"Let us pass," said Moonglum.
The barbarians' faces hardened. "Speak you so to the conquerors of the world?" said the leader.
Moonglum took a step back and drew his sword, the cat squirming in his left hand.
"We'd best get this done," said Elric to his friend. He tugged his runeblade from its scabbard. The sword sang a soft and mocking tune and the barbarians heard it. They were disconcerted.
"Well?" said Elric, holding the half-sentient blade out
The barbarian who had challenged him looked uncertain of what to do. Then he forced himself to shout: "Clean iron can withstand any sorcery," and launched himself forward.
Elric, grateful for the chance to take further vengeance, blocked his swing, forced the scimitar back and aimed a blow which sliced the man's torso just above the hip. The barbarian screamed and died. Moonglum, dealing with a couple more, killed one but another came in swiftly and his sweeping sword sliced the little Eastlander's left shoulder. He howled-and dropped the cat. Elric stepped in, slew Moonglum's opponent, Stormbringer wailing a triumphant dirge. The rest of the barbarians turned and ran off.
"How bad is your wound?" gasped Elric, but Moonglum was on his knees staring through the gloom.
"Quick, Elric-can you see the cat? I dropped it in the struggle. If we lose it-we too are lost."
Frantically, they began to hunt through the camp.
But they were unsuccessful, for the cat, with the dexterity of its kind, had hidden itself.
A few moments later they heard the sounds of uproar coming from the house which Terarn Gashtek had commandeered.
"He's discovered that the cat's been stolen! " exclaimed Moonglum. "What do we do now?"
"I don't know-keep searching and hope he does not suspect us."
They continued to hunt, but with no result. While they searched, several barbarians came up to them. One of them said:
"Our leader wishes to speak with you."
"Why?"
"He'll inform you of that. Come on."
Reluctantly, they went with the barbarians to be confronted by a raging Terarn Gashtek. He clutched the stuffed rabbit skin in one claw-like hand and his face was warped with fury.
"My hold over the sorcerer has been stolen from me," he roared. "What do you know of it?"
"I don't understand," said Elric.
"The cat is missing-I found this rag in its place. You were caught talking to Drinij Bara recently, I think you were responsible."
"We know nothing of this," said Moonglum.
Terarn Gashtek growled: "The camp's in disorder, it will take a day to re-organise my men-once loosed like this they will obey no one. But when I've restored order, I shall question the whole camp. If you tell the truth, then you will be released, but meanwhile you will be given all the time you need to speak with the sorcerer." He jerked his head. "Take them away, disarm them, bind them and throw them in Drinij Bara's kennel."
As they were led away, Elric muttered: "We must escape and find that cat, but meanwhile we need not waste this opportunity to confer with Drinij Bara."
Drinij Bara said in the darkness: "No, Brother Sorcerer, I will not aid you. I will risk nothing until the cat and I are united."
"But Terarn Gashtek cannot threaten you any more."
"What if he recaptures the cat-what then?"
Elric was silent. He shifted his bound body uncomfortably on the hard boards of the wagon. He was about to continue his attempts at persuasion when the awning was thrown aside and he saw another trussed figure thrown towards them. Through the blackness he said in the Eastern tongue: "Who are you?"
The man replied in the language of the West: "I do not understand you."
"Are you, then, a Westerner?" asked Elric in the common speech.
"Yes-I am an Official Messenger from Karlaak. I was captured by these odorous jackals as I returned to the city."
"What? Are you the man we sent to Dyvim Slorm, my kinsman? I am Elric of Melnibone."
"My lord, are we all, then prisoners? Oh, gods-Karlaak is truly lost."
"Did you get to Dyvim Slorm?"
"Aye-I caught up with him and his band. Luckily they were nearer to Karlaak than we suspected."
"And what was his answer to my request?"
"He said that a few young ones might be ready, but even with sorcery to aid him it would take some time to get to the Dragon Isle. There is a chance."
"A chance is all we need-but it will be no good unless we accomplish the rest of our plan. Somehow Drinij Bara's soul must be regained so that Terarn Gashtek cannot force him to defend the barbarians. There is one idea I have-a memory of an ancient kinship that we of Melnibone had for a being called Meerclar. Thank the gods that I discovered those drugs in Troos and I still have my strength. Now, I must call my sword to me."
He closed his eyes and allowed his mind and body first to relax completely and then concentrate on one single thing-the sword Stormbringer.
For years the evil symbiosis had existed between man and sword and the old attachments lingered.
He cried: "Stormbringer! Stormbringer, unite with your brother! Come, sweet runeblade, come hell-forged kinslayer, your master needs thee..."
Outside, it seemed that a wailing wind had suddenly sprung up. Elric heard shouts of fear and a whistling sound. Then the covering of the wagon was sliced apart to let in the starlight and the moaning blade quivered in the air over his head. He struggled upwards, already feeling nauseated at what he was about to do, but he was reconciled that he was not, this time, guided by self interest but by the necessity to save the world from the barbarian menace.
"Give me thy strength, my sword," he groaned as his bound hands grasped the hilt. "Give me thy strength and let us hope it is for the last time."
The blade writhed in his hands and he felt an awful sensation as its power, the power stolen vampire-like, from a hundred brave men, flowed into his shuddering body.
He became possessed of a peculiar strength which was not by any means wholly physical. His white face twisted as he concentrated on controlling the new power and the blade, both of which threatened to possess him entirely. He snapped his bonds and stood up.
Barbarians were even now running towards the wagon. Swiftly he cut the leather ropes binding the others and, unconscious of the nearing warriors, called a different name.
He spoke a new tongue, an alien tongue which normally he could not remember. It was a language taught to the Sorcerer Kings of Melnibone, Elric's ancestors, even before the building of Imrryr, the Dreaming City, over ten thousand years previously.
"Meerclar of the Cats, it is I, your kinsman, Elric of Melnibone, last of the line that made vows of friendship with you and your people. Do you hear me, Lord of the Cats?"
Far beyond the Earth, dwelling within a world set apart from the physical laws of space and time which governed the planet, glowing in a deep warmth of blue and amber, a manlike creature stretched itself and yawned, displaying tiny, pointed teeth. It pressed its head languidly against its furry shoulder-and listened.
The voice it heard was not that of one of its people, the kind he loved and protected. But he recognised the language.
He smiled to himself as remembrance came and he felt the pleasant sensation of fellowship. He remembered a race which, unlike other humans (whom he disdained) had shared his qualities-a race which, like him, loved pleasure, cruelty and sophistication for its own sake. The race of Melniboneans.
Meerclar, Lord of the Cats, Protector of the Feline Kind, projected himself gracefully towards the source of the voice,
"How may I aid thee?" he purred.
"We seek one of your folk, Meerclar, who is somewhere close to here."