared," said she, "and this is where I came. I
was told that you would come to this place and decided
that I would meet you."

"But this is the Domain of the Grey Lordsand you
serve Chaos."

"I dobut many are welcome at the Grey Lords'
Court, whether they be of Law, Chaos, or neither.
Come, I will escort you there."

Bewildered, now, Rackhir let her lead the way across
the strange terrain and Lamsar followed him.

Sorana and Rackhir had been lovers once, in Yeshpo-
toom-Kahlai, the Unholy Fortress, where evil blossomed
and was beautiful. Sorana, sorceress, adventuress, was
without conscience but had had high regard for the Red
Archer since he had come to Yeshpotoom-Kahlai one
evening, covered in his own blood, survivor of a bizarre
battle between the Knights of Tumbru and Loheb
Bakra's brigand-engineers. Seven years ago, that had
been, and he had heard her scream when the Blue As-
sassins had crept into the Unholy Fortress, pledged to

murder evil-makers. Even then he had been in the
process of hurriedly leaving Yeshpotoom-Kahlai and had
considered it unwise to investigate what was obviously a
death-scream. Now she was hereand if she was here,
then it was for a strong reason and for her own con-
venience. On the other hand, it was in her interests to
serve Chaos and he must be suspicious of her.

Ahead of them now they saw many great tents of
shimmering grey which, in the light, seemed composed
of all colours. People moved slowly among the tents and
there was an air of leisure about the place.

"Here," Sorana said, smiling at him and taking his
hand, "the Grey Lords hold impermanent court. They
wander about their land and have few artifacts and only
temporary houses which you see. They will make you
welcome if you interest them."

"But will they help us?"

"You must ask them."

"You are pledged to Eequor of Chaos," Rackhir ob-
served, "and must aid her against us, is that not so?"

"Here," she smiled, "is a truce. I can only inform
Chaos of what I learn of your plans and, if the Grey
Lords aid you, must tell them how, if I can find out."

"You are frank, Sorana."

"Here there are subtler hypocrisiesand the subtlest
lie of all is the full truth," she said, as they entered the
area of tall tents and made their way towards a certain
one.

In a different realm of the Earth, the huge horde
careered across the grasslands of the North, screaming
and singing behind the black-armoured horseman, their
leader. Nearer and nearer they came to lonely Tane-
lorn, their motley weapons shining through the evening
mists. Like a boiling tidal wave of insensate flesh, the
mob drove on, hysterical with the hate for Tanelorn
which Narjhan had placed in their thin hearts. Thieves,
murderers, jackals, scavengersa scrawny horde, but
huge...

And in Tanelorn the warriors were grim-faced as

their out-riders and scouts flowed into the city with
messages and estimates of the beggar army's strength.

Brut, in the silver armour of his rank, knew that two
full days had passed since Rackhir had left for the Sigh-
ing Desert Three more days and the city would be en-
gulfed by Narjhan's mighty rabbleand they knew there
was no chance of halting their advance. They might
have left Tanelorn to its fate, but they would not. Even
weak Uroch would not. For Tanelorn the Mysterious
had given them all a secret power which each believed
to be his only, a strength which filled them where before
they had been hollow men. Selfishly, they stayedfor to
leave Tanelorn to her fate would be to become hollow
again, and that they all dreaded.

Brut was the leader and he prepared the defence of
Tanelorna defence which might just have held against
the beggar armybut not against it and Chaos. Brut
shuddered when he thought that if Chaos had directed
its full force against Tanelorn, they would be sobbing in
Hell at that moment.

Dust rose high above Tanelorn, sent flying by the
hooves of the scouts' and messengers' horses. One came
through the gate as Brut watched. He pulled his mount
to a stop before the nobleman. He was the messenger
from Kaarlak, by the Weeping Waste, one of the nearest
major cities to Tanelorn.

The messenger gasped: "I asked Kaarlak for aid but,
as we supposed, they had never heard of Tanelorn and
suspected that I was an emissary from the beggar army
sent to lead their few forces into a trap. I pleaded with
the Senators, but they would do nothing."

"Was not Elric therehe knows Tanelorn?"

"No, he was not there. There is a rumour which says
that he himself fights Chaos now, for the minions of
Chaos captured his wife Zarozinia and he rides in pur-
suit of them. Chaos, it seems, gains strength everywhere
in our realm."

Brut was pale.

"What of Jadmarwill Jadmar send warriors?" The

messenger spoke urgently, for many had been sent to the
nearer cities to solicit aid.

"I do not know," replied Brut, "and it does not mat-
ter nowfor the beggar army is not three days march
from Tanelorn and it would take two weeks for a Jad-
marian force to reach us."

"And Rackhir?"

"I have heard nothing and he has not returned. I
have the feeling he will not return. Tanelorn is
doomed."

Rackhir and Lamsar bowed before the three small
men who sat in the tent, but one of them said impa-
tiently: "Do not humble yourselves before us, friends
we who are humbler than any." So they straightened
their backs and waited to be further addressed.

The Grey Lords assumed humility, but this, it seemed,
was their greatest ostentation, for it was a pride that
they had. Rackhir realised that he would need to use
subtle flattery and was not sure that he could, for he was
a warrior, not a courtier or a diplomat. Lamsar, too, re-
alised the situation and he said:

"In our pride, Lords, we have come to learn the sim-
pler truths which are only truthsthe truths which you
can teach us."

The speaker gave us a self-deprecating smile and re-
plied: "Truth is not for us to define, guest, we can but
offer our incomplete thoughts. They might interest you
or help you to find your own truths."

"Indeed, that is so," Rackhir said, not wholly sure
with what he was agreeing, but judging it best to agree.
"And we wondered if you had any suggestions on a mat-
ter which concerns usthe protection of our Tanelorn."

"We would not be so prideful as to interfere our own
comments. We are not mighty intellects," the speaker re-
plied blandly, "and we have no confidence in our own
decisions, for who knows that they may be wrong and
based on wrongly assessed information?"

"Indeed," said Lamsar, judging that he must flatter
them with their own assumed humility, and it is lucky
for us, Lords, that we do not confuse pride with learn-

ingfor it is the quiet man who observes and says little
who sees the most. Therefore, though we realise that
you are not confident that your suggestions or help
would be useful, none the less we, taking example from
your own demeanour, humbly ask if you know of any
way in which we might rescue Tanelorn?"

Rackhir had hardly been able to follow the complexi-
ties of Lamsar's seemingly unsophisticated argument,
but he saw that the Grey Lords were pleased. Out of the
corner of his eye he observed Sorana. She was smiling to
herself and it seemed evident, by the characteristics of
that smile, that they had behaved in the right way. Now
Sorana was listening intently and Rackhir cursed to
himself that the Lords of Chaos would know of every-
thing and might, even if they did gain the Grey Lords'
aid, still be able to anticipate and stop any action they
took to save Tanelorn.

The speaker conferred in a liquid speech with his fel-
lows and said finally: "Rarely do we have the privilege
to entertain such brave and intelligent men. How may
our insignificant minds be put to your advantage?"

Rackhir realised quite suddenly, and almost laughed,
that the Grey Lords were not very clever after all. Their
flattery had got them the help they required. He said:

"Narjhan of Chaos heads a huge army of human
scuma beggar armyand is sworn to tear down Tane-
lorn and kill her inhabitants. We need magical aid of
some kind to combat one so powerful as Narjhan and
defeat the beggars."

"But Tanelorn cannot be destroyed . . ." said a Grey
Lord. "She is Eternal . . ." said another. "But this
manifestation ..." murmured the third. "Ah, yes ..."

"There are beetles in Kaleef," said a Grey Lord who
had not spoken before, "which emit a peculiar venom."

"Beetles, Lord?" said Rackhir.

"They are the size of mammoths," said the third Lord,
"but can change their sizeand change the size of their
prey if it is too large for their gullets."

"As for that matter," the first speaker said, "there is a
chimera which dwells in mountains South of hereit

can change its shape and contains hate for Chaos since
Chaos bred it and abandoned it with no real shape of its
own."

"Then there are four brothers of Himerscahl who are
endowed with sorcerous power," said the second Lord,
but the first interrupted him:

"Their magic is no good outside our own dimension,"
he said. "I had thought, however, of reviving the Blue
Wizard."

"Too dangerous and, anyway, beyond our powers,"
said his companion.

They continued to debate for a while, and Rackhir
and Lamsar said nothing, but waited.

Eventually the first speaker said:

"The Boatmen of Xerlerenes, we have decided, will
probably be best equipped to aid you in defence of
Tanelorn. You must go to the mountains of Xerlerenes
and find their lake."

"A lake," said Lamsar, "in a range of mountains, I
see."

"No," the Lord said, "their lake lies above the moun-
tains. We will find someone to take you there. Perhaps
they will aid you."

"You can guarantee nothing else?"

"Nothingit is not our business to interfere. It is up
to them to decide whether they will aid you or not."

"I see," said Rackhir, "thank you."

How much time had passed since he had left Tane-
lorn? How much time before Narjhan's beggar army
reached the city? Or had it already done so?

Suddenly he thought of something, looked for Sorana,
but she had left the tent.

"Where lies Xerlerenes?" Lamsar was asking.

"Not in our realm, one of the Grey Lords replied,
"come we will find you a guide."

Sorana spoke the necessary word which took her im-
mediately into the blue half-world with which she was
so familiar. There were no other colours in it, but
many, many shades of blue. Here she waited until

Eequor noticed her presence. In the timelessness, she
could not tell how long she had waited.

The beggar horde came to an undisciplined and slow
halt at a sign from its leader. A voice rang hollowly
from the helm that was always closed.

"Tomorrow, we march against Tanelornthe time we
have anticipated is almost upon us. Make camp now.
Tomorrow shall Tanelorn be punished and the stones
of her little houses will be dust on the wind."

The million beggars cackled their glee and wetted
their scrawny lips. Not one of them asked why they had
marched so far, and this was because of Narjhan's
power.

In Tanelorn, Brut and Zas the One-handed discussed
the nature of death in quiet, over-controlled tones. Both
were filled with sadness, less for themselves than for
Tanelorn, soon to perish. Outside, a pitiful army tried
to place a cordon around the town but failed to fill the
gaps between men, there were so few of them. Lights in
the houses burned as if for the last time, and candles
guttered moodily.

Sorana, sweating as she always did after such an ep-
isode, returned to the plane occupied by the Grey Lords
and discovered that Rackhir, Lamsar, and their guide
were preparing to leave. Eequor had told her what to
doit was for her to contact Narjhan. The rest the
Lords of Chaos would accomplish. She blew her ex-lover
a kiss as he rode from the camp into the night. He
grinned at her defiantly, but when his face was turned
from her he frowned and they went in silence into the
Valley of the Currents where they entered the world
where lay the Mountains of Xerlerenes. Almost as soon
as they arrived, danger presented itself.

Their guide, a wanderer called Timeras, pointed into
the night sky which was spiked by the outlines of crags.

"This is a world where the air elementals are domi-
nant," he said. "Look!"

Flowing downwards in an. ominous sweep they saw a

flight of owls, great eyes gleaming. Only as they came
nearer did the men realise that these owls were huge, al-
most as large as a man. In the saddle Rackhir strung his
bow. Timeras said:

"How could they have learned of our presence so
soon?"

"Sorana," Rackhir said, busy with the bow, "she must
have warned the Lords of Chaos and they have sent
these dreadful birds." As the first one homed in, great
claws grasping, great beak gaping, he shot it in its
feathery throat and it shrieked and swept upwards.
Many arrows fled from his humming bow-string to find a
mark while Timeras drew his sword and slashed at
them, ducking as they whistled downwards.

Lamsar watched the battle but took no part, seemed
thoughtful at a time when action was desired of him.

He mused: "If the spirits of air are dominant in this
world, then they will resent a stronger force of other ele-
mentals," and he racked his brain to remember a spell.

Rackhir had but two arrows left in his quiver by the
time they had driven the owls off. The birds had not
been used, evidently, to a prey which fought back and
had put up a poor fight considering their superiority.

"We can expect more danger," said Rackhir some-
what shakily, "for the Lords of Chaos will use other
means to try and stop us. How far to Xerlerenes?"

"Not far," said Timeras, "but it's a hard road."

They rode on, and Lamsar rode behind them, lost in
his own thoughts.

Now they urged their horses up a steep mountain
path and a chasm lay below them, dropping, dropping,
dropping. Rackhir, who had no love for heights, kept as
close to the mountainside as was possible. If he had had
gods to whom he could pray, he would have prayed for
their help then.

The huge fish came flyingor swimmingat them as
they rounded a bend. They were semi-luminous, big as
sharks but with enlarged fins with which they planed
through the air like rays. They were quite evidently fish.

Timeras drew his sword, but Rackhir had only two ar-
rows left and it would have been useless against the air-
fish to have shot them, for there were many of the fish.

But Lamsar laughed and spoke in a high-pitched, stac-
cato speech. "Crackhorpishtasta salaflar!"

Huge balls of flame materialised against the black
skyflaring balls of multicoloured fire which shaped
themselves into strange, warlike forms and streamed
towards the unnatural fish.

The flame-shapes seared into the big fish and they
shrieked, struck at the fire-balls, burned, and fell flaming
down the deep gorge.

"Fire elementals!" Rackhir exclaimed.

"The spirits of the air fear such beings," Lamsar said
calmly.

The flame-beings accompanied them the rest of the
way to Xerlerenes and were with them when dawn
came, having frightened away many other dangers which
the Lords of Chaos had evidently sent against them.

They saw the boats of Xerlerenes in the dawn, at an-
chor on a calm sky, fluffy clouds playing around their
slender keels, their huge sails furled.

"The boatmen live aboard their vessels," Timeras
said, "for it is only their ships which deny the laws of
nature, not they."

Timeras cupped his hands about his mouth and
called through the still mountain air: "Boatmen of Xer-
lerenes, freemen of the air, guests come with a request
for aid!"

A black and bearded face appeared over the side of
one of the red-gold vessels. The man shielded his eyes
against the rising sun and stared down at them. Then he
disappeared again.

At length a ladder of slim thongs came snaking down
to where they sat their horses on the tops of the moun-
tains. Timeras grasped it, tested it and began to climb.
Rackhir reached out and steadied the ladder for him. It
seemed too thin to support a man but when he had it in
his hands he knew that it was the strongest he had ever
known.

Lamsar grumbled as Rackhir signalled for him to
climb, but he did so and quite nimbly. Rackhir was the
last, following his companions, climbing up through the
sky high above the crags, towards the ship that sailed on
the air.

The fleet comprised some twenty or thirty ships and
Rackhir felt that with these to aid him, there was a
good chance to rescue Tanelornif Tanelorn survived.
Narjhan would, anyway, be aware of the nature of the
aid he sought

Starved dogs barked the morning in and the beggar
horde, waking from where they had sprawled on the
ground, saw Narjhan already mounted, but talking to a
newcomer, a girl in black robes that moved as if in a
windbut there was no wind. There was a jewel at her
long throat.

When he had finished conversing with the newcomer,
Narjhan ordered a horse be brought for her and she
rode slightly behind him when the beggar army moved
onthe last stage of their hateful journey to Tanelorn.

When they saw lovely Tanelorn and how it was so
poorly guarded, the beggars laughed, but Narjhan and
his new companion looked up into the sky.

"There may be time," said the hollow voice, and gave
the order to attack.

Howling, the beggars broke into a run towards Tane-
lorn. The attack had started.

Brut rose in his saddle and there were tears flowing
down his face and glistening in his beard. His huge war-
axe was in one gauntleted hand and the other held a
spiked mace across the saddle before him.

Zas the One-handed gripped the long and heavy
broadsword with its pommel of a rampant golden lion
pointed downwards. This blade had won him a crown
in Andlermaigne, but he doubted whether it would suc-
cessfully defend his peace in Tanelorn. Beside him stood
Uroch of Nieva, pale-faced but angry as he watched the
ragged horde's implacable approach.

Then, yelling, the beggars met with the warriors of

Tanelorn and, although greatly outnumbered, the war-
riors fought desperately for they were defending more
than life or lovethey were defending that which had
told them of a reason for living.

Narjhan sat his horse aside from the battle, Sorana
next to him, for Narjhan could take no active part in
the battle, could only watch and, if necessary, use magic
to aid his human pawns or defend his person.

The warriors of Tanelorn, incredibly, held back the
roaring beggar horde, their weapons drenched with
blood, rising and falling in that sea of moving flesh,
flashing in the light of the red dawn.

Sweat now mingled with the salt tears in Brut's bris-
tling beard and with agility he leapt dear of his black
horse as the screaming beast was cut from under him.
The noble war-cry of his forefathers sang on his breath
and, although in his shame he had no business to use it,
he let it roar from him as he slashed about him with bit-
ing war-axe and rending mace. But he fought hopelessly
for Rackhir had not come and Tanelorn was soon to
die. His one fierce consolation was that he would die
with the city, his blood mingling with its ashes.

Zas, also, acquitted himself very well before he died of
a smashed skull. His old body twitched as trampling feet
stumbled over it as the beggars made for Uroch of
Nieva. The gold-pommelled sword was still gripped in
his single hand and his soul was fleeing for Limbo as
Uroch, too, was slain fighting.

Then the Ships of Xerlerenes suddenly materialised in
the sky and Brut, looking upward for an instant, knew
that Rackhir had come at lastthough it might be too
late.

Narjhan, also, saw the Ships and was prepared for
them.

They skimmed through the sky, the fire elementals
which Lamsar had summoned, flying with them. The
spirits of air and flame had been called to rescue weak-
ening Tanelorn...

The Boatmen prepared their wagons and made them-
selves ready for war. Their black faces had a concen-

trated look and they grinned in their bushy beards.
War-harness clothed them and they bristled with
weaponslong, barbed tridents, nets of steel mesh,
curved swords, long harpoons. Rackhir stood in the
prow of the leading ship, his quiver packed with slim ar-
rows loaned him by the Boatmen. Below him he saw
Tanelorn and was relieved that the city still stood.

He could see the milling warriors below, but it was
hard to tell, from the air, which were friends and which
were foes. Lamsar called to the frisking fire elementals,
instructing them. Timeras grinned and held his sword
ready as the ships rocked on the wind and dropped
lower.

Now Rackhir observed Narjhan with Sorana beside
him.

"The bitch has warned himhe is ready for us,"
Rackhir said, wetting his lips and drawing an arrow
from his quiver.

Down the Ships of Xerlerenes dropped, coursing
downwards on the currents of air, their golden sails bil-
lowing, the warrior crews straining over the side and
keen for battle.

Then Narjhan summoned the Kyrenee.

Huge as a storm-cloud, black as its native Hell, the
Kyrenee grew from the surrounding air and moved its
shapeless bulk forward towards the Ships of Xerlerenes,
sending out flowing tendrils of poison towards them.
Boatmen groaned as the coils curled around their naked
bodies and crushed them.

Lamsar called urgently to his fire elementals and they
rose again from where they had been devouring beggars,
came together in one great blossoming of flame which
moved to do battle with the Kyrenee.

The two masses met and there was an explosion
which blinded the Red Archer with multi-coloured light
and sent the Ships rocking and shaking so that several
capsized and sent their crews hurtling downwards to
death.

Blotches of flame flew everywhere and patches of poi-
son blackness from the body of the Kyrenee were flung

about, slaying those they touched before disappearing.

There was a terrible stink in the aira smell of bum-
ing, a smell of outraged elements which had never been
meant to meet.

The Kyrenee died, lashing about a wailing, while the
flame elementals, dying or returning to their own
sphere, faded and vanished. The remaining bulk of the
great Kyrenee billowed slowly down to the earth where
it fell upon the scrabbling beggars and killed them, leav-
ing nothing but a wet patch on the ground for yards
around, a patch glistening with the bones of beggars.

Now Rackhir cried: "Quicklyfinish the fight before
Narjhan summons more horrors!"

And the boats sailed downwards while the Boatmen
cast their steel nets, pulling large catches of beggars
aboard their Ships and finishing the wriggling standings
with their tridents or spears.

Rackhir shot arrow after arrow and had the satisfac-
tion of seeing each one take a beggar just where he had
aimed it. The remaining warriors of Tanelorn, led by
Brut who was covered in sticky blood but grinning in
his victory, charged towards the unnerved beggars.

Narjhan stood his ground, while the beggars, fleeing,
streamed past him and the girl. Sorana seemed
frightened, looked up and her eyes met Rackhir's. The
Red Archer aimed an arrow at her, thought better of it
and shot instead at Narjhan. The arrow went into the
black armour but had no effect upon the Lord of Chaos.

Then the Boatmen of Xerlernes flung down their
largest net from the vessel in which Rackhir sailed and
they caught Lord Narjhan in its coils and caught So-
rana, too.

Shouting their exhilaration, they pulled the struggling
bodies aboard and Rackhir ran forward to inspect their
catch. Sorana had received a scratch across her face from
the net's wire, but the body of Narjhan lay still and
dreadful in the mesh.

Rackhir grabbed an axe from a Boatman and
knocked back the helm, his foot upon the chest.

"Yield, Narjhan of Chaos!" he cried in mindless mer-

riment. He was near hysterical with victory, for this was
the first time a mortal had ever bested a Lord of Chaos.

But the armour was empty, if it had ever been occu-
pied by flesh, and Narjhan was gone.

Calm settled aboard the Ships of Xerlerenes and over
the city of Tanelorn. The remnants of the warriors had
gathered in the city's square and were cheering their vic-
tory.

Friagho, the Captain of Xerlerenes, came up to Rack-
hir and shrugged. "We did not get the catch we came
forbut these will do. Thanks for the fishing, friend."

Rackhir smiled and gripped Friagho's black shoulder.
"Thanks for the aidyou have done us all a great service."

Friagho shrugged again and turned back to his nets,
his trident poised. Suddenly Rackhir shouted: "No, Fri-
agholet that one be. Let me have the contents of that
net."

Sorana, the contents to which he'd referred, looked
anxious as if she had rather been transfixed on the
prongs of Friagho's trident. Friagho said: "Very well,
Red Archerthere are plenty more people on the land,"
pulled at the net to release her.

She stood up shakily, looking at Rackhir apprehen-
sively.

Rackhir smiled quite softly and said: "Come here, So-
rana." She went to him and stood staring up at his bony
hawk's face, her eyes wide. With a laugh he picked her
up and flung her over his shoulder.

"Tanelorn is safe!" he shouted. "You shall learn to
love its peace with me!" And he began to clamber down
the trailing ladders that the Boatmen had dropped over
the side.

Lamsar waited for him below. "I go now, to my her-
mitage again."

"I thank you for your aid," said Rackhir. "Without it
Tanelorn would no longer exist."

"Tanelorn will always exist while men exist," said the
hermit. "It was not a city you defended today. It was an
ideal. That is Tanelorn."

And Lamsar smiled.

