Free The Stealer of Souls by Michael Moorcock

open, showing that someone was inside, and Elric rushed through it and entered the large ground-floor chamber. No-one greeted him.
    “Tanglebones!” he yelled, his voice roaring loudly even in his own ears. “Tanglebones—are you here?” He leapt up the stairs in great bounds, calling his servant’s name. On the third floor he stopped suddenly, hearing a low groan from one of the rooms. “Tanglebones—is that you?” Elric strode towards the room, hearing a strangled gasping. He pushed open the door and his stomach seemed to twist within him as he saw the old man lying upon the bare floor of the chamber, striving vainly to stop the flow of blood which gouted from a great wound in his side.
    “What’s happened man—where’s Cymoril?”
    Tanglebones’s old face twisted in pain and grief. “She—I—I brought her here, master, as you ordered. But—” he coughed and blood dribbled down his wizened chin, “but—Prince Yyrkoon—he—he apprehended me—must have followed us here. He—struck me down and took Cymoril back with him—said she’d be—safe in the Tower of B’aal’nezbett. Master—I’m sorry…”
    “So you should be,” Elric retorted savagely. Then his tone softened. “Do not worry, old friend—I’ll avenge you and myself. I can still reach Cymoril now I know where Yyrkoon has taken her. Thank you for trying, Tanglebones—may your long journey down the last river be uneventful.”
    He turned abruptly on his heel and left the chamber, running down the stairs and out into the street again.
    The Tower of B’aal’nezbett was the highest tower in the Royal Palace. Elric knew it well, for it was there that his ancestors had studied their dark sorceries and conducted frightful experiments. He shuddered as he thought what Yyrkoon might be doing to his own sister.
    The streets of the city seemed hushed and strangely deserted, but Elric had no time to ponder why this should be so. Instead he dashed towards the palace, found the main gate unguarded and the main entrance to the building deserted. This too was unique, but it constituted luck for Elric as he made his way upwards, climbing familiar ways towards the topmost tower.
    Finally, he reached a door of shimmering black crystal which had no bolt or handle to it. Frenziedly, Elric struck at the crystal with his sorcerous blade but the crystal appeared only to flow and re-form. His blows had no effect.
    Elric racked his mind, seeking to remember the single alien word which would make the door open. He dared not put himself in the trance which would have, in time, brought the word to his lips, instead he had to dredge his subconscious and bring the word forth. It was dangerous but there was little else he could do. His whole frame trembled as his face twisted and his brain began to shake. The word was coming as his vocal chords jerked in his throat and his chest heaved.
    He ripped the word from his throat and his whole mind and body ached with the strain. Then he cried:
    “I command thee—open!”
    He knew that once the door opened, his cousin would be aware of his presence, but he had to risk it. The crystal expanded, pulsating and seething, and then began to flow
out
. It flowed into nothingness, into something beyond the physical universe, beyond time. Elric breathed thankfully and passed into the Tower of B’aal’nezbett. But now an eerie fire, chilling and mind-shattering, was licking around Elric as he struggled up the steps towards the central chamber. There was a strange music surrounding him, uncanny music which throbbed and sobbed and pounded in his head.
    Above him he saw a leering Yyrkoon, a black runesword also in his hand, the mate of the one in Elric’s own grasp.
    “Hellspawn!” Elric said thickly, weakly, “I see you have recovered Mournblade—well, test its powers against its brother if you dare. I have come to destroy you, cousin.”
    Stormbringer was giving forth a peculiar moaning sound which sighed over the