The Sleeping Sorceress by Michael Moorcock

same woman we saw, sleeping, here. She said I must go with her. And somehow go I did. But I know not how, Elric. I know not how.”
    “And where is that woman?”
    “Where we first saw her. She sleeps and I cannot wake her.”
    Elric drew a deep breath and told, briefly, what he knew of Myshella and the host that came against her Castle Kaneloon.
    “Do you know the contents of that pouch?” Moonglum asked.
    Elric shook his head and opened the pouch to peer inside. “It seems to be nothing but a pinkish dust. Yet it must be some powerful sorcery if Myshella believes it can defeat the entire Kelmain Host.”
    Moonglum frowned. “But surely Myshella must work the charm herself if only she knows what it is?”
    “Aye.”
    “And Theleb K’aarna has enchanted her.”
    “Aye.”
    “And now it is too late, for Umbda—whoever he may be—nears the castle.”
    “Aye.” Elric’s hand trembled as he drew from his belt the thing he had taken from the demon just before he left the palace of Ashaneloon. “Unless this is the stone I think it is.”
    “What is that?”
    “I know a legend. Some demons possess these stones as hearts.” He held it to the light so that the blues and purples and greens writhed. “I have never seen one, but I believe it to be the thing I once sought for Cymoril when I tried to lift my cousin’s charm from her. What I sought but never found was a Nanorion. A stone of magical powers said to be able to waken the dead—or those in deathlike sleep.”
    “And that is a Nanorion. It will awaken Myshella?”
    “If anything can, then this will, for I took it from Theleb K’aarna’s own demon and that must improve the efficaciousness of the magic. Come.” Elric strode through the hall and up the stairs until he came to Myshella’s room where she lay, as he had seen her before, on the bed hung with draperies, her wall hung with shields and weapons.
    “Now I understand why these arms decorate her chamber,” Moonglum said. “According to legend, these are the shields and weapons of all those who loved Myshella and championed her cause.” Elric nodded and said, as if to himself, “Aye, she was ever an enemy of Melniboné, was the Empress of the Dawn.”
    He held the pulsing stone delicately and reached out to place it on her forehead.
    “It makes no difference,” Moonglum said after a moment. “She does not stir.”
    “There is a rune, but I remember it not . . .” Elric pressed his fingers to his temples. “I remember it not . . .”
    Moonglum went to the window. “We can ask Theleb K’aarna, perhaps,” he said ironically. “He will be here soon enough.”
    Then Moonglum saw that there were tears again in Elric’s eyes and that he had turned away, hoping Moonglum would not see. Moonglum cleared his throat. “I have some business below. Call me if you should require my help.”
    He left the room and closed the door and Elric was alone with the woman who seemed, increasingly, a dreadful phantom from his most frightful dreams.
    He controlled his feverish mind and tried to discipline it, to remember the crucial runes in the High Speech of Old Melniboné.
    “Gods!” he hissed. “Help me!”
    But he knew that in this matter in particular the Lords of Chaos would not assist him—would hinder him if they could, for Myshella was one of the chief instruments of Law upon the Earth, had been responsible for driving Chaos from the world.
    He fell to his knees beside her bed, his hands clenched, his face twisting with the effort.
    And then it came back to him. His head still bent, he stretched out his right hand and touched the pulsing stone, stretched out his left hand and rested it upon Myshella’s navel, and he began a chant in an ancient tongue that had been spoken before true men had ever walked the Earth . . .

    “Elric!”
    Moonglum burst into the room and Elric was wrenched from his trance.
    “Elric! We are invaded! Their advance riders . . .”
    “What?”
    “They have broken into