In defiance, with an exaggerated gesture, Elric bows and shows Cymoril the way to the door...

ELRIC: "Come, sweet Cymoril. Let's ride to the wilder reaches of our island."

Cymoril looks to Doctor Tanglebones, who is grave.

TANGLEBONES: "You must prepare yourself mentally and bodily for your coming trials."

TANGLEBONES: "My lord, you must rest..."

ELRIC: "And so I shall, good doctor, so I shall."

He's determined to enjoy this sense of release, to get the most out of it. He is a boy overburdened with duty and destiny.

Cymoril goes with him when he leaves the chamber. She shares his grin as they head for the stables.

Shot of them riding hell for leather from the walls of Imrryr, into the craggy beauty of the island's interior.

But, of course, in Melnibone royal princes and princesses rarely go unwatched ...

Wearing his crown of iron feathers, Old Sadric, gaunt and haunted, stares from a window at his departing son, then turns his mind to more important matters.

Sadric, the old Sorcerer Emperor, hated his son, blamed Elric for killing his mother in childbirth.

Sadric had read the portents, heard the omens.

Was there any other interpretation?

Elric must bring shame to his own blood and drag destruction down on all the world ...

Watched by the human woman Arisand, who holds back in a gesture of supplication, Sadric pushes open the doors of the great Hall of Steel. Here are the weapons, banners and armour of his ancestors.

So Sadric cared little where his son rode or with whom. Sadric had a colder choice to make ...

Sadric has come to stand before the traditional armour of a Melnibonean Sorcerer Emperor. This is constituted pretty much how Whelan depicts it on the DAW covers. A breastplate decorated with dragon motif, backplate matching. The dragon helm-crowned by a slender dragon about to take flight, with pieces protecting nose, eyes, ears. Grieves and gauntlets of similar design. A great war-shield, also of similar design. He's reaching to take down the helmet...

SADRIC: "My old armour. The armour of all Melnibone's emperors."

As he removes it, the helmet falls from his ancient, palsied hands and rolls on the stone slabs at his feet.

Proudly, Sadric peers down at the helm.

SADRIC: "Not a dent. Not a scratch. Sorcery or science? I once knew what it was. But I forget everything. So addictive, so corrosive, that ancient magic..."

He runs a still-sensuous hand over the complicated metalwork.

SADRIC: "I had a warrior's body once, to match a warrior's heart. Now, my hands can barely hold such power."

He replaces the helmet.

SADRIC: "Who shall wear it? My strong, cruel nephew. Or my weakling son. To survive we have always been ruthless. It is our duty."

He inspects obscene-looking daggers, mysterious cutting weapons, odd armour.

Wearing his crown of iron plumes, Sadric is in the upper part of the tower. From this curve four apparent flying buttresses. These also house the great chambers, such as the Hall of Steel, off his main living quarters. Now he looks out across the forest of ancient towers which is Melnibone. Behind him stands the human girl Arisand.

ARISAND: "A human is neither as wise nor as well educated as a Melnibonean, master. But it seems to me your son puts aside his youthful weaknesses and becomes increasingly what you would wish him to be."

SADRIC (coolly): (coolly): "Deficient blood, my dear. That's the problem. The test will come on the dream couches. That is where one or the other will prove their fitness. Now ..." "Deficient blood, my dear. That's the problem. The test will come on the dream couches. That is where one or the other will prove their fitness. Now ..."

He waves her away and she leaves through a door.

SADRIC: "...I must return to my grimoires..."

Next we see her making an entrance, slipping through another curtain. She has removed her over-dress. She is more sensuously clad.

Yyrkoon's bed of concubines is not far from where she now seats herself in a great, baroque chair.

Yyrkoon has his back to us. He will be seen to be leaning towards the great port of Imrryr, with its cliffs surrounding the harbour not fronted by the city. The sea-maze swirls. Ships are still loading and unloading.

Without looking back at her, Yyrkoon speaks to Arisand: YYRKOON: "So, madam."

YYRKOON: "A score of our finest merchantmen will sail with the evening tide when they should have been warships!"

He turns. She smiles.

YYRKOON: "Did you discover my uncle's wishes? Will he make me me his heir over that weakling?" his heir over that weakling?"

ARISAND: "He cannot bring himself to choose. All will be decided on the couches. If Elric survives the four dream-quests, he will rule."

Yyrkoon takes this information thoughtfully. Then he grins as if to Arisand, but actually directly addressing us, like a knowing, Jacobean villain ...

YYRKOON: "That is good news for me, I think. We can challenge destiny!"

Last panel will be a small one of Elric and Cymoril riding over open, if slightly weird, countryside. We read Yyrkoon's words over this panel...

YYRKOON: "In past times, many perished hideously on those dream couches. Soon Elric will be one mummy amongst many-in the burial vaults of our ancestors."

CHAPTER TWO.

The Vaults of our Ancestors Out of sight of the city, Cymoril and Elric pull their horses up before a great slab of limestone, surrounded by shrubs and small trees, moss, a few small streams making tears in the massive face.

ELRIC: "Ha! Here's my chance to show you something I learned during my dream-quests." "Ha! Here's my chance to show you something I learned during my dream-quests."

CYMORIL: "Could we not ride around it, my lord?" "Could we not ride around it, my lord?"

Elric shuts his eyes and his face contorts almost to Mr. Hyde transformation as his fingers stretch to Hogarthian proportions and he utters an unholy word in an alien language-Cymoril covers her ears.

ELRIC:(check spelling) With an enormous cracking noise, the rockface splits-and keeps on splitting until it is a great fissure, large enough to admit human bodies. The horses are not taking this well. They will go forward no more.

ELRIC (dismounts): (dismounts): "There are some practical skills to be learned from those dream-quests. Our horses will find their way home. Come!" "There are some practical skills to be learned from those dream-quests. Our horses will find their way home. Come!"

Cymoril is not a little uncertain about this venture... She holds back but he insists, holding out his hand. Trusting him, but uncertain still, she goes with him. Down into the dank depths of the earth. The horses turn and gallop away home.

And when we have seen the last of Elric's and Cymoril's heads, descending into the darkness, the slab closes again with a sense of finality.

Elric is not alarmed and comforts Cymoril. Dark and dank as it is, there are fires flaring intermittently below. Enough light to allow them to make their way down a rocky spiral road towards the bottom.

Then a huge shape goes past them with a PHUNK, almost knocking them from the ledge, but Elric is laughing up at the shape- CYMORIL: "Elric!"

-which, as it spirals towards the ground, a tiny rider on its back, proves to be a young Phoorn. A young dragon ... The fires themselves come from the combustible venom which drips from the fangs of the mature dragons who sleep or raise drowsy eyes and snort clouds of steam through their nostrils.

ELRIC: "Do not worry, my lady. These are the Dragon Caves of Imrryr." "Do not worry, my lady. These are the Dragon Caves of Imrryr."

As the young couple descend the path, another young Melnibonean ascends it to greet them. He's the laughing rider of the dragon, and still wears his dragon leathers, holds part of a bridle. In the other hand is his great dragon lance-a long, leaf-shaped blade which is set in a red jewel from the other end of which comes the haft of the lance. This will show a distinct similarity of design with the Black Sword, but where the Black Sword will have a red actorios, this has a light blue sapphire. The bearer is Dyvim Tvar, Elric's best male friend.

DYVIM TVAR: "Dear cousins! How good of you to visit me in my murky lair." "Dear cousins! How good of you to visit me in my murky lair."

ELRIC: "Well met, Dyvim Tvar." "Well met, Dyvim Tvar."

Dyvim Tvar bows and displays the rows of dragons who sleep in orderly ranks around the rim of a bay which is almost a perfect oval, an underground sea beneath the stalactites.

DYVIM TVAR: "Forgive me for startling you. We watch for intruders these days. More than we used to."

DYVIM TVAR (with a hospitable gesture): (with a hospitable gesture): "Come, meet the Phoorn, my family. The few who are presently awake!" "Come, meet the Phoorn, my family. The few who are presently awake!"

The Melniboneans stand looking up at a massive snout from which pour, like drool, rivulets of venom. Some of this venom has scarred the rock on which the dragon sleeps. Some still flickers, for it becomes fire when it meets air ...Fiery streams run on both sides of the figures as they regard the huge, sleepy, half-open eye which regards them. Dyvim Tvar speaks to the Phoorn in their own language.

DYVIM TVAR (runes): (runes):[image] etc, etc, DRAGON (answers in the same language): (answers in the same language):ELRIC: "I envy your knowledge of the dragon tongue." "I envy your knowledge of the dragon tongue."

DYVIM TVAR: "Once, when our folk were the simple Mernii, we and the Phoorn shared a common language. Now it cannot be learned. It has to be remembered ..."

He guides them up some rather more recently built stone stairs towards a door which he opens for them.

They look back at the great near-circle of resting and sleeping dragons. Dyvim Tvar puts his hand on Elric's shoulders.

DYVIM TVAR: "Prince Yyrkoon will never have help. My loyalty's to you, my dragons and to our traditions."

They are out on a long, straight staircase which leads upwards from the Dragon Caves. They are briefly in an underground passage. Then on a spiral staircase. Then they are entering a chamber at the base of the Imperial Tower.

But these chambers are spare. A craftsman's rooms. Various heavy, ornate bits of dragon bridle hang on the walls. The furniture is sturdy but not ornate. Dyvim Tvar provides food, which they do not eat, and wine, which they drink. Elric tilts his chair back, enjoying this simple pleasure.

ELRIC: "What I would not give, dear friend, to be a simple Dragon Master..." "What I would not give, dear friend, to be a simple Dragon Master..."

DYVIM TVAR (smiles at this): (smiles at this): "Well, I must say I don't envy you your sorcerous learning ... nor the means by which it's gathered. I am content. The dragons sleep. Only a few need tending." "Well, I must say I don't envy you your sorcerous learning ... nor the means by which it's gathered. I am content. The dragons sleep. Only a few need tending."

He looks almost dreamy as he adds: DYVIM TVAR: "Perhaps one day the Phoorn will again fly in a phalanx blotting out the sun-a final, mighty flight..." "Perhaps one day the Phoorn will again fly in a phalanx blotting out the sun-a final, mighty flight..."

He claps his hand on Elric's shoulder.

DYVIM TVAR: "And you'll be with me. Riding side by side on twin dragons. Flying above our empire." "And you'll be with me. Riding side by side on twin dragons. Flying above our empire."

Elric embraces Cymoril.

ELRIC: "Where shall we go now?" "Where shall we go now?"

CYMORIL: "To our beds. And tomorrow, my lord, to your studies. I shall not see you until you begin the first of your most important dreams ..." "To our beds. And tomorrow, my lord, to your studies. I shall not see you until you begin the first of your most important dreams ..."

A montage of Elric studying, being taught by old Tanglebones-to fence, learn an incantation, summoning a small demon, sleep in exhausted slumber. Until Doctor Tanglebones wakes him before dawn and, carrying a lantern, leads the way. Washed by slaves, Elric next ascends the dream couch with its hard, marble head-rest, its decorated stonework and woodwork.

And so begins the first long dream: the Dream of Earth ...

CHAPTER THREE.

Talking in Silence Observed by the raven Sepiriz, which flies from Tanglebones's shoulder into the dream sequence, Elric's astral body leaves the couch and becomes this very good physical body-his own in its best possible condition. His hair is braided. He is stripped to the waist, wearing only a short jacket. He has a quiver of arrows, an unstrung bow, a long knife, leggings, breach-clout, deerskin boots. And he is entering what seems to be an amphitheatre-Pueblo-style dwellings, with ladders and cave entrances at every level. Some short, squat, sturdy dwarfish Mayan types (Puk Wa D'Jee, Pukwadji) stare out at Elric. Elric is now White Crow. Throughout this sequence the huge black raven is evident. White Crow greets the Pukwadji cheerfully.

WHITE CROW/ELRIC: "Hey, little allies. Have the Pukwadji no welcome for White Crow?" "Hey, little allies. Have the Pukwadji no welcome for White Crow?"

Suddenly Elric has more friends than he needs. They are jumping on him, hitting him with clubs, holding him wherever they can. He attempts to fight them and sends several flying, but eventually they overwhelm him.

ELRIC: "I gather we're no longer allies. The last I knew, our peoples neared agreement..." "I gather we're no longer allies. The last I knew, our peoples neared agreement..."

He is trussed in rawhide.

PUKWADJI LEADER: "Your folk betray us. We'll never return their ships now. They have no right to keep the black blade when it threatens our very existence." "Your folk betray us. We'll never return their ships now. They have no right to keep the black blade when it threatens our very existence."

PUKWADJI SHAMAN: "King Grome will destroy us if we do not return the black blade. But your folk will not trade it back. So Grome keeps your ships. and we feed him the few of your folk we catch-to placate him in his terrible distress." "King Grome will destroy us if we do not return the black blade. But your folk will not trade it back. So Grome keeps your ships. and we feed him the few of your folk we catch-to placate him in his terrible distress."

ELRIC: "You attacked us, dragging our ships underground, stranding us, making our journey impossible to finish." "You attacked us, dragging our ships underground, stranding us, making our journey impossible to finish."

SHAMAN: "We used our last great pact with Grome to take those ships. We have little left to fight with. We'll keep the ships until we get the blade."

SHAMAN: "Meanwhile-we sacrifice you to King Grome, the earth-lord ..." "Meanwhile-we sacrifice you to King Grome, the earth-lord ..."

Shaman holds up a skull with a crown of metal feathers stuck on it.

They carry the tied Elric deep, deep underground, down tunnels, passages, through chambers, through natural caverns, down and down until they come to where Grome awaits them, far below. Grome is gnarled and knotted, made of great tree roots, and clumps of earth and boulders and grass and moulds and fungus.