to tickle. Mine to kiss. Mine to shit and mine to fart. Mine to take his heart. Mine to clothe with iron shoes. Mine to dance. Mine to bruise. Mine to use.'
The achingly beautiful lips smacked like a troll's in a fairy tale. I began to wonder if it were only Miggea of Law who grew senile amongst the Lords of the Higher Worlds. Could the whole race of gods have grown too old to have any clear idea of their desires or interests? Was the multiverse in the hands of such creatures? Was our own condition reflected in theirs? Fromental, meanwhile, followed none of this. We spoke a language completely alien to him. He looked from Oona to me, eyebrows raised, asking a silent question.
Elric saw something and pointed. Without a thought, he folded both hands around Stormbringer's hilt.
Gaynor, still in his armor but looking somewhat the worse for wear, appeared on the white beach. Had the U-boat brought him to Morn? He clearly could not see anything within the stone circle and thus believed himself to be alone. He was swordless, apparently with no weapons. And he had no cup with him either. We took a certain pleasure in watching Gaynor advance.
He paused before entering the circle. He peered in. We remained invisible to him. Ocher light filled the spaces between the stones.
'Master? Lord Arioch?'
Arioch's voice was a gentle invitation. 'Enter.'
Gaynor stepped through.
And found all his enemies awaiting him.
He turned in startled fury. He tried to step back out of the circle, but he was trapped.
'Have you brought me the key, little mortal?' Arioch spoke again with a delicacy suggesting he tasted each syllable before he released it into the air.
'I could not, sire.' His attention was more on us than on the Lord of the Higher Worlds. 'The thing has a mind of its own ...'
'But it is your duty to control it.'
'It cannot be controlled, my lord. It has a will, I swear, if not intelligence.'
'But I told you all that, little mortal. And you assured me you had the means of gaining control. That is why I helped you. That is why I imprisoned Lady Miggea for you.'
Elric laughed as Gaynor's confidence ebbed. 'I came for more help, ' said our enemy almost pathetically. 'A little more. But why? How... ? These are your enemies, my lord. They who would oppose you.'
'Oh, I think they have shown me rather more respect, Prince Gaynor, than I have received from you. You seem to think it possible to lie to a Lord of the Higher Worlds. You seem to think I'm some bottle imp to give you as many wishes as you desire. I am no such thing! I am a Duke of Hell! I have ambitions which go far beyond your imaginings. And my patience is ended. How shall I punish you, little Prince?'
'I can bring you through, my lord, I swear. I just have to return to Bek. Mighty forces even now rise to dominate this realm. Hour by hour they gain more territory, more power. Only you, through me, can defeat them, my lord.'
'I have no interest in saving this realm, ' said Arioch in regal astonishment. 'I just wished to play with it for a while. Now my only pleasure, little Gaynor, will be to play with you.'
Oona turned to Fromental and snatched the basket from his hands. She reached into it and lifted out its contents.
It appeared to be a miniature model. An intricate ivory cage made of thousands of tiny bones from which a tiny voice raged.
Miggea, still trapped, was furious.
'How did you do that?' I asked Oona in astonishment.
'It is not difficult. Scale is the only thing that varies from realm to realm. Each realm, as I explained to you, is on a slightly different scale, which is how we are able to navigate between them and why we are not immediately aware of their existence.
'I arranged for Lieutenant Fromental to bring her here. Miggea is very powerful, but quite thoroughly imprisoned. Given her own volition she would soon adjust her scale to the realm in which she finds herself. I do not have the power to release her. Only the one who imprisoned her can do that.'
'You have brought another of these creatures to my world?' This seemed the height of irresponsibility to me. 'To war against the one already here? To turn the whole planet into a battlefield?'
'You will see, ' said Oona. 'But you must all leave the circle now. First, give me your sword.'
Against all sense I handed her Ravenbrand. Then Elric, Fromental and I stepped outside the Stones of Morn.
The little we could see became a shadow play. The dark, lounging presence of Duke Arioch, the swift, elegant figure of Oona placing the cage of bone on the ground. Gaynor transfixed. Oona then touched the cage with the point of my sword. I heard Arioch's voice, faintly booming. 'Well, my lady, it seems it is no longer in my interest to hold you captive.'
A noise like splitting flint.
A terrible crack.
Something began to boil and writhe and grow within the circle. Something which cackled and squealed with idiot laughter and pushed against whatever force the stone circle held. Miggea, having escaped the cage, now sought to escape the circle.
The stones shook. They might have been dancing. Then they were still, straight, waiting. They looked to me as they must have looked when the first Druids newly erected them. Tall, white granite, flashing in the light from the sun.
Suddenly a figure of unstable fire stood before us, caught in the circle, writhing uncontrollably, screaming silently out at us. Gaynor's face was burning. His whole body was in flames. Burning with a million conflicts generated in his ungenerous heart. And there he was again, standing beside himself, still flaming, still screaming. He was begging us for something. Could it have been forgiveness? Or merely release? Another dancing, burning figure, and another, until they made a full circle within the circle.
From above, the shadowy golden face of Duke Arioch smiled and whistled as if watching a puppet show, and the senile, drooling, cackling creature that had once been one of Law's greatest aristocrats poked at Gaynor's twisting body, which changed shape and size, became many versions of itself, then one, then fragmented again. I heard his screams. They were like nothing else I had ever heard in all my life.
Arioch and Miggea tugged at him, breaking off pieces of his many identities in their struggle. They played with him as cats might play with a cricket. There was little animosity between them. All their hatred was directed at Gaynor, stupid Gaynor, who had thought he could play one of them off against the other. He begged them to stop.
I was close to begging for the same thing! A thousand Gaynors filled the circle. A thousand different kinds of pain.
Oona regarded this with quiet satisfaction, in much the same way she might look upon a piece of domestic handiwork and congratulate herself.
'He cannot bring himself back to his archetype, ' she said. 'It is the only way we survive. A sense of identity is all we have. At this moment all Gaynor's many identities are in conflict. He is being disseminated throughout the multiverse. The convergence Gaynor sought to use for his own selfish ends has proved to be his undoing.'
'Too many! ' Arioch swore. 'You promised me the power of Law. I already possess
the power of Chaos. Where, fractured Gaynor, is the Grail?'
The replies were various, multitudinous, horrifying. 'She has it! ' was the only coherent phrase we heard.
Then Gaynor was gone.
Miggea was gone.
Arioch's voice was a satisfied, luscious whisper. 'The Grail is still there. At my point of entry, where he promised to bring me through.'
Monstrous lips smacked.
And then Arioch, too, disappeared.
Between them, he and Miggea tore Gaynor into a million psychic shreds.
A rustling, like an autumn wind, and sorcery was gone from that realm. The old stones pushed their way up
