Elrik has collapsed on the flagstones of the throne room, beside his sister.

A black crow perches on the throne itself, looking down at them.

Then it spreads its wings and flies out of the window.

Dyvim Karm looks up as Melnibonean soldiers rush into the throne room.

DYVIM KARM: "Quickly...our king has fainted from exhaustion ... !" "Quickly...our king has fainted from exhaustion ... !"

MELNIBONeAN SOLDIER: "And our queen?" "And our queen?"

DYVIM KARM: "She's dead. And her soul, I fear, is forever in limbo. This is the end of the Melnibone she hoped to create. From this day on, our history darkens ..." "She's dead. And her soul, I fear, is forever in limbo. This is the end of the Melnibone she hoped to create. From this day on, our history darkens ..."

Dyvim Karm returns to the window and looks out across the blackened streets towards the harbour where the battle-barges lie at anchor.

DYVIM KARM: "... from this day on, we begin the making of an empire." "... from this day on, we begin the making of an empire."

EPILOGUE.

The dream has ended, but the dreamers have yet to wake ...

We are back at the dream couches. Tanglebones is distraught. He tries to lift Elric's head. He takes a cup from Cymoril's hand.

TANGLEBONES: "This is what I feared, Lady Cymoril." "This is what I feared, Lady Cymoril."

CYMORIL: "What is it, Sir Tanglebones?" "What is it, Sir Tanglebones?"

Tanglebones can't get the still-sleeping Elric to take the potion.

TANGLEBONES: "If he was killed in the dream, the chances are he is dead-or at least in limbo. Yet this is strange." "If he was killed in the dream, the chances are he is dead-or at least in limbo. Yet this is strange."

TANGLEBONES (looks up, frowning): (looks up, frowning): "He still breathes. It's as if he refuses to wake. As if something happened in his dream adventure which was so terrible, he has no will to come back to life!" "He still breathes. It's as if he refuses to wake. As if something happened in his dream adventure which was so terrible, he has no will to come back to life!"

Cymoril turns as a shout comes from the nearby dream chamber, where Yyrkoon went at about the same time as Elric.

UNSEEN VOICE: "Dead! No question of it!" "Dead! No question of it!"

CYMORIL: "Yyrkoon-dead? But-" "Yyrkoon-dead? But-"

Cymoril leaves Elric's chamber-and enters Yyrkoon's.

Her eyes widen in astonishment. Yyrkoon has a goblet in one hand and is leaning heavily on his elbow, clearly groggy, but definitely not dead.

YYRKOON: "He-she-Arioch can't be ..." "He-she-Arioch can't be ..."

But it is Arisand who lies sprawled on the flagstones.

And Yyrkoon rises weakly, in horror.

YYRKOON: "He promised me triumph-" "He promised me triumph-"

Yyrkoon sits on the bench, his hand to his chest, exactly on the spot where Elrik plunged the Black Sword into Black Armour's body.

YYRKOON: "-and brought me death..." "-and brought me death..."

Yyrkoon puts his hand to his head.

YYRKOON: "Ah. Memory fades. The dream-I no longer recall it..." "Ah. Memory fades. The dream-I no longer recall it..."

CYMORIL: "Whatever scheme you and this human woman concocted, brother, it clearly failed again." "Whatever scheme you and this human woman concocted, brother, it clearly failed again."

Cymoril hurries from the room, back to Elric's chamber.

Where Tanglebones is reviving a very faint, weak Elric, whose eyes will scarcely open.

TANGLEBONES: "He revives-but barely ..." "He revives-but barely ..."

ELRIC: "Arioch. He possessed my sister. No-two beings possessed her-who was the other...?" "Arioch. He possessed my sister. No-two beings possessed her-who was the other...?"

Tanglebones tries to soothe his master.

TANGLEBONES: "My lord, you must not tax yourself. It was but a bad dream." "My lord, you must not tax yourself. It was but a bad dream."

Elric glares up at Tanglebones.

ELRIC: "No! It was all too real. All too dark and terrible. It was how we let ourselves become what we are today. Creatures bereft of mercy or real happiness ..." "No! It was all too real. All too dark and terrible. It was how we let ourselves become what we are today. Creatures bereft of mercy or real happiness ..."

Cymoril speaks soothingly to him: CYMORIL: "Some of us feel it is a mercy you are saved from oblivion, my lord. And some of us are happy that you live." "Some of us feel it is a mercy you are saved from oblivion, my lord. And some of us are happy that you live."

Elric softens as he takes Cymoril's hand.

ELRIC: "Oh, sweet love. Yet you and I are still Melniboneans. Still what our history has made of us ..." "Oh, sweet love. Yet you and I are still Melniboneans. Still what our history has made of us ..."

CYMORIL: "Cannot our will overcome such things, my lord?" "Cannot our will overcome such things, my lord?"

ELRIC: "I do not know. That terrible dream. It fades now. Yet I seem to have learned lessons which permeate my very bones. No matter what our will, we must always be thwarted by dark destiny." "I do not know. That terrible dream. It fades now. Yet I seem to have learned lessons which permeate my very bones. No matter what our will, we must always be thwarted by dark destiny."

CYMORIL: "No, Elric. No, my lord. Our love will overcome any so-called 'destiny'. We can carve a new fate for ourselves. One that allows our love to flourish." "No, Elric. No, my lord. Our love will overcome any so-called 'destiny'. We can carve a new fate for ourselves. One that allows our love to flourish."

ELRIC: "I hope so, sweet Cymoril. I hope so." "I hope so, sweet Cymoril. I hope so."

But when we look into his face, into his brooding eyes, it is clear he holds no such hope.

There is a step in the corridor. We catch a glimpse of Sadric as he comes towards the dream chambers.

Emperor Sadric stared at his son without speaking. He seemed to be reading something there.

It was as if he understood what had happened in that dream ...

Sadric enters, pausing at the entrance to the dream chamber.

Pausing for only a moment, he made his way to the next dream chamber, occupied by his nephew ...

Sadric looks down at Yyrkoon, who is snarling, though still very groggy. He looks at the body of Arisand still sprawled there.

SADRIC: "What happened here?" "What happened here?"

YYRKOON: "The bitch-or whatever the creature was-betrayed me. She said she'd aid me against that bloodless weakling. Instead, she died. I-I cannot remember how ..." "The bitch-or whatever the creature was-betrayed me. She said she'd aid me against that bloodless weakling. Instead, she died. I-I cannot remember how ..."

SADRIC: "You killed her? You killed my only consolation?" "You killed her? You killed my only consolation?"

Yyrkoon simply cannot remember what happened. He tries to explain himself to Sadric, but cannot.

YYRKOON: "N-no, my lord-at least, I d-do not think so..." "N-no, my lord-at least, I d-do not think so..."

Wordlessly, the emperor turned his back on his nephew and returned to where his son still tried to rid himself of his last, long dream...

Sadric looks down on Elric. He is not smiling. It is almost as if he is reluctant to voice the words he speaks. But speak them he does...

SADRIC: "The tests are complete. The duel is done. You have won, my son. Though it will bring you scant satisfaction, you will be the next emperor of Melnibone." "The tests are complete. The duel is done. You have won, my son. Though it will bring you scant satisfaction, you will be the next emperor of Melnibone."

There was no more to be said. Sadric returned to his books and his solitary misery.

Elric's eyes still carried the shadows of that terrible dream.

He felt no triumph in his father's decision. Yet there was some comfort in the embrace of the beautiful young woman beside him ...

Cymoril embraces Elric, who is now pretty much recovered, though there are still shadows in his eyes as he tries to forget, rather than recall, the dream he has emerged from.

CYMORIL: "It means we can be wed, my lord. As emperor and empress we shall bring a new era of prosperity and power to Melnibone. We'll learn, as you say, to live with the humans of the Young Kingdoms, to win their friendship and offer them ours ..." "It means we can be wed, my lord. As emperor and empress we shall bring a new era of prosperity and power to Melnibone. We'll learn, as you say, to live with the humans of the Young Kingdoms, to win their friendship and offer them ours ..."

ELRIC: "Yet we shall still be Melniboneans, my darling. We shall still be what we are. For Chaos remains our ally." "Yet we shall still be Melniboneans, my darling. We shall still be what we are. For Chaos remains our ally."

Tanglebones turns his head suddenly, for he thinks he sees something behind him.

There, hanging like smoke in the far corner of the chamber, is a triumphantly smiling face. It is the face of Arioch, but what we can see of the body seems to bear the clothes of Arisand.

Tanglebones frowns, lost in his own thoughts, and a black raven comes to perch again on his shoulder.

Elric turns to look at the old seer.

ELRIC: "But I brood too much, eh, Master Tanglebones?" "But I brood too much, eh, Master Tanglebones?"

Then the young prince was on his feet, shrugging off his melancholy as the dreams of doom faded from his memory.

Elric is smiling again. He has risen and has his arm around the delighted Cymoril.

ELRIC: "Come, my dear Cymoril. Let's to our horses and the clean sweet air again. I have a fancy to taste the simple pleasures." "Come, my dear Cymoril. Let's to our horses and the clean sweet air again. I have a fancy to taste the simple pleasures."

He and Cymoril leave the room, laughing joyfully.

Leaving Tanglebones who, in his thoughtful wisdom, watches them go.

TANGLEBONES: "Aye, my lord. Taste them while you may. And pray they last-as I shall also pray." "Aye, my lord. Taste them while you may. And pray they last-as I shall also pray."

For the old man feared that tragedy and death would soon fall upon Melnibone, and when they came, they must surely signify ...

The End

A PORTRAIT IN IVORY.

A PORTRAIT IN IVORY.

(2005).

CHAPTER ONE.

An Encounter with a Lady ELRIC, WHO HAD slept well and revived himself with fresh-brewed herbs, was in improved humour as he mixed honey and water into his glass of green breakfast wine. Typically, his night had been filled with distressing dreams, but any observer would see only a tall, insouciant "silverskin" with high cheekbones, slightly sloping eyes and tapering ears, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. slept well and revived himself with fresh-brewed herbs, was in improved humour as he mixed honey and water into his glass of green breakfast wine. Typically, his night had been filled with distressing dreams, but any observer would see only a tall, insouciant "silverskin" with high cheekbones, slightly sloping eyes and tapering ears, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts.

He had found a quiet hostelry away from the noisy centre of Sered-oma, this city of tall palms. Here, merchants from all over the Young Kingdoms gathered to trade their goods in return for the region's most valuable produce. This was not the dates or livestock, on which Sered-oma's original wealth had been founded, but the extraordinary creations of artists famed everywhere in the lands bordering the Sighing Desert. Their carvings, especially of animals and human portraits, were coveted by kings and princes. It was the reputation of these works of art which brought the crimson-eyed albino out of his way to see them for himself. Even in Melnibone, where barbarian art for the most part was regarded with distaste, the sculptors of Sered-oma had been admired.

Though Elric had left the scabbarded runesword and black armour of his new calling in his chamber and wore the simple chequered clothing of a regional traveler, his fellow guests tended to keep a certain distance from him. Those who had heard little of Melnibone's fall had celebrated the Bright Empire's destruction with great glee until the implications of that sudden defeat were understood. Certainly, Melnibone no longer controlled the world's trade and could no longer demand ransom from the Young Kingdoms, but the world was these days in confusion as upstart nations vied to seize the power for themselves. And meanwhile, Melnibonean mercenaries found employment in the armies of rival countries. Without being certain of his identity, they could tell at once that Elric was one of those misplaced unhuman warriors, infamous for their cold good manners and edgy pride.

Rather than find themselves in a quarrel with him, the customers of the Rolling Pig kept their distance. The haughty albino too seemed indisposed to open a conversation. Instead, he sat at his corner table staring into his morning wine, brooding on what could not be forgotten. His history was written on handsome features which would have been youthful were it not for his thoughts. He reflected on an unsettled past and an uneasy future. Even had someone dared approach him, however sympathetically, to ask what concerned him, he would have answered lightly and coldly, for, save in his nightmares, he refused to confront most of those concerns. Thus, he did not look up when a woman, wearing the conical russet hat and dark veil of her caste, approached him through the crowd of busy dealers.

"Sir?" Her voice was a dying melody. "Master Melnibonean, could you tolerate my presence at your table?" Falling rose petals, sweet and brittle from the sun.

'Lady," said Elric, in the courteous tone his people reserved for their own high-born kin, "I am at my breakfast. But I will gladly order more wine ..."

"Thank you, sir. I did not come here to share your hospitality. I came to ask a favour." Behind the veil her eyes were grey-green. Her skin had the golden bloom of the Na'ane, who had once ruled here and were said to be a race as ancient as Elric's own. "A favour you have every reason to refuse."

The albino seemed almost amused, perhaps because, as he looked into her eyes, he detected beauty behind the veil, an unexpected intelligence he had not encountered since he had left Imrryr's burning ruins behind him. How he had longed to hear the swift wit of his own people, the eloquent argument, the careless insults. All that and more had been denied him for too long. To himself he had become sluggish, almost as dull as the conniving princelings and self-important merchants to whom he sold his sword. Now, there was something in the music of her speech, something in the lilt of irony colouring each phrase she uttered, that spoke to his own sleeping intellect. "You know me too well, lady. Clearly, my fate is in your hands, for you're able to anticipate my every attitude and response. I have good reason not to grant you a favour, yet you still come to ask one, so either you are prescient or I am already your servant."