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The Book of Corum, Volume 3
The King of The Swords
by Michael Moorcock

THE BOOKS OF CORUM

Being a History in Three Volumes Concerning
the Quests and Adventures of Corum Jhaelen
Irsei of the Vadhagh Folk, Who Is Also
Called the Prince in the Scarlet Robe

Volume the Third

THE KING   OF THE SWORDS
by Michael Moorcock

INTRODUCTION

In those days there were oceans of light and cities in the
skies and wild flying beasts of bronze. There were herds of
crimson cattle that roared and were taller than castles.
There were shrill, viridian things that haunted bleak rivers.
It was a time of gods, manifesting themselves upon out
world in all her aspects; a time of giants who walked on
water; of mindless sprites and misshapen creatures who
could be summoned by an ill-considered thought but driven
away only on pain of some fearful sacrifice; of magics,
phantasms, unstable nature, impossible events, insane
paradoxes, dreams come true, dreams gone awry, of
nightmares assuming reality.

It was a rich time and a dark time. The time of the
Sword Rulers. The time when the Vadhagh and the
Nhadragh, age-old enemies, were dying. The time when
Man, the slave of fear, was emerging, unaware that much
of the terror he experienced was the result of nothing else
but the fact that he, himself, had come into existence. It
was one of many ironies connected with Man (who, in
those days, called his race Mabden).

The Mabden lived brief lives and bred prodigiously.
Within a few centuries they rose to dominate the westerly
continent on which they had evolved. Superstition stopped
them from sending many of their ships toward Vadhagh
and Nhadragh lands for another century or two, but
gradually they gained courage when no resistance was
offered. They began to feel jealous of the older races; they
began to feel malicious.

The Vadhagh and the Nhadragh were not aware of this.
They had dwelt a million or more years upon the planet,
which now, at last, seemed at rest. They knew of the
Mabden but considered them not greatly different from
other beasts. Though continuing to indulge their traditional
hatreds of one another, the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh

spent their long hours in considering abstractions, in the
creation of works of art and the like. Rational,
sophisticated, at one with themselves, these older races
were unable to believe in the changes that had come. Thus,
as it almost always is, they ignored the signs.




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There was no exchange of knowledge between the two
ancient enemies, even though they had fought their last
battle many centuries before.

The Vadhagh lived in family groups occupying isolated
castles scattered across a continent called by them Bro-an-
Vadhagh. There was scarcely any communication between
these families, for the Vadhagh had long since lost the
impulse to travel. The Nhadragh lived in their cities built
on the islands in the seas to the northwest of Bro-an-
Vadhagh. They, also, had little contact, even with their
closest kin. Both races reckoned themselves invulnerable.
Both were wrong.

Upstart Man was beginning to breed and spread like a
pestilence across the world. This pestilence struck down
the old races wherever it touched them. And it was not only
death that Man brought, but terror, too. Willfully, he made
of the older world nothing but ruins and bones.
Unwittingly, he brought psychic and supernatural
disruption of a magnitude which even the Great Old Gods
failed to comprehend.

And the Great Old Gods began to know Fear.
And Man, slave of fear, arrogant in his ignorance,
continued his stumbling progress. He was blind to the huge
disruptions aroused by his apparently petty ambitions. As
well, Man was deficient in sensitivity, had no awareness of
the multitude of dimensions that filled the universe, each
plane intersecting with several others. Not so the Vadhagh
or the Nhadragh, who had known what it was to move at
will between the dimensions they termed the Five Planes.
They had glimpsed and understood the nature of the many
planes, other than the five, through which the Earth
moved

Therefore it seemed a dreadful injustice that these wise
races should perish at the hands of creatures who were still
little more than animals. It was as if vultures feasted on

and squabbled over the paralyzed body of the youthful
poet who could only stare at them with puzzled eyes as they
slowly robbed him of an exquisite existence they would
never appreciate, never know they were taking.

"If they valued what they stole, if they knew what they
were destroying," says the old Vadhagh in the story, "The
Only Autumn Flower," "then I would be consoled."

It was unjust.

By creating Man, the universe had betrayed the old
races.

But it was a perpetual and familiar injustice. The
sentient may perceive and love the universe, but the
universe cannot perceive and love the sentient. The uni-
verse sees no distinction between the multitude of
creatures and elements which comprise it. All are equal.
None is favored. The universe, equipped with nothing but
the materials and the power of creation, continues to
create: something of this, something of that. It cannot


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control what it creates and it cannot, it seems, be
controlled by its creations (though a few might deceive
themselves otherwise). Those who curse the workings of
the universe curse that which is deaf. Those who strike
out at those workings fight that which is inviolate. Those
who shake their fists, shake their fists at blind stars.

But this does not mean that there are some who will not
try to do battle with and destroy the invulnerable.

There will always be such beings, sometimes beings of
great wisdom, who cannot bear to believe in an insouciant
universe.

Prince Corum Jhaelen Irsei was one of these. Perhaps
the last of the Vadhagh race, he was sometimes known as
the Prince in the Scarlet Robe.
This chronicle concerns him.

We have already learned how the Mabden followers of
Earl Glandyth-a-Krae (who called themselves the
Denledhyssi—or Murderers) killed Prince Corum's
relatives and his nearest kin and thus taught the Prince in
the Scarlet Robe how to hate, how to kill, and how to
desire vengeance. We have heard how Glandyth tortured
Corum and took away a hand and an eye and how Corum

way rescued by the Giant of Laahr and taken to the castle
of the Margravine Rhalina—a castle set upon a mount
surrounded by the sea. Though Rhalina was a Mabden
woman (of the gentler folk of Lywm-an-Esh), Corum and
she fell in love. When Glandyth roused the Pony Tribes,
the forest barbarians, to attack the Margravine's castle, she
and Corum sought supernatural aid and thus fell into the
hands of the sorcerer Shool, whose domain was the island
called Svi-an-Fanla-Brool—Home of the Gorged God.
And now Corum had direct experience of the morbid,
unfamiliar powers at work in the world. Shool spoke of
dreams and realities. ("I see you are beginning to argue in
Mabden terms," he told Corum. "It is just as well for you,
if you wish to survive in this Mabden dream." — "It is a
dream . . . ?" said Corum.—"Of sorts. Real enough. It
is what you might call the dream of a God. There again you
might say that it is a dream that a God has allowed to
become reality. I refer of course to the Knight of the
Swords, who rules the Five Planes.")

With Rhalina his prisoner Shool could make a bargain
with Corum. He gave him two gifts—the Hand of Kwll and
the Eye of Rhynn—to replace his own missing organs.
These jeweled and alien things were once the property of
two brother gods known as the Lost Gods since they
mysteriously vanished.

Now Shool told Corum what he must do if he wished to
see Rhalina saved. Corum must go to the realm of the
Knight of the Swords—Lord Arioch of Chaos, who ruled
the Five Planes since he had wrested them from the control
of Lord Arkyn of Law. There Corum must find the heart of
the Knight of the Swords—a thing which was kept in a
tower of his castle and which enabled him to take material
shape on Earth and thus wield power (without a material


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shape—or a number of them—the Lords of Chaos could
not rule mortals).

With little hope Corum set off in a boat for the domain
of Arioch but on his way was wrecked when a huge giant
passed by him, merely fishing. In the land of the strange
Ragha-da-Kheta he discovered that the Eye could summon
dreadful beings from those worlds to aid him—also the

Hand seemed to sense danger before it came and was
ruthless in slaying even when Corum did not desire to slay.
Then he realized that, by accepting Shoots gifts, he had
accepted the logic of Shool's world and could not escape
from it now.

During these adventures Corum learned of the eternal
struggle between Law and Chaos. A cheerful traveler from
Lywm-an-Esh enlightened him. It was, he said, "the Chaos
Lords' will that rules you. Arioch is one of them. Long
since there was a war between the forces of Order and the
forces of Chaos. The forces of Chaos won and came to
dominate the Fifteen Planes and, as I understand it, much
that lies beyond them. Some say that Order was defeated
completely and all her Gods vanished. They say the
Cosmic Balance tipped too far in one direction and that is
why there are so many arbitrary events taking place in the
world. They say that once the world was round instead of
dish-shaped ..." — "Some Vadhagh legends say it was
once round," Corum informed him. — "Aye. Well, the
Vadhagh began their rise before Order was banished. That
is why the Sword Rulers hate the old races so much. They
are not their creation at all. But the Great Gods are not
allowed to interfere too directly in mortal affairs, so they
have worked through the Mabden, chiefly ..." — Corum
said, "Is this the truth?"— Hanafax shrugged. "It is a
truth."

Later, in the Flamelands where the Blind Queen Oorese
lived, Corum saw a mysterious figure who almost
immediately vanished after he had slain poor Hanafax with
the Hand of Kwll (which knew Hanafax would betray
him). He learned that Arioch was the Knight of the Swords
and that Xiombarg was the Queen of the Swords ruling the
next group of Five Planes, while the most powerful Sword
Ruler of all ruled the last of the Five Planes—Mabelrode,
King of the Swords. Corum learned that all the hearts of
the Sword Rulers were hidden where even they could not
touch them. But after further adventures in Arioch's castle,
he at last succeeded in finding the heart of the Knight of the
Swords and, to save his life, destroyed it, thus banishing
Arioch to limbo and allowing Arkyn of Law to return to

occupy his old castle. But Corum had earned the Bane of
the Sword Rulers and by destroying Arioch's heart had set
a pattern of destiny for himself. A voice told him, "Neither
Law nor Chaos must dominate the destinies of the mortal
planes. There must be equilibrium." But it seemed to
Corum that there was no equilibrium, that Chaos ruled all.
"The balance sometimes tips," replied the voice. "It must
be righted. And that is the power of mortals, to adjust the
balance. You have begun the work already. Now you must



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continue until it is finished. You may perish before it is
complete, but some other will follow you."

Corum shouted, "I do not want this. I cannot bear such
a burden."

The voice replied, "YOU MUST!"

And then Corum returned to find Shool's power gone
and Rhalina free.

They returned to the lovely castle on Moidel's Mount,
knowing that they were no longer in any sense in control of
their own fates.

Soon the Wading God was seen again, fishing the seas
near Moidel's Mount, forever discarding his catch and
casting for a new one. An omen, they knew. And that night
there was a knocking on the door of Moidel's Castle and a
young stranger presented himself to them—a dandy who
had as a pet a little winged cat. This was Jhary-a-Conel,
who announced his profession as a "Companion to
Champions" and seemed to know a great deal of Corum's
destiny, not to mention his own. With the help of the little
cat they learned of the great Mabden massing at Kalenwyr,
of the intention of the Mabden to march against Lywm-an-
Esh and destroy that land because it had adopted Vadhagh
ways. The people of the castle knew that they would be
swept away by such a mighty advance and they abandoned
Moidel's Mount, going by ship to Lywm-an-Esh to
discover that the invasion was already taking place on
some coasts and that the followers of Law and of Chaos
were divided, fighting. In the capital, Halwyg-nan-Vake,
they saw the king and learned that Arkyn would speak with
them at his Temple. Here Arkyn told them to enter

Xiombarg's plane and seek out the City in the Pyramid,
that this city would aid them. On Xiombarg's plane they
encountered many strange marvels, horrible examples of
the power of Chaos—the Lake of Voices, the White River,
and many other things—until they found the City in the
Pyramid. This strange city of metal was peopled by
Vadhagh and Corum learned that they had left their own
plane centuries before but had been unable to return.
Xiombarg began to attack the City and Corum and his
companions fled through the planes to Halwyg to find it
under dire siege. At last the means to bring the City in the
Pyramid back to its own plane was found and they broke
through, bringing destruction to the Mabden and forever
wiping out the threat. Angered, Xiombarg followed

—breaking the paramount rule of the Cosmic Balance

—and was thus destroyed. It seemed that a wonderful new
era of peace had been granted to them all. But Earl
Glandyth-a-Krae, who hated Corum most fiercely, had
escaped the destruction of his folk. And he planned
revenge.

—The Book of Corum

BOOK ONE


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In which Prince Corum sees serenity
transformed into strife

The First Chapter

THE SHAPE ON THE HILL

Not long since men had died here and others had expected
to die. But now King Onold's palace was repaired,
repainted, and covered once more in flowers, and the
battlements had once again become balconies and bowers.
But King Onold of Lywm-an-Esh would not see his ruined
Halwyg-nan-Vake reborn, for he, too, had been slain in the
siege and his mother ruled as regent till his son should
come of age. Scaffolding lingered in some parts of the
Floral City, for King Lyr-a-Brode and his barbarians had
done much damage. New sculptures were being erected,
fresh fountains made, and it was now plain that Halwyg's
quiet magnificence would be yet finer than before. So it
was across all the land of Lywm-an-Esh.

And so it was beyond the sea, in Bro-an-Vadhagh. The
Mabden had been driven back to the land from which they
had first come, Bro-an-Mabden, grim continent to the
northeast. And their fear of the power of the Vadhagh was
strong again.

In the sweet land of gentle hills and deep, comforting
forests and placid rivers and soft valleys which was Bro-an-
Vadhagh only the ruins of gloomy Kalenwyr remained
—ruins avoided but remembered.

And off the coast, on the Nhadragh Isles, the few who
had survived the Mabden killings—frightened, degenerate
creatures—were allowed to live out their lives. Perhaps
these wretched Nhadragh would breed prouder children
and their race would flourish again, as it had in its
centuries of glory, before too many years passed.

The world returned to peace. The people who had come
back to this place in the magical Gwlas-cor-Gwrys, the City
in the Pryamid, set to work to restore the ravaged Vadhagh
castles and lands. They abandoned their strange city of
metal in favor of the traditional homes of their Vadhagh
ancestors. Presently Gwlas-cor-Gwrys was all but deserted,

standing amongst the pines of a remote forest, not far from
one of the broken Mabden fortresses.

It seemed that a wonderful new age of peace had
dawned both for the Mabden of Lywm-an-Esh and for the
Vadhagh who had been that land's saviors. The threat of
Chaos was forgotten. Now two out of three realms—ten
out of fifteen planes—were ruled by Law. Surely,
therefore, Law was stronger?

Most thought so. Queen Crief, the Regent of Lywm-an-
Esh thought so and told her grandson, King Analt, that it
was so, and the little long told his subjects that it was so.
Prince Yurette Hasdun Nury, ex-Commander of Gwlas-cor-
Gwrys, believed it pretty much. The rest of the Vadhagh



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believed it, too.

There was one Vadhagh, however, who was not sure. He
was unlike others of his race, though he had the same tall
beauty of form, the tapering head, the gold-flecked rose-
pink skin, fair hair, and almond-shaped yellow-and-purple
eyes. But instead of a right eye he had an object like the
jeweled eye of a fly and instead of a left hand he had what
appeared to be a six-fingered gauntlet of similar design,
encrusted with dark jewels. Upon his back he wore a
scarlet robe and he was Corum Jhaelen Irsei, who had slab
gods and been instrumental in banishing others, who
desired nothing but peace but could not trust the peace he
had, who hated his alien eye and his alien hand, though
they had saved his life many times and thus had saved both
Lywm-an-Esh and Bro-an-Vadhagh and furthered the
cause of Law.

Yet even Corum, burdened by his destiny, knew joy as
he saw his old home reborn, for they were building Castle
Erorn again on the headland where she had stood for
centuries before Glandyth-a-Krae had razed her. Corum re-
membered every detail of his ancient family home and his
pleasure grew as the castle grew. Slender, tinted towers
stood again against the sky and overlooked the sea, which
was all boisterous white and green and leaped about the
rocks below and in and out of the great sea caves as if it
danced with delight at Erorn's return to the eminence.

And inside, the ingenuity and skills of the craftsmen of

Gwlas-cor-Gwrys had wrought the sensitive walls which
would change shape and color with every change in the
elements, the musical instruments of crystal and water
which would play tunes according to the manner in which
they were arranged. But they could not replace the
paintings and the sculpture and the manuscripts which
Corum and Corum's ancestors had created in more
innocent times, for Glandyth-a-Krae had destroyed them
when he had destroyed Corum's father, Prince Khlonskey,
and his mother, Colatalarna, his twin sisters, his uncle, his
cousin, and their retainers.

When he thought of all that was lost Corum felt a return
of his old hatred of the Mabden earl. Glandyth's body had
not been found amongst those who had died at Halwyg,
neither had they found the bodies of his charioteers, his
Denledhyssi. Glandyth had vanished—or perhaps he and
his men had died in some remote battle. It required all
Corum's self-discipline not to let his mind dwell on
Glandyth and what Glandyth had done. He preferred to
think of ways of making Castle Erorn still more beautiful
so that his wife and his love, Rhalina, Margravine of
Allomglyl, would be even more enraptured and would
forget that when they had found her castle it had been torn
down by Glandyth so thoroughly that only a few stones of
it could be seen in the shallows at the bottom of Moidel's
Mount.

Jhary-a-Conel, who rarely admitted such a thing, was
impressed by Castle Erorn. It inspired him, he said, and he
took to writing sonnets, which, somewhat insistently, he


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would often read to them. And he painted passable
portraits of Corum in bis scarlet robe and of Rhalina in her
gown of blue brocade and he painted a fair quantity of self-
portraits, which they would come across in more than one
chamber of Castle Erorn. And Jhary would also pass his
time designing splendid clothes for himself, sometimes
making whole wardrobes, even trying new hats (though he
was much attached to his old one and always returned to
it). His little black-and-white cat with the black-and-white
wings would fly through the rooms sometimes, but most
often it would be discovered sleeping somewhere where it

was most inconvenient for it to sleep.
And so they passed their days.

The coastline on which Castle Erorn was built was well
known for the softness of its summers and the mildness of
its winters. Two, sometimes three, crops could be grown
the year round in normal times and there was usually little
frost and one snowfall in the coldest month. Often it did
not snow at all. But the winter after Erorn was completed
the snow began to fall early and did not stop until the oaks
and the pines and the birches bent beneath huge burdens of
glittering whiteness or were hidden altogether. The snow
was so deep that a mounted man could not see above it in
some places, and although the sun shone clear and red
through the day it did not melt the snow much and that
which did melt was soon replaced by another fall.

To Corum there was a hint of something ominous in this
unexpected weather. They were snug enough in their castle
and had no lack of provisions and sometimes a sky ship
would bring a visitor from one of the other newly rebuilt
castles. The recently settled Vadhagh had not given up
their ships of the air when they had left Gwlas-cor-Gwrys.
Thus there was no danger of losing contact with the outside
world. But still Corum fretted and Jhary watched him with
a certain amusement, while Rhalina took his state of mind
more seriously and was careful to soothe him whenever
possible, for she thought he brooded on Glandyth again.

One day Corum and Jhary stood on the balcony of a tall
tower and looked inland at the wide expanse of whiteness.

"Why should I be troubled by the weather?" Corum
asked Jhary. "I suspect the hand of gods in everything,
these days. Why should gods bother to make it snow?"

Jhary shrugged. "You'll remember that under Law the
world was said to be round. Perhaps it is round now, again,
and the result of this roundness is a change in the weather
you may expect in these parts."

Corum shook his head in puzzlement, hardly hearing
Jhary's words. He leaned on a snowy parapet, blinking in
the snow's glare. Far away there was a line of hills, as white

as everything else in that landscape. He looked toward the
hills. "When Bwydyth-a-Horn came visiting last week he
said that it was the same over the whole land of Bro-an-
Vadhagh. One cannot help but seek significance in so
strange an event." He sniffed the cold, clean air. "Yet why


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should Chaos send a little snow, since it inconveniences no
one."

"It might Inconvenience the fanners of Lywm-an-Esh,"
Jhary said.

"True—but Lywm-an-Esh has not had this especially
heavy snowfall. It was as if something sought to—to freeze
us—to paralyze us ..."

"Chaos would choose more spectacular displays than a
heavy fall of snow," Jhary pointed out.

"Unless it was the best they could do, now that Law
rules two of the realms."

"I am unconvinced. I think that, if anything, this is
Law's doing. The result of a few minor geographical
changes involved in ridding our Five Planes of the last
effects of Chaos."

"I agree that that is the most logical explanation,"
Corum nodded.

"If an explanation is needed at all."

"Aye. I'm oversuspicious. You are probably right." He
began to turn back to the entrance of the tower but then
felt Jhary's hand on his arm. "What is it?"

Jhary's voice was quiet. "Look at the hills."

"The hills?" Corum peered into the distance. And a
shock went through him. Something moved there. At first
he thought it must be a forest animal—a fox, perhaps,
hunting for food? But it was too large. It was too large to
be a man—even a large man mounted on a horse. The
shape was familiar, yet he could not remember where he
had seen it before. It flickered, as if only partly in this
plane and partly in another. It began to move away from
them, toward the north. It paused and perhaps it turned,
for Corum felt that something peered at him. Involuntarily
his jeweled hand went to his jeweled eye, fingering the
jeweled patch which covered it and stopped him from
seeing into that terrible netherworld from which he had, in

the past, summoned supernatural allies. With an effort he
lowered his hand. Did he associate that shape with
something he had seen in the netherworld? Or perhaps it
was some creature of Chaos, returned to make war on
Erorn?

"I cannot make anything of it," Jhary said. "Is it a beast
or a man?"

Corum found difficulty in replying. "Neither, I think,"
he said at last.

The shape resumed its original direction, crossing over
the brow of the hill and vanishing.

"We still have that sky ship below," Jhary said. "Shall
we follow the thing?"


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Corum's throat was dry. "No," he said.

"Did you know what it was, Corum? Did you recognize
it?"

"I have seen it before. But I do not remember where or
in what circumstances. Did it—did it look at me, Jhary, or
did I imagine that?"

"I understand you. A peculiar sensation—the sort of
sensation one has when one meets another's eyes by
accident."

"Aye—something of the sort."

"I wonder what it could want with us or if it is connected
with this snowfall in any way."

"I do not associate it with snow. I think rather of—fire!
I remember! I remember where I saw it—or something like
it—in the Flamelands, after I had strangled—after this
hand of mine had strangled—Hanafax. I told you of that!"

Shuddering, he remembered the scene. The Hand of
Kwll squeezing the life from the struggling, shrieking
Hanafax, who had done Corum no harm at all. The roaring
flames. The corpse. The Blind Queen Oorese with her
impassive face. The hill. The smoke. A figure standing on
the hill watching him. A figure obscured by a sudden drift
of smoke.

"Perhaps it is only madness," he murmured. "My
conscience reminding me of the innocent soul I took when
I slew Hanafax. Perhaps I am remembering my guilt and
see that guilt as an accusing figure on a hillside."

"A pretty theory," said Jhary almost grimly. "But I had
nothing to do with the slaying of Hanafax and neither do I
suffer from this guilt you people always speak of. I saw the
figure first, Corum."

"So you did. So you did." His head bowed, Corum
stumbled through the door of the tower. From his mortal
eye streamed tears.

As Jhary closed the door behind them, Corum turned on
the stairs and stared up at his friend.

"Then what was it, Jhary?"
   "I know not, Corum."

"But you know so much."

"And I forget much. I am not a hero. I am a companion
to heroes. I admire. I marvel. I offer sage advice which is
rarely taken. I sympathize. I save lives. I express the fears
heroes cannot express. I council caution . . ."

"Enough, Jhary. Do you jest?"

"I suppose I jest. I, too, am tired, my friend. I am tired
of the company of gloomy heroes, of those who are



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doomed to terrible destinies—not to mention a lack of
humor. I would have the company of ordinary men for a
while. I would drink in taverns. Tell obscene stories. Fart.
Lose my head to a doxie . . ."

"Jhary! You do not jest! Why are you saying these
things?"

"Because I am weary of . . ." Jhary frowned. "Why,
indeed, Prince Corum? It is not like me, at all. That
carping voice—was mine!"

"Aye. It was." Corum's frown matched Jhary's. "And I
liked it not at all. Why, if you sought to provoke me, Jhary,
then ..."

"Wait!" Jhary raised his hand to his head. "Wait,
Corum. I feel as if something seeks possession of my mind,
seeks to turn me against my friends. Concentrate. Do you
not feel the same thing?"

Corum glared at Jhary for         a moment and then his face
lost its anger and became         puzzled. "Aye. You are right. A
kind of nagging shadow at         the back of my head. It hints at
hatred, contention. Is it         the influence of the thing we saw
on the hill?"

Jhary shook his head. "Who knows? I apologize for my
outburst. I do not believe that it was myself speaking to
you."

"I, too, apologize. Let us hope the shadow disappears."

In thoughtful silence they descended to the main part of
the castle. The walls were silvery, shimmering. It meant
that the snow had begun to fall outside once more.

Rhalina met them in one of the galleries where fountains
and crystals sang softly a work by Corum's father, a love
song to Corum's mother. It was soothing and Corum
managed to smile at her.

"Corum," she said. "A few moments ago I was seized
with a strange fury. I cannot explain it. I was tempted to hit
one of the retainers. I ..."

He took her in his arms. He kissed her brow. "I know.
Jhary and I experienced the same thing. I fear that Chaos
works subtly in us, turning us against each other. We must
resist such impulses. We must try to find their cause.
Something wishes us to destroy one another, I think."

There was horror in her eyes. "Oh, Corum ..."

"We must resist," he said again.

Jhary scratched his nose, himself once more. He raised
an eyebrow. "I wonder if we are the only folk who suffer
this—this possession. What if it has seized the whole land,
Corum?"

The Second Chapter



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THE SICKNESS SPREADS

It was in the night that the worst thoughts came to Corum
as he lay in bed beside Rhalina. Sometimes his visions were
of his hated enemy Glandyth-a-Krae, but sometimes they
were of Lord Arkyn of Law, whom he was now beginning
to blame for all his hardships and miseries, and sometimes
they were of Jhary-a-Conel, whose easy irony was now
seen as facetious malice, and sometimes they were of
Rhalina, whom he decided had snared him, directed him
away from his true destiny. And these latter visions were

the worst and he fought against them more fiercely even
than the others. He would feel his face twist with hatred, his
fingers clench, his lips snarl, his body shake with rage and a
wish to destroy. All through the nights he would fight these
terrible impulses and he knew that as he fought so did
Rhalina—fighting the fury welling up inside her own head.
Irrational fury—rage which had no purpose and yet which
would focus on anything and seek to vent itself.

Bloody visions. Visions of torturing and maiming worse
than Glandyth had ever performed on him. And he was the
torturer and those he tortured were those he loved most.

Many a night he would awake shrieking. Crying aloud
the single word, "No! No! No!" he would leap from his bed
and glare down at Rhalina.

And Rhalina would glare back.

Rhalina's lips would curl away from her white teeth.
Rhalina's nostrils would flare like those of a beast. And
strange sounds would come from her throat.

Then he would fight off the impulses and cry to her,
remind her of what was happening to them. And they
would lie in each other's arms, drained of emotion.

The snow had begun to melt. It was as if, having brought
the sickness of rage and malice, it could now leave. Corum
rushed about in it one day, slashing at it with his naked
sword and cursing it, blaming it for their ills.

But Jhary was sure now that the snow had merely been a
natural occurrence, a coincidence. He ran out to try to
pacify his friend. He succeeded in making Corum lower his
sword and sheath it. They stood shivering in the morning
light, both half-clad.

"And what of the shape on the hill?" Corum panted.
"Was that coincidence, my friend?"

"It could have been. I have a feeling that all these things
happened at the same time because, perhaps, something
else happened. These are hints. Do you understand me?"

Corum shrugged and wrenched his arm away from
Jhary's grasp. "A larger event? Is that what you mean?"

"Aye. A larger event."

"Is not what is happening to us already sufficiently


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unpleasant?"

"Aye. It is."

Corum saw   that his friend was humoring him. He tried
to smile.   A sense of exhaustion filled him. All his energy
was going   to battle his own terrible desires. He wiped his
brow with   the back of his right hand.

"There must be something which can help us. I fear—I
fear . . ."

"We all fear, Prince Corum."

"I fear I'll slay Rhalina one night. I do, Jhary."

"We had best take to living apart, locking ourselves in
our rooms. The retainers also are suffering as badly as we."

"I have noticed."

"They, too, must be separated. Shall I tell them?"

Corum fingered the pommel of his sword and his red-
rimmed left eye had a wide, staring look. "Aye," he said
absently. "Tell them."

"And you will do the same, Corum? I am even now
trying to concoct a potion—something which will calm us
and make sure we do not harm each other. Doubtless it will
make us less alert, but that is better than killing ourselves."

"Killing? Aye." Corum stared at Jhary. The dandy's silk
jerkin offended him, though not long since he had thought
he admired it. And the man's face had an expression on it.
What was it? Mocking? Why was Jhary mocking him?

"Why do you—?" He broke off, realizing that he was
once again possessed. "We must leave Castle Erorn," he
said. "Perhaps some—some ghost inhabits it now. Some
evil force left behind by Glandyth. That is possible, Jhary,
for I have heard of such things."

Jhary looked skeptical.

"It is a possibility!" Corum yelled. Why was Jhary so
stupid sometimes?

"A possibility." Jhary rubbed at his forehead and
pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes, too, were rimmed
red and had a tendency to stare wildly this way and that.
"A possibility, aye. But we must leave here. You are right.
We must see if only Castle Erorn is affected. We must see

if anywhere else suffers what we suffer. If we can get the
sky ship from the courtyard. . . . The snow has melted
from it now.... We must go to ... I must..." He stopped
himself. "I'm babbling now. It's the weariness. But we
must seek out a friend—Prince Yurette, perhaps—ask him
if he has felt the same impulses."

"You proposed that yesterday," Corum reminded him.

"And we agreed, did we not?"


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"Aye." Corum began to stumble back toward the castle
gate. "We agreed. And we agreed the day before yesterday,
also."

"We must make preparations. Will Rhalina stay here or
come with us?"

"Why do you ask? It is impertinent . . ." Again Corum
controlled himself. "Forgive me, Jhary."

"I do."

"What force is it that could possess us so? Turn old
friends against each other? Make me desire, sometimes, to
slay the woman I love most in the world?"

"We shall never discover that if we remain here," Jhary
told him rather sharply.

"Very well, then," Corum said. "We'll take the air boat.
We'll seek Prince Yurette. Do you feel strong enough to fly
the craft?"

"I'll find the strength."

The world turned gray as the snow continued to melt.
All the trees seemed gray and the hills seemed gray and the
grass seemed gray. Even Castle Erorn's marvellously tinted
towers took on a gray appearance and the walls within
were also gray.

In the late afternoon, before sunset, Rhalina called for
Corum and for Jhary. "Come," she shouted. "Sky ships
approach us. They are behaving strangely."

They gathered at one of the windows facing the sea.

In the distance two of the beautiful metallic sky ships
were wheeling and diving as if in a complicated dance,
skimming close to the gray ocean and then hurling
themselves upward at great speed. It seemed that each was
attempting to get behind the other.

Something glittered.

Rhalina gasped.

"They are using those weapons—those fearful weapons
with which they destroyed King Lyr and his army! They
are fighting, Corum!"

"Aye," he said grimly. "They are fighting."

One of the ships suddenly staggered in the air and
seemed to come to a complete stop. Then it turned over
and they saw tiny figures falling from it. It righted itself. It
drove upward at the other craft, trying to ram it, but the
craft managed to dodge just in tune and the damaged craft
continued on its course, rising higher and higher into the
gray sky until it was only a shadow among the clouds.

It came back, diving at its enemy, which, this time, was



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struck in its stern and began to spiral down toward the sea.
The other ship plunged straight into the ocean and
disappeared. There was a little foam on the sea where it
had entered.

The remaining sky ship corrected its own fall and began
to limp through the sky toward the land, making for the
cliff across the bay from Castle Erorn, changing course in a
jerky movement and heading straight for the castle.

"Does he mean to strike us?" Jhary asked.

Corum shrugged. He had come to see Castle Erorn as a
haunted prison rather than as his ancient home. If the sky
ship smashed into Erorn's towers it would almost be as if it
smashed into his own skull, driving the terrifying fury from
his brain.

But the craft turned aside at the last minute and began to
circle to land on the gray sward just beyond the gates.

It landed badly and Corum saw a wisp of smoke rise
from its stern and curl sluggishly in the air. Men began to
clamber from the ship. They were undoubtably Vadhagh,
tall men with flowing cloaks and mail byrnies of gold or
silver, conical helms on their heads, slender swords in their
hands. They marched through the slush toward the castle.

Corum was the first to recognize the man who led them.
"It is Bwydyth! Bwydyth-a-Horn! He must need our help.
Come, let us greet him."

Jhary was more reluctant, but he said nothing as he

followed Corum and Rhalina to the gates.

Bwydyth and his men were already ascending the path
up the hill toward the gates when Corum opened them
himself and stepped out, calling their friend's name.

"Greetings, Bwydyth! You are welcome here to Castle
Erorn."

Bwydyth-a-Horn made no answer, but continued to
march up the hill.

AH at once Corum Jhaelen Irsei felt suspicion well in
him. He dismissed it. The effect of the shadow lurking in
his brain. He smiled and spread his arms wide.

"Bwydyth! It is I—Corum."

Jhary muttered, "Best ready yourself to draw your
sword. Rhalina—you had best go inside."

She gave him a startled look. "Why? It is Bwydyth. Not
an enemy."

He merely stared at her for a moment. She lowered her
eyes and did as he suggested.

Corum fought against the anger within him. He breathed
hard. "If Bwydyth means to fight, then he will find ..."



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"Corum!" Jhary said urgently. "Keep your head clear. It
is possible that we can reason with Bwydyth, for I suspect
he suffers from what we have been suffering from." He
called out. "Bwydyth, old friend. We are not your enemies.
Come, enjoy the peace of Castle Erorn. There's no need for
strifing here. We have all known these sudden furies and
we must gather to discuss their nature and their cause,
decide how best to discover their source."

But Bwydyth marched on up the hill toward them, and
his men, grim-faced and pale, marched on behind him.
Their cloaks curled in the thin breeze which had begun to
blow, the steel of their swords did not shine but was as gray
as the landscape.

"Bwydyth!" It was Rhalina crying from behind them.
"Do not give in to that which has seized your mind. Do not
fight with Corum. He is your friend. Corum found the
means to bring you back to your homeland."

Bwydyth stopped. His men stopped. Bwydyth glared up
at them. "Is that another thing I must hate you for,
Corum?"

"Another thing? What else do you hate me for,
Bwydyth?"

"Why for—for your dreadful deformities. You are
unsightly. For your alliance with demons. For your choice
of women and your choice of friends. For your cowardice."

"Cowardice, eh?" Jhary growled and reached for his
own sword.

Corum stopped him, "Bwydyth, we know that a sickness
of the mind has come upon us. It makes us hate those we
love, seek to kill those whom we most desire to live. Plainly
this sickness is on you and it is on us, but if we give in to it,
we give in to whatever it is which wants us to destroy each
other. This suggests a common enemy—something we
must seek out and slay."

Bwydyth frowned, lowering his sword. "Aye. I have
thought the same. Sometimes I have wondered why the
fighting has started everywhere. Perhaps you are right,
Corum. Aye, we will talk." He began to turn to address his
company. "Men, we will . . ."

One of the nearest swordsmen lunged forward with a
snarl of hatred. "Fool! I knew you for a fool! You are
proven a fool! You die for your foolishness." The sword
passed through the byrnie and buried itself in Bwydyth's
body. He cried out, groaned, tried to stagger toward his
friends, and then fell face down in the melting snow.

"So the poison is acting swiftly," said Jhary.

Already another man had fallen on the swordsman who
had struck Bwydyth down. Two more were slain in almost
as many heartbeats. Cries of rage and hatred burst from the
lips of the rest. Blood spurted in the gray evening light.



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The civilized folk of Gwlas-cor-Gwrys were butchering
each other without reason. They were fighting amongst
themselves like so many carrion dogs over a carcass.

The Third Chapter

CHAOS RETURNED

Soon the winding path to the castle was strewn with
corpses. Four men were left on their feet when something
seemed to seize their heads and turn them to glare with
blazing eyes at Corum and Jhary, who still stood by the
gates. The four began to move up the hill again. Corum and
Jhary readied their swords.

Corum felt the anger rising in his own head, shaking his
body with its intensity. It was a relief to be able to vent it at
last. With a chilling yell he rushed down the hill toward the
attackers, his bright sword raised, Jhary behind him.

One of the swordsmen went down before Corum's first
thrust. These men were gaunt-faced and exhausted. It
looked as if they had not slept for many days. Normally
Corum would have known pity for them, would have tried
to disarm them or merely wound them. But his own rage
made him strike to kill.

And soon they were all dead.

And Corum Jhaelen Irsei stood over their corpses and
panted like a mad wolf, the blood dripping from his blade
onto the gray ground. He stood thus for some moments
until a small sound reached his ears. He turned. Jhary-a-
Conel was already kneeling beside the man who had made
the sound. It was Bwydyth-a-Horn and he was not quite
dead.

"Corum . . ." Jhary looked up at his friend. "He is
calling your name, Corum."

His fury abated for the moment, Corum went to
Bwydyth's side. "Aye, friend," he murmured gently.

"I tried, Corum, to fight what was inside my skull. I
tried for many days, but eventually it defeated me. I am
sorry, Corum ..."

"We have all suffered the sickness."

"When rational I decided to come to you in the hope
that you would know of a cure. At least, I thought, I could
warn you ..."

"And that is why your ship came to be in these
parts, eh?"

"Aye. But we were followed. There was a battle and it
brought back all my rage again. The whole Vadhagh race is
at war, Corum—and Lywm-an-Esh is no better. . . . Strife
governs all..." Bwydyth's voice grew still fainter.

"Do you know why, Bwydyth?"



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"No . . . Prince Yurette hoped to discover. . . . He, too,
was overcome by the berserk fury. . . . He—died ....
Reason is banished. .. . We are in the grip of demons. ...
Chaos is returned.... We should have remained in our city.."

Corum nodded. "It is Chaos' work, without doubt. We
became complacent too quickly, we ceased to be
wary—and Chaos struck. But it cannot be Mabelrode, for
if he came to our plane he would be destroyed as Xiombarg
was destroyed. He must be working through an agency. But
who?"

"Glandyth?" whispered Jhary. "Could it be the Earl of
Krae? All Chaos needs is one willing to serve it. If the will
exists, the power is given."

 Bwydyth-a-Horn began to cough. "Ah, Corum, forgive
me for this . . ."

"There is nought to forgive, since we are equally
possessed by something which is beyond our power to
fight."

"Find what it is, Corum . . ." Bwydyth's eyes burned
near-black as he raised himself on one elbow. "Destroy it if
you can.... Revenge me... revenge us all..."

And Bwydyth died.

Corum was trembling with emotion. "Jhary—have you
manufactured the potion of which you spoke?

"It is almost ready, though I make no claims for it yet. It
might not counter the madness."

"Be quick."

Corum rose to his feet and walked back to the castle,
sheathing his sword.

As he entered the gates he heard a scream and went
running through the gray galleries until he entered a room
of bright fountains. There was Rhalina beating off the
attack of two of the female retainers. The women were
shrieking like beasts and striking at her with their nails.
Corum drew his sword again, reversed it, struck the nearest
woman on the base of the skull. She went down and the
other whirled, foaming at the mouth. Corum leaped
forward and with his jeweled hand struck her on the jaw.
She, too, fell.

Corum felt rage rising in him again. He glared at the
weeping Rhalina. "What did you do to offend them?"

She looked at him in astonishment. "I? Nothing, Corum.
Corum! I did nothing!"

"Then why—?" He realized his voice was harsh, shrill.
Deliberately he took control of himself. "I am sorry,
Rhalina. I understand. Ready yourself for a journey. We
leave in our sky ship as soon as possible. Jhary may have a
medicine which will calm us. We must go to Lywm-an-Esh
to see if there is any hope there. We must try to contact


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Lord Arkyn and hope the Lord of Law will help us."

"Why is he not already helping us?" she asked bitterly.
"We aided him to regain his realm and now, it seems, he
abandons us to Chaos."

"If Chaos is active here, then it is active elsewhere. It
could be that there are worse dangers in his realm, or in the
realm of his brother Lord of Law. You know that none of
the gods may interfere directly in mortal affairs."

"But Chaos tries more frequently," she said.

"That is the nature of Chaos and that is why mortals are
best served by Law, for Law believes in the freedom of
mortals and Chaos sees us merely as playthings to be
molded and used according to its whims. Quickly, now,
prepare to leave."

"But it is hopeless, Corum. Chaos must be so much
more powerful than Law. We have done all we can to fight
it. Why not admit that we are doomed?"

"Chaos only seems more powerful because it is
aggressive and willing to use any means to gain its end.
Law endures. Make no mistake, I do not like the role in
which Fate has cast me—I would that someone else had
my burden—but the power of Law must be preserved if
possible. Now go—hurry."

She went away reluctantly while Corum made sure that
the retainers were not badly hurt. He did not like to leave
them, for he was sure that they would turn upon each other
soon. He decided that he would leave them some of the
potion Jhary was preparing and hope that it would last
them.

He frowned. Could Glandyth really be the cause of this?
But Glandyth was no sorcerer—he was a brute, a bloody-
handed warrior, a good tactician, and, in his own terms,
had many virtues, but he had little subtlety or even desire
to use sorcery, for he feared it.

Yet there were no others left in this realm who would
willingly make themselves servants of Chaos—and one had
to be willing or Chaos could not gain entry to the realm at
all ...

Corum decided to wait until he discovered more before
continuing to speculate. If he could reach Halwyg-nan-
Vake and the Temple of Law, he might be able to contact
Lord Arkyn and seek his advice.

He went to the room where he kept bis arms and armor
and he drew on his silver bynie, his silver greaves, and bis
conical silver helm with the three characters set Into it over
the peak—characters which stood for his full name. And
over all this he put his scarlet robe. Then he selected
weapons—a bow, arrows, a lance, and a war-axe of
exquisite workmanship—and he buckled on his long,
strong sword. Once again he garbed himself for war and he
made both a magnificent and a terrible figure, with his



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glittering six-fingered hand and the jeweled patch which
covered the jeweled Eye of Rhynn. He had prayed that he
would never have to dress himself thus again, that he
would never have to use the alien hand grafted to his left
wrist or peer through the eye into the fearsome netherworld
to summon the living dead to his aid. Yet in his heart he

had known that the power of Chaos had not been
vanquished, that the worst was still to come.

He felt weary, however, for his battle with the madness
in his skull was as exhausting as any physical fight.

Jhary came in and he, too, was dressed for traveling,
though he disdained armor, wearing a quilted leather
jerkin, stamped with designs in gold and platinum, in lieu
of a breastplate—his only concession. His wide-brimmed
hat was placed at a jaunty angle on his head, his long hair
was brushed so that it shone and fell over his shoulders.
He wore flamboyant silks and satins, elaborately decorated
boots trimmed with red and white lace, and was the very
picture of effete dandyism. Only the soldier's sword at his
belt denied the impression. On his shoulder was the small
black-and-white winged cat, which was his constant
companion. In his hand he held a bottle with a thin neck. A
brownish liquid swirled inside.

"It is made." He spoke slowly, as if in a trance. "And it
has the desired effect, I think. It has driven away my fury,
though I feel drowsy. Some of the drowsiness should wear
off. I hope it does."

Corum looked at him suspiciously. "It might counter the
fury—but we shall be slow to defend ourselves if attacked.
It slows the wits, Jhary!"

"It offers a different perspective, I grant you." Jhary
smiled a dreamy smile. "But it's our only chance, Corum.
And, speaking for myself, I would rather die in peace than
in mental anguish."

"I'll grant you that." Corum accepted the bottle, "How
much shall I take?"

"It is strong. Just a little on the tip of the forefinger."

Corum tilted the bottle and got a small amount of the
potion on his finger. Cautiously, he licked it. He gave Jhary
back the bottle. "I feel no different. Perhaps it does not
work on the Vadhagh metabolism."

"Perhaps. Now you must give some to Rhalina..."

"And the servants."

"Aye—fair enough—the servants ..."

They stood in the courtyard brushing the last of the
snow off the canopy covering the sky ship, peeling back the

cloth to reveal the rich blues, greens, and yellows of the
metallic hull. Jhary clambered slowly in and began to pass
his hands over the variously colored crystals on the panel


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in the prow. This was not as large a sky ship as the first
they had encountered. This one was open to the elements
when not utilizing the protective power of its invisible
energy screen. A whisper of sound came from the ship and
it lifted an inch off the ground. Corum helped Rhalina in
and then he, too, was aboard, lying on one of the couches
and watching Jhary as he prepared the craft for flight.

Jhary moved slowly, a slight smile on his face. Corum,
full of a sense of well-being, watched him. He looked over
to the couch where Rhalina had placed herself and he saw
that she was almost asleep. The potion was working well in
that the sense of fury had disappeared. But part of Corum
still knew that his present euphoria might be as dangerous
as his earlier rage. He knew that he had exchanged one
madness for another, in some senses.

He hoped that another sky ship would not attack them,
as Bwydyth's had been attacked, for, apart from their
present disability, they were all unfamiliar with the art of
aerial warfare. It was the best Jhary could do to pilot the
sky ship in the desired direction.

At last the craft lifted gently into the cold, gray air,
turning west and moving along the coast toward Lywm-an-
Esh.

And as the ship drifted on its way Corum looked down
at the world, all bleak and frozen, and wondered if spring
would ever come again to Bro-an-Vadhagh.

He opened his lips to speak to Jhary, but the dandy was
absorbed with the controls. He watched as, suddenly, the
little black-and-white cat sprang from Jhary's shoulder,
clung for a moment to the side of the sky ship, and then
flew off over the land, to disappear behind a line of hills.

For a moment Corum wondered why the cat had
deserted them, but then he forgot about it as he once again
became interested in the sea and the landscape below.

The Fourth Chapter

A NEW ALLY FOR EARL GLANDYTH

The little cat flew steadily through the day, changing its
direction constantly as if it followed an invisible and
winding path through the sky. Soon it had ceased to fly
inland, hesitated, then headed out over the cliffs and over
the sea, which it hated. Islands came in sight.

They were the Nhadragh Isles where lived the remainder
of the folk who had become groveling slaves of the Mabden
in order to preserve their lives. Though presently released
from that slavery, they had become so degenerate that their
race might still die from apathy, for most could not even
hate the Vadhagh now.

The cat was searching for something, following a
psychic rather than a physical scent; a scent which only he
could distinguish.

Once before had the little winged cat followed a similar


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scent, when he had gone to Kalenwyr to witness the great
massing of Mabden and the summoning of their now
banished gods the Dog and the Horned Bear. This time,
however, the cat was acting upon its own impulses: it had
not been sent to the Nhadragh Isles by Jhary-a-Conel, its
master.

In what was almost the exact center of the group of
green islands was the largest of them, called Maliful by the
Nhadragh. Like all the islands it contained many
ruins—ruins of towns, ruins of castles, ruins of villages.
Some were ruins thanks to the passage of time, but others
were ruins thanks to the passage of Mabden armies when
they had attacked the Nhadragh Isles at the height of King
Lyr-a-Brode's power. It had been Earl Glandyth and his
Denledhyssi chariot warriors who had led these expeditions,
just as, later, he had led expeditions to the Vadhagh castles
and destroyed what was left of the Vadhagh race, save
Corum—or so he had thought. The destruction of the two

elder races—the Shefanhow as Glandyth called them—had
taken a matter of a few years. They had been completely
unprepared for Mabden attack, had not been able to believe
in the power of creatures scarcely more intelligent or
cultured than other beasts. So they had died.

And only a few Nhadragh had been spared—used like
dogs to hunt down their fellows, to search for their ancient
Vadhagh enemies, to see into other dimensions and tell
their masters what they perceived. These had been the least
brave of their race—those who preferred degenerate slavery
to death.

The little cat saw some of their camps amongst the ruins
of the towns. They had been returned here after the Battle
of Halwyg, when their Mabden masters had been defeated.
They had made no attempt to rebuild their castles or cities,
but lived like primitives, many of them unaware that the
ruins had once been buildings created by their own kind.
They were dressed in iron and fur, after the manner of the
Nhadragh. They had dark, flat features and the hair of
their heads grew down to meet bushy eyebrows sprouting
above deep sockets. They were thickset people, heavily
muscled and strong. Once they had been as powerful and
as civilized as the Vadhagh but the Vadhagh decline had
not come so swiftly as theirs.

Now the broken towers of Os, once the capital of
Maliful and the whole of the Nhadragh lands, came in
sight. Os the Beautiful the city had been called by its
inhabitants, but it was beautiful no longer. Broken walls
were festooned with weeds, towers were stretched upon the
ground, houses gave shelter to rats and weasels and other
vermin, but not to Nhadragh.

The cat continued to follow the psychic scent. It circled
over a squat building which was still intact. Upon the flat
-roof of the building a dome had been built. The dome was
transparent and it glowed. Within two figures could be
seen, black against the yellow light. One figure was burly,
armored, and the other was shorter, dressed in furs, but



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wider than its companion. Muffled voices came from
within the dome. The cat landed on the roof, stalked
toward the dome, flattened its little head against the

transparent material and, its eyes wide, watched and
listened.

Glandyth-a-Krae frowned as he peered over Ertil's
shoulder into the billowing smoke and the boiling liquid
below. "Does the spell continue to work, Ertil?"

The Nhadragh nodded his head. "They still battle
amongst themselves. Never has my sorcery worked so
well."

"That is because the powers of Chaos aid you, fool! Or
aid me, I should say, for it is I who am pledged, body and
soul, to the Lords of Chaos." He glanced around the
littered dome. It was full of dead animals, bunches of
herbs, bottles of dust and liquids. Some rats and monkeys
sat apathetically in cages along one wall, a shelf of scrolls
below them. Once Ertil's father had been a wise scholar
and he had taught Ertil much. But Ertil was devolving as
the other Nhadragh devolved. He translated the wisdom
into sorcery, superstition. But the wisdom itself was still
powerful, as Earl Glandyth-a-Krae, picking now at his
yellow fangs, had discovered.

Earl Glandyth's red, acned face was half hidden by his
huge beard, which had been braided and laced with
ribbons, just as his long, black hair was braided. His gray
eyes hinted at an inner disease, just as his fat, red lips
suggested corrupted offal. Earl Glandyth snarled. "What of
Prince Corum? And the others who befriended him? What
of all the Shefanhow who came from the magic city?"

"I cannot see what befalls individuals, my lord," whined
the sorcerer. "I only know the spell is working."

"I hope you speak truly, sorcerer."

"I do, my lord. Was it not a spell given us by the powers
of Chaos? The Cloud of Contention spreads, invisible upon
the wind, turning each man against his companion, against
his children, his wife." A tremulous grin appeared on the
Nhadragh's dark face. "The Vadhagh fall upon each other.
They die. They all die."

"Aye—but does Corum die? That is what I must know.
That the others perish is well and good, but not so
important. With Corum gone and disruption in the land, I

can rally supporters in Lywm-an-Esh and, with my
Denledhyssi, reconquer the lands King Lyr lost. Can you
not concoct a special spell for Corum, sorcerer?"

Ertil trembled. "Corum is mortal—he must suffer as the
others suffer."

"He is cunning—he has powerful help—he might
escape. We sail for Lywm-an-Esh tomorrow. Is there no
way of telling for certain that Corum is dead or seized by
the madness which seizes the others?"


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"No way that I know, master."

Glandyth scratched at his pitted face with his broken
fingernails. "Are you sure you do not deceive me,
Shefanhow?"

"I would not, master. I would not!"

Glandyth grinned into the terrified eyes of the Nhadragh
sorcerer. "I believe you, Ertil." He laughed. "Still, a little
more aid from Chaos would not go amiss. Summon that
demon again—the one from Mabelrode's plane."

Ertil whimpered. "It takes a year off my life every time I
perform such a summoning."

Glandyth drew his long knife. He placed the tip on
Ertil's flat nose. "Summon it, Ertil!"

"I will summon it."

Ertil shuffled to the other side of the dome and took one
of the monkeys from its cage. The creature whimpered in
echo of Ertil's own whimperings. Although it looked at the
Nhadragh in fear it clung to him as if for safety, finding
security nowhere else in the room. Next Ertil took an X-
shaped frame from a corner and he stood this in a special-
ly made indentation in the scarred surface of the table. All
the while he shuddered. All the while he moaned. And
Glandyth paced impatiently, refusing to see or hear the
signs of the Nhadragh sorcerer's distress.

Now Ertil gave the monkey something to sniff and the
beast became quiescent. Ertil positioned it against the
frame and took nails and a hammer from his pouch.

Methodically, he began to crucify the monkey while it
gibbered and squawked and blood ran out of the holes in
its little hands and feet.

Ertil was pale and he looked as if he might vomit.

The cat's eyes widened further as it watched this
barbaric ritual and it became just a trifle nervous, the hairs
stiffening on the back of its neck and its tail jerking back
and forth, but it continued to observe the scene in the
dome.

"Hurry, you Shefanhow filth!" Glandyth growled.
"Hurry, lest I seek another sorcerer!"

"You know there are no others left who would aid you
or Chaos," Ertil mumbled.

"Be silent! Continue with your damned business."

Glandyth scowled. It was plain that Ertil spoke the
truth. None feared the Mabden now—none save the
Nhadragh, who had developed the habit of fearing them.

The monkey's teeth were chattering. Its eyes rolled. Ertil
heated an iron in the brazier. While the iron got hot, he


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traced a complicated figure around the crucified beast.
Then he placed bowls in each of the ten comers and he lit
what was in the bowls. He took a scroll in one hand and the
white-hot iron in the other. The dome began to fill with
green and yellow smoke. Glandyth coughed and took a
kerchief from inside his iron-studded jerkin. He looked
nervous and backed into a corner.

"Yrkoon, Yrkoon, Esel Asan. Yrkoon, Yrkoon, Nasha
Fasal..." The chant went on and on and with every verse
Ertil plunged the hot iron into the writhing body of the
monkey. The monkey did not die, for the iron missed its
vitals, but it was plainly in dreadful agony. "Yrkoon,
Yrkoon, Meshel Feran. Yrkoon, Yrkoon, Palaps OH."

The smoke thickened and the cat could see only
shadow in the room.

"Yrkoon, Yrkoon, Cenil Pordit . . ."

A distant noise. It mingled with the shrieks of the
tortured monkey.

A wind blowing.

The smoke cleared suddenly. The scene in the dome was
as sharp as before. No longer was the monkey crucified
upon the frame. Something else hung there. It had a human
form but was no larger than the monkey. Its features were
closer to those of the Vadhagh than the Mabden, though
there was evil and malice in the tiny face.

"You summoned me again, Ertil." The voice was of the
pitch and loudness of an ordinary voice. It seemed strange
that it issued from such a small mouth.

"Aye—I summoned you, Yrkoon. We need help from
your master Mabelrode . . ."

"More help?" The voice was bantering. Yrkoon smiled.
"More?"

"You know that we work for him. Without us you would
have no means of reaching this realm at all."

"What of it? Why should my master Lord Mabelrode be
interested in your realm?"

"You know why! He wants both the old Sword Realms
back for Chaos—and he wants vengeance on Corum, who
was instrumental in destroying the power of his brother
Arioch and his sister Xiombarg, the Knight and the Queen
of the Swords!"

Hanging comfortably on the frame the demon shrugged.
"And so? What is it you want?"

Glandyth stepped forward, bunching his fist.

"It is what I want, not what this sorcerer wants! I want
power, demon! I want the means of destroying Corum—of
destroying the power of Law on this plane! Give me that
power, demon!"


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"I have given you much power already," the demon said
reasonably. "I gave you the means of creating the Cloud of
Contention. Your enemies fight each other to the death.
And you are still not satisfied!"

"Tell me if Corum lives!"

"I can tell you nothing. We have no means of reaching
this plane unless you summon us, and, as you well know,
we cannot remain here for long—we can only take the
place of another creature for a short while. Thus is the
Balance deceived—or, if not deceived, mollified."

"Give me more power, Sir Demon!"

"I cannot give you power. I can only tell you how to
acquire it. And know this, Glandyth-a-Krae, and be
warned—if you take more of the gifts of Chaos, then you
will assume the attributes of all those who accept those
gifts. Are you ready to become what you most profess to
loath?"

"What's that?"

Yrkoon chuckled. "A Shefanhow. A demon. I was
human once . . ."

Glandyth's mouth twisted and he clenched his fists. "I'll
make any bargain to have my revenge on Corum and his
kind!"

"And thus we shall be mutually served. Very well.
Power you shall have."

"And power for my men—power for the Denledhyssi!"

"Very well. Power for them, too."

"Great, fierce power!" Glandyth's eyes were afire.
"Massive power! Invincible power!"

"There is no such thing while the Balance rules. You
shall have what you can carry."

"Good. I can carry much. I shall sail for the mainland,
take their cities and their castles once again, while they fight
amongst themselves. I will rule this whole world. Lyr and
the rest were weak. But I shall be strong, with the Power of
Chaos at my command!"

"Lyr, too, had aid from Chaos," Yrkoon reminded him
sardonically.

"But he knew not how to use it. I begged him to give me
more men to destroy Corum, but he would not give me
enough. If Corum were dead, Lyr would be alive today.
That is my proof."

"It must give you satisfaction," said the demon. "Now
listen. I will tell you what you must do."

The Fifth Chapter
THE DESERTED CITY


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The sky ship flew over the hill in the sea where Castle
Moidel had once stood. There was no castle there now.
Corum looked down on it with a sense of regret which was
quickly gone, for the euphoria of the potion was still upon
him. And soon they had reached the coast of Lywm-an-
Esh. At first the land seemed normal, but after a while they

saw small groups of riders, rarely more than three or four,
rushing wildly through fields and forests, attacking any
other group they came upon. Women fought women and
children fought children. There were many corpses.

Corum's apathy slowly changed to horror and he was
glad that Rhalina slept, that Jhary had time to look down
only occasionally.

"Make haste for Halwyg-nan-Vake," Corum told his
friend when Jhary glanced questioningly at him. "There is
nothing we can do for them until we discover what causes
their madness."

Jhary took the bottle from his pouch and held it up, but
Corum shook his head. "No. There is not enough. Besides,
how could we persuade them to take it? If we are to save
any lives at all, we must attack that which attacks us."

Jhary sighed. "How do you attack a madness, Corum?"

"That we must discover. I pray that the Temple of Law
still stands and that Arkyn will come to it if we attempt to
summon him."

Jhary jerked his thumb downward. "This is like the
madness which touched them before."

"Only it is stronger. Before it merely nibbled at their
brains. Now it eats them entirely."

"They destroy all that they rebuilt. Is there any point
in—?"

"They can rebuild again. There is a point."

Jhary shrugged. "I wonder where my cat has gone," he
said.

When the sky ship circled over Halwyg-nan-Vake and
began to land near the Temple of Law Rhalina woke up.
She smiled at Corum as if she had forgotten all that had
recently passed. But then she frowned as if remembering a
nightmare. "Corum?"

"It is true," he said softly. "And we are at Halwyg now.
The Floral City seems deserted. I do not know the
explanation."

He had half expected to see the beautiful city in flames.
Instead, save for one or two damaged buildings and
gardens, it was intact. Yet none walked its streets or

patrolled its walls. The palace was unoccupied as far as he
could tell.


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Jhary brought the sky ship down as he had learned to do
when, in gentler times, Bwydyth-a-Horn had taught him its
secrets.

They landed in a wide, white street. Nearby stood the
Temple of Law, of but one story and without ostentatious
decoration. A simple building with a sign over its portal—a
single straight arrow—the Arrow of Law.

They climbed from the sky ship on trembling legs. The
combination of the flight and the potion had weakened
them somewhat. They began, unsteadily, to advance up the
path toward the temple.

It was then that a figure appeared in the doorway. His
clothes were torn and bloody and one eye had been gouged
from his old face. He was sobbing, but his hands clawed
out at them like the talons of a wounded, ferocious animal.

"It is Aleryon!" Rhalina gasped. "The priest—Aleryon-
a-Nyvish! The sickness is upon him, too!"

The old man was weak and he could not resist when
Corum and Jhary stepped swiftly forward and grasped him,
pinning his arms to his sides while Jhary removed the
stopper of his bottle with his teeth, dabbed a little of his
potion on his finger and let Corum force the old man's jaw
open. Jhary smeared the stuff on Aleryon's tongue. The
priest tried to spit it out, his eyes rolling, his nostrils
dilating like those of a horse in fever. But almost
immediately he was quiet. His body went limp and he
began to slide to the ground.

"Let us take him into the Temple," Corum said.

When they lifted him he offered no resistance. They
carried him into the coolness of the interior and laid him on
the floor.

"Corum?" croaked the priest, opening his eyes. "The
Chaos fury leaves me. I am myself again—or almost so."

"What has happened to the folk of Halwyg?" Jhary
asked him. "Are they all destroyed? Where have they
gone?"

"They are mad. Not one was sane by yesterday. I fought
the sickness as long as I could . . ."

"But where are they, Aleryon?"

"Gone. They are off in the hills, on the plains, in the
forests. They are hiding from each other—attacking each
other from time to time. Not one man trusted another and
so they left the city, you see . . ."

"Has Lord Arkyn visited your Temple?" Corum asked
the old priest. "Has he spoken to you?"

"Once—early on. He told me to send for you, but I
could not. No one would go and I knew of no other way of
reaching you, Prince Corum. And when the rage came,


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then I was in no state to—to receive Lord Arkyn. I could
not summon him, as, traditionally, I summoned him every
day."

Corum helped Aleryon to his feet. "Summon him now.
The whole world is possessed by Chaos. Summon him now,
Aleryon!"

"I am not sure."

"You must."

"I will try." Aleryon's wounded face grew grim, for now
he fought against the euphoria of Jhary's potion. "I will
try."

And he tried. He tried for all the rest of that afternoon,
his voice growing hoarse as he chanted the ritual prayer to
Law. For many years that prayer had gone unanswered,
while Law was banished and Arioch ruled in the name of
Chaos. But recently the prayer had sometimes summoned
the great Lord of Law.

Now there was no answer.

Aleryon paused at last. "He does not hear. Or, if he
hears, he cannot come. Is Chaos returned in all her power,
Corum?"

Corum Jhaelen Irsei looked at the floor and slowly
shook his head. "Perhaps."

"Look!" said Rhalina, pushing her long black hair away
from her face. "Jhary, it is your cat."

The little black-and-white cat flew through the door and
settled on Jhary's shoulder. It nuzzled his ear, a series of
low sounds coming from its throat. Jhary looked surprised
and then became intent, listening closely to the cat.

"It speaks to him!" Aleryon murmured in astonishment.
"The creature speaks!"

"It communicates," Jhary told him, "yes."
At length the cat became quiet and, balancing on Jhary's
shoulder still, began to wash itself.
"What did it tell you?" Corum asked.
"It told me of Glandyth-a-Krae."
"So—he does live!"

"Not only does he live but he appears to have made a
pact with King Mabelrode of Chaos—through the medium
of a treacherous Nhadragh sorcerer. And Chaos told him
of the spell which is now upon us. And Chaos has promised
him yet greater power."
"Where is Glandyth?"
"On Maliful—in Os."

"We must go there, find Glandyth, destroy him."
"No point. Glandyth is coming to us."
"By sea? There is still time."

"Across the sea. He and his men have some Chaos


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beasts at their command—things which the cat could not
describe. Even now Glandyth flies for Lywm-an-Esh—and
he is seeking us, Corum."

"We shall be here and we shall fight him at long last."
Jhary looked skeptical. "The two of us—drugged so that
our reactions are slow and our sense of survival low?"

"We will find others—administer your potion . . ."
Corum stopped. He knew that it was impossible—that
even under normal conditions he would be hard put to fight
the Denledhyssi, even with the aid.... His face cleared and
then grew dark again. "Perhaps it can be done, Jhary, if I
make use of the Hand of Kwll and the Eye of Rhynn once
more."

Jhary-a-Conel shrugged. "We must hope so, for there is
naught else we can do. If only we could find Tanelorn, as I
wanted to do before. I am sure we should find help there.
But I have no clue as to its current whereabouts."

"You speak of the mythical city of tranquillity—Eternal
Tanelorn?" said Aleryon. "You know it exists?"

Jhary smiled. "If I have a home—then that home is
Tanelorn. It exists in every age, at every time, on every

plane—but it is sometimes hard to find."

"Can we not search the planes in the sky ship?" Rhalina
said. "For the sky ship can travel between the realms as we
know."

"My knowledge does not extend to guiding it through
those strange dimensions," Jhary told them. "Bwydyth told
me something of how to make it travel through the walls
between the realms, but I know nothing of steering it. No,
we must hope to find Tanelorn on this plane, if we are to
find it at all. But in the meantime we must think more of
Glandyth and escaping him."

"Or doing battle with him," Corum said. "We might
have the means of defeating him."

"We might, aye."

"You must go to watch for him," Aleryon said. "I will
stay here with the Lady Rhalina. Together we shall
continue to try summoning Lord Arkyn."

Corum nodded his agreement. "You are a brave old
man, priest. I thank you."

Outside in the silent streets Corum and Jhary walked
listlessly toward the center of the city. Time upon time
Corum would raise his alien left hand and inspect it. Time
upon time he would lower it and then touch his jeweled eye
patch with his right hand. Then he would glance up into the
sky through his one mortal eye, his silver helm glinting in
the sunlight, for the clouds had cleared and it was a calm
winter's day.

Neither man could express his thoughts. They were


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thoughts both profound and desperate. It seemed that the
end had come when they had least expected it. Somehow
Law had been vanquished, Chaos had regained all its old
strength—perhaps was stronger. And they had not, until a
short time before, had any hint of it. They felt confused,
betrayed, doomed, impotent.

The dead city seemed to symbolize the emptiness in their
own souls. They hoped that they would see an in-
habitant—just one human, even if he attacked them.

The flowers blew gently in the breeze, but instead of
signifying peace, they signified an ominous calm.

Glandyth was coming from the sky, his strength
reinforced by the power of Chaos,

It was with hardly any emotion at all that Corum
eventually noticed them. Black shadows flying from the
east—a score of them. He indicated them to Jhary.

"We had best return to the Temple and warn Aleryon
and Rhalina."

"Would not they be safest in the Temple of Law?"

"I think not—not now, Jhary."

Black shadows flying from the east. Flying low. Flying
purposefully. Huge wings beating, strange cries sounding in
the evening air, cries which were fierce and yet full of
melancholy, the cries of damned souls. Yet these were
beasts. Long-necked beasts, whose heads writhed at the
end of their stalks, staring this way and that, scanning the
ground as hawks might scan for prey. Long, thin heads
with long, thin fangs projecting from their red mouths.
Blank, miserable eyes. Despairing voices, cawing as if
pleading for release. And on their black, broad backs were
strapped the wheelless chariots of the Denledhyssi, and in
these hastily fashioned howdahs were the Mabden
murderers themselves, and in the leading one stood a figure
in a horned helm with a great iron sword in his hand. And
they thought they could hear his laughter, though it must
be another sound, perhaps a sound from the monstrous
black flying things.

"It is   Glandyth of course," said Corum. A crooked smile
was on   his face. "Well, we must try to fight him. If I can
summon   aid, it can engage Glandyth and his things while
we run   to warn Rhalina."

He raised his good right hand to his bad right eye, to pull
back the patch and let himself see into the netherworld,
where waited those whom he had slain with the power of
the Hand of Kwll and the Eye of Rhynn, who were now his
prisoners, waiting to be released to take other foes who
might replace them and so free them from that netherworld
for good. But the patch would not move, it was as if it was
glued to the eye beneath. He pulled with all his strength.
He raised the Hand of Kwll with its supernatural strength
to pull back the patch, but the Hand of Kwll refused to




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approach the patch. Those things which had aided him now
plainly refused to aid him.

Was the power of Chaos so great that it could control
even these?

With a sob Corum turned and began to run through the
streets, back toward the Temple of Law.

The Sixth Chapter

THE WEARY GOD

And when Corum and Jhary came to the Temple of Law
with horror in their hearts, they saw that Rhalina was
waiting for them and she was smiling.

"He is here! He has come!" she cried. "It is Lord Arkyn..."

"And Glandyth comes from the east," panted Jhary.
"We must flee in the sky ship. It is all we can do. Corum's
power is gone—neither the Hand nor the Eye will obey
him."

Corum strode into the Temple. He was resentful and
wished to express his resentment to Arkyn of Law, whom
he had helped and who was not now helping him.

There was something hovering at the far end of the
Temple, close to where a pale Aleryon sat with his back
against the wall. A face? A body? Corum peered hard, but
his peering seemed to make it fainter.

"Lord Arkyn?"

A far away voice: "Aye ..."

"What is the matter? Why are the forces of Law so
weak?"

"They are stretched so thinly through the two realms
which we control. Mabelrode sends all his forces to aid
those who serve Chaos here. . . . We fight on ten planes,
Corum . . . ten planes . . . and we are so recently
established .. . our power is still weak . .."

Corum held up his useless, alien hand. "Why do I no
longer control the Eye of Rhynn and the Hand of Kwll? It

was our one hope of defeating Glandyth, who even now
comes against us!"

"I know that. . . . You must escape . . . take your sky
ship through the dimensions . . . seek Eternal Tanelorn . . .
there is a correspondence between your powerlessness and
your need to find Tanelorn . . ."

"A correspondence? What correspondence?"

"I can only sense it... I am weakened by this struggle,
Corum . . . 1 am weary. . .. My powers are thin now. . . .
Find Tanelorn . . ."

"How can I? Jhary cannot steer the sky ship through the


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dimensions."

"He must try to do so .. ."

"Lord Arkyn—you must give me clearer instructions.
Even now Glandyth comes to Halwyg. He intends to seize
this whole plane and rule it. He intends to destroy all of us
who remain. How can we defend those who suffer the
Chaos madness?"

"Tanelorn.... Seek Tanelorn.... It is the only way you
can hope to save them... .1 can tell you no more.... It is
all I see ... all I see .. ."

"You are a feeble god, Lord Arkyn. Perhaps I should
have pledged my loyalty to Chaos, for if horror and death
are to rule the world, one might as well become that horror
and that death ..."

"Do not be bitter, Corum. . . . There is still some hope
that you may succeed in banishing Chaos from all the
Fifteen Planes ..."

"It is strength I need now—not hope."

"Hope to find the strength you need in Tanelorn.
Farewell . . ."

And the vague shape vanished. Outside Corum heard the
cries of the black flying things. He went to where Aleryon
lay. The old man had exhausted himself trying to call
Arkyn. "Come, old man. We will take you to the sky ship
with us—if there is time."

But Aleryon did not reply for, while Corum had
conversed with the weary god, he had died.

Rhalina and Jhary-a-Conel were already standing by the
sky ship, staring upward as the great black beasts began to
descend on Halwyg.

"I spoke to Arkyn," Corum told them. "He was of little
help. He said we must escape through the dimensions and
seek Tanelorn. I told him that you could not guide the craft
beyond this plane. He said that we must."

Jhary shrugged and helped Rhalina aboard. "Then we
must. Or, at least, we must try."

"If only we could rally defenders from the City in the
Pyramid. Their weapons would destroy even Glandyth's
Chaos allies."

"But they destroy each other with them. This is what
Glandyth knew."

They stood all three in the sky ship as Jhary passed his
hands over the crystals and brought them to life. The craft
began to rise. Jhary pointed its prow toward the west, away
from Glandyth.

But Glandyth had seen them now. The black wings beat
louder and the cries increased in volume. The Denledhyssi


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began to sweep down toward the only three mortals in the
world who were aware of what had happened to them.

Jhary bit his lip as he studied the crystals. "It is a
question of making accurate passes over these things," he
said. "I am striving to remember what Bwydyth taught
me."

The sky ship was moving swiftly now, but their pursuers
kept pace with them. The long necks of the flying beasts
were poised like snakes about to strike. Red mouths
stretched wide. Fangs flashed.

Something foul streamed from those mouths like oily
black smoke. Like the tongues of lizards they shot toward
the sky ship. Desperately Jhary turned the craft this way
and that, attempting to avoid the tendrils. One curled
around the stern and the ship stopped moving for a
moment before it broke free. Rhalina clung to Corum.
Uselessly, he had drawn his sword.

The little black-and-white cat clung with all its claws to
Jhary's shoulder. It had recognized Glandyth and its eyes
had widened in something akin to fear.

Now Corum heard a yell and he knew that Glandyth
realized who it was trying to escape from Halwyg.
Although the barbarian was a good distance away, Corum
thought he felt Glandyth's eyes glaring into his own. He
stared back with his one human eye, the sword raised to
protect himself and Rhalina, and he saw that Glandyth,
too, brandished his great iron broadsword, almost as if
challenging him to single combat. The flying serpents
hissed and cackled and sent from their throats more of the
smoky tendrils.

Four of the things coiled around the ship. Jhary
attempted to increase the speed.
"We can go no faster! We are trapped!"
"Then you must try to move through the planes. We
might escape them that way."

"Those are Chaos creatures. It is likely they too can
cross the walls between the realms!"

Hopelessly Corum hacked at the tendrils with his blade,
but it was as if he cut through smoke. Inexorably they were
being pulled back to where the Denledhyssi hovered,
triumphantly waiting for them to be drawn close enough so
that they could board the sky ship and slay its occupants.

Then the black wings grew hazy and Corum saw that the
city below was beginning to fade. Lightning seemed to
flicker through sudden darkness. Globes of purple light
appeared. The boat shuddered like a frightened deer and
Corum felt a familiar nausea seize him. Furiously the black
wings beat as they became clearer. He had guessed rightly,
had Jhary. The creatures were able to follow them through
the dimensions.

Jhary made more passes over the instruments. The boat
rocked and threatened to turn over. Again came the


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peculiar sensations, the vibrations, the lightnings and
globes of golden flame in a rushing, turbulent cloud of red
and orange.

The tongues of smoke which restrained them
disappeared. The black creatures still flew on, sighted
through the zigzags of utter darkness and blinding
brightness. Their voices could still be heard, as also could
be heard the roaring rage of Glandyth-a-Krae.

And then there was silence.

Corum could not see Rhalina. He could not see Jhary.
He could only feel the boat still beneath his feet.

They were drifting in total blackness and absolute
silence, in neither one dimension nor another.

BOOK TWO

In which Prince Corum and his companions

learn the full import of what Chaos
is and what it intends to become and
discover something more concerning
the nature of time and identity

The First Chapter
CHAOS UNBOUNDED

"Corum."

It was Rhalina's voice.

"Corum?"

"I am here."

He stretched out his right hand and tried to touch her. At
last he felt her hair beneath his fingers. He encircled her
shoulders with his arm.

"Jhary?" he said. "Are you there?"

"I am here. I am trying different configurations, but the
crystals do not respond. Is this Limbo, Corum?"

"I assume so. If it were not that we can breathe and it is
relatively warm, I would think the sky ship adrift in the
cosmos, beyond the sky."

Silence.

And then a thin line of golden light could be seen,
cutting across the blackness as if dividing it in two, rather
like a horizon, or the crack of light from beneath a gigantic
door. And while they remained in the blackness the area of
blackness above the golden line began, it seemed, to move
upward, like a curtain in a vast theater.

And now, though they could still not see each other, they
saw the wide area of gold, saw it begin to change.

"What is it, Corum?"


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"I know not, Rhalina, Jhary?"

"This Limbo might be the domain of the Cosmic
Balance—a neutral territory, as it were, where no gods or
mortals come in ordinary circumstances."

"Have we drifted into it by accident?"

"I do not know."

This is what they saw then:

All was huge, but in proportion. A rider spurring his
horse across a desert beneath a white and purple sky. The

rider had milk-white hair and it streamed behind him. His
eyes were red and full of wild bitterness, his skin was bone
white. Physically he somewhat resembled the Vadhagh, for
he had the same unhuman face. He was an albino, clothed
all in black, baroque armor, every part of it covered in fine,
detailed metal-work, a huge helm upon his head, a black
sword at his side.

And now the rider was no longer upon a horse. He rode
a beast that somewhat resembled those which had pursued
them—a flying beast—a dragon. The black sword was in
his hand and it gave off a strange, black radiance. The rider
rode the dragon as if it were a horse, seated in a saddle, his
feet in stirrups, but he was strapped to the saddle to save
him from falling. He was crying out.

And below him there were other dragons, evidently
brothers to the one he rode. They were engaged in aerial
battles with misshapen things with the jaws of whales. A
green mist drifted across the scene and obscured it.

Now they saw the asymmetrical outlines of a gigantic
castle, flowing upward to form its shape even as they
watched. Battlements, turrets, towers all appeared. The
dragon-rider ordered his beasts toward it and they released
flaming venom from their mouths, directing it at the castle.
A few others who followed the rider also sat upon the
backs of the dragons.

They passed the blazing castle and came now to an
undulating plain. Upon this plain stood all the demons and
corrupt, warped things of Chaos, arranged as if for battle.
And here, too, were gods—Dukes of Hell every
one—Malohin, Xiombarg, Zhortra and more—Chardros
the Reaper, with monstrous, hairless head and sweeping
scythe—and the oldest of the gods, Slortar the Old, slender
and lovely as a youth of sixteen.

And it was this massed might that the dragon-riders
attacked.

Surely they must perish.

Fiery venom splashed across the scene and again there
was only golden light.

"What did we see?" Corum whispered. "Do you know,


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Jhary?"

"Aye. I know. I have been there—or will be there. We
see another age, another plane. The mightiest battle
between Law and Chaos, Gods and Mortals, that I have
ever witnessed. The white-faced one I served in a different
guise. He is called Elric of Melnibone."

"You mentioned him once, when we first met."

"He is, like you, a champion chosen by destiny to fight
so that the equilibrium of the Cosmic Balance might be
preserved." Jhary's voice sounded sad. "I remember his
friend Moonglum, but his friend Moonglum does not
remember me . . ."

The remark seemed inconsequential to Corum.

"What does it mean to us, Jhary?"

"I do not know. Look—something else comes upon the
stage."

There was a city upon a plain. Corum felt that he knew
it, but then realized that he had never seen it before, for it
was not like any city in Bro-an-Vadhagh or Lywm-an-Esh.
Of white marble and black granite, it was simple and it was
magnificent. It was under siege. Silver-snouted weapons
were upon its walls, directed at the attackers—a great
horde of cavalry and infantry which had pitched its tents
below. The attackers were clad in massive armor, but the
defenders wore light protection and they, too, like the one
Jhary had called Elric, were more like the Vadhagh than
like other mortals. Corum began to wonder if the Vadhagh
occupied many plains.

A horseman in bulky armor rode from the camp toward
the black-and-white walls of the city. He carried a banner
and seemed to have come to parley. He called up at the
walls and eventually a gate opened to admit him. The
watchers could not see his face.

The scene changed again.

Now, strangely, the one who had been attacking the
city was defending it.

Sudden glimpses of terrible massacres. The humans were

being destroyed by weapons even more powerful than
those possessed by the folk of Gwlas-cor-Gwrys and it was
one of their own kind who directed their murder ...
It was gone. Golden, pure light returned.

"Erekose," murmured Jhary. "I think I see significance in
these scenes. I think it is the Balance and it is hinting at
something. But the implications are so profound that my
poor head cannot contain them."

"Speak of them, please!" Corum begged into the
darkness, his eyes still upon the golden stage.

"There are no words. I have told you already that I am a


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Companion to Champions—that there is only one
Champion and only one Companion, but that we do not
always know each other, or even know of our fate.
Circumstances change from time to time, but the basic
destiny does not. It was Erekose's burden that he should be
aware of this—aware of all his previous incarnations, his
incarnations to come. You, at least, are spared that,
Corum."

Corum shuddered. "Say no more."

Rhalina said, "And what of this hero's lovers? You have
spoken of his friend . . ."

And a new scene came upon the golden stage before she
could continue.

The face of a man, wracked with pain, covered in sweat,
a dark, throbbing jewel imbedded in his forehead. He drew
down over this face a helm of such highly polished metal
that it became a perfect mirror. In the mirror could be seen
a group of riders who at first appeared to be men with the
heads of beasts. Then it became plain that these heads were
in fact helmets, fashioned to resemble pigs, goats, bulls,
and dogs.

There was a pitched battle. There were several riders in
the same polished helms. They were greatly outnumbered
by their enemies in the beast masks.

One of those in the mirror helmets—perhaps the man
they had first seen—held something aloft—a short staff

from which pulsed many-colored rays. This staff struck
fear into the beast riders and many had to be driven on by
their leaders.

The fight continued.

The scene vanished, to be replaced, once more, by
nothing but the pure, golden light.

"Hawkmoon," murmured Jhary. "The Runestaff. What
can all this mean? You have witnessed yourself, Corum, in
three other incarnations. I have never experienced such a
thing before."

Corum was trembling. He could not bear to consider
Jhary's words. They suggested that it was his fate to
experience an eternity of battle, of death, of misery.

"What can it mean?" Jhary said again. "Is it a warning?
A prediction of something about to take place? Or has it no
special significance?"

Slowly the blackness descended on the golden light until
there was only a faint line of gold, and then that, too,
vanished.

They hung once more in Limbo.

Jhary's voice came to Corum. The tone was distant, as if
the dandy spoke to himself. "I think it means we must find


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Tanelorn. There, all destinies meet—there, all things are
constant. Neither Law nor Chaos can effect Tanelorn's
existence, though her occupants can sometimes be
threatened. But even I do not know where Tanelorn lies in
this age, in these dimensions. If I could only discover some
sign which would give me my bearings ..."

"Perhaps it is not Tanelorn we should seek," Rhalina
said. "Perhaps these events we have been shown indicate
some different quest?"

"It is all bound up together," Jhary mused, seeming to
answer a question he had put to himself. "It is all bound up
together. Elric, Erekose, Hawkmoon, Corum. Four aspects
of the same thing, as I am another aspect of it, as Rhalina
is a sixth aspect. Some disruption has occurred in the
universe, perhaps. Or some new cycle is about to take
place. I do not know . . ."

The sky ship lurched. It moved as if along a crazily

undulating track. Massive teardrops of green and blue light
began to fall all around them. There was the sound of a
raging wind, but no wind touched them. An almost human
voice, echoing on and on and on.

And then they were flying through swiftly moving
shadows—the shadows of things and people all rushing in
the same direction.

Below, Corum saw a thousand volcanoes, each one
spewing red cinders and smoke, but somehow the cinders
and smoke did not touch the sky ship. There was a stink of
burning and it was suddenly replaced by the smell of
flowers. The volcanoes had become so many huge
blossoms, like anemones opening red petals.

Singing came from somewhere. A joyful, martial tune
like the song of a victorious army. It died away. There was
a laugh, cut off short.

The bulk of enormous beasts rose from seas of
excrement and the beasts raised their square snouts to the
skies and groaned before sinking again beneath the surface.

A mottled, pink-white plain, apparently of stones. It was
not stones. The plain was comprised entirely of corpses,
each one neatly laid beside the other, each one face down.

"Where are we Jhary, do you know?" Corum called,
peering through disturbed air at his friend.

"This place is ruled by Chaos, that is all I know at
present, Corum. What you see is Chaos unbounded. Law
has no power here at all. I believe we must be in
Mabelrode's Realm and I am attempting to take the sky
ship out of it, but it will not respond."

"We are moving through the dimensions, however,"
Rhalina said. "The scenes change so rapidly. That must be
the case."

Jhary offered her a desperate grin as he turned to look at


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her over his shoulder. "We are not moving through the
dimensions. This is Chaos, Lady Rhalina. Pure, unchained
Chaos."

The Second Chapter
        THE CASTLE BUILT OF BLOOD

"It is surely Mabelrode's Realm," Jhary said, "unless
Chaos has conquered suddenly and all fifteen Planes are
once again under its domination."

Foul shapes flew about the sky ship for a moment and
then were gone.

"My brain reels," Rhalina gasped. "It as if I am mad. I
can hardly believe I do not dream."

"Someone dreams," Jhary told her. "Someone dreams,
lady. A god."

Corum could not speak. His head was aching. Peculiar
memories threatened to come to him, but they remained
elusive.

Sometimes he would listen hard, believing that he heard
voices. He would peer over the rail of the craft to see if
they came from beneath the ship. He would stare into the
sky. "Do you hear them, Rhalina?"

"I hear nothing, Corum."

"I cannot make out the words. Perhaps they are not
words."

"Forget them," Jhary said sharply. "Pay no attention to
anything of that sort. We are in Chaos lands and our senses
will deceive us in every way. Remember that we three are
the only realities—and be careful to inspect anything which
looks like me or Rhalina very carefully before you trust it."

"You mean demons will try to make me think that they
are those I love?"

"That is what they will do, call them what you will."

A huge wave advanced toward them. It took the form of
a human hand. It clenched itself into a fist. It threatened to
smash the boat. It disappeared. Jhary flew on. He was
sweating.

A spring day dawned. They flew over the morning fields
as the dew sparkled. Flowers grew in the grass and there

were little bright pools of water, tiny rivers. In the shade of
oak trees stood horses and cows. A little way ahead was a
low, white farmhouse with smoke curling from its chimney.
Birds sang. Pigs rooted in the farmyard.

"I cannot believe it is not real," Corum said to Jhary.

"It is real," Jhary told him. "But it is short-lived. Chaos
delights in creation but swiftly becomes bored with what it
creates for it seeks not order or justice or constancy but



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sensation, entertainment. Sometimes it suits it to create
something which you and I would value or find pleasure in.
But it is an accident."

The fields remained. The farmhouse remained. The
sense of peace grew.

Jhary frowned. "Perhaps, after all, we have left the
Realm of Chaos and . . ."

The fields gradually began to swirl, like stagnant water
stirred by a stick. The farmhouse spread to become scum
on top of the water. The flowers were now festering
growths on the surface.

"It becomes so easy to believe what one wishes to
believe," Jhary said wearily. "So easy."

"We must escape from here," said Corum.

"Escape? I cannot control the sky ship. I have not
controlled it since we entered Limbo."

"Then some other force controls us?"

"Aye—but it may not be sentient." Jhary's voice was
strained, his face was pale. Even the little cat was nestling
hard against his neck as if seeking comfort.

Stretching to every horizon now was seething stuff,
grayish-green with what looked like pieces of rotting
vegetation floating in it. The vegetation seemed to assume
the shapes of crustaceans—crabs and lobsters scuttling
across its surface, only slightly different in shade.

"An island," Rhalina said.

Out of all this rose an island of dark blue rock. Upon the
rock was a building, a great castle all colored scarlet. And
the scarlet rippled as if water had somehow been molded
into a permanent shape. A familiar, salty smell came from
the scarlet castle. Jhary turned the ship to avoid it, but then

the castle was ahead of them again. Again he turned. Again
it was ahead of them. For several moments he altered the
course of the sky ship and each time the castle reappeared
before them.

"It seeks to stop us." Jhary tried again to avoid it.

"What is it?" Rhalina asked.

Jhary shook his head. "I know not, but it is unlike the
other things we have seen. We are being drawn toward it
now. That stench! It clogs my nostrils!"

Closer came the sky ship, until it hovered directly above
the scarlet turrets of the castle. And then it had landed.

Corum peered over the side. The substance of the castle
still rippled like liquid. It did not look solid, yet it held
the sky ship. He drew his sword and looked toward a black
gap in the nearby tower. An entrance. And a figure was



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emerging from it.

The figure was fat, about twice as broad as an ordinary
man. It had a head which was essentially human but from
which boarlike tusks sprouted. It moved over the rippling
scarlet surface on bowed, thick legs, naked but for a tabard
embroidered with a design not immediately recognizable.
It was grinning at them. "I have been short of guests," it
grunted. "Are you mine?"

Corum said, "Your guests?"

"No, no, no. Did I make you or did you come from
elsewhere. Are you inventions of one of my brother
dukes?"

"I do not understand—" Corum began.

Jhary interrupted him. "I know you. You are Duke
Teer."

"Of course I am Duke Teer. What of it? Why, I do not
believe you are inventions at all—not of this realm at all.
How satisfying. Welcome, mortals, to my castle. How
remarkable! Welcome, welcome, welcome. How exquisite!
Welcome!"

"You are Duke Teer of Chaos and your liege lord is
Mabelrode the Faceless. I was right, then. This is King
Mabelrode's Realm."

"How intelligent! How marvellous!" The boar face split

in an ugly grin and rotting teeth were displayed. "Do you
bring me some message, perhaps?"

"We, too, serve King Mabelrode," Jhary said swiftly.
"We fight in Arkyn's Realm to restore the rule of Chaos
there."

"How excellent! But do not say you come for aid,
mortals, for all my aid already goes to that other realm
where Law attempts to hold sway. Every Duke of Hell
sends his resources to the fight. The time might yet arise
when we can go personally to do battle with Law, but that
is not yet. We lend our powers, our servants, everything but
ourselves—for doubtless you have learned what became of
Xiombarg when he—or she, I should say, of
course—attempted to cross into Arkyn's Realm. How
unpleasant!"

"We had hoped for aid," Corum said, falling in with
Jhary's attempted deception. "Law has thwarted us too
often."

"I, as you know, am only a minor Lord of Chaos. My
powers have never been great. Most of my efforts have
gone—and peers may laugh—into the creation of my
beautiful castle. I love it so much."

"What is it made of?" Rhalina asked him nervously. She
plainly did not think they could remain undetected for
long.


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"You have not heard of Teer's Castle? How strange!
Why, my pretty mortal, it is built of blood—it is built all of
blood. Many thousands have died to make my castle. I
must slay many thousands more before it is properly
completed. Blood, my dear—blood and blood and blood!
Can you not sniff its delicious tang? What you sniff is
blood. What you see—it is all blood. Mortal
blood—immortal blood—it all mingles. All blood is equal
when it goes to build Teer's Castle, eh? Why, you have
blood enough for part of a small wall of a tower. I could
make a room from all three of you. You would be
astonished to learn how far blood can be made to stretch as
a building material. And it is tasty, eh?" He shrugged and
waved a thick hand. "Or perhaps not to you. I know

mortals and their fads. But for me—ah, it is delightful!"

"It was an honor to see the famous Castle Built of
Blood," Jhary said as smoothly as he could, "but now the
business of the moment presses and we must go to seek
help in our fight against Law. Will you allow us to leave
now, Duke Teer?"

"Leave?" The small eyes glinted. A fat, rough tongue
licked the coarse lips. Teer fingered one of his tusks.

"We are, after all, upon King Mabelrode's service," said
Corum.

"So you are! How superb!"

"It is urgent, our quest."

"It is rare for mortals to come directly to King
Mabelrode's Realm," Duke Teer said.

"These are rare times, with two of our realms in the
hands of Law," Jhary pointed out.

"How true! What is that running from the lips of the
female?"

Rhalina was vomiting. She had done all she could to
contain her nausea, but the stink had become too much for
her.

Duke Teer's eyes narrowed. "I know mortals. I know
them. She is distressed. By what? By what?"

"By the thought of Law's return," said Jhary weakly.

"She is distressed by me, eh? She is not wholly given up
to serving Chaos, eh? Not a very good specimen for King
Mabelrode to pick to serve him, eh?"

"He picked us," Corum said. "She merely accompanies
us."

"Then she is of little use to King Mabelrode—or to you.
Here, then, is what I want in return for my allowing you to
see the splendor of my Castle Built of Blood ..."




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"No," said Corum, guessing what he meant. "We cannot
do that. Let us go now, I beg you, Duke Teer. You know
we must make haste! King Mabelrode will not be pleased if
you delay us."

"He will not be pleased with you if you delay. Simply
give me the female. Keep the flesh and bones, if you
desire. All I require is the blood."

"No!" screamed Rhalina in terror.

"How stupid!"

"Let us go, Duke Teer!"

"Let me have the female first!"

"No!" said Jhary and Corum in unison. And they drew
their swords, whereupon Duke Teer burst into grunting
laughter that was at once mocking and incredulous.

The Third Chapter

THE RIDER ON THE YELLOW HORSE

The Duke of Hell stretched as a man might stretch when
awakening from a luxurious sleep. His arms grew longer,
his body wider, and, within a space of seconds, he had
doubled his size. He looked down on them, still laughing.
"How badly you lie!"

"We do not lie!" cried Corum. "We beg you—let us be
on our way."

Duke Teer frowned,. "I have no wish to earn King
Mabelrode's displeasure. Yet if you truly served Chaos you
would not show such silly emotions—you would give the
female to me. She is useless to you, but she can be of great
use to me. I exist only to build my castle, make it more
elaborate, more beautiful." He began to stretch out one
great hand. "Here, I will take her and then you may go
your way and I'll—"

"See," called Jhary suddenly. "Our enemies! They have
followed us to this plain. How stupid of them—to cross
Into the realm of their enemy King Mabelrode."

"What?" Duke Teer looked up. He saw the score of
black flying things with their long necks and their red, jaws,
the men upon their backs. "Who are they?"

"Their leader is called Corum Jhaelen Irsei," said
Corum. "They are sworn enemies of Chaos and desire our
deaths. Destroy them, Duke Teer, and Mabelrode will be
mightily pleased with you."

Duke Teer glared upward. "Is this truth?"

"It is!" Jhary shouted.

"I believe I have heard of this mortal, Corum. Was it not
he who destroyed Arioch's heart? Is he the one who lured
Xiombarg to her doom?"



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"He is the same!" Rhalina cried.
"My nets," muttered Duke Teer, reducing his size and
hurrying back into his tower. "I will help you."

"There is enough blood in them to build a whole new
hall!" Jhary yelled. He leaped for the controls and hastily
passed his hands over them. They came to life and the sky
ship sprang into the air.

Glandyth and his flying pack had seen them. The black
beasts turned, wings sounding like thunder, and sped
toward the sky ship.

But they were free of the Castle Built of Blood now and
Duke Teer was engaged with his nets. He had one in each
hand and he grew larger and larger, casting toward the
disconcerted Earl of Krae.

Jhary's face was set. "I am going to try everything I can
to hurl the sky ship from this foul dimension," he said. "It
will be better to die than remain here. Duke Teer will learn
soon enough that Glandyth serves Chaos and not Law.
And Glandyth will tell him who we are. All the Dukes of
Hell will seek us out." He removed a transparent cover and
began to rearrange the crystals. "I know not what this will
accomplish, but I am determined to try to find out!"

The sky ship began to oscillate throughout its length.
Clinging to the rail Corum felt his entire body vibrate until
he was sure he would shake to pieces. He clung to Rhalina.
The ship began to dive toward a sea of violet and orange.
They were flung forward, upon Jhary. The ship struck
something. They passed into a liquid which stifled them.
Another mighty wrench and Corum lost his grasp on
Rhalina. Through the darkness he tried to find her, but she
had gone. He felt his feet leave the deck of the ship.
He began to drift.

He tried to call her name, but the stuff blocked his
mouth. He tried to peer through it, but it stuck to his eyes.

He drifted languidly, sinking deeper and deeper. His
heart began to bang against, his chest. No air entered his
lungs. He knew he was dying.

And he knew Rhalina and Jhary were dying, somewhere
nearby in the viscous stuff.

He was almost relieved that his quest had ended so, that
his responsibility to the Cause of Law was over. He grieved
for Rhalina and he grieved for Jhary, but he could not
grieve for himself.

Suddenly he was falling. He saw a piece of the sky
ship—a twisted rail—fall with him. He was falling through
clear air but the speed of his descent still made it
impossible for him to breathe.

He began to glide. He looked about him. There was blue
sky on all sides—below him, above him. He spread his
arms. The piece of twisted rail was still gliding with him.
He looked for Rhalina. He looked for Jhary. They were


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nowhere in sight in all the blue vastness. There was just the
piece of rail.

He called out, "Rhalina?"

There was no reply.

He was alone in a universe of blue light.

He began to feel drowsy. His eyes closed. He fought to
open them but he could not. It was as if his brain refused
any longer to experience further terrors.

When he awoke he was lying on something soft and very
comfortable. He felt warm and he realized he was naked.
He opened his eyes and saw the beams of a roof above him.
He turned his head. He was in a room. Sunlight came
through a window.

Was this a further illusion? The room was plainly at the
top of a house, for its walls sloped. It was simply furnished.
The home of a well-to-do peasant farmer, Corum thought.
He looked at the varnished door with its simple metal
latch. He heard a voice singing behind it.

How had he come here? It was possible that it was a
trick. Jhary had warned him to beware of such visions. He
drew his hands from beneath the bedsheets. On his left
wrist there still remained the Hand of Kwll, six-fingered and
bejeweled. He touched his face. The Eye of Rhynn, useless
though it now was, still filled the socket of his right eye. On
a chest in one corner all his clothes had been laid and his

weapons ware stacked nearby.

Had he somehow returned to his own plane and had
sanity been restored to it. Could Duke Teer have slain
Glandyth and thus lifted Glandyth's spell from the land?

The room was not familiar, neither were the designs on the chest and the bedposts. This was not,
he was sure, Lywm-an-Esh and it was most certainly not Bro-an-Vadhagh.

The door opened and a fat man entered. He looked
amused and said something which Corum could not
understand.

"Do you speak the language of Vadhagh or Mabden?"
Corum asked him politely.

The fat man—not a farmer by his embroidered shirt and
silk breeks—shook his head and spread his hands,
speaking again in the strange language.

"Where is this place?" Corum asked him.

The fat man pointed out of the window, pointed to the
floor, spoke at some length, laughed, and indicated with
further gestures that Corum might like to eat. Corum
nodded. He was very hungry.

Before the man left, he said, "Rhalina? Jhary?" hoping
that he would recognize the names and know where the two
were. The man shook his head, laughed again and closed


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the door behind him.

Corum got up. He felt weak but not totally weary. He
pulled on his clothes, picked up the byrnie, and then laid it
down again with the helm and the greaves. He went to the
door and peered out. He saw a landing, varnished with the
same brown varnish, a staircase leading downward. He
stepped onto the landing and tried to peer below, but saw
only another landing. He heard voices—a woman's voice,
the laughter of the fat man. He went back into the room
and looked out of the window.

The house lay on the outskirts of a town. But it was not
a town like any he had seen before. All the houses had red,
sloping roofs and were built of a mixture of timber and gray
brick. The streets were cobbled and carts passed this way
and that along them. Most of the people wore drabber
clothes than those he had seen on the fat man, but they

looked cheerful enough, often calling out greetings to each
other, stopping to pass the time of day.

The town seemed quite large and, in the distance Corum
could see a wall, the spires of taller buildings plainly more
expensively built than the ordinary houses. Sometimes
carriages passed by, or well-dressed men on horseback
made their way through the throng—nobles or possibly
merchants.

Corum rubbed his head and went to sit on the edge of
the bed. He tried to think clearly. The evidence was that he
was on another plane. And there seemed to be no battle
between Law or Chaos here. Everyone was, as far as he
could tell, leading ordinary, sedate lives. Yet he had it both
from Lord Arkyn and from Duke Teer that every one of
the Fifteen Planes was in conflict as Law fought Chaos.
Was this some plane ruled by Arkyn or his brother which
had not yet succumbed? It was unlikely. And he could not
speak the language while they could not understand him.
That had never happened to him before. Jhary's
rearrangement of the crystals before the sky ship had been
destroyed had evidently produced a drastic result. He was
cut off from anything he knew. He might never learn where
he was. And all this suggested that Rhalina and Jhary, if
they lived, were similarly abandoned on some unfamiliar
plane.

The fat man opened the door and an equally fat woman
in voluminous white skirts entered the room with a tray on
which was arranged meat, vegetables, fruit, and a steaming
bowl of soup. She smiled at him and offered him the tray
rather as if she were offering food to a caged wild animal.
He bowed and smiled and took the tray. She was careful to
avoid touching his six-fingered hand.

"You are land," said Corum, knowing she would not
understand, but wishing her to know that he was grateful.
While they watched, he began to eat. The food was not
particularly well-cooked or flavored, but he was hungry.
He ate it all as gracefully as he could and eventually, with
another bow, returned the tray to the silent pair.



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He had eaten too much too swiftly and his stomach felt
heavy. He had never been much attracted to Mabden food

at any time and this was coarser than most. But he made a
great pretense of being satisfied, for he had become unused
to kindness of late.

Now the fat man asked another question. It sounded like
a single word. "Fenk?"

"Fenk?" said Corum and shook his head.

"Fenk?"

Again Corum shook his head.

"Pannis?"

Another shake of the head. There were several more
questions of the same sort—just a single word—and each
time Corum indicated that he did not understand. Now it
was his turn. He tried several words in the Mabden dialect,
a language derived from Vadhagh. The man did not
understand. He pointed at Corum's six-fingered hand,
frowning, pulling at one of his own hands, chopping at it,
until Corum realized that he was asking if the hand had
been lost in battle and this was an artificial one. Corum
nodded rapidly and smiled, tapping at his eye also. The
man seemed satisfied but extremely curious. He inspected
the hand, marveling. Doubtless he believed it to be mortal
work and Corum could not explain that it had been grafted
to him by means of sorcery. The man indicated that Corum
should come with him through the door. Corum willingly
consented and was led down the stairs and into what was
plainly a workshop.

And now he understood. The man was a maker of
artificial limbs. He was plainly experimenting with many
different lands. There were wooden, bone, and metal legs,
some of them of very complicated manufacture. There were
hands carved from ivory or made of jointed steel. There
were arms, feet, even something which seemed to be a steel
rib cage. There were also many anatomical drawings in a
peculiar, alien style and Corum was fascinated by them. He
saw a pile of scrolls bound into single sheets between
leather covers and he opened one. It seemed to be a book
concerning medicine. Although cruder in design and
although the strange, angular letters were not at all
beautiful in themselves, the book seemed as sophisticated as
many which the Vadhagh had created before the coming of

the Mabden. He tapped the book and made an approving
noise.

"It is good," he said.

The man smiled and tapped again at Corum's hand.
Corum wondered what the doctor would say if he could
explain how he came by it. The poor man would probably
be horrified or, perhaps more likely, convinced that Corum
was mad, as Corum would have been before he began to
encounter sorcery.



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Corum let the doctor inspect the eyepatch and the
peculiar eye beneath it.

This puzzled the fat man even more. He shook his head,
frowning. Corum lowered the patch back over the eye. He
half wished that he could demonstrate to the doctor exactly
what the eye and the hand were used for.

Corum began to guess how he had come here. Evidently
some citizens had found him unconscious and sent for the
doctor, or brought Corum to the doctor. The doctor,
obsessed with his study of artificial limbs, had been only
too pleased to take Corum in, though what he had made of
Corum's arms and armor the Prince in the Scarlet Robe did
not know.

But now Corum became filled with a sense of urgency,
with fears for Rhalina and Jhary. If they were in this world
he must find them. It was even possible that Jhary, who
had traveled so often between the planes, could speak the
language. He took up a piece of blank parchment and a
quill, dipped the quill in ink (it was little different to the
pens used by the Mabden) and drew a picture of a man and
a woman. He held up two fingers and pointed outside,
frowning and gesturing to show that he did not know where
they were. The fat doctor nodded vigorously, under-
standing. But then he showed, almost comically, that he did
not know where Jhary and Rhalina were, that he had not
seen them, that Corum had been found alone.

"I must look for them," Corum said urgently, pointing
to himself and then pointing out of the house. The doctor
understood and nodded. He thought for a moment and
then signed for Corum to stay there. He left and returned
wearing a jerkin. He gave Corum a plain cloak to wrap

around his clothes, which were, for the place, outlandish.
Together they left the house.

Many glanced at Corum as he and the doctor walked
through the streets. Obviously the news of the stranger had
gone everywhere. The doctor led Corum through the
crowds and beneath an arch through the wall. A white,
dusty road led through fields. There were one or two
farmhouses in the distance.

They came eventually to a small wood and here the
doctor stopped, showing Corum where he had been found.
Corum looked about him and at last discovered the thing
he sought. It was the twisted rail of the sky ship. He
showed it to the doctor, who had certainly seen nothing
like it, for he gasped in astonishment, turning it this way
and that in his hands.

It was proof to Corum that he had not gone mad, that he
had but recently left the realm of Chaos.

He looked around him at the peaceful scenery. Were
there really such places where the eternal struggle was
unknown? He began to feel jealous of the inhabitants of
this plane. Doubtless they had their own sorrows and


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discomforts. Evidently there was war and pain, for why
else would the doctor be so interested in making artificial
limbs? And yet there was a sense of order here and he was
sure that no gods—either of Law or of Chaos—existed
here. But he knew that it would be stupid to entertain the
idea of remaining here, for he was not like them, he hardly
resembled them physically, even. He wondered what
speculations the doctor had made to explain his coming
here.

He began to walk amongst the trees, calling out the
names of Rhalina and Jhary.

He heard a cry later and whirled round, hoping it was
the woman he loved. But it was not. It was a tall, grim-
faced man in a black gown, striding across the fields
toward them, his gray hair blowing in the breeze. The
doctor approached him and they began to converse,
looking often at Corum, who stood watching them. There
was a dispute between them and both became angrier. The

newcomer pointed a long, accusing finger at Corum and
waved his other hand.

Corum felt trepidation, wishing he had brought his
sword with him.

Suddenly the man in the robe turned and marched back
toward the town, leaving the doctor frowning and rubbing
at his jowl.

Corum became nervous, sensing that something was
wrong, that the man in the robe objected to his presence in
the town, was suspicious of his peculiar physical
appearance. And the man in the robe also seemed to have
more authority than the doctor. And far less sympathy for
Corum.

Head bowed, the doctor moved toward Corum. He
raised his head, his lips pursed. He murmured something in
his own language, speaking to Corum as a man might
speak to a pet for which he had great affection—a pet
which was about to be killed or sent away.

Corum decided that he must have his armor and
weapons at once. He pointed toward the town and began to
walk back. The doctor followed, still deep in worried
thought

Back in the doctor's house Corum donned his silver
byrnie, his silver greaves, and his silver helm. He buckled
on his long strong sword and looped his bow, his arrows,
and his lance upon his back. He realized that he looked
more incongruous than ever, but he also felt more secure.
He looked out of the window at the street. Night was
falling. Only a few people walked in the town now. He left
the room and went down the stairs to the main door of the
house. The doctor shouted at him and tried to stop him
from leaving, but Corum gently brushed him aside, opened
the latch, and went out.

The doctor called to him—a warning cry. But Corum


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ignored it, both because he did not need to be warned of
potential danger and also because he did not see why the
kindly man should share his danger. He strode into the
night.

Few saw him. None stopped him or even tried to do so,

though they peered curiously at him and laughed among
themselves, evidently taking him for an idiot. It was better
that they laughed at him than feared him, or else the danger
would have been much increased, thought Corum.

He strode through the streets for some time until he
came to a partially ruined house which had been deserted.
He decided that he would make this his resting place for
the night, hiding here until he could think of his next
action.

He stumbled through the broken door and rats fled as he
entered. He climbed the swaying staircase until he came to
a room with a window through which he could observe the
street. He was hardly aware of his own reasons for leaving
the doctor's house, save that he did not wish to become
involved with the man in the robe. If they were seriously
trying to find him, then, of course, they would discover him
soon enough. But if they had a little superstition, they
might think he had vanished as mysteriously as he had
arrived.

He settled down to sleep, ignoring the sound the rats
made.

He woke at dawn and peered down into the street. This
seemed to be the main street of the city and it was already
alive with tradesmen and others, some with donkeys or
horses, others with handcarts, calling out greetings to each
other.

He smelled fresh bread and began to feel hungry, but
curbed his impulse, when a baker's cart stopped
immediately beneath nun, to sneak out and steal a loaf. He
dozed again. When it was night, he would try to find a
horse and leave the city behind him, seek other towns
where there might be news of Rhalina or Jhary.

Toward midday he heard a great deal of cheering in the
street and he edged his way to the window.

There were flags waving and a band of some sort was
playing raucous music. A procession was marching
through the streets—a martial procession by the look of it,
for many of the riders were undoubtably warriors in their
steel breastplates and with their swords and lances.

In the middle of the procession, hardly acknowledging
the crowd's cheers, was the man who was the object of
their celebration. He rode a big yellow horse and he wore a
high-collared red cloak which at first hid his face from
Corum. There was a hat on his head, a sword at his side.
He was frowning a little.

Then Corum saw with mild surprise that the man's left



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hand was missing. He clutched his reins in a specially made
hook device. The warrior turned his head and Corum was
this time completely astonished. He gasped, for the man on
the yellow horse had an eye patch over his right eye. And,
though his face was of the Mabden cast, he bore a strong
resemblance to Corum.

Corum stood up, about to cry out to the man who was
almost his double. But then he felt a hand close over his
mouth and strong arms bear him down to the floor.

He wrenched his head about to see who attacked him.
His eyes widened.

"Jhary!" he said. "So you are on this plane! And
Rhalina? Have you see her?"

The dandy, who was dressed in the clothes of the local
inhabitants, shook his head. "I have not. I had hoped that
you and she stayed together. You have made yourself
conspicuous here, I gather."
"Do you know this plane?"

"I know it vaguely. I can speak one or two of their
languages."

"And the man on the yellow horse—who is he?"
"He is the reason why you should leave here as soon as
possible. He is yourself, Corum. He is your incarnation on
this plane in this age. And it goes against all the laws of the
cosmos that you and he should occupy the same plane at
the same time. We are in great danger, Corum, but these
folk could also be in danger if we continue—however
unwittingly—to disrupt the order, the very balance of the
multiverse."

The Fourth Chapter

THE MANOR IN THE FOREST

"You know this world, Jhary?"

The dandy put a finger to his lips and drew Corum into
the shadows as the parade went by. "I know most worlds,"
he murmured, "but this less well then many. The sky ship's
destruction flung us through time as well as through the
dimensions and we are marooned in a world whose logic is
in most cases essentially different. Secondly our 'selves'
exist here and we therefore threaten to upset the fine
balance of this age and, doubtless, others, too. To create
paradoxes in a world not used to them would be dangerous,
you see ..."

"Then let us leave this world with all speed! Let us find
Rhalina and go!"

Jhary smiled. "We cannot leave an age and a plane as we
would leave a room, as you well know. Besides, I do not
believe Rhalina to be here if she has not been seen. But that
can be discovered. There used to be a lady not far from here
who was something of a seeress. I am hoping that she will
help us. The folk of this age have an uncommon respect for
people like ourselves—though often that respect turns to


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hatred and they hound us. You know you are sought by a
priest who wants to burn you at the stake?"

"I knew a man disliked me."

Jhary laughed. "Aye—disliked you enough to               want to
torture you to death. He is a dignitary of               their religion. He
has great power and has already called out               warriors to
search for you. We must get horses as soon               as possible."

Jhary paced the rickety floor, stroking his chin. "We
must return to the Fifteen Planes with all speed. We have
no right to be here . . ."

"And no wish to be," Corum reminded him.

Outside the sound of pipes and drums faded and the
crowd began to disperse.

"I remember her name now!" Jhary muttered. He

snapped his fingers. "It is the Lady Jane Pentallyon and
she dwells in a house close to a village called Warleggon."
"These are strange names, Jhary-a-Conel!"
"No stranger than ours are to them. We must make
speed for Warleggon as soon as possible and we must pray
that Lady Jane Pentallyon is in residence and has not,
herself, been burned by now."

Corum stepped closer to the window and glanced down.
"The priest comes," he said, "with his men."

"I thought it likely you would be seen entering here.
They have waited until after the parade lest you escaped in
the confusion. I like not the thought of killing them, when
we have no business in their age at all. . ."

"And I like not the thought of being killed," Corum
pointed out. He drew his long, strong sword and made for
the stairs.

He was halfway down when the first of them burst in,
the priest in the gown at their head. He called out to them
and made a sign at Corum—doubtless some superstitious
Mabden charm. Corum sprang forward and stabbed him in
the throat, his single eye blazing fiercely. The warriors
gasped at this. Evidently they had not expected their leader
to die so soon. They hesitated in the doorway.

Jhary said softly from behind Corum, "That was foolish.
They take it ill when their holy men are slain. Now the
whole town will be against us and our leavetaking will be
the harder."

Corum shrugged and began to advance toward the three
warriors crowded in the doorway. "These men have horses.
Let us take them and have done with it, Jhary. I am weary
of hesitation. Defend yourselves, Mabden!"

The Mabden parried his thrusts but, in so doing, became
entangled with each other. Corum took one in the heart
and wounded another in the hand. The pair fled into the
street yelling.


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Corum and Jhary followed, though Jhary's face was set
and disapproving. He preferred subtler plans than this. But
his own sword whisked out to take the life of a mounted
man who tried to ride him down and he pushed the body
from the saddle, leaping upon the back of the horse. It

reared and arched its neck but Jhary got it under control
and defended himself against two more who came at him
from the end of the street.

Corum was still on his feet. He used his jeweled hand as
a club, forcing his way through to where several horses
stood without riders. The Mabden were terrified, it
seemed, of the touch of his six-fingered, alien hand and
dodged to avoid it. Two more died before Corum reached
the horses and sprang into the saddle. He called out,
"Which way, Jhary?"

"This way!" Without looking behind him, Jhary
galloped the horse down the street.

Striking aside one who tried to grab at his reins, Corum
followed the dandy. A great hubbub began to spread
through the city as they raced toward the west wall.
Tradesmen and peasants tried to block their path, they
were forced to leap over carts and force a path through
cattle or sheep. More warriors were coming, too, from two
sides.

And then they had ducked under the archway and were
through the low wall and riding swiftly down the white,
dusty road away from the city, a pack of warriors at their
backs.

Arrows began to whistle past their heads as archers
came to the walls and shot at them. Corum was astonished
at the range of the bowmen. "Are these sorcerous arrows,
Jhary?"

"No! It is a land of bow unknown in your age. These
people are masters of it. We are lucky, however, that it is
too bulky a bow to be shot from a horse. There, see, the
arrows are beginning to fall short. But the horsemen stay
with us. Into yonder wood, Corum. Swiftly!"

They plunged off the road and into a deep, sweet-
smelling forest, leaping a small stream, the horses' hooves
slipping for a moment in damp moss.

"How will the doctor fare?" Corum called. "The one
who took me in."

"He will die unless he is clever and denounces you,"
Jhary told him.

"But he was a man of great intelligence and humanity.

A man of science, too—of learning."

"All the more reason for killing him, if their priesthood
has its way. Superstition, not learning, is respected here."



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"Yet it is such a pleasant land. The people seem well-
meaning and kind!"

"You can say that, with those warriors at our backs?"
Jhary laughed as he slapped his horse's rump to make it
gallop faster. "You have seen too much of Glandyth and
his kind, of Chaos and the like, if this seems paradise to
you!"

"Compared with what we have left behind, it is paradise,
Jhary."

"Aye, perhaps you speak truth."

By much backtracking and hiding they had managed to
throw off their pursuers before sunset and they now walked
along a narrow track, leading their tired horses.

"It is a good many miles to Warleggon yet," Jhary said.
"I would that I had a map, Prince Corum, to guide us, for
it was in another body with different eyes that I last saw
this land."

"What is the land itself called?" asked the Prince in the
Scarlet Robe.

"It is, like Lywm-an-Esh, divided into a number of lands
under the dominion of one monarch. This one is called
Kernow—or Cornwall, depending whether you speak the
language of the region or the language of the realm as a
whole. It's a superstition-ridden land, though its traditions
go back further than most other parts of the country of
which it is part, and you will find much of it like your own
Bro-an-Vadhagh. Its memories stretch back longer than do
the memories of the rest of the realm. The memories have
darkened, but they still have partial legends of a people like
yourself who once lived here."

"You mean this Kernow lies in my future?"

"In one future, probably not yours. The future of a
corresponding plane, perhaps. There are doubtless other
futures where the Vadhagh have proliferated and the
Mabden died out. The multiverse contains, after all, an
infinity of possibilities."

"Your knowledge is great, Jhary-a-Conel."

The dandy reached into his shirt and drew out his little
black-and-white cat. It had been there all the time they had
been fighting and escaping. It began to purr, stretching its
limbs and its wings. It settled on Jhary's shoulder.

"My knowledge is partial," said Jhary wearily. "It
consists generally of half-memories."

"But why do you know so much of this plane?"

"Because I dwell here even now. There is really no such
thing as time, you see. I remember what to you is the
'future.' I remember one of my many incarnations. If you
had watched the parade longer you would have seen not
only yourself but myself. I am called by some grand title


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here, but I serve the one you saw on the yellow horse. He
was born in that city we have left and he is reckoned a
great soldier by these people, though, like you, I think he
would prefer peace to war. That is the fate of the
Champion Eternal."

"I'll hear no more of that," Corum said quickly. "It
disturbs me too much."

"I cannot blame you."

They stopped at last to water their horses and take turns
to sleep. Sometimes in the distance groups of horsemen
would ride by, their brands flaring in the night, but they
never came close enough to be a great threat.

In the morning they reached the edges of a wide expanse
of heather. A light rain fell but it did not discomfort them,
rather it refreshed them. Their surefooted horses began to
canter over the moor and brought them soon to a valley
and a forest.

"We have skirted Warleggon now," said Jhary. "I
thought it wise. But there is the forest I sought. See the
smoke rising deep within. That, I hope, is the manor of the
Lady Jane."

Along a winding path protected on each side by high
banks of rich-scented moss and wild flowers they rode and
there at last were two posts of brown stone which were
topped by two carvings of spread-winged hawks, mellowed
by the weather. The gates of bent iron were open and they
walked their horses along a gravel path until they turned a

corner and saw the house. It was a large house of three
stories, made of the same light brown stone, with a gray
slate roof and five chimneys of a reddish tint. Lattice
windows were set into the house and there was a low
doorway in the center. Two old men came round the side of
the house at the sound of their horses' hooves on the
gravel. The men had dark features, heavy brows, and long,
gray hair. They were dressed in leather and skins and, if
they wore any expression at all, their eyes seemed to hold a
look of grim satisfaction as they looked at Corum in his
high helm and his silver byrnie.

Jhary spoke to them in their own language—a language
which was not that Corum had heard in the city but a
language which seemed to hold faint echoes of the
Vadhagh speech.

One of the men took their horses to be stabled. The
other entered the house by the main door. Corum and
Jhary waited without.

And then she came to the door.

She was an old, beautiful woman, her long hair pure
white and braided, a mantle upon her brow. She wore a
flowing gown of light blue silk, with wide sleeves and gold
embroidery at neck and hem.

Jhary spoke to her in her own tongue, but she smiled


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then.

She spoke in the pure, rippling speech of the Vadhagh.

"I know who you are," she said. "We have been waiting
for you here at the Manor in the Forest."

The Fifth Chapter
THE LADY JANE PENTALLYON

The old, beautiful lady led them into the cool room. Meats
and wines and fruits were upon the table of polished oak.
Jars of flowers everywhere made the air sweet. She looked
at Corum more often than she looked at Jhary. And at
Corum she looked almost fondly.

Corum removed his helm with a bow. "We thank you,

lady, for this gracious hospitality. I find much kindness in
your land, as well as hatred."

She smiled, nodding. "Some are kind," she said, "but not
many. The elf folk as a race are kinder."

He said politely: "The elf folk, lady?"

"Your folk."

Jhary removed a crumpled hat from within his jerkin. It
was the hat he always wore. He looked at it sorrowfully.

"It will take much to straighten that to its proper shape.
These adventures are hardest of all on hats, I fear. The
Lady Jane Pentallyon speaks of the Vadhagh race, Prince
Corum, or their kin, the Eldren, who are not greatly
different, save for the eyes, just as the Melniboneans and
the Nilanrians are offshoots of the same race. In this land
they are known sometimes as elves—sometimes as devils,
djinns, even gods, depending upon the region."

"I am sorry," said the Lady Jane Pentallyon gently. "I
had forgotten that your people prefers to use its own names
for its race. And yet the name 'elf" is sweet to my ears, just
as it is sweet to speak your language again after so many
years."

"Call me what you will, lady," Corum said gallantly,
"for almost certainly I owe you my life and, perhaps, my
peace of mind. How came you to learn our tongue?"
"Eat," she said. "I have made the food as tender as I
could, knowing that the elf folk have more delicate palates
than we. I will tell you my story while you banish your
hunger."

And Corum began to eat, discovering that this was the
finest Mabden food he had ever eaten. Compared with the
food he had had in the town it was light as air and
delicately flavored. The Lady Jane Pentallyon began to
speak, her voice distant and nostalgic.

''I was a girl," she said, "of seventeen years, and I was
already mistress of this manor, for my father had died
crusading and my mother had contracted the plague while


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on a visit to her sister. So, too, had my little brother died,
for she had taken him with her. I was distressed, of

course, but not old enough to know then that the best way
of dealing with sorrow is to face it, not try to escape it. I
affected not to care that all my family were dead. I took to
reading romances and to dreaming of myself as a
Guinevere or an Isolde. These servants you have seen were
with me then and they seemed little younger in those days.
They respected my moods and there was none to check me
as a kind of quiet madness came over me and I dwelt more
and more in my own dreams and less and less thought of
the world, which, anyway, was far away and sent no news.
And then one day there came an Egyptian tribe past the
manor and they begged permission to set up their camp in a
glade in the woods not far from here. I had never seen such
strange, dark faces and glittering black eyes and I was
fascinated by them and believed them to be the guardians
of magic wisdom such as Merlin had known. I know now
that most of them knew nothing at all. But there was one
girl of my own age who had been orphaned like me and
with whom I identified myself. She was dark and I was fair,
but we were of a height and shape and, doubtless because
narcissism had become one of my faults, I invited her to
live in the house with me after the rest of the tribe had
moved on—taking, I need not say, much of our livestock
with them. But I did not care, for Aireda's tales—learned
from her parents, I understood—were far wilder than any I
had read in my books or imagined for myself. She spoke of
dark old ones who could still be summoned to carry young
girls off to lands of magic delight, to worlds where great
demigods with magic swords disrupted the very stuff of
nature if their moods willed it. I think now that Aireda was
inventing much of what she told me—elaborating stories
she had heard from her mother and father—but the essence
of what she told me was, of course, true. Aireda had
learned spells which, she said, would summon these beings,
but she was afraid to use them. I begged her to conjure
each of us a god from another world to be our lovers, but
she became afraid and would not. A year passed and our
deep, dark games went on, our minds became more and
more full of the idea of magic and demons and gods, and

Aireda, at my constant behest, slowly weakened in her
resolve not to speak the spells and perform the rituals she
knew . . ."

The Lady Jane Pentallyon took up a dish of sliced fruit
and offered it to Corum. He accepted it. "Please continue,
lady."

"Well, I learned from her the patterns to carve upon the
stones of the floor, the herbs to brew, the arrangements of
precious stones and particular lands of rocks, of candles,
and the like. I got from her every piece of knowledge save
the incantations and the signs which must be traced in the
air with a witch knife of glowing crystal. So I carved the
patterns in the stones, I gathered the herbs, I collected
the stones and the rocks, and I sent to the city for the
candles. And I presented them all to Aireda one day, telling
her that she must call for the old ones who ruled this land


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before the druids, who, themselves, came before the
Christians. And she agreed to do it, for by this time she had
become as mad as I. We chose All Hallows Eve for the
ritual, though I do not believe now that it has any special
significance. We arranged the stones and the rocks and we
traced the designs in the air with the crystal witch knife and
we burned the candles and we brewed the herbs and we
drank what we brewed and we were successful..."

Jhary sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the Lady
Jane Pentallyon. He was eating an apple. "You were
successful, lady," he said, "in conjuring up a demon?"

"A demon? I think not, though he looked to us like a
demon with his slanting eyes and his pointed ears—a face
not unlike your own, Prince Corum—and we were at first
afraid, for he stood in the center of our magic ring and he
was furious, shouting, threatening in a language which I
could not, in those days, understand. Well, the tale grows
long and I will not bore you, save to say that this poor
'demon' was of course a man of your race, dragged from
his own world by our incantations and our diagrams and
our crystals, and most anxious to return there."

"And did he return, lady?" Corum asked gently, for he
saw that her eyes had a suggestion of tears in them. She
shook her head.

"He could not, for we had no means of returning him.
After the astonishment—for truly we had not really
believed in our game!—we made him as comfortable here
as we could, for we instantly felt sorry for what we had
done when we realized that he was helpless. He learned
something of our language and we learned something of
his. We thought him very wise, though he insisted he was
only a minor member of a large and not very important
family of moderate nobility, that he was a soldier and not a
scholar or a sorcerer. We understood his modesty but
continued to admire him very much. I think he enjoyed
that, although he continued to beg us to try to return him to
his own age and his own plane."

Corum smiled. "I know how I should feel if two young
girls had been responsible for tearing me suddenly away
from all I knew and cared for and had then told me that
they had only been playing a game and could not send me
back!"

And the Lady Jane smiled in reply. "Aye. Well, by and
by Gerane—that was one of his names—became
reconciled to some degree and he and I fell in love and
were happy for a short while. Sadly, I had not accounted
for the fact that Aireda was also in love with Gerane." She
sighed. "I had dreamed of being Guinevere, of Isolde, of
other heroines of romance, but I had forgotten that all
these women were the victims of tragedy in the end. Our
tragedy began to play itself out and at first I was not aware
of it. Jealousy took power over Aireda and she grew to hate
first me and then Gerane. She would plan revenges on us of
varying sorts, but they were never completely satisfying to
her. She had heard that Gerane's people had enemies
—another race with bleaker souls—and she had guessed


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that one of her mother's rituals had to do with summoning
members of this race—other demons, her mother had
thought. Her first attempts were unsuccessful, but she
absorbed herself in remembering every detail of those old
spells."

"She conjured up Gerane's enemies?"

"Aye. Three of them came one night into the house. She
was their first victim, for they hate humans as much as they

hate elves—your folk. Shambling, awkward, poorly
fashioned creatures they were, completely unlike your folk,
Prince Corum. We should call them trolls or some such
name."

"And what did they do after they had slain Aireda?"

"She was not slain, but badly wounded, for it was in
conversation with her later that I learned what she had
done . . ."

"And Gerane?"

"He had no sword. He had come with none. He had
needed none in the Manor in the Forest."

"He was killed?"

"He heard the noise in the hall and came down to see
what caused it. They butchered him there, by the door."
She pointed. The tears shone on her cheeks now. "They cut
him into sections, my elfin love..." She lowered her head.

Corum got up and went to comfort the old, beautiful
Lady Jane Pentallyon. She gripped his mortal hand just
once and had once again contained her grief. She
straightened her back. "The—trolls—did not remain in the
house. Doubtless they were confused by what had
happened to them. They ran off into the night."
"Do you know what became of them?" Jhary asked.

"I heard several years later that beasts resembling men
had begun to terrorize the folk of Exmoor and had
eventually been taken and had stakes driven through their
hearts, for they were thought to be the Devil's spawn. But
the story spoke of only two, so perhaps one still lives in
some lonely spot, still unaware of what had happened to
him or where he is. I feel a certain sympathy for him ..."

"Do not grieve yourself, lady, by any further telling of
this tale," said Corum gently.

"Since then," she went on, "I have concerned myself
with the study of old wisdom. I learned something from
Gerane and I have since spoken with various men and
women who reckon themselves versed in the mystic arts. It
was my hope, once, to seek the plane of Gerane's people,
but it is evident now that our planes are no longer in
conjunction, for I have learned enough to know that the
planes circle as some say the planets circle about each

other. I have learned a little of the art of seeing into the


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future and the past, into other planes, as Gerane's folk
could . . ."

"My folk also possess something of that art," said
Corum in confirmation of her questioning glance, "but we
have been losing it of late and can do nothing now beyond
see into the five planes which comprise our realm."

"Aye." She nodded. "I cannot explain why these powers
wax and wane as they do."

"It is something to do with the gods," said Jhary. "Or our
belief in them, perhaps."

"Your second sight gave you a glimpse into the future
and that is how you knew we were seeking your help,"
Corum said.
Again she nodded.

"So you know that we are trying to return to our own
age, where urgent deeds are necessary?"
"Aye."

"Can you help us?"

"I know of one who can put you on the road which leads
to the achievement of that desire, but he can do no more."
"A sorcerer?"

"Of sorts. He, like you, is not of this age. Like you, he
seeks constantly to return to his own world. He can move
easily through the few centuries bordering this time, but he
seeks to travel many millenia and that he cannot do."

"Is his name Bolorhiag?" asked Jhary suddenly. " An old
man with a withered leg?"

"You describe the man, but to us he is known merely as
the Friar, for he is inclined to wear clerical garb since this
offers him the greatest protection in the periods of history
he visits."

"It is Bolorhiag," said Jhary. "Another lost one. There
are a few such souls who are whisked about the multiverse
in this manner. Sometimes they are not at fault at all, but
have been plucked, willy-nilly, by whatever winds they are
which blow through the dimensions. Others, like
Bolorhiag, are experimenters—sorcerers, scientists, schol-
ars, call them what you will—who have understood
something of the nature of time and space but not enough

to protect themselves. They, too, find themselves blown by
those winds. There are also, as you know, ones like me who
appear to be natural dwellers in the whole multiverse—or
there are heroes, like yourself, Corum, who are doomed to
move from age to age and plane to plane, from identity to
identity, fighting for the cause of Law. And there are
women of a certain sort, like yourself, Lady Jane, who love
these heroes. And there are malicious ones who hate them.
What object there is to this myriad of existences I know not
and it is probably better that we know nothing of them..."

Lady Jane nodded gravely. "I think you are right, Sir


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Jhary, for the more one discovers, the less point there
seems in life at all. However, we are concerned not with
philosophy but with immediate problems. I have sent out a
summoning for the Friar and hope that he hears it and
comes—it is not always the case. Meanwhile I have a gift
for you, Prince Corum, for I feel that it may be useful to
you. It appears that there is a mighty conjunction about to
take place in the multiverse, when for a moment in tune all
ages and all planes will meet. I have never heard of such a
thing before. That is part of my gift, the information. The
Other part is this . . ." From a thong around her neck she
now drew out a slender object which though of a milky
white color also sparkled with every color in the spectrum.
It Was a knife carved of a crystal which Corum had never
seen before.

"Is it... ?" he began.

She inclined her head to remove the thong. "It is the
witch knife which brought Gerane to me. It will, I think,
bring aid to you when you need it greatly. It will call your
brother to you . . ."

"My brother? I have no—"

"I was told this," she said. "And I can add nothing to it.
But here is the witch knife. Please take it."

Corum accepted it and placed the thong around his own
neck. "Thank you, lady."

"Another will tell you when and how to use it," she said.
"And now, gentlemen, will you rest here at the Manor in
the Forest, until such time as the Friar may present himself
to us?"

"We should be honored," said Corum. "But tell me,
lady, if you know anything of the woman I love, for we are
separated. I speak of the Lady Rhalina of Allomglyl and I
fear much for her safety."

The Lady Jane frowned, "There was something
concerning a woman which came momentarily into my
head. I have the feeling that if you succeed in your present
quest, then you will succeed in being reunited with her. If
you fail, then you shall never see her again."

Corum's smile was grim.

"Then I must not fail," he said.

The Sixth Chapter

SAILING ON THE SEAS OF TIME

Three days went by and in normal circumstances Corum
would have grown frustrated, impatient. But the old,
beautiful lady calmed him, telling him something of the
world she lived in but hardly ever saw. Some aspects of it
were strange to him, but he began to understand why
strange folk such as himself were, in the main, treated with
suspicion, for what the Mabden of this world desired more
than anything was equilibrium, stability not threatened by


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the doings of gods and demons and heroes, and me to
sympathize with them, though he felt that an understanding
of what they feared would give them less to fear. They had
invented for themselves a remote god whom they called
simply the God and they had placed him far away from
them. Some half-remembered fragments of the knowledge
concerning the Cosmic Balance were theirs, and they had
legends which might relate to the struggle between Law
and Chaos. As he told the Lady Jane, all the Balance stood
for was equilibrium—but stability could be achieved only
by an understanding of the forces which were at work in
the world, not a rejection of them.

On the third day one of the old retainers came running
along the path up to the house, where Jhary-a-Conel,
Corum, and the Lady Jane stood conversing. Speaking in

his own language the man pointed into the forest.

"They still search for you, it seems," she told them.
"Your horses were released a day's ride away in order to
put them off the scent and make them think you hid near
Liskeard, but doubtless they come here because I am
suspected a witch." She smiled. "I deserve their suspicion
far more than do the poor souls they sometimes catch and
burn."

"Will they find us?"

"There is a place for you to hide. Others have been
hidden there in the past. Old Kyn will take you there." She
spoke to the old man and he nodded, grinning as if he
enjoyed the excitement.

They were led into the attic of the house and there Old

Kyn unlocked a false wall. Inside it was smoky and

cramped but there was room to stretch and sleep if they

wished to. They climbed into the darkness and Old Kya

replaced the false wall.

Sometime later they heard voices, booted feet on the
stairs. They pressed their backs against the false wall so
that if it were thumped it would sound more solid. It was
thumped, but it passed the inspection of the searchers,
whose coarse voices were grumbling and tired as if they
had been at work ever since Corum and Jhary had escaped
from the city.

The footsteps went away. Faintly they heard the jingle of
harness, more voices, the sound of hooves on the gravel,
and then silence.

A little later Old Kyn removed the false wall and leered
into their hiding place. He winked. Corum grinned at him
and climbed out, dusting down his garments. Jhary blew
plaster from his cat's coat and began to stroke the little
beast. He said something in Old Kyn's language which
made the man wheeze with laughter.



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Downstairs Lady Jane's face was serious. "I think they
will return," she said. "They noticed that our chapel has
not been used for a good while."
"Your chapel?"
"Where we are meant to pray if we do not go to church.

There are laws governing such things,"

Corum shook his head in astonishment. "Laws?" He
rubbed at his face. "This world is indeed hard to fathom."

"If the Friar does not come soon, you may have to leave
here and seek fresh sanctuary," she said. "I have already
sent for a friend who is a priest. Next time those soldiers
come they shall find a very devout Lady Jane, I hope."

"Lady, I hope that you will not suffer for us," said
Corum seriously.

"Worry not. There's little they can prove. When this fear
dies down they will forget me again for a while."

"I pray it is true."

Corum went to bed that night, for he felt unnaturally
weary. The main fear was for Lady Jane and he could not
help but feel she had made too little of the incident. At last
he slept, but was awakened shortly after midnight.

It was Jhary and he was dressed, with his hat upon his
head and his cat upon his shoulder. "The time has come,"
he said, "to come to time."

Corum rubbed at his eyes, not understanding the dandy's
remark.
"Bolorhiag is here."

Corum swung himself from the bed. "I will dress and
come down directly."

When he descended the stairs he saw that Lady Jane,
wrapped in a dark cloak, her white hair unbound, stood
there with Jhary-a-Conel and a small, wizened man who
walked with the aid of a staff. The man's head was
disproportionately large for his frail body, which even the
folds of his priest's gown could not hide. He was speaking
in a high, querulous voice.

"I know you, Timeras. You are a rogue."

"I am not Timeras in this identity, Bolorhiag. I am
Jhary-a-Conel . . ."

"But still a rogue. I resent even speaking the same
tongue as you and only do so for the sake of the lovely
Lady Jane."

"You are both rogues!" laughed the old, beautiful

woman. "And you know that you cannot help but like each
other."

"I only help him because you have asked me to do so,"



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insisted the wizened man, "and because he may one day
admit that he can help me."

"I have told you before, Bolorhiag, that I have much
knowledge and hardly any skills. I would help you if I
could, but my mind is a patchwork of memories
—fragments of a thousand lives are in my skull. You should
have sympathy for a wretch such as I."

"Bah!" Bolorhiag turned his twisted back and looked at
Corum with his bright blue eyes. "And this is the other
rogue, eh?"

Corum bowed.

"The Lady Jane requests me to ship you out of this age
and into another where you will be less bothersome to
her," Bolorhiag went on. "I will do it willingly, of course,
for her heart is too kind for her own good. But I do no
favors for you, young man, you understand."

"I understand, sir."

"Then let us get about it. The winds blow through and
may be gone again before we can set our course. My
carriage is outside."

Corum   approached Lady Jane Pentallyon and took her
hand,   kissing it gently. "I thank you for this, my lady. I
thank   you for your hospitality, your confidence, your gifts,
and I   pray that you will know happiness one day."

"Perhaps in another life," she said. "Thank you for such
thoughts, and let me kiss you now." She bent and touched
his forehead with her lips. "Farewell, my elfin prince ..."

He turned away so that she would not see that he had
noticed the tears in her eyes. He followed the wizened man
as he hopped toward the door.

It was a small vessel he saw on the gravel outside the
house. It was hardly large enough for three and had plainly
been designed to take one in comfort. It had a high, curved
prow of a substance neither wood nor metal but much
pitted and scored as if it had weathered many storms. A

mast rose from the center, though there was no sail furled
on the yard.

"Sit there," said Bolorhiag impatiently, indicating the
bench to his right "I will sit between you and steer the
craft."

After Corum had squeezed himself into place, Bolorhiag
sat next to him and Jhary sat on the other side of the old
man. A globe on a pivot seemed the only controls of the
quaintly shaped craft, and now Bolorhiag raised his hand
to salute the Lady Jane, who stood in the shadows of the
doorway, then took the globe between both palms.

Again Corum and Jhary bowed toward the door, but
now the Lady Jane had disappeared altogether. Corum felt
a tear form in his own good eye and he thought he knew


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why she did not watch them leave.

Suddenly something shimmered around the mast and
Corum saw that it was a faint area of light shaped like a
triangular sail. It grew stronger and stronger until it
resembled an ordinary sail of cloth, bulging in a wind,
though no wind blew.

Bolorhiag muttered to himself and the little craft seemed
to move and yet did not move.

Corum glanced at the Manor in the Forest. It seemed
framed in dancing brightness.

Daylight suddenly surrounded them. They saw figures
outside the house, all around them, but the figures did not
appear to see them. Horsemen—the soldiers who had
searched the house the day before. They vanished. It was
dark again and then light and then the house was gone and
the boat rocked, turned, bounced.

"What is happening?" Corum cried out.

"What you wanted to happen, I gather," snapped
Bolorhiag. "You are enjoying a short voyage upon the seas
of time."

Everywhere now was what appeared to be clouds of
dark gray. The sail continued to strain at the mast. The
unfelt wind continued to blow. The boat moved on, with its
inventor in his black robe muttering over his globe, steering
it this way and that.

Sometimes the gray clouds would change color, become
green or blue or deep brown, and Corum would fed
peculiar pressures upon him, find it difficult to breathe for
a few moments, but the experience would quickly pass.
Bolorhiag seemed completely oblivious of these sensations
and even Jhary gave them no special attention. Once or
twice the cat would give a faint cry and cling closer to its
master, but that was the only sign that others felt the
discomforts that Corum felt.

And then the ship's sail went limp and began to fade.
Bolorhiag cursed in a harsh language of many consonants
and spun the globe so that the ship whirled at a dizzying
speed and Corum felt his stomach turn over.

Then the old man grunted in satisfaction as the sail
reappeared and filled out again. "I thought we had lost the
wind for good," he said. "There is nothing more
aggravating than being becalmed on the time seas. Hardly
anything more dangerous, either, if one is passing through
some solid substance!" He laughed richly at this, nudging
Jhary in the ribs. "You look ill, Timeras, you rogue."

"How long will this voyage last, Bolorhiag?" said Jhary
in a strained voice.

"How long?" Bolorhiag stroked the globe, seeing
something within it that they could not see. "What
meaningless remark is that? You should know better,
Timeras!"


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"I should have known better than to begin on this
voyage. I suspect you of becoming senile, old man."

"After several thousand years I am bound to begin to
feel my years." The old man grinned wickedly at Jhary's
consternation.

The speed of the ship seemed to increase.

"Stand by to turn about!" shouted Bolorhiag, ap-
parently quite mad, almost hysterical. "Ready to drop
anchor, lads! Date ahoy!"

The ship swung as if caught by a powerful current. The
peculiar sail sagged and vanished. The gray light began to
grow brighter.

The ship stood upon an expanse of dark rock
overlooking a green valley far, far below.

Bolorhiag began to chuckle as he saw their expressions.
"I have few pleasures," he said, "but my favorite is to
terrify my passengers. It is, in part, what I regard as my
just payment. I am not mad, I think, gentlemen. I am
merely desperate."

The Seventh Chapter

THE LAND OF TALL STONES

Bolorhiag allowed them to disembark from his tiny craft.
Corum looked around him at the rather bleak landscape.
Everywhere he looked he saw in the distance tall columns
of stone, sometimes standing singly, sometimes in groups.
The stone varied in color but had plainly been put there by
some intelligence.

"What are they?" he asked.

Bolorhiag shrugged. "Stones. The inhabitants of these
parts raise them."

"For what purpose?"

"For the same purpose that makes them dig deep holes
in the ground—you will discover those as well—to pass the
time. They cannot explain it any other way. I understand
that it is their art. No better or worse than much of the art
one sees."

"I suppose so," said Corum doubtfully. "And now
perhaps you will explain, Master Bolorhiag, why we have
been brought here."

"This age corresponds roughly with the age of your own
Fifteen Planes. The conjunction comes soon and you are
better here than elsewhere. There is a building which is
occasionally seen here and which has the name in some
parts of the Vanishing Tower. It comes and goes through
the planes. Timeras here knows the story, I am sure."

Jhary nodded. "I know it. But this is dangerous,


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Bolorhiag. We could enter the Vanishing Tower and never
return. You are aware that—?"

"I am aware of most things about the tower, but you
have little choice. It is your only means of getting back to

your own age and your own plane, believe me. I know of
no other method. You must risk the dangers."

Jhary shrugged. "As you say. We will risk them.".

"Here." Bolorhiag offered him a rolled sheet of
parchment. "It is a map of how to get there from here. A
rather rough map, I am afraid. Geography was never my
strong point."

"We are most grateful to you, Master Bolorhiag,"
Corum said gracefully.

"I want no gratitude, but I do want information. I am
some ten thousand years away from my own age and
wonder what barrier it is which allows me to cross it one
way but not the other. If you should ever discover a clue to
the answer to this question and if you, Timeras, ever pass
through this age and plane again, I should want to hear of
it."

"I will make a point of it, Bolorhiag."

"Then farewell, both of you."

The old man hunched himself once more over his
steering crystal. Once more the peculiar sail appeared and
filled with the unfelt wind. And then the little ship and its
occupant had faded.

Corum stared thoughtfully at the huge, mysterious
stones.

Jhary had unrolled the map. "We must climb down this
cliff until we reach the valley," he said. "Come, Prince
Corum, we had best start now."

They found the least steep part of the cliff and began to
inch their way down it.

They had not gone very far when they heard a shout
above them and looked up. It was the little wizened man
and he was hopping up and down on his stick. "Corum!
Timeras or whatever pseudonym you're using! Wait!"

"What is it, Master Bolorhiag?"

"I forgot to tell you, Prince Corum, that if you find
yourself in extreme danger or distress within the next
day—and only the next day—go to a point where you see a
storm which is isolated. Do you hear?"

"I hear. But what—?"

"I cannot repeat myself, the time tide changes. Enter the

storm and take out the witch knife given you by the Lady
Jane. Hold it so that it traps the lightning. Then call upon


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the name of Elric of Melnibone and say that he must come
to make the Three Who Are One—the Three Who Are
One. Remember that. You are part of the same thing. It
will be all you need to do for the Third—the Many-Named
Hero—will be drawn to the Two."

"Who told you all this, Master Bolorhiag?" Jhary called,
clinging to the rock of the cliff and not looking down.

"Oh, a creature. It does not matter who told me. But you
must remember that, Prince Corum. The storm—the
knife—the incantation. Remember it!"

Corum called, half to humor the old man, "I will
remember."

"Farewell, again." And Bolorhiag stepped back from the
cliff top and was gone.

They climbed down in silence, too intent on finding
holds in the rock face to discuss Bolorhiag's peculiar
message.

And when, eventually, they reached the floor of the
valley, they were too exhausted to speak, but lay still,
looking up at the great sky.

Later Corum said, "Did you understand the old man's
words, Jhary?"

Jhary shook his head. "The Three Who Are One. It
sounds ominous. I wonder if it has any connection with
what we saw in Limbo?"

"Why should it?"

"I know not. Just a thought which popped into my brain
because it was empty. We had best forget that for a while
and hope to discover the Vanishing Tower. Bolorhiag was
right. The map is crude."

"And what is the Vanishing Tower?"

"It once existed in your own realm, Corum, I
believe—in one of the Five Planes, but not yours. On the
edge of a place called Balwya Moor in a valley much like
this one which was called Darkvale. Chaos was fighting
Law and winning in those days. It came against Darkvale
and its keep—a small castle, rather than a tower. The

knight of the keep sought the aid of the Lords of Law and
they granted that aid, enabling him to move his tower into
another dimension. But Chaos had gained great power then
and cursed the tower, decreeing that it should shift for all
time, never staying more than a few hours on any one
plane. And so it shifts to this day. The original
knight—who was protecting a fugitive from Chaos—was
soon insane, as was the fugitive. Then came Voilodion
Ghagnasdiak to the Vanishing Tower and there he
remains."

"Who is he?"



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"An unpleasant creature. Trapped in the tower now and
fearing to step outside, he uses the tower to lure the
unsuspecting to him. He keeps them there until they bore
him and then he slays them."

"And that is whom we must fight when we enter the
Vanishing Tower?"

"Exactly."

"Well, there are two of us and we are armed."

"Voilodion Ghagnasdiak is very powerful—a sorcerer
of no mean skill."

"Then we cannot conquer him! My hand and eye no
longer come to my assistance."

Jhary shrugged. He stroked his cat's chin. "Aye. I said it
was dangerous, but as Bolorhiag pointed out, we have little
choice, have we? After all, we are still on our way to find
Tanelorn. I am beginning to feel that my sense of direction
returns. We are nearer Tanelorn now than we have been
before."

"How do you know?"

"I know. I know, that is all."

Corum sighed. "I am weary of mysteries, of sorceries, of
tragedies. I am a simple . . ."

"No time for self-pity, Prince Corum. Come, this is the
way we want to go."

They followed a roaring river upstream for two miles.
The river rushed through a steep valley and they climbed
along the sloping sides, using the trees to stop them from

falling down into the white rapids. Then they came to a
place where the river forked and Jhary pointed to a place
where it was shallow, running over pebbles. "A ford. We
need yonder island. That is where the Vanishing Tower
will appear, when it appears."

"Will we wait long?"

"I do not know. Still the island looks as if it has game on
it and the river has fish in it. We shall not starve while we
wait."

"I think of Rhalina, Jhary—not to mention the fate of
Bro-an-Vadhagh and Lywm-an-Esh. I grow impatient."

"Our only means of getting back to the Fifteen Planes is
to enter the Vanishing Tower. Thus, we must await the
pleasure of the tower."

Corum shrugged and began to wade through the ice-cold
stream toward the island.

Suddenly Jhary shouted and pushed past Corum. "It is
there! It is there already! Quickly, Corum!"



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He ran to where a stone keep stood above the trees. It
seemed an ordinary sort of tower. Corum could hardly
believe that this was their goal.

"Soon we shall see Tanelorn!" cried Jhary jubilantly. He
reached the other side of the island, with Corum running
some distance behind him, and began to crash through the
undergrowth.

There was a doorway at the base of the keep and it was
open.

"Come, Corum!"

Jhary was almost inside the door now. Corum went
more warily, remembering what he had heard of Voilodion
Ghagnasdiak, the dweller in the tower. But Jhary, his cat as
ever upon his shoulder, had gone through the door.

Corum broke into a run, his hand on his sword hilt. He
reached the tower.

The door closed suddenly. He heard Jhary's yell of
horror from within. He clung to the wood of the door, he
beat on it.

Inside Jhary was calling, "Find the Three Who Are One

whatever it is. It is our only hope now, Corum! Find the
Three Who Are One!" There came a chuckle which was
not Jhary's.

"Open!" roared Corum. "Open your damned door!"

But the door would not budge.

The chuckle was fat and warm. It grew louder and
Corum could no longer hear Jhary's voice at all. The fat,
warm voice said, "Welcome to the home of Voilodion
Ghagnasdiak, friend. You are an honored guest."

Corum felt something happen to the tower. He looked
back. The forest was disappearing. He clung to the handle,
kept his feet on the step for a moment. His body was
racked by painful spasms, one following closely upon the
other. Every tooth in his head ached, every bone in his
body throbbed.

And then he had lost his grip upon the tower and saw it
vanish away. He fell.

He fell and landed on wet, marshy ground. It was night.
Somewhere a dark bird hooted.

The Eighth Chapter

INTO THE SMALL STORM

Daybreak found Corum walking. His feet were weary and
he was lost, but still he walked. He could think of nothing
else to do and he felt bound to do something. Marshland
stretched everywhere. Marsh birds rose in flocks into the
red morning sky. Marsh animals slithered or hopped across



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the wet ground in search of food.

Corum selected another clump of reeds and made it his
goal.

When he reached the clump of reeds he paused for a
moment and then fixed his eye on another clump and
began to make for that.

And so he progressed.

He was desolate. He had lost Rhalina. Now he had lost
Jhary and thus his hope of finding either Rhalina or
Tanelorn. And so he had lost Bro-an-Vadhagh and

Lywm-an-Esh and he had lost them to conquering Chaos,
to Glandyth-a-Krae.

All lost.

"All lost," he murmured through his numbed lips.

"All lost."

The marsh birds cackled and screeched. The marsh
animals scuttled through the reeds, unseen as they ran on
hasty errands.

Was this whole world a marsh? It seemed so. Marsh
upon marsh.

He reached the next clump of reeds and he sat down on
the damp ground, looking at the wide sky, the red clouds,
the emerging sun. It was getting hot.

Steam began to rise over the marsh.

Corum took off his helmet. His silver greaves were
grimed with mud, his hands were filthy—even the six-
fingered Hand of Kwll was coated in mire.

Steam moved slowly over the marsh as if seeking
something. He wet his face and lips with the brackish
water, tempted to remove his scarlet robe and his silver
byrnie and yet, for the moment, preferring their security
should he be attacked by a larger marsh dweller than any
he had so far seen.

Steam was everywhere. In places the mud bubbled and
spat. The hot, damp air began to pain his throat and lungs
and his eyelids became heavy as a great weariness came
over him.

And it seemed to him that he saw a figure moving
through the steam. A tall figure wading slowly through the
boiling mud. A giant who dragged something heavy behind
it. His head dropped to his chest and he raised it with
difficulty. He no longer saw the figure. He realized that
some marsh gas was making him drowsy, making him
hallucinate.

He rubbed at bis eyes but only succeeded in making his
mortal eye fill with mud.



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And then he felt a presence behind him.

He turned.

Something loomed there, as white and intangible as the
steam. Something fell upon him, entangling his arms and

legs. He tried to draw his sword but he could not free
himself. He was carried upward and other creatures
struggled nearby, snapping and shouting. The heat began
to disperse and then it was terribly cold, so cold that all the
other creatures were suddenly silent. Then it was dark.

And then it was wet. He spat salt water from his mouth
and cursed. He was free again and he felt soft sand beneath
his feet and he waded waist-deep through the water, the
silver helm still clutched in his hand, and fell upon a dark
yellow beach, gasping.

Corum thought he knew what had happened to him, but
he found it hard to believe. For the third time he had seen
the mysterious Wading God and for the third time the
gigantic fisherman had influenced his destiny—first by
hurling him upon the coast of the Ragha-da-Kheta, second
by bringing Jhary-a-Conel to Moidel's Mount, and third by
saving him from the marsh world—a world, it now
appeared, which must be on one of the Fifteen Planes—as
this new world must be.

If it were a new world, of course, and not merely part of
the same one.

Whichever it was, it was an improvement. He began to
pick himself up.

And he saw the old woman standing there. She was a
dumpy little woman and her red face was at once
frightened and prim. She was soaking wet and ringing out
her bonnet with her hands.

"Who are you?" Corum said.

"Who are you, young man? I was walking along the
beach minding my own business when this terrible wave
suddenly appeared and completely drenched me! It is none
of your doing, is it?"

"I hope not, ma'am."

"Are you some mariner, then, who has been ship-
wrecked?"

"That is the truth of it," Corum agreed. "Tell me,
ma'am, where is this land?"

"You are near the fishing town of Chynezh Port, young
sir. Up there," she pointed up the cliffs, "lies the great
Balwyn Moor and then . . ."

"Balwyn Moor. Beyond it lies Darkvale, eh?"

The old woman pursed her lips. "Aye. Darkvale. None



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visits it these days, however."

"But that is the place of the Vanishing Tower?"

"So 'tis said."

"Is it possible to purchase a horse in Chynezh Port?"

"I suppose so. The horse breeders of Balwyn Moor are
famous and they bring some of their best to Chynezh for
the foreign trade—or did before the fighting."

"There is a war taking place?"

"Call it that. Things came out of the sea and attacked
our boats. We have heard that folk have suffered much
worse elsewhere and that we are relatively safe from the
most dreadful of these monsters. But we lost half our
menfolk and now none dares fish and, of course, no foreign
ships put into our harbor to buy horses."

"So Chaos returns here, too," mused Corum. He sighed.

"You must aid me, old woman," he told her. "For I may
in turn aid you and make these seas safe again. Now—the
horse."

She led him along the beach and round a cliff and he saw
a pleasant fishing town with a good, strong harbor and in
the harbor were all their boats, their sails tightly furled.

"You see," she said. "Unless the boats go out again soon
we of Chynezh Port shall starve, for fish is our livelihood."

"Aye." Corum put his mortal hand upon her shoulder.
"Now, take me to where I can purchase a steed."

She led him to a stable on the outskirts of the town,
near the road which wound up the cliff toward the moor.
Here a peasant sold him a pair of horses, one white and
one black, almost twins, with all the necessary gear. Corum
had taken it into his head that he would need two horses,
though he hardly knew why.

Riding the white horse and leading the black one, he
began to ascend the winding road, making for Darkvale
under the puzzled gaze of the old woman and the peasant
He reached the top and saw that the road went on along the
cliff until it disappeared into a wooded dale. The day was
warm and pleasant and it was hard to believe that this

world was threatened by Chaos too. It was very much like
his own land of Bro-an-Vadhagh and parts of the coastline
even seemed half familiar.

He became filled with a sense of anticipation as he
entered the wood and listened to the birdsong in the trees.
It was very peaceful and yet something seemed strange. He
slowed his horses to a walk, proceeding almost hesitantly.

And then he saw it ahead.

A black cloud on the road through the trees. A cloud



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which began to grumble with thunder and flash with
lightning.

Corum reined in his horses and dismounted. From the
neck of his byrnie he pulled out the crystal witch knife
which the Lady Jane had given him. He strove to remember
Bolorhiag's shouted words. Go to the point where you see a
storm which is isolated. Take out the witch knife given you
by the Lady Jane. Hold it so that it traps the lightning.
Then call upon the name of Elric of Melnibone and say
that he must come to make the Three Who Are One . . ,
You are part of the same thing .. . The Third—the Many-
Named Hero—will be drawn to the Two . . .

"Well," he said to      himself, "there is nothing else for it.
In truth I'll need      allies to go against Voilodion
Ghagnasdiak in his      Vanishing Tower. And if these allies
are powerful, then      so much the better."

With the crystal witch knife held aloft he stepped into
the roaring cloud.

Lightning struck the witch knife and filled him with
shivering energy. All about him was disturbance and noise.
He opened his mouth and cried,

"Elric of Melnibone! You must come to make the Three
Who Are One! Elric of Melnibone! You must come to
make the Three Who Are One! Elric of Melnibone!"

And then a fierce bolt of lightning came down and
shattered the witch knife, flung Corum down to the ground.
Voices seemed to wail across the world, winds swept in all
directions. He staggered upright wondering suddenly if he
had been betrayed. He could see nothing but the lightning,
hear nothing but the thunder.

He fell and struck his head. He began to raise himself to
his feet.

And then mellow light filled the forest once more and
the birds sang.

"The storm. It     has gone." He looked about him and then
he saw the man     who lay on the grass. He recognized him. It
was the man he     had seen fighting on dragonback when he
hung in Limbo.     "And you? Are you called Elric of
Melnibone?"

The albino got to his feet. His crimson eyes were full of a
permanent sorrow. He answered politely enough.

"I am Elric of Melnibone. Are you to thank for rescuing
me from those creatures Theleb K'aarna summoned?"

Corum shook his head. Elric was dressed in a travel-
stained shirt and breeks of black silk. There were black
boots on his feet and a black belt around his waist, which
supported a black scabbard in which the albino sheathed a
huge black broadsword carved from hilt to tip with
peculiar runes. Over all this black was drawn a voluminous
cloak of white silk with a large hood attached to it. Elric's
milk-white hair seemed to flow over the cloak and blend


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with it.

" 'Twas I that summoned you," Corum admitted, "but I
know of no Theleb K'aarna. I was told that I had only one
opportunity to receive your aid and that I must take it in
this particular place at this particular time. I am called
Corum Jhaelen Irsei—the Prince in the Scarlet Robe—and
I ride upon a quest of grave import."

Elric was frowning and looking about him. "Where is
this forest?"

"It is nowhere on your plane or in your tune, Prince
Elric. I summoned you to aid me in my battle against the
Lords of Chaos. Already I have been instrumental in
destroying two of the Sword Rulers—Arioch and
Xiombarg—but the third, the most powerful remains..."

"Arioch of Chaos—and Xiombarg?" The albino looked
unconvinced. "You have destroyed two of the most
powerful members of the company of Chaos? Yet but a

month since I spoke with Arioch. He is my patron..."

Corum realized that Elric was not as familiar as he with
the structure of the multiverse. "There are many planes of
existence," he said as gently as he could. "In some the
Lords of Chaos are strong. In some they are weak. In
some, I have heard, they do not exist at all. You must
accept that here Arioch and Xiombarg have been banished
so that effectively they no longer exist in my world. It is the
third of the Sword Rulers who threatens us now—the
strongest, King Mabelrode."

The albino was frowning and Corum feared that the
willful prince would choose not to aid him after all. "In
my—plane—Mabelrode is no stronger than Arioch and

Xiombarg, This makes a travesty of all my understanding..."

Corum drew a deep breath. "I will explain," he said, "as
much as I can. For some reason Fate has selected me to be
the hero who must banish the domination of Chaos from
the Fifteen Planes of Earth. I am at present traveling on my
way to seek a city which we call Tanelorn, where I hope to
find aid. But my guide is a prisoner in a castle close to here
and before I can continue I must rescue him. I was told
how I might summon aid to—help me effect this rescue.
. . . And I used the spell to bring you to me. I—" Corum
hesitated a fraction of a second, for he knew that Bolorhiag
had not told him this and yet he knew it was the truth he
spoke—"was to tell you that if you aided me, then you
would aid yourself—that if I was successful then you would
receive something which would make your task easier..."

"Who told you this?"

"A wise man."

Corum watched the puzzled albino go and sit down upon
a treetrunk and place his head in his hands. "I have been
drawn away at an unfortunate time," said Elric. "I pray



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that you speak the truth to me, Prince Corum." Suddenly
he looked up and fixed Corum with those strange, crimson
eyes. "It is a marvel that you speak at all—or at least that I
understand you. How can this be?"

"I was—informed that we should be able to com-
municate easily—because 'we are part of the same thing.'

Do not ask me to explain more, Prince Elric, for I know no
more."

"Well this may be an illusion. I may have killed myself
or become digested by that machine of Theleb K'aarna's,
but plainly I have no choice but to agree to aid you in the
hope that I am, in turn, aided." The albino glanced hard at
Corum.

Corum went to get the horses where he had left them
further up the road. He returned with them as the albino
stood up, his hands on his hips, staring around him. He
knew what it was to be plunged suddenly into a new world
and he sympathized with the Melnibonean. He handed the
black horse's reins to Elric and the albino climbed into the
saddle and stood upright in the stirrups for a moment as he
got the feel of the trappings, for he was plainly not used to
the particular kind of saddle and stirrup.

They began to ride.

"You spoke of Tanelorn," said Elric. "It is for the sake
of Tanelorn that I find myself in this dreamworld of
yours."

Corum was astonished at Elric's casual mention of
Tanelorn. "You know where Tanelorn lies?"

"In my own world, aye—but why should it lie in this
one?"

"Tanelorn lies in all planes, though in different guises.
There is one Tanelorn and it is eternal with many forms."

The two men continued to make their way through the
forest as they spoke. Corum could hardly believe that Elric
was real—just as Elric could hardly believe, it seemed, that
this world was real. The albino rubbed his face several
times and peered hard at Corum.

"Where go we now?" asked Elric finally. "To the
castle?"

Corum spoke hesitantly, remembering Bolorhiag's
words. "First we must have the Third Hero—the Many-
Named Hero."

"And you will summon him with sorcery, too?"

Corum shook his head. "I was told not. I was told that
he would meet us—drawn from whichever age he exists in
by the necessity to complete the Three Who Are One."

"What mean these phrases? What is the Three Who Are
One?"


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"I know little more than you, friend Elric, save that it
will need all three of us to defeat him who holds my guide
prisoner."

Now they came to Balwyn Moor, leaving the forest
behind them. On one side were the cliffs and the sea and
the world was silent and at rest so that any threat from
Chaos seemed very distant.

"Your gauntlet is of curious manufacture," Elric said.

Corum laughed. "So thought a doctor I lately
encountered. He believed it was a man-made limb. But it is
said to have belonged to a god—one of the Lost Gods, who
mysteriously left the world millenia ago. Once it had
special properties, just as this eye did. It could see into a
netherworld—a terrible place from which I could
sometimes draw aid."

"All you tell me makes the complicated sorceries and
cosmologies of my world seem simple in comparison."

"It only seems complicated because it is strange,"
Corum answered. "Your world would doubtless seem
incomprehensible to me if I were suddenly flung into it."
Corum broke into laughter again. "Besides, this particular
plane is not my world, either, though it resembles it more
than do many. We have one thing in common, Elric, and
that is that we are both doomed to play a role in the
constant struggle between the Lords of the Higher
Worlds—and we shall never understand why that struggle
takes place, why it is eternal. We fight, we suffer agonies of
mind and soul, but we are never sure that our suffering is
worthwhile."

Elric plainly agreed completely. "You are right. We
have much in common, you and I, Corum."

Corum looked down the road and there was a mounted
man sitting stock still in his saddle. The warrior seemed to
be waiting for them.

"Perhaps this is the Third of whom Bolorhiag spoke,"
said Corum as they slowed their pace and began,
cautiously, to approach the warrior.

He was jet black with a huge, heavy, handsome head
covered by the snarling mask of a snarling bear, its pelt
going down his back. The mask could be used for a visor,
Corum thought, but was now pushed off the face to reveal
the melancholy eyes. He wore featureless plate armor,
which was also black and, like Elric, he had a great black-
hilted sword in a black scabbard. The pair of them made
Corum feel almost gaudy in comparison. The black
warrior's horse was not black—it was a strong, tall roan, a
war horse. Hanging from his saddle was a great round
shield.

The man did not seem pleased to see them. Rather he
was horrified.

"I know you! I know you both!" he gasped.


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Corum had never seen the man before and yet he, too,
felt recognition.

"How came you here to Balwyn Moor, friend?" he
asked.

The black warrior licked his lips, his eyes almost glazed.
"Balwyn Moor? This is Balwyn Moor? I have been here
but a few moments. Before that I was—I was. ... Ah! The
memory starts to fade again." He pressed one massive
black hand to his brow. "A name—another name! No
more! Elric! Corum! But I—I am now .. ."

"How do you know our names?" cried Elric, aghast.

The man replied in a whisper. "Because—don't you
see?—I am Elric—I am Corum—oh, this is the worst
agony... . Or, at least, I have been or am to be Elric and
Corum ..."

Corum was sympathetic. He remembered what Jhary
had told him of the Champion Eternal. "Your name, sir?"

"A thousand names are mine. A thousand heroes I have
been Ah! I am—I am—John Daker—Erekose—Urlik—
many, many, many more. . . . The memories, the dreams,
the existences." He stared at them suddenly through his
pain-filled eyes. "Do you not understand? Am I the only
one to be doomed to understand? I am he who has been
called the Champion Eternal—I am the hero who has
existed forever—and, yes, I am Elric of Melnibone—Prince
Corum Jhaelen Irsei—I am you, also. We three are the

same creature and a myriad of other creatures besides. We
three are one thing—doomed to struggle forever and never
understand why. Oh! My head pounds. Who tortures me
so? Who?"

From beside Corum Elric spoke. "You say you are
another incarnation of myself?"

"If you would phrase it so! You are both other
incarnations of myself!"

"So," Corum said, "that is what Bolorhiag meant by the
Three Who Are One. We are all aspects of the same man,
yet we have tripled our strength because we have been
drawn from three different ages. It is the only power which
might successfully go against Voilodion Ghagnasdiak of
the Vanishing Tower."

Elric spoke quietly, "Is that the castle wherein your
guide is imprisoned?"

"Aye." Corum took a stronger grip on the reins. "The
Vanishing Tower flickers from one plane to another, from
one age to another, and exists in a single location only for a
few moments at a time. But because we are three separate
incarnations of a single hero it is possible that we form a
sorcery of some kind which will enable us to follow the
tower and attack it. Then, if we free my guide, we can
continue on to Tanelorn . . ."


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The black warrior raised his head, hope beginning to
replace despair. "Tanelorn? I, too, seek Tanelorn. Only
there may I discover some remedy to my dreadful
fate—which is to know all previous incarnations and be
hurled at random from one existence to another!
Tanelorn—I must find her!"

"I, too, must discover Tanelorn." The albino seemed
half amused, as if beginning to enjoy the strange situation.
"For on my own plane her inhabitants are in great danger."

"So we have a common purpose as well as a common
identity," said Corum. Perhaps now there was some chance
of saving Jhary and finding Rhalina. "Therefore we shall
fight in concert, I pray. First we must free my guide, then
go on to Tanelorn."

The black giant growled, "I'll aid you willingly."
Corum bowed his head in thanks. "And what shall we

call you—you who are ourselves?"

"Call me Erekose—though another name suggests itself
to me—for it was as Erekose that I came closest to knowing
forgetfulness and the fulfillment of love."

"Then you are to be envied, Erekose," Elric said, "for at
least you have come close to forgetfulness . . ."

The black giant shook his reins and fell in beside Corum.
He gave Elric a sideways stare and his mouth was crooked.
"You have no inkling of what it is 1 must forget." He
turned to the Prince in the Scarlet Robe. "Now
Corum—which way to the Vanishing Tower?"

"This road leads to it. We ride down now to Darkvale, I
believe."

With a man who was a shadow of himself on either side
of him, with a sense of doom filling his mind when it
should have begun to feel hope, Corum guided his horse
down toward Darkvale.

BOOK THREE

In which Prince Corum discovers
jar more than Tanelorn

The First Chapter
VOILODION GHAGNASDIAK

Now the road narrowed and became much steeper. Corum
saw it disappear into the black shadows between two high
cliffs and he knew that he had come to Darkvale.

He felt ill at ease still, with the two men who were
himself, and he fought not to brood upon the implications
of what all this meant. He pointed down the hill and spoke
as lightly as possible.

"Darkvale." He looked at the albino face on one side of
him, the jet black face on the other. Both were grim and


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set. "I am told there was a village here once. An uninviting
spot, eh—brothers ..."

"I have seen worse." Erekose clapped his legs hard
against his horse's sides. "Come, let's get all this done with
.. ." He spurred the roan ahead and galloped wildly down
toward the gap in the cliffs.

Corum followed him more slowly and Elric was the
slowest of all. As he rode into the darkness, Corum looked
up. The cliffs came so close together at the top that they
met, cutting off all but a little light. And at the foot of the
cliffs were ruins—what was left of the town of Darkvale
after Chaos came against it. The rains were all twisted and
warped as if they had become liquid and then turned solid
again. Corum searched for the most likely spot where he
would find the Vanishing Tower and at last he came to a
pit which seemed freshly dug. He inspected it closely. It
was of a size with the Vanishing Tower. "Here is where we
must wait," he said.

Elric joined him. "What must we wait for, friend
Corum?"

"For the tower. I would guess that this is where it
appears when it is in this plane."

"And when will it appear?"

"At no particular time. We must wait. And then, as soon
as we see it we must rush it and attempt to enter before it

vanishes again, moving on to the next plane."

Corum looked for Erekose. The black giant was sitting
on the ground with his back against a slab of the twisted
rock. Elric approached him.

"You seem more patient than I, Erekose."

"I have learned patience, for I have lived since time
began and will live on at the end of time."

Elric loosened his horse's girth strap, calling out to
Corum. "Who told you that the Tower would appear
here?"

"A sorcerer who doubtless serves Law as I do, for I am
a mortal doomed to battle Chaos."

"As am I," said Erekose.

"As am I," said the albino, "though I'm sworn to serve
it." He shrugged and looked strangely at the other two.
Corum guessed what he was thinking. "And why do you
seek Tanelorn, Erekose?"

Erekose stared up at the crack of light where the cliffs
met. "I have been told that I may find peace there—and
wisdom—a means of returning to the world of the Eldren
where dwells the woman I love, for it has been said that
since Tanelorn exists in all planes at all times it is easier for
a man who dwells there to pass between the planes,


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discover the particular one he seeks. What interest have
you in Tanelorn, Lord Elric?"

"I know Tanelorn and I know that you are right to seek
it. My mission seems to be the defense of that city upon my
own plane—but even now my friends may be destroyed by
that which has been brought against them. I pray Corum is
right and that in the Vanishing Tower I shall find a means
to defeat Theleb K'aarna's beasts and their masters ..."

Corum raised his jeweled hand to his jeweled eye. "I
seek Tanelorn for I have heard the city can aid me in my
struggle against Chaos." He said no more of Arkyn's
whispered instructions so long ago in the Temple of Law.

"But Tanelorn," Elric told him, "will fight neither Law
nor Chaos. That is why she exists for eternity."

Corum had heard as much from Jhary. "Aye," he said.
"Like Erekose I do not seek swords, but wisdom."

When night came the three took turns to stand watch,
occasionally conversing, but more often than not merely
sitting or standing and staring at the place where the
Vanishing Tower might appear.

Corum found his two companions rather heavy company
after Jhary and he felt a certain dislike for them, perhaps
because they were so much like himself.

But then at dawn, while Erekose nodded and Elric slept
soundly, the air shuddered and Corum saw the familiar
outlines of Voilodion Ghagnasdiak's tower begin to grow
solid.

"It is here!" he shouted. Erekose sprang up at once but
Elric was only just stirring. "Hasten Elric!"

Now Elric joined them and he, like Erekose, had his
black sword in his hand. The swords were almost
brothers—both black, both terrible in aspect, both carved
with runes.

Corum was ahead of the others, determined not to be
shut out this time. He ran into the dark doorway and was at
first blinded, shouting for his friends to join him. "Hasten!
Hasten!"

Corum ran into a small antechamber and saw that
reddish, light illuminated the room, spilling from a great oil
lamp which hung in chains from the ceiling. But then the
door closed suddenly behind them and Corum knew they
were trapped, prayed that they three would be powerful
enough to resist the sorcerer. His eyes caught a movement
at the slit window in the wall. Darkvale had gone and there
was nothing but blue sea where it had been. The tower was
already moving. He pointed it out silently to his
companions.

Then he raised his head and yelled, "Jhary! Jhary-a-
Conel!"

Was the dandy dead? He prayed that he was not.


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He listened carefully and heard a tiny noise which might
have been a reply.

"Jhary!"

Corum motioned with his long, strong sword.
"Voilodion Ghagnasdiak? Am I to be thwarted? Have you
left this place?"

"I have not left it. What do you want with me?"

Corum looked toward the next room, beneath a pointed
arch. He led the way forward.

Brightness like the golden brightness he had seen in
Limbo flickered and framed the humped shape of
Voilodion Ghagnasdiak—a dwarf, overdressed in silks,
ermine, and satin, a miniature sword clutched in his coarse
hand, a handsome head upon his tiny shoulders, bright eyes
beneath thick black brows, which met in the middle, a grin
of welcome like the grin of a wolf. "At last someone new to
relieve my ennui. But lay down your swords, gentlemen, I
beg you, for you are to be my guests."

"I know what fate your guests may expect," Corum said.
"Know this, Voilodion Ghagnasdiak, we have come to
release Jhary-a-Conel, whom you hold prisoner. Give him
up to us and we will not harm you."

The dwarfs handsome features grinned impishly back
at Corum. "But I am very powerful. You cannot defeat
me." He opened his arms. "Watch."

Waving his sword he made more lightning flash here
and there in the room and forced Elric to half-raise his
sword as if it attacked him. Plainly this made him feel
foolish and he stepped toward the dwarf. "Know this,
Violodion Ghagnasdiak, I am Elric of Melnibone and I
have much power. I bear the Black Sword and it thirsts to
drink your soul unless you release Prince Corum's friend!"

The dwarf's mirth was not abated. "Swords? What
power have they?"

Erekose growled, "Our swords are not ordinary blades.
And we have been brought here by forces you could not
comprehend—wrenched from our own ages by the power
of the gods themselves—specifically to demand that this
Jhary-a-Conel be given up to us."

"You are deceived," said Voilodion Ghagnasdiak,
addressing all three. "Or you seek to deceive me. This
Jhary is a witty fellow, I'd agree, but what interest could
gods have in him?"

The albino impulsively raised his great black sword and
Corum heard a sound like a moan of bloodlust come from

it. He thought the sword an unhealthy weapon to bear.

But then Elric was hurtling backward, his sword flying
from his grip. Voilodion Ghagdasdiak had merely bounced


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a yellow ball off his forehead—but it had been powerful.

Corum let Erekose go to Elric's aid while he kept his
attention on the sorcerer, but as soon as Elric was on his
feet Voilodion hurled another ball and this time the Mack
sword deflected it so that it bounced harmlessly toward the
far wall and then exploded. The heat seared their faces and
the blast knocked the wind from them. Corum saw a
blackness begin to writhe from the fire left behind by the
explosion.

Voilodion Ghagnasdiak spoke equably enough. "It is
dangerous to destroy the globes," he said, "for now what is
in them will destroy you."

The black thing increased its size and the flame
disappeared.

"I am free."

The voice came from the writhing shadow.

Voilodion Ghagnasdiak chuckled. "Aye. Free to kill
these fools who reject my hospitality!"

"Free to be slain!" Elric cried impetuously.

Corum stared in terrified fascination as the thing began
to grow like flowing, sentient hair, which then slowly
compressed and became a creature with a tiger's head, a
gorilla's body, and a hide as coarse as that of a rhinoceros.
Black wings sprouted on its back and these flapped rapidly
as it shifted its grip on its weapon—a long, scythelike thing
which lashed out at the nearest man, the albino.

Corum moved to help Elric, remembering that Elric
might be relying on him to use the power of the hand and
the eye. He shouted, "My eye—it will not see into the
netherworld. I cannot summon help."

But then Corum saw one of the yellow balls coming at
him and another being flung at Erekose. Both managed to
deflect them so that they landed on the ground and burst.
More winged monsters emerged and soon Corum had no
time to think of aiding Elric, for he was concerned with

fighting for his own life, ducking the whistling scythe as it
sought to decapitate him.

Several times Corum managed to get under the
monster's guard, but even when he did the thick skin
turned his thrusts. And the beast moved quickly—far
faster than it would seem it could. Sometimes it would leap
into the air, hovering on its wings before sweeping down on
Corum again.

The Prince in the Scarlet Robe began to think that he
had been deceived by Chaos into coming here, for the other
two were as helpless against the monsters as was he.

He cursed himself for overconfidence and wished that
they had formed a more coherent plan before rushing into
the Vanishing Tower,


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And over the sound of battle came the screeches of
Voilodion Ghagnasdiak as he threw more of the yellow
spheres into the room and they burst and more tiger-
headed monsters formed in the air and pressed into the
fray. The three men found themselves pushed back to the
far wall.

"I fear I have summoned you two to your destruction."
Corum was panting and his sword arm was weary. "I had
no warning that our powers would be so limited here. The
tower must shift so fast that even the ordinary laws of
sorcery do not apply within its walls."

Elric defended himself as two scythes swung at him at
the same time. "They seem to work well enough for the
dwarf! If I could slay but a single ..."

One of the scythes drew blood and another ripped the
albino's cloak. Yet another slashed his arm. Corum tried to
help him, but a blade ripped his silver byrnie and another
nicked his ear. He saw Elric stab a tiger-monster in the
throat without seeming to harm the beast at all. He heard
Elric's sword howl as if in fury at being thwarted of its
prey.

Then Corum saw Elric grab a scythe from the hands of
the tiger-thing and reverse it. The albino stabbed the
monster in the chest and then blood spurted in earnest and
the thing screamed as it was mortally wounded.

"I was right!" called the Prince of Melnibone. "Only
their own weapons can harm them!" His runesword in one
hand and the scythe in the other he charged at another
flapping beast, then moved toward Voilodion Ghag-
nasdiak, who screeched and ran toward a small doorway.

The tiger-creatures had bunched near the ceiling. Now
they flew down again.

Corum made every effort to wrest one of the scythes
from the beast who attacked him. Then his chance came
when Elric took one in the back and sliced off his head.
Corum picked up the dead thing's scythe and slashed at a
third tiger-man, who fell with his throat ripped out. Corum
kicked the fallen scythe in Erekose's direction.

The air was full of a sickening stench and black feathers
stuck to the sweat and the blood on Corum's face and
hands. He led the others back to the door through which
they had entered the room and there they were able to de-
fend themselves the better, for only so many of the
creatures could come through at a time.

Corum felt mightily tired and he knew that he and his
companions were bound to lose this struggle for, from his
cover, Voilodion Ghagnasdiak was still throwing more
globes into the room. Then he saw something fluttering
behind the dwarf but, before he could make out what it
was, a tiger-man blocked his view and he was forced to
swing his body aside to avoid the blow of a scythe.




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Then Corum heard a voice and when he next              looked
Voilodion Ghagnasdiak was struggling with              something
which clung to his face and Jhary-a-Conel              stood there
signaling to an astonished Elric, who had              just noticed him.

"Jhary!" shouted Corum.

"The one you came to save?" Elric slashed open the
belly of yet another tiger beast.

"Aye."

Elric was closest to Jhary and he prepared himself to
cross the room. Jhary shouted back, "No! No! Stay there!"

There was no need for the remark for Elric was once
again engaged with two of the tiger monsters, who attacked
him from both sides.

Jhary called out desperately. "You misunderstood what
Bolorhiag told you."

Now Elric could see Jhary again, as could Erekose. The
black giant had, up to that time, been absorbed in the
killing, seeming to take more pleasure in it than the others.

"Link arms! Corum in the center!" Jhary called. "And
you two draw your swords!"

Corum knew enough to guess that Jhary understood
more than he had mentioned earlier. And now Elric was
wounded in the leg.

"Hurry!" Jhary-a-Conel stood over the dwarf who
strove to rip the thing from his face. "It is your only
chance—and mine!"

Elric seemed uncertain.

"He is wise, my friend," Corum told the albino. "He
knows many things which we do not. Here, I will stand in
the center."

Erekose seemed to awaken from a trance. He looked at
Corum over his bloody scythe, shook his great black head,
and then placed his right arm in Corum's, his sword in his
left hand. Elric linked his left arm in Corum's right arm
and drew his own strange sword.

And then Corum felt a power flow into his weary flesh
and he almost laughed with delight at the sense of pleasure
which filled him. Elric, himself, was laughing and even
Erekose smiled. They had combined. They had become the
Three Who Are One and they moved as one, laughed as
one, fought as one.

Although Corum did not fight, he felt as if he fought He
felt that he had a sword in each hand and that he guided
those hands.

The tiger-beasts fell back before the shrieking
runeswords. They sought to escape this strange new power.
They flapped wildly about the room.


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Corum laughed in triumph. "Let us finish them!" And
he knew they cried the same thing. No longer were their
swords useless against the winged tiger-men. Instead they
were invincible. Blood poured down as wounded beasts
sought to escape, but none did escape.

As if weakened by the power released within it, the
Vanishing Tower began to tremble. The floor tilted.
Voilodion Ghagnasdiak's voice screamed from somewhere,
"The tower! The tower! This will destroy the tower!"

Corum could hardly keep his balance on the blood-
slippery floor.

And then Jhary-a-Conel had entered the room, an
expression of faint disgust on his face as he regarded the
slaughter. "It is true. The sorcery we have worked today
must have its effect. Whiskers—to me!"

And then Corum realized that the creature which had
clung to Voilodion Ghagnasdiak's face was the little black-
and-white cat. Once again it had been the cause of their
salvation. It flew to Jhary's shoulder and settled there,
staring about with wide, green eyes.

Elric broke away from the other two and dashed into the
other room to peer through the window slit Corum heard
him cry, "We are in Limbo!"

Slowly Corum broke his own link with Erekose. He did
not have the energy to see what Elric meant, but he guessed
that the tower was in that tuneless, spaceless place where
once he had been in the sky ship. And it was swaying even
more crazily now. He looked at the crumpled figure of the
dwarf, who had his hands to his face. Through the fingers
welled fountains of blood.

Jhary went past Corum into the other room and spoke to
Elric. As he returned Corum heard him say, "Come, friend
Elric, help me seek my hat."

"At such a time you look for a—hat?"

"Aye." Jhary winked at Corum and stroked his cat.
"Prince Corum—Lord Erekose—will you come with me,
too?"

They went past the weeping dwarf, down the narrow
tunnel, until they came to a flight of stairs. The stairs led
toward a cellar. The tower quaked. With a lighted brand
held aloft Jhary led them down the steps.

When a slab of masonry dislodged itself from the roof
and fell at Elric's feet he said quietly, "I would prefer to
seek a means of escape from the tower. If it falls now we
shall be buried."

"Trust me, Prince Elric."

They came at length to a circular room with a huge
metal door set in it.



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"Voilodion's vault. Here you will find all the things you
seek," said Jhary. "And I, I hope, will find my hat. The hat
was specially made and is the only one which properly
matches my other clothes . . ."

"How do we open a door like that?" Erekose sheathed
his sword in an angry gesture. Then he drew it out again
and put the point to the door. "It is made of steel, surely."

Jhary's voice was almost amused again. "If you linked
arms again, my friends."

Corum offered Jhary an amused glance in spite of the
danger.

"I will show you how the door may be opened," said
Jhary.

And so they linked arms again and again the vast,
exquisite sense of strength flowed through them and again
they laughed to each other, feeling true fulfillment now that
they were combined. Perhaps this was their destiny.
Perhaps when they ceased to be individual heroes they
would become the one thing again and then they would
experience happiness. It offered them hope, this thought.

Jhary said quietly, "And now, Prince Corum, if you
would strike with your foot once upon the door ..."

Corum swung his foot and kicked at the solid steel and
watched as the door fell down without resistance. He did
not like to break the link with his fellow heroes. He could
see how they could live as a single entity and know
satisfaction. But he was forced to in order to enter the
vault.

The tower shook and seemed to fall sideways and the
four of them tumbled into Voilodion's vault to land
amongst treasure.

Corum picked himself up. Elric was inspecting a golden
throne. Erekose had picked up a battle-axe too big for even
him to wield.

Here were the things Voilodion had stolen from all his
victims as his tower had traveled through the planes.

Corum wondered if ever such a museum had existed

before. He went from object to object inspecting them and
marveling. Meanwhile Jhary handed something to Elric
and spoke with him. Corum heard Elric say to Jhary,
"How can you know all this?"

Jhary made some vague reply and then bent with a cry of
pleasure. He picked up his hat and began to slap at the dust
which covered it. Then he saw another thing and picked
that up. A goblet. "Take it," he told Corum. "It will prove
useful, I think."

Jhary walked over to a corner and removed a small sack,
placing it on his shoulder. There was a jewel chest nearby
and he delved through this until he discovered a ring. This


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he handed to Erekose. "This is your reward, Erekose, for
helping to free me from my captor." He spoke grandly but
self-mockingly.

Even Erekose smiled then. "I have the feeling you need
no help young man."

"You are mistaken, friend Erekose. I doubt if I have ever
been in greater peril." He took a lingering look around the
room and then lost his footing as the floor tilted once more.

"We should take steps to leave," said Elric, the bundle
of metal under his arm.

"Exactly." Jhary moved rapidly across the vault. "The
last thing. In his pride Voilodion showed me his
possessions, but he did not know the value of all of them."

Corum frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He killed the traveler who brought this with him. The
traveler was right in assuming he had the means to stop the
tower from vanishing, but he did not have time to use it
before Voilodion slew him." Jhary displayed the object. It
was a small baton of a dull ocher color. It hardly seemed
valuable. "Here it is. The Runestaff. Hawkmoon had this
with him when I traveled with him to the Dark Empire."

The Second Chapter

TO TANELORN

"What is the Runestaff?" Corum asked.

"I remember one description—but I am poor at naming
and explaining things . . ."

Elric almost smiled. "That has not escaped my
attention."

Corum looked closely at the staff, unable to believe it
had any special significance.

"It is an object," said Jhary, "which can exist only under
a certain set of special and physical laws. In order to
continue to exist, it must exert a field in which it can
contain itself. That field must accord with those laws—the
same laws under which we best survive."

Large slabs of masonry fell from the roof.

Erekose growled. "The tower is breaking up!"

Corum saw that Jhary was passing his hand in a stroking
motion over the dull ocher staff, tracing out a pattern.
"Please gather near me, my friends."

As the three closed in, the roof of the tower fell. Corum
saw great blocks of stone descend to crush him and then he
was staring at a blue sky breathing cool air and the ground
was firm beneath his feet. Yet from only a few inches on all
sides of them there was blackness—the total blackness of
Limbo. "Do not step outside this small area," Jhary said,



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"or you will be doomed." He frowned. "Let the Runestaff
seek what we seek."

Corum knew his friend's voice and he knew that it was
not as confident as usual.

The ground changed color, the air was hot and then
freezingly cold and Corum realized that they were moving
rapidly through the planes as the Vanishing Tower had
traveled, but they were not moving at random, he was sure
of that.

Now there was sand beneath Corum's feet and a hot
wind blowing in his face and Jhary was shouting, "Now!"

Running with the others into the blackness, Corum burst
into sunlight and saw a glowing metallic sky.

"A desert," Erekose said softly. "A vast desert..."

On all sides rolled yellow dunes and the wind was sad as
it whispered across them.

Jhary was plainly pleased with himself. "Do you
recognize it, friend Elric?"

Elric was relieved. "Is it the Sighing Desert?"

"Listen."

Elric listened to the sad wind but he looked at something
else. Corum turned his head and saw that Jhary had
dropped the Runestaff, that it was fading.

"Are you all to come with me to the defense of
Tanelorn?" Elric asked Jhary, doubtless expecting him to
assent.

But Jhary shook his head. "No. We go the other way.
We go to seek the device Theleb K'aarna activated with the
help of the Lords of Chaos. Where lies it?"

Elric searched the dunes with his eyes. He frowned and
then pointed hesitantly. "That way, I think."

"Then let us go to it now."

"But I must try to help Tanelorn!" Elric protested.

"You must destroy the device after we have used it,
friend Elric, lest Theleb K'aarna or his like try to activate it
again."

"But Tanelorn . . ."

Corum listened with curiosity to the conversation. Why
did Jhary know so much of Elric's world and its needs?

"I do not believe," said Jhary calmly, "that Theleb
K'aarna and his beasts have yet reached the city."

"Not reached it! But so much time has passed!"

"Less than a day," said Jhary.


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Corum wondered if that applied to them all or just to
Elric's world. He sympathized with the albino as he rubbed
his hand over his face and wondered whether to trust
Jhary. Then he said, "Very well. I will take you to the
machine."

"But if Tanelorn lies so near," Corum said to Jhary,
"why seek it elsewhere?"

"Because this is not the Tanelorn we wish to find,"
Jhary told him.

"It will suit me," Erekose said almost humbly. "I will
remain with Elric. Then, perhaps . .." There was longing in
his eyes.

But Jhary was horrified. "My friend," he said sadly,
"already much of time and space is threatened with
destruction. Eternal barriers could soon fall—the fabric of
the multiverse could decay. You do not understand. Such a
thing as has happened in the Vanishing Tower can happen
only once in an eternity and even then it is dangerous to all
concerned. You must do as I say. I promise that you will
have just as good a chance of finding Tanelorn where I
take you."

Erekose bowed his head. "Very well."

"Come." Elric was impatient, already walking away
from them. "For all your talk of time, there is precious
little left for me."

"For all of us," said Jhary feelingly.

They stumbled through the desert and the mourning
wind found an echo of sadness in their own souls, but at
last they came to a place of rocks, a natural amphitheater
which had in its center a deserted camp. Tent flaps slapped
as the wind blew them, but it was not the tent which drew
their attention, it was the great bowl in the center of the
amphitheater—a bowl which contained something far
stranger than anything Corum had seen in Gwlas-an-Gwrys
or in the world of Lady Jane Pentallyon. It had many
planes and curves and angles of many colors and it dizzied
him to look upon it too long.

"What is it?" he murmured.

"A machine," Jhary told him, "used by the ancients. It is
what I have been seeking to take us to Tanelorn."

"But why not go with Elric to his Tanelorn?"

"We have the geography but we still need the time and
the dimension," Jhary said. "Bear with me, Corum, for,
unless we are stopped, we shall soon see the Tanelorn we
seek."

"And we shall find aid against Glandyth?"

"That I cannot tell you."



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Jhary went up to the machine in the bowl and he walked
around it as if familiar with it. He seemed satisfied. He
began to trace patterns on the bowl and these brought
responses in the machine. Something deep within it began
to pulse like a heart. The planes and curves and angles
began to shift subtly and change color. A sense of urgency
came about Jhary's movements then. He made Corum and
Erekose stand with their backs pressed against the bowl and
he took a small vial from his jerkin, handing it to Elric.

"When we have departed," said Jhary, "hurl this
through the top of the bowl, take your horse, which I still
see yonder and ride as fast as you can for Tanelorn. Follow
these instructions perfectly and you will serve us all."

Gingerly, Elric took the vial. "Very well."

Jhary smiled a secret smile as he stood beside the other
two. "And please give my compliments to my brother
Moonglum."

Elric's crimson eyes widened. "You know him?
What—?"

"Farewell, Elric. We shall doubtless meet many times in
the future, though we may not recognize each other."

Elric stood there, his white face stained by the light from
the bowl.

"And that will be for the best, I suppose," Jhary added
under his breath, looking at the albino with some
sympathy.

But Elric was gone, as was the desert, as was the
machine in the bowl.

Then something like an invisible hand threw them
backward.

Jhary sighed with satisfaction. "The machine is
destroyed. That is good."

"But how may we return to our own plane?" Corum
asked. They were surrounded by tall, waving grass—grass
so high that it grew over their heads. "Where is Erekose?"

"Gone on. Gone down his own road to Tanelorn," Jhary
said. He looked at the sun. He took a bunch of the thick
grass and wiped his face with it. There was dew on the

grass and it refreshed him. "As we must now go down
ours."

"Tanelorn is close?" Excitement suffused Corum. "Is it
close, Jhary?"

"It is close. I feel its closeness."

"This is your city? You know its inhabitants?"

"This is my city. Tanelorn is ever my city. But this
Tanelorn I do not know. I think I know of it, however—I



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hope I do or all my poor scheming will be for nothing."

"What are those schemes, Jhary? You must tell me
more."

"I can tell you little. I knew of Elric's plight because I
once rode with Elric—still do as far as he is concerned.
Also I knew how to aid Erekose, because I was once—or
shall be—his friend, too. But it is not wisdom which
guides me, Prince Corum. It is instinct. Come."

And he led the way through the tall, waving grass as if he
followed a well-marked road.

The Third Chapter

THE CONJUNCTION OF THE MILLION SPHERES

And there was Tanelorn.

It was a blue city and it gave off a strong blue aura
which merged with the expanse of the blue sky which
framed it, but its buildings were of such a variety of shades
of blue as to make them seem many-colored. These tall
spires and domes clustered together and intersected and
adjoined each other and rose in wild spirals and curves,
seeming to fling themselves joyfully at the heavens as if
silently delighting in their own blue beauty, in all their
colors from near-black to pale violet, in all their shapes of
shining metal.

"It is not a mortal settlement," whispered Corum
Jhaelen Irsei as he emerged with Jhary-a-Conel from the
tall grass and drew his scarlet robe about him, feeling
insignificant beneath the splendor of the city.

"I'll grant you that," said Jhary almost grimly. "It is not
a Tanelorn which I have seen before. Why this is almost
sinister, Corum . . ."

"What mean you?"

"It is beautiful and it is wondrous, but it might almost be
some false Tanelorn or some counter-Tanelorn, or some
Tanelorn existing in an utterly different logic . . ."

"I hardly follow you. You spoke of peace. Well, this
Tanelorn is peaceful. You said that there were many
Tanelorns and that they have existed before the beginning
of time and will exist when time is ended. And if this
Tanelorn is stranger than some you know, what of that?"

Jhary drew a heavy breath. "I believe I have some
inkling of the truth now. If Tanelorn exists upon the only
area in the multiverse not subject to flux, then it might have
other purposes than to act as a resting place for weary
heroes and the like ..."

"You think we are in danger there?"

"Danger? It depends what you regard as dangerous.
Some wisdom may be dangerous to one man and not to
another. Danger is contained in safety, as you have


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discovered, and safety in danger. The nearest we ever come
to knowing truth is when we are witnesses to a paradox and
therefore—I should have considered this before—
Tanelorn must be a paradox, too. We had best enter the
city, Corum, and learn why we have been drawn here."

Corum hesitated. "Mabelrode threatens to vanquish
Law. Glandyth-a-Krae aims to conquer my plane. Rhalina
is lost. We have much to sacrifice if we have made a
mistake, Jhary."

"Aye. All."

"Then should we not first make certain that we are not
victims of some cosmic deceit."

Jhary turned and laughed aloud. "And how may we
decide that, Corum Jhaelen Irsei?"

Corum glared at Jhary and then lowered his eyes. "You
are right. We will enter this Tanelorn."

They crossed a lawn made blue by the light from the city
and they stood at the beginning of a wide avenue lined with
blue plants and breathed air which was not quite like the

air of any of the planes they had visited.

And Corum began to weep at the sight of so much
marvellous beauty, falling to his knees as if in worship,
feeling that he would give his life to it willingly. And Jhary,
standing beside his friend and placing a hand on his bowed
shoulder, murmured, "Ah, this is still truly Tanelorn."

Corum's very body seemed lighter as he and Jhary
wandered down the avenue and looked for the inhabitants
of Tanelorn. Corum began to feel sure that there would be
help here, that Mabelrode could, after all, be defeated, that
his folk and the folk of Lywm-an-Esh could be stopped
from slaying one another. And yet, though they wandered
long, no citizens of Tanelorn emerged to greet them. All
there was was silence.

At the end of the avenue Corum now made out a shape
standing framed against a complicated fountain of blue
water. The shape seemed to be that of a statue, the first
representation of its kind Corum had seen in the city. And
there was a slight suggestion of familiarity about it which
made him begin to hope, for, in the back of his mind, he
equated this statue with salvation, though he did not know
why.

He began to walk more swiftly until Jhary held him
back, a restraining hand on his arm. "Rush not, Corum, in
Tanelorn."

The statue's detail became clearer as they advanced.

It was more barbaric in appearance than the rest of the
city and it was predominantly green rather than blue. It did
not seem to be of the same manufacture as the spires and
the domes. It stood upon four legs arranged at each corner
of its torso. It had four arms, two folded and two at its side.


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It had a large, human head but no nose. Instead, its nostrils
were set directly into the head. The mouth was much wider
than a human mouth and it was molded so that it grinned.
The eyes glittered and they too were completely unlike
human eyes but rather resembled clusters of jewels.

"The eyes .. ." Corum murmured, drawing still closer.

"Aye." Jhary knew what he meant.

The statue was not much taller than Corum and its

whole body was encrusted with the dark, glowing jewels,
He reached out to touch it but then stopped, for he had
seen one of the folded arms and realization was beginning
to freeze his bones. On the right arm was a six-fingered
hand. But on the left arm was no hand at all. The mate of
the right hand was attached to Corum's wrist. He tried to
retreat, his heart beating and his head pounding so that he
could hear nothing else.

Slowly the grin on the statue's alien face widened still
further. Slowly the hands at the sides came up toward
Corum.

Then came the voice.

Never had Corum heard such a mixture of sound.
Intelligent, savage, humorous, barbaric, cold, warm, soft,
and harsh, there were a thousand qualities in it as it said,
"The key may still not be mine until it is offered willingly."

The faceted eyes, twins of the one in Corum's skull,
gleamed and shifted, while still the other two arms
remained folded and the four legs remained as if paralyzed.

In his shock, Corum could not speak. He was as
petrified as the being seemed to be. Jhary stepped up
beside him,

Quietly the dandy said, "You are Kwll."

"I am Kwll."

"And Tanelorn is your prison?"

"It has been my prison . . ."

". . . for only Timeless Tanelorn may hold a being of
your power. I understand."

"But even Tanelorn cannot hold me unless I am
incomplete."

Jhary lifted Corum's limp left arm. He touched the six-
fingered hand which was grafted there. "And this will make
you complete."

"It is the key to my release. But the key may still not be
mine until it is offered willingly."

"And you have worked for this, have you not, through
the power of your brain, which is not held by Tanelorn. It
was not the Balance which allowed Elric and Erekose to


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join this part of them called Corum. It was you, for only
you or your brother is strong enough, though you be

prisoners, to defy the essential laws—the Law of the
Balance."

"Only Kwll and Rhynn are so strong, for only one law
rules them."

"And you broke it. Eternities ago, you broke it. You
fought each other and Rhynn struck off your hand while,
Kwll, you took out Rhynn's eye. You forgot your vows to
each other—the sole vows you would ever consider
obeying—and Rhynn, he—"

"He brought me here to Tanelorn and here I have
remained, through all those cycles, those many cycles."

"And Rhynn, your brother? What punishment did you
decree he suffer?"

"That he search, without rest, for his missing eye, but
that he must find the eye alone, not with the hand."

"And the eye and hand have always been together."

"As they are now."

"And so Rhynn has never succeeded."

"It is as you say, mortal. You know much."

"It is because," answered Jhary, seeming to speak to
himself, "because I am one of those mortals doomed to
immortality."

"The key must be offered willingly," said Kwll again.

"Was it your shadow I saw in the Flamelands?" Corum
asked suddenly, moving back from the being on trembling
legs. "Was it you I saw on the hill from Castle Erorn?"

"You saw my shadow, aye. But you did not, could not
see me. And I saved your life in the Flamelands and
elsewhere, I used my hand and I killed your enemies."

"They were not enemies." Corum clutched the six-
fingered hand to him, looking at it with loathing. "And you
gave the hand the power to summon the dead to my aid?"

"The hand has that power. It is nothing. A trick."

"And you did this merely with your brain—your
thoughts?"

"I have done more than that The key must be offered
willingly. I cannot force you, mortal, to give me back my
hand."

"And if I keep it?"

"Then I shall have to wait through the Cycle of Cycles

once again until the Million Spheres are again in


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conjunction. Have you not understood that?"

"I have come to understand it," Jhary said gravely.
"How else could so many planes be open to mortals? How
eke could so many discover fragments of wisdom usually
denied them? How else could three aspects of the same
entity exist upon the same plane? How else could I
remember other existences? It is the Conjunction of the
Million Spheres. A conjunction which takes place so rarely
that a being could think he lived for eternity and still not
witness it. And when that conjunction takes place, I have
heard, old laws are broken and new ones established—the
very nature of space and time and reality are altered."

"Would that mean the end of Tanelorn?" Corum asked.

"Perhaps even the end of Tanelorn," said Kwll, "but of
that alone I am not sure. The key must be offered
willingly."

"And what do I release if I offer the key?" Corum said
to Jhary.

Jhary-a-Conel shook his head and took his little black-
and-white cat partly from within his jerkin and stroked its
head, deep in thought.

"You release Kwll," said Kwll. "You release Rhynn.
Both has paid his price."

"What shall I do, Jhary?"

"I do not . . ."

"Shall I strike a bargain? Shall I say that he may have his
hand if he will help us against the King of the Swords, help
us restore peace to my land, help us find Rhalina?"

Jhary shrugged.

"What shall I do, Jhary?"

But Jhary refused to reply, so Corum looked directly
into the face of Kwll. "I will give you back your hand on
condition that you will use your great powers to destroy the
rule of Chaos on the Fifteen Planes, that you will slay
Mabelrode, the King of the Swords, that you will help me
discover where my love, the Lady Rhalina, lies, that you
will help me bring peace to my own world so that it may
dwell under the rule of Law. Say you will do this."

"I will do it."

"Then willingly I offer you the key. Take your hand,
Lost God, for it has brought me little but pain!"

"You fool!" It was Jhary shouting. "I told you that..."

But his voice was faint and growing yet fainter. Corum
relived the torment he had suffered in the forest, when
Glandyth had struck off his hand. He screamed as the pain
came to his wrist once more and then there was fire in his
face and he knew that Kwll had plucked his brother's


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jeweled eye from his skull, now that his powers were
restored. Red darkness swam in his brain. Red fire drained
his energy. Red pain consumed his flesh.

". . . they obey only one law—the law of loyalty to each
other!" Jhary shouted. "I prayed your decision would not
be this."

"I am . . ." Corum spoke thickly, looking at the stump
where the hand had been, touching the smooth flesh where
his eye had been. "I am a cripple once again."

"And I am whole." Kwll's strange voice had not
changed in tone, but his jeweled body glowed the brighter
and he stretched his four legs and all his four arms and he
sighed with pleasure. "Whole."

In one of his hands the Lost God held his brother's eye
and he held it so that it shone in the blue light from the city.
"And free," he said. "Soon, brother, we shall range again
the Million Spheres as we always ranged before our
fight—in joy and in delight at all the variety of things. We
two are the only beings who really know pleasure! I must
find you brother!"

"The bargain," said Corum insistently, ignoring Jhary.
"You told me you would help me, Kwll."

"Mortal, I make no bargains, I obey no laws save the
one of which you have already learned. I care not for Law
nor for Chaos nor for the Cosmic Balance. Kwll and
Rhynn exist for the love of existence and nothing else and
we do not concern ourselves with the illusory struggles of
petty mortals and their pettier gods. Do you not know that
you dream of these gods—that you are stronger than
they—that when you are fearful, why then you bring
fearsome gods upon yourselves? Is this not evident to
you?"

"I do not understand your words. I say that you must
keep your bargain."

"I go now to seek my brother, Rhynn, and toss this eye
somewhere where he may easily find it and so be free like
me."

"Kwll! You owe me much!"

"Owe? I acknowledge no debts save my debt to myself
to follow my own desires and those of my brother. Owe?
What do I owe?"

"Without me, you would not now be free."

"Without my previous aid you would not now be alive.
Be grateful."

"I have been ill-used by gods, Kwll. I weary of it. A
pawn of Chaos and then Law and now Kwll. At least Law
acknowledges that power must have responsibility. You
are no better than the Lords of Chaos!"

"Untrue! We harm no one, Rhynn and I. What pleasure


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is there in playing these silly games of Law and Chaos, of
manipulating the fate of mortals and demigods? You
mortals are used because you wish to be used, because you
can then place the responsibility of your actions upon these
gods of yours. Forget all gods—forget me. You'll be
happier."

"Yet you did use me, Kwll. That you must admit."

Kwll turned his back on Corum, tossing a dark, many-
barbed spear into the air and making it vanish. "I use many
things—I use my weapons—but I do not feel indebted to
them once they are no longer of use."

"You are unjust, Kwll!"

"Justice?" Kwll shook with laughter. "What is that?"

Corum   poised himself to spring at the Lost God, but
Jhary   held him back. The dandy said, "If you train a dog to
fetch   your quarry for you, Kwll, you reward it, do you not?
Then,   if you need it, it will fetch for you again."

Kwll spun round on his four legs, his faceted eyes
glittering. "But if it will not, then one trains a new dog."

"I am immortal," Jhary said. "And I will make it my
business to warn all the other dogs that there is nought to
be gained from running the Lost Gods' errands ..."

"I have no further need of dogs."

"Have you not? Even you cannot anticipate what will
come about after the Conjunction of the Million Spheres."

"I could destroy you, mortal who is immortal."

"You would be as petty as those you despise."

"Then I will help you." Kwll flung back his jeweled head
and laughed so that even Tanelorn seemed to shake with
his mirth. "It will save me time, I think."

"You will keep your bargain?"             Corum demanded.

"I admit no bargain. But I will help you." Kwll leaped
forward suddenly and seized Corum under one arm and
Jhary under another. "First, to the Realm of the King of
the Swords,"

And blue Tanelorn was gone and all around them rose
the unstable stuff of Chaos, dancing like lava in an
erupting volcano, and through it Corum saw Rhalina.

But Rhalina was five thousand feet high.

The Fourth Chapter

THE KING OF THE SWORDS

Kwll set them down and stared at the gigantic woman. "It
is not flesh," he said. "It is a castle."

It was a castle fashioned to resemble Rhalina. But what


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had built it and for what purpose? And where was Rhalina
herself?

"We'll visit the castle," Kwll said, stepping through the
leaping Chaos matter as another might pass through
smoke. "Stay closely with me."

They walked on until they came to a flight of white stone
steps which led up and up into the distance and ended
finally at a doorway set in the navel of the towering statue.
His four legs moving surprisingly clumsily, Kwll began to
climb the steps. He was singing to himself.

At last they reached the top and entered the circular
doorway to find themselves in a great hall illuminated by
light which poured downward from the distant head.

And in the center of the light stood a great group of
creatures, all armed as if ready for battle. These creatures

were both malformed and beautiful and they wore a variety
of kinds of armor and bore a variety of weapons. Some had
heads which resembled those of beasts, while some looked
like beautiful women. They were all smiling at the three
who entered the chamber. And Corum knew them for the
gathered Dukes of Hell—those who served Mabelrode, the
King of the Swords.

Kwll, Corum, and Jhary paused at the doorway. Kwll
bowed and smiled back and they seemed a little astonished
to see him but plainly did not recognize what he was. Their
ranks parted and there stood two more figures.

One of them was tall and naked but for a light robe. His
white skin was smooth and without hair and his body was
perfectly proportioned. Long, fair hair flowed to his
shoulders, but he had no face. Completely featureless skin
covered the head where the eyes and the nose and the
mouth would have been.

Corum knew this must be Mabelrode, who was called
the Faceless.

The other figure was Rhalina.

"I hoped you would come," said the King of the Swords,
though he had no lips to form the words. "That is why I
built my castle—to act as a lure to you when you returned
to seek your lady. Mortals are so loyal!"

"Aye, we are that," agreed Corum. "Are you safe,
Rhalina?"

"I am safe—and my fury keeps me sane," she said. "I
thought you dead, Corum, when the sky ship was wrecked.
But this creature told me it was unlikely. Have you found
help? It seems not. You have lost your hand and your eye
again, I see." She spoke flatly.

Tears came into Corum's eye. "Mabelrode will pay for
having discomforted you," he told her.

The faceless god laughed and his dukes laughed with


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him. It was as if beasts had learned the power of laughter.
Mabelrode reached behind Rhalina and drew out a great
golden sword, which dazzled them with its light. "I swore
that I would avenge both Arioch and Xiombarg," said
Mabelrode the Faceless. "I swore I would not risk my life
or my position until you, Corum, were in my power. And

when Duke Teer was tricked by you" (Duke Teer lowered
his porcine head at this) "into fighting our servant
Glandyth, whom I also allowed to play a part in preparing
my trap, then you almost fled into my snare. But something
happened. Only the girl was caught and you and the other
thing vanished. So I used the girl, this tune, as bait. And I
waited. And you came. And now I may administer your
punishment. My first intention is to mold your flesh a little,
mixing it with that of your companions until you become
more foul to look upon than anything of mine you affect to
loathe. As this I will let you linger a year or two—or
however long your little brain can endure it—and then I
will restore you to your original forms and make you hate
each other and lust for each other at the same time—you
are already experienced, I think, of something I can do in
that direction Then . . ."

"What mundane imaginations these Lords of Chaos
have," said Kwll in his many-toned voice. "What modest
ambitions they entertain! What petty dreams they dream."
He laughed. "They are hardly men, let alone gods."

The Dukes of Hell fell silent and turned their heads to
watch their king.

Mabelrode held his golden sword in his two hands and
from it burst a thousand shadows, all twisting and dancing
in the air, all suggesting shapes to Corum, but shapes which
he could not name.

"My power is not mundane, creature! What are you that
you can mock the most powerful of the Sword Rulers,
Mabelrode the Faceless?"

"I do not mock," said Kwll. "I am Kwll." He reached
into the air and took a several-bladed sword from it. "I
state that which is evident."

"Kwll is dead," said Mabelrode, "as Rhynn is dead.
Dead. You are a charlatan. Your conjuring is not
entertaining."

"I am Kwll."

"Kwll is dead."

"I am Kwll."

Three of the Dukes of Hell rushed at the being then,
their swords raised.

"Slay him," said Mabelrode, "so that I may begin to
have the pleasure of my vengeance."

Kwll plucked two more many-bladed swords from the
air. He let the swords of the Dukes of Hell fall upon his


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jeweled body before casually skewering each one of them
and tossing them away so that they vanished.

"Kwll," he said. "The power of the multiverse is mine."

"No single being can have such power!" Mabelrode
shouted. "The Cosmic Balance denies it."

"I do not obey the Cosmic Balance, however," said Kwll
reasonably. He turned to Corum and Jhary and he handed
Corum the Eye of Rhynn. "I will dispense with these. Take
my brother's eye to your own plane and cast it into the sea.
There'll be no need for you to do else."

"And Glandyth?"

"Surely you can deal with a fellow mortal without my
aid. You grow lazy, mortal."

"But—Rhalina . . ."

"Ah."

Kwll's hand seemed to extend through the gathered
ranks of the Dukes of Hell, past King Mabelrode the
Faceless, and pluck Rhalina from the Sword Ruler's side.

"There."

Rhalina sobbed in Corum's arms.

Corum heard Mabelrode cry, "Summon all my strength!
Summon all the creatures of all the planes who are pledged
to me. Ready yourselves, my Dukes of Hell! Chaos must be
defended!"

Jhary shouted back at him, "Do you fear one being,
King of the Swords? Just one?"

Mabelrode's golden sword flickered in his hand. His
back seemed bowed, his voice was low. "I fear Kwll," he
said.

"You are wise to do so," said Kwll. He waved one of his
hands. "Now, let us dismiss all these silly trappings and
concern ourselves with the fight."

The castle shaped like Rhalina began to melt around
them. The Dukes of Hell cried out in terror, their shapes
changing as they sought to find the one which would serve

them best. Mabelrode the Faceless began to increase in size
until his huge, faceless head loomed over them.

Fierce colors slashed the skies. Pools of darkness
appeared. Screams were heard and grunts and sucking
sounds. From all points came things which hopped and
things which slithered and things which galloped and things
which flew and things which walked—all things of Chaos
come to aid King Mabelrode.

Kwll tapped Jhary on the shoulder and the dandy
disappeared.



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Corum gasped. "Even you cannot go against the entire
strength of Chaos! I regret my bargain. I release you from
it!"

"I made no bargain." Two hands came out and tapped
Corum and Rhalina. Corum felt himself being drawn away
from the realm of Chaos.

"They will destroy you, Kwll!"

"I admit I have not fought for some time, but doubtless I
will remember my old skills."

Corum glimpsed the roaring terror that was Chaos
hurling itself upon the Lost God. "No . . ."

He struggled to draw his own sword, but he was falling
now. Falling as he had fallen once before when the sky ship
had been wrecked. But this time he held tightly to Rhalina.

Even as his senses clouded he kept his grip upon her arm
until he heard her calling his name.

"Corum! Corum! You pain me!"

His eyes were closed. He opened them. She and he were
standing on blackened stone and the sea was all around
them. He did not recognize the place at first, for the castle
was no longer there. And then he remembered that
Glandyth had burned it.

They stood on Moidel's Mount.

The tide was beginning to go out and they glimpsed the
causeway as it was slowly uncovered.

"Look," said Rhalina, pointing toward the forest.

He looked and he saw several corpses.

"So the strife continues," he said. He was about to help
her to climb down when he looked at the thing he had

clutched even as he had clutched Rhalina with his single
hand. It was the Eye of Rhynn.

He drew back his arm and flung it far out into the sea. It
flashed in the air and then disappeared beneath the waves.

"I am not sorry to see that dismissed at last," he said.

The Fifth Chapter
THE LAST OF GLANDYTH

When they had crossed the causeway and reached the
mainland, they could better distinguish the corpses
sprawled near the edge of the forest. They were of their old
enemies, the Pony Tribesmen. They had fought each other
savagely and for some time, by all the signs. They lay in
their furs and their necklets and bracelets of copper and
bronze with their crude swords and axes in their hands,
each man bearing at least a dozen wounds. They had
plainly been gripped by the Cloud of Contention, which the
Nhadragh's sorcery had brought to the land. Corum bent


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down and inspected the nearest corpse.

"Not dead long," he said. "It means the sickness is still
strong. And yet it does not touch us. Perhaps it takes time
to enter our brains. Ah, the poor folk of Lywm-an-
Esh—my poor Vadhagh . . ."

A movement in the trees.

Corum drew his sword, feeling for the first time the lack
of his left hand and right eye. He felt off-balance. Then he
grinned in relief.

It was Jhary-a-Conel leading three of the dead
Tribesmen's ponies by their bridle ropes.

"Not the most comfortable beasts to ride, but better than
walking. Where do you head for, Corum. For Halwyg?"

Corum shook his head. "I have been thinking of the only
positive deed we can try to perform. There's little to be
done in Halwyg. I doubt if Glandyth has yet set up his
court there, for, doubtless, he still hunts for us on other
planes. We'll go to Erorn, I think. There is a boat there we
can use and it will take us to the Nhadragh Isles."

"Where the sorcerer dwells who has put this spell upon
the world."

"Just so."

Jhary-a-Conel stroked his cat under its chin. "Your idea
is sound, Corum Jhaelen Irsei. Let us make speed,"

Soon they were mounted on the shaggy ponies and were
driving them as hard as they could go through the woods of
Bro-an-Vadhagh. Twice they were forced to hide while
small groups of Vadhagh hunted each other. Once they
witnessed a massacre, but there was nothing they could do
to save the victims.

Corum was relieved to sight the towers of Castle Erorn
at long last, for he had wondered if Glandyth or some other
had destroyed it again. The castle was as they had left it.
The snow had all melted and a mild spring was beginning
to touch the trees and shrubs. Gratefully they entered the
castle.

But they had forgotten the retainers.

The retainers had not resisted the sickness long. They
found two corpses just inside the doorway, horribly
butchered. Others were elsewhere in the castle and all had
been murdered save one—the last survivor, his aggression
had turned to self-hatred and he had hanged himself in one
of the rooms of music. His presence caused the fountains
and the crystals to make a sour, dreadful sound which
almost drove Corum, Rhalina, and Jhary back out of the
castle.

The work of disposing of the corpses done, Corum took
the passage down to the large sea-cave below the castle.
Here was the little boat in which he and Rhalina had sailed


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for pleasure in the short-lived days of peace. It was ready
for immediate use.

Rhalina and Jhary brought down the provisions while
Corum checked the rigging and the sail. They waited for
the tide to turn and then sailed beneath the great, rugged
arch of the sea cave and out into open water. It would be
two days before they sighted the first of the Nhadragh
Isles.

With only the sea surrounding him, Corum thought

about his adventures upon the different planes. He had
entered so many worlds he had lost count of them. Were
there really a million spheres, each sphere containing a
number of planes? It was hard to conceive of so many
worlds. And on each world a struggle was taking place.

"Are there no worlds which know permanent peace?" he
asked Jhary as he took over the rudder of the boat while
the dandy adjusted the sail. "Are there none, Jhary?"

The dandy shrugged. "Perhaps there are, though I have
never seen one. Perhaps it is not my fate to see one. But it
is basic to Nature to know struggle of some kind, surely?"

"Some creatures live in peace all their lives."

"Aye, some do. There is a legend that once there was
only one world—one planet like ours—which was tranquil
and perfect. But something evil invaded it and it learned
strife and in learning strife created other examples of itself
where strife could flourish the better. But there are many
legends which say the past was perfect or that the future will
be perfect. I have seen many pasts and many futures. None
of them were perfect, my friend."

Corum felt the boat rock and he tightened his grip on the
rudder. The waves became larger and the sea was choppy.

Rhalina pointed into the distance. "The Wading
God—see! He goes toward our coast, still fishing."

"Perhaps the Wading God knows peace," said Corum
when the sea settled and the giant had gone.

Jhary stroked the head of his cat. The little creature
looked nervously at the water. "I think not," said Jhary
quietly.

Another day went by before they saw the outer islands
of the group. They were predominantly dark green and
brown and as they sailed by them they saw the black ruins
of the towns and the castles which the Mabden had fired
when they had come reaving to the Nhadragh Isles. Once
or twice a shambling figure would wave to them from a
beach but they ignored him, for doubtless the Cloud of
Contention had touched those who were left of the
Nhadragh.

"There," said Corum. "That large island. It is Maliful,

where lies the city of Os and the Nhadragh sorcerer Ertil. I


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think I feel the Cloud of Contention begin to gnaw again at
my brain . . ."

"Then we had best hurry and do our work, if we can,"
Jhary said.

They landed the small boat on a stony, deserted beach
quite close to Os, whose walls they could already see.

"Go, Whiskers," murmured Jhary to his cat, "show us
the way to the sorcerer's keep."

The cat spread its wings and flew high into the air,
hovering to keep pace with them as they moved cautiously
toward the city. Then, as they climbed over the rubble of
what had once been a gateway and began to make their
way through piles of weed-grown masonry, the cat flew to
the squat building with the yellow dome upon its roof. It
flew twice around the dome and then came back to settle
on Jhary's shoulder.

Corum felt a twinge of annoyance at the cat. It was
reasonless anger and he knew what caused it. He began to
run toward the squat building.

There was only one entrance and it was filled with a
hard, wooden door.

"To break that," whispered Jhary, "would be to make
our presence known. Look, here—steps lead up the side."

A flight of stone steps led to the roof and up these the
three went, Rhalina following in the wake of the men.

Together, they crept up to the dome and peered inside.
At first it was hard to make out what was in there. They
saw the clutter of parchments and animal cages and
cauldrons. But there was a form moving about in one
corner. It could only be the sorcerer.

"I'm tired of this caution!" Corum shouted. "Let's end it
now!" With a yell he reversed his sword hilt and struck
heavily at the dome. It groaned and a crack appeared. He
struck again and the stuff shattered, falling into the room.

But Corum had released a stink which drove them back
for a few yards until it had dispersed in the cleaner outer
air. Corum, feeling the unreasoning fury rising in him

again, dashed to the edge of the broken dome and leaped
through the hole he had made, landing with a crash upon
the scored table below.

Sword ready, he glared around him.

And what he saw drove the fury from his head. It was
the Nhadragh, Ertil.

The corrupt sorcerer had plainly succumbed to his own
spell. There was foam on his lips. His dark eyes rolled.

"I killed them," he said, "as I will kill you. They would
not obey me—so I killed them."


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With his one remaining arm he held up his severed leg.
Another leg and an arm bled nearby.

"I killed them!"

Corum turned away, kicking out at the bubbling
cauldron, the vials of herbs and chemicals, scattering them
about the room.

"I killed them!" babbled the sorcerer. His voice rose to a
shriek and then subsided. The blood was pouring from his
body. He would only live a few seconds more.

"How made you the Cloud of Contention?" Corum
asked him.

Weakly Ertil grinned and gestured with the severed leg.
"There—the censer. Only a little censer—but it has
destroyed you all!"

"Not all." Corum grabbed the censer by its chains and
immersed it in one of the cauldrons. Green steam boiled
from its sides and evil faces flickered in that steam for a
moment before fading away.

"I have destroyed that which destroyed so many of my
folk, sorcerer," Corum said.

Ertil looked up at him through glazed eyes. "Then
destroy me, too, Vadhagh. I deserve it"

Corum shook his head. "I'll let you continue to die in the
manner you chose."

From above came Jhary's voice.
"Corum!"

The Prince in the Scarlet Robe looked up and saw
Jhary's face framed in the hole of the dome. Jhary looked
daunted.

"What is it, Jhary?"

"Glandyth must have sensed the decline in the sorcerer's
sanity."

"What mean you?"

"He comes, Corum. His beasts still bear him."

Corum sheathed his sword and jumped from the table.
"I'll join you below. I can't get back that way."

He stepped over what was left of Ertil the Nhadragh and
he pulled open the door. As he went down the stairs he
heard the voices of the caged animals chattering and
crying, begging him to release them.

Outside Jhary was already waiting for him with Rhalina,
Corum took Rhalina and made her enter the building.

"Stay there, Rhalina. It is a foul place but it offers
greater safety. Please stay there."


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Black wings beat in the sky. Glandyth was near.

Corum and Jhary ran out until they stood in what had
once been a square. Now piles of rubble filled it.

The Denledhyssi were fewer in number. Doubtless some
had died in the encounter with Duke Teer. But there were
still a dozen black monsters in the air above Os.

A blood-curdling yell of triumph suddenly sounded from
the sky and it echoed through the ruined city.

"Corum!"

It was Glandyth-a-Krae and he had seen his enemy.

"Where are your sorcerous hand and eye, Shefanhow?
Gone back to the netherworld you conjured them from,
eh?"

Glandyth began to laugh.

"So, after all, we are to die at the hands of the Mabden,"
Corum said quietly as he watched the black beasts land on
the far side of the square. "Prepare to perish, Jhary."

They waited with their swords ready as Glandyth
dismounted from his Chaos monster and began to tramp
across the ruins, his Denledhyssi at his back.

Thinking that he might save Jhary and Rhalina, Corum
called to the huge man, "Will you fight me fairly, Earl
Glandyth? Will you tell your men to stand back while we
battle?"

Glandyth-a-Krae adjusted his bulky furs on his back and

he tilted his helm further over his red face. Laughter
exploded from his thick lips. "If you think it is fair for me
to fight a wretch with but one hand and one eye, yes, I'll
fight you, Corum." He winked at his men. "Stand back as
he says. I'll let you have his other hand and his other eye in
a little while."

The barbarians yelled with mirth at their leader's jest.

The Mabden earl came closer until only a few yards
separated them. He glowered at the Vadhagh.

"You have caused me much discomfort of late,
Shefanhow. But now my pleasure makes me forget it all. I
am most glad to see you." He drew his great war-axe from
his belt and slid his sword from its scabbard. "We shall
complete what was begun in the woods at Castle Erorn."

He took a step forward but then a frightened yell from
his men made him stop and glance back.

The black beasts were rising into the air and flying
eastward. And as they flew they vanished.

"Going back to Chaos," Corum told Glandyth. "Their
master needs them, for he is hard pressed. If I kill you,


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Glandyth, will your men set me free?"

Glandyth grinned his wolf grin, "They love me greatly,
do my Denledhyssi."

"So I have little to gain," Corum said. "One moment."
He murmured to Jhary, "Take Rhalina now. Get to the
boat. Even if I am killed the Denledhyssi have no
transportation now and will not be able to follow you. It is
the wisest thing, Jhary, do not deny that."

Jhary sighed. "I do not deny it. I will do as you say. I
go."

"You will let him leave Os, will you not?" Corum said.

Glandyth shrugged. "Very well. If we become bored we
can always hunt him down later. And do not think that I
miss the loss of a few Chaos beasts. I have my own sorcerer
to conjure up something new if I need it."

"Ertil?"

Glandyth's unhealthy eyes narrowed. "What of Ertil?"

"He has killed himself. The Cloud of Contention
reached even him."

"No matter. I will—haaiii!" The Earl of Krae flung

himself suddenly at Corum, the battle-axe and the sword
slashing from two sides.

Corum jumped back, caught his foot, fell as the axe
whistled over his head. He rolled as the sword clashed
down on the block of masonry where he had lain. He
supported himself on the stump of his left hand and got to
his feet, blocking a wild blow from the axe.

The barbarian was as strong and as swift as ever, for all
his girth. His presence alone made Corum feel as weak as a
child in comparison. He strove to take the offensive, but
Glandyth allowed him no respite, forcing him further and
further back over the rubble. Corum's only hope was that
Jhary had managed to get Rhalina to the boat and that, by
the time Glandyth slew him, they would be sailing back for
Castle Erorn.

Both axe and sword came down on Corum's upraised
blade and his arm went numb beneath the force of the
blow. He slid his sword down the haft of the axe, trying to
cut Glandyth's fingers, but the Earl of Krae withdrew the
axe and aimed it at Corum's head.

Corum dodged and the axe sheared off the links of the
byrnie on his left shoulder but only grazed the flesh.

Glandyth grinned. His foul breath was in Corum's face,
his mad eyes were full of death-lust. He stabbed with his
sword and Corum felt the steel slide into his thigh. He
backed off and saw that there was blood running down the
silver mail.



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Panting, Glandyth paused, readying himself for the kill.

And Corum dashed in, struck with his blade at
Glandyth's face and gashed his cheek before the
barbarian's sword came up and pushed away his weapon.

Blood continued to pour from the wound in his thigh.
Corum hobbled backward over the ruins, trying to put a
little distance between himself and his enemy. Glandyth
did not follow but stood there, relishing Corum's pain.

"I think I can still have the pleasure of making your
death a slow one. Would you care to run a little way,
Prince Corum, to purchase a few extra seconds of life?"

Corum straightened his back. He was almost fainting.
He could say nothing. He stared at Glandyth through his

single eye and then he took a step forward.

Glandyth chuckled. "I slew all your race, save you.
Now, after much patient waiting, I can slay the last of your
filthy kind."

Corum took another step forward.

Glandyth readied his weapons. "You want to die, eh?"

Corum swayed. He could hardly see the Earl of Krae.
He raised his sword with difficulty and tried to take a
further step.

"Come," said Glandyth, "come."

A shadow passed over the ruins. At first Corum thought
he imagined it. He shook his head to try to clear it.

Glandyth had seen the shadow, too. His red mouth fell
open in astonishment, his bloodshot eyes widened.

And while he stared up at the thing which cast the
shadow, Corum fell forward behind his sword and plunged
the steel into Glandyth's throat.

Glandyth made a hollow, gurgling sound and blood
welled from his mouth.

"For my family," said Corum.

The shadow moved on. It was a giant who cast it. A
giant with a great net, which he cast down over the terrified
men of the Denledhyssi and dragged them upward and
hurled their bodies far out over the city. It was a giant with
two glittering, jeweled eyes.

Corum fell down beside the corpse of Glandyth-a-Krae,
looking up at the giant. "The Wading God," he said.

Jhary appeared beside him, staunching the blood from
his thigh. "The Wading God," he said to Corum. "But he
no longer fishes the seas of the world for he found what he
sought."

"His soul?"


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"His eye. The Wading God is Rhynn."

Corum's vision was even more blurred. But through a
pink mist he saw Kwll come, a grin upon his jeweled face.

"Your Chaos gods are gone," said Kwll. "With my
brother's help I slew them all and all their minions."

"I thank you," Corum said thickly. "And Lord Arkyn
will thank you, too."

Kwll chuckled. "I think not."

"Why—why so?"

"For good measure we slew the Lords of Law as well.
Now you mortals are free of gods on these planes."

"But Arkyn—Arkyn was good . . ."

"Find the same good in yourselves if that is what you
respect. It is the time of the Conjunction of the Million
Spheres and that means change—profound alterations in
the nature of existence. Perhaps that was our function—to
rid the Fifteen Planes of its silly gods and their silly
schemes."

"But the Balance . . . ?"

"Let it swing up and down with a will. It has nothing to
weigh now. You are on your own, mortal—you and your
kind. Farewell."

Corum tried to speak again, but the pain in his thigh
swamped all thought At last he fainted.

Once more Kwll's many-toned voice sounded in his skull
before his senses were engulfed completely.

"Now you can make your own destiny."

EPILOGUE

Again the land had healed and again mortals went about
their business, repairing what had been destroyed. A new
king was found for Lywm-an-Esh, and the Vadhagh who
had escaped death returned to their castles.

At Castle Erorn by the sea Corum Jhaelen Irsei, the
Prince in the Scarlet Robe, recovered his health, thanks to
the potions of Jhary-a-Conel and the nursing of the Lady
Rhalina and he found a new hobby for himself,
remembering what he had seen at the doctor's house when
trapped upon -the plane of Lady Jane Pentallyon, which
was the manufacture of artificial hands. He had yet to
make one that satisfied him.

One day came Jhary-a-Conel in his hat with his bag on
his back and his cat on his shoulder and he said good-bye
to them with some reluctance. They begged him to stay, to
enjoy the peace they had earned.

"For a world without gods is a world without much to


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fear," said Corum.

"That is true," Jhary agreed.

"Then stay," said the Lady Rhalina.

"But," said Jhary, "I go to seek worlds where gods still
rule, for I am not suited to any other. And," he added, "I
would hate it if I came to blame myself for my misfortunes.
That would not do at all! Gods—a sense of an omniscience
not far away—demons—destinies which cannot be
denied—absolute evil—absolute good—I need it all."

Corum smiled. "Then go if you will and remember that
we love you. But do not despair entirely of this world,
Jhary. New gods can always be created."

This ends the third and final
Book of Corum




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