Michael Moorcock.


There came a time when there was great movement upon the Earth and above it, when the destiny of Men and Gods was hammered out upon the forge of Fate, when monstrous wars were brewed and mighty deeds were designed. And there rose up in this time, which was called the Age of the Young Kingdoms, heroes. Greatest of these heroes was a doom driven adventurer who bore a crooning rune blade that he loathed.
His name was Brie of Melnibone, king of ruins, lord of a scattered race that had once ruled the ancient world. Elric, sorcerer and swordsman, slayer of kin, despoiler of his home land, white faced albino, last of his line.
Elric, who had come to Karlaak by the Weeping Waste and had married a wife in whom he found some peace, some surcease from the torment in him.
And Elric, who had within him a greater destiny than he knew, now dwelt in Karlaak with Zarozinia, his wife, and his sleep was troubled, his dream dark, one brooding night in the Month of the Anemone..

Dead God’s Homecoming

In which, at long last, Eric’s fate begins to be revealed to him as the forces of Law and Chaos gather strength for the final battle which will decide the future of Elric’s world…


Above the rolling earth great clouds tumbled down and bolts of lightning charged groundwards to slash the midnight black, split trees in twain and sear through roofs that cracked and broke.
The dark mass of forest trembled with the shock and out of it crept six hunched, unhuman figures who paused to stare beyond the low hills towards the outline of a city. It was a city of squat walls and slender spires, of graceful towers and domes; and it had a name which the leader of the creatures knew. Karlaak by the Weeping Waste it was called.
Not of natural origin, the storm was ominous. It groaned around the city of Karlaak as the creatures skulked past the open

gates and made their way through shadows towards the elegant palace where Elric slept. The leader raised an axe of black iron in its clawed hand. The group came to a stealthy halt and regarded the sprawling palace which lay on a hill Surrounded by languorously scented gardens. The earth shook as lightning lashed it and thunder prowled across the turbulent sky.
“Chaos has aided us in this matter, ” the leader grunted.
“Sec already the guards fall in magic slumber and our entrance is thus made simple. The Lords of Chaos are good to their servants.”
He spoke the truth. Some supernatural force had been at work and the warriors guarding Elric’s palace had dropped to tee ground, their snores echoing the thunder. The servants of Chaos crept past the prone guards, into the main courtyard and from there into the darkened palace. Unerringly they climbed twisting staircases, moved softly along gloomy corridors, to arrive at length outside the room where Elric and his wife lay in uneasy sleep.
As the leader laid a hand upon the door, a voice cried out from within the room: “What’s this? What things of hell disrupt my rest?”
“He sees list” sharply whispered one of the creatures.
“No, ” the leader said, “he sleeps but such a sorcerer as this Elric is not so easily lulled into a stupor. We had best make speed and do our work, for if he wakes it will be the harder! “
He twisted the handle and eased the door open, his axe half raised. Beyond the bed, heaped with tumbled furs and silks, lightning gashed the night again, showing the white face of the albino close to that of his dark haired wife.

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