Free The Sleeping Sorceress by Michael Moorcock

Flesh.
    Then the substance began to fold in over the Kelmain and Elric heard a sound such as none he had heard before.
    It was a voice.
    A voice of a hundred thousand men all facing an identical terror, all dying an identical death.
    It was a moan of desperation, of hopelessness, of fear.
    But it was a moan so loud that it shook the walls of Castle Kaneloon.
    “It is no death for a warrior,” murmured Moonglum, turning away.
    “But it was the only weapon we had,” said Myshella. “I have possessed it for a good many years but never before did I feel the need to use it.”
    “Of them all, only Theleb K’aarna deserved that death,” said Elric.
    Night fell and the Noose of Flesh tightened around the Kelmain
    Host, crushing all but a few horses which had run free as the sorcery began to work.
    It crushed Prince Umbda, who spoke no language known in the Young Kingdoms, who spoke no language known to the ancients, who had come to conquer from beyond World’s Edge.
    It crushed Theleb K’aarna, who had sought, for the sake of his love for a wanton queen, to conquer the world with the aid of Chaos.
    It crushed all the warriors of that near-human race, the Kelmain. And it crushed all who could have told the watchers what the Kelmain had been or from where they had originated.
    Then it absorbed them. Then it flickered and dissolved and was dust again.
    No piece of flesh—man’s nor beast’s—remained. But over the snow was scattered clothing, arms, armour, siege engines, riding accoutrements, coins, belt-buckles, for as far as the eye could see.
    Myshella nodded to herself. “That was the Noose of Flesh,” she said. “I thank you for bringing it to me, Elric. I thank you, also, for finding the stone which revived me. I thank you for saving Lormyr.”
    “Aye,” said Elric. “Thank me.” There was a weariness on him now. He turned away, shivering.
    Snow had begun to fall again.
    “Thank me for nothing, Lady Myshella. What I did was to satisfy my own dark urges, to sate my thirst for vengeance. I have destroyed Theleb K’aarna. The rest was incidental. I care nought for Lormyr, the Young Kingdoms, or any of your causes . . .”
    Moonglum saw that Myshella had a skeptical look in her eyes and she smiled slightly.
    Elric entered the castle and began to descend the steps to the hall.
    “Wait,” Myshella said. “This castle is magical. It reflects the desires of any who enter it—should I wish it.”
    Elric rubbed at his eyes. “Then plainly we have no desires. Mine are satisfied now that Theleb K’aarna is destroyed. I would leave this place now, my lady.”
    “You have none?” said she.
    He looked at her directly. He frowned. “Regret breeds weakness which attacks the internal organs and at last destroys . . .”
    “And you have no desires?”
    He hesitated. “I understand you. Your own appearance, I’ll admit . . .” He shrugged. “But are you—?”
    She spread her hands. “Do not ask too many questions of me.” She made another gesture. “Now. See. This castle becomes what you most desire. And in it, the things you most desire!”
    And Elric looked about him, his eyes widening, and he began to scream.
    He fell to his knees in terror. He turned pleadingly to her.
    “No, Myshella! No. I do not desire this!”
    Hastily she made yet another sign.
    Moonglum helped his friend to his feet. “What was it? What did you see?”
    Elric straightened his back and rested his hand on his sword and said grimly and quietly to Myshella:
    “Lady, I would kill you for that if I did not understand you sought only to please me.”
    He studied the ground for a moment before continuing:
    “Know this. Elric cannot have what he desires most. What he desires does not exist. What he desires is dead. All Elric has is sorrow, guilt, malice, hatred. This is all he deserves and all he will ever desire.”
    She put her hands to her own face and walked back to the room where he had first seen her. Elric followed.
    Moonglum