The Knight of Swords

The First Chapter THE WALKING GOD

Corum's leavetaking from Rhalina had not been easy. It had been full of tension. There had been no love in her eyes as he had embraced her, only concern for him and fear for both of them.

This had disturbed him, but there had been nothing he could do.

Shool had given him a quaintly shaped boat and he had sailed away. Now sea stretched in all directions. With a lodestone to guide him, Corum sailed north for the Thousand-League Reef.

Corum knew that he was mad, in Vadhagh terms. But he supposed that he was sane enough in Mabden terms. And this was, after all, now a Mabden world. He must learn to accept its peculiar disorders as the norm, if he ware going to survive. And there were many reasons why he wished to survive, Rhalina not least among them. He was the last of the Vadhagh, yet he could not believe it. The powers available to sorcerers like Shool might be controlled by others. The nature of time could be tampered with. The circling planes could be halted in their course, perhaps reversed. The events of the past year could be changed, perhaps eradicated completely. Corum proposed to live and, in living, to learn.

And if he learned enough, perhaps he would gain sufficient power to fulfill his ambitions and restore a world to the Vadhagh and the Vadhagh to the world.

It would be just, he thought.

The boat was of beaten metal on which were many raised and assymetrical designs. It gave off a faint glow which offered Corum both heat and light during the nights, for the sailing was long. Its single mast bore a single square sail of samite smeared with a strange substance that also shone and turned, without Corum's guidance, to catch any wind. Corum sat in the boat wrapped in his scarlet robe, his war gear laid beside him, his silver helm upon his head, his double byrnie covering him from throat to knee. From time to time he would hold up his lodestone by its string. The stone was shaped like an arrow and the head pointed always north.

He thought much of Rhalina and his love for her. Such a love had never before existed between a Vadhagh and a Mabden. His own folk might have considered his feelings for Rhalina degenerate, much as a Mabden would suspect such feelings in a man for his mare, but he was attracted to her more than he had been attracted to any Vadhagh woman and he knew that her intelligence was a match for his. It was her moods he found hard to understand-her intimations of doom-her superstition.

Yet Rhalina knew this world better than he. It could be that she was right to entertain such thoughts. His lessons were not yet over.

On the third night, Corum slept, his new hand on the boat's tiller, and in the morning he was awakened by bright sunshine in his eyes.

Ahead lay the Thousand-League Reef.

It stretched from end to end of the horizon and there seemed to be no gap in the sharp fangs of rock that rose from the foaming sea.

Shool had warned him that few had ever found a passage through the reef and now he could understand why. The reef was unbroken. It seemed not of natural origin at all, but to have been placed there by some entity as a bastion against intruders. Perhaps the Knight of the Swords had built it.

Corum decided to sail in an easterly direction along the reef, hoping to find somewhere where he could land the boat and perhaps drag it overland to the waters that lay beyond the reef.

He sailed for another four days, without sleep, and the reef offered neither a passage through nor a place to land.

A light mist, tinged pink by the sun, now covered the water in all directions and Corum kept away from the reef by using his lodestoae and by listening for the sounds of the surf on the rocks. He drew out his maps, pricked out on skin, and tried to judge his position. The maps were crude and probably inaccurate, but they were the best Shool had had. He was nearing a narrow channel between the reef and a land marked on the map as Khoolocrah. Shool had been unable to tell him much about the land, save that a race called the Ragha-da-Kheta lived thereabouts.

In the light from the boat, he peered at the maps, hoping to distinguish some gap in the reef marked there, but there was none.

Then the boat began to rock rapidly and Corum glanced about him, seeking the source of this sudden eddy. Far away, the surf boomed, but then he heard another sound, to the south of him, and he looked there.

The sound was a regular rushing and slapping noise, like that of a man wading through a stream. Was this some beast of the sea? The Mabden seemed to fear many such monsters. Corum clung desperately to the sides, trying to keep the boat on course away from the rocks, but the waves increased their agitation.

And the sound came closer.

Corum picked up his long, strong sword and readied himself.

He saw something in the mist then. It was a tall, bulky shape-the outline of a man. And the man was dragging something behind him,. A fishing net! Were the waters so shallow, then? Corum leaned over the side and lowered his sword, point downward, into the sea. It did not touch bottom. He could make out the ocean floor a long way below him. He looked back at the figure. Now he realized that his eyes and the mist had played tricks on him. The figure was still some distance from him and it was gigantic-far huge'r than the Giant of Laahr. This was what made the waves so large. This was why the boat rocked so.

Corum made to call out, to ask the gigantic creature to move away lest he sink the boat, then he thought better of it. Beings like this were considered to think less kindly of mortals than did the Giant of Laahr.

Now the giant, still cloaked in mist, changed his course, still fishing. He was behind Corum's boat and he trudged on through the water, dragging his nets behind him.

The wash sent the boat flying away from the Thousand-League Reef, heading almost due east, and there was nothing Corum could do to stop it He fought with the sail and the tiller, but they would not respond. It was as if he was borne on a river rushing toward a chasm. The giant had set up a current which he could not fight.

There was nothing for it but to allow the boat to bear him where it would. The giant had long since disappeared in the mist, heading toward the Thousand-League Reef, where perhaps he lived.

Like a shark pouncing on its prey, the little boat moved, until suddenly it broke through the mist into hot sunshine.

And Corum saw a coast. Cliffs rushed at him.

The Second Chapter TEMGOL-LEP

Desperately Corum tried to turn the boat away from the cliffs. His six-fingered left hand gripped the tiller and his right hand tugged at the sail.

Then there was a grinding sound. A shudder ran through the metal boat and it began to keel over. Corum grabbed at his weapons and managed to seize them before he was flung overboard and carried on by the wash. He gasped as water filled his mouth. He felt his body scrape on shingle and he tried to stagger upright as the current began to retreat. He saw a rock and grasped it, dropping his bow and his quiver of arrows, which were instantly swept away.

The sea retreated. He looked back and saw that his upturned boat had gone with it. He let go of the rock and climbed to his feet, buckling his swordbelt around his waist, straightening his helmet on his head, a sense of failure gradually creeping through him.

He walked a few paces up the beach and sat down beneath the tall, black cliff. He was stranded on a strange shore, his boat was gone and his goal now lay on the other side of an ocean.

At that moment Corum did not care. Thoughts of love, of hatred, of vengeance disappeared. He felt that he had left them all behind in the dream world that was Svi-an-Fanla-Brool. All he had left of that world was the six-fingered hand and the jeweled eye.

Reminded of the eye and what it had witnessed, he shivered. He reached up and touched the patch that covered it.

And then he knew that by accepting Shool's gifts, he’d accepted the logic of Shool's world. He could not escape from it now.

Sighing, he got up and peered at the cliff. It was unscaleable. He began to walk along the gray shingle, hoping to discover a place where he could climb to the top of the cliff and inspect the land in which he found himself.

He took a gauntlet given him by Shool and drew it over his hand. He remembered what Shool had told him, before he left, about the powers of the hand. He still only half-believed ShooFs words and he was unwilling to test their veracity.

For more than an hour he trudged along the shore until he moved round a headland and saw a bay whose sides sloped gently upward and would be easily scaled. The tide was beginning to come in and would soon cover the beach. He began to run.

He reached the slopes and paused, panting. He had found safety in time. The sea had already covered the largest part of the beach. He climbed to the top of the slope and he saw the city.

It was a city of domes and minarets that blazed white in the light of the sun, but as he inspected it more closely Corum saw that the towers and domes were not white, but comprised of a multicolored mosaic. He had seen nothing like it.

He debated whether to avoid the city or approach it. If the people of the city were friendly, he might be able to get their help to find another boat. If they were Mabden, then they were probably unfriendly.

Were these the Rhaga-da-Kheta people mentioned on his maps? He felt for bis pouch, but the maps had gone with the boat, as had his lodestone. Despair returned.

He set off toward the city.

Corum had traveled less than a mile before the bizarre cavalry came racing toward him-warriors mounted on long-necked speckled beasts with curling horns and wattles like those of a lizard. The spindly legs moved swiftly, however, and soon Corum could see that the warriors were also very tall and extremely thin, but with small, rounded heads and round eyes. These were not Mabden, but they were like no race he had ever heard of.

He stopped and waited. There was nothing else he could do until he discovered if they were his enemies or not.

Swiftly, they surrounded him, peering down at him through their huge, staring eyes. Their noses and their mouths were also round and their expressions were ones of permanent surprise.

"Olanja ko?" said one wearing an elaborate cloak and hood of bright feathers and holding a club fashioned like the claw of a giant bird. "Olanja ko, drajer?"

Using the Low Speech of the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh, which was the common tongue of the Mabden, Corum replied, "I do not understand this language."

The creature in the feather cloak cocked his head to One side and closed his mouth. The other warriors, all dressed and armed similarly, though not as elaborately, muttered amongst themselves.

Corum pointed roughly southward. "I come from across the sea." Now he used Middle Speech, which Vadhagh and Nhadragh had spoken, but not Mabden.

The rider leaned forward as if this sound was more familiar to him, but then he shook his head, understanding none of the words.

"Olanja ko?"

Corum also shook his head. The warrior looked puzzled and made a delicate scratching gesture at his cheek. Corum could not interpret the gesture.

The leader pointed at one of his followers. "Mor naff a!" The man dismounted and waved one of his spindly arms at Corum, gesturing that he climb on the long-necked beast.

With some difficulty, Corum managed to swing himself into the narrow saddle and sit there, feeling extreme discomfort.

"Hoj!" The leader waved to his men and turned his mount back toward the city. "Hoj-ala!"

The beasts jogged off, leaving the remaining warrior to make his way back to the city on foot.

The city was surrounded by a high wall patterned with many geometric designs of a thousand colors. They entered it through a tall, narrow gate, moved through a series of walls that were probably designed as a simple maze, and began to ride along a broad avenue of blooming trees toward a palace that lay at the center of the city.

Reaching the gates of the palace, they all dismounted, and servants, as thin and tall as the warriors, with the same astonished round faces, took away the mounts. Corum was led through the gates, up a staircase of more than a hundred steps, into an enclave. The designs on the walls of the palace were less colorful but more elaborate than those on the outer walls of the city. These were chiefly in gold, white, and pale blue. Although faintly barbaric, the workmanship was beautiful and Corum admired it.

They crossed the enclave and entered a courtyard that was surrounded by an enclosed walk and had a fountain in its center.

Under an awning was a large chair with a tapering back. The chair was made of gold and a design was picked out upon it in rubies. The warriors escorting Corum came to a halt and almost immediately a figure emerged from the interior. He had a huge, high headdress of peacock feathers, a great cloak, also of many brilliant feathers, and a kilt of thin gold cloth. He took his place on the throne. This, then, was the ruler of the city.

The leader of the warriors and his monarch conversed briefly in their own language and Corum waited patiently, not wishing to behave in any way that these people would judge to be unfriendly.

At length the two creatures stopped conversing. The monarch addressed Corum. He seemed to speak several different tongues until at length Corum heard him say, in a strange accent.

"Are you of the Mabden race?"

It was the old speech of the Nhadragh, which Corum had learned as a child.

"I am not," he replied haltingly.

"But you are not Nhedregh."

"Yes-I am not-'Nhedregh.' You know of that folk?”

"Two of them lived amongst us some centuries since. What race are you?"

"The Vadhagh.”

The king sucked at his lips and smacked them. "The enemy, yes, of the Nhedregh?"

"Not now."

"Not now?" The king frowned.

"All the Vadhagh save me are dead," Corum explained."And what is left of those you call Nhedregh have become degenerate slaves of the Mabden."

"But the Mabden are barbarians!"

"Now they are very powerful barbarians."

The king nodded. "This was predicted." He studied Corum closely. "Why are you not dead?"

"I chose not to die."

"No choice was yours if Arioch decided."

"Who is 'Arioch'?"

"The God."

"Which God?"

“The God who rules our destinies. Duke Arioch the Swords."

"The Knight of the Swords?"

"I believe he is known by that title in the distant south." The king seemed deeply disturbed now. He licked; his lips. "I am King Temgol-Lep. This is my city, Arke. He waved his thin hand. "These are my people, the Ragha-da-Kheta. This land is called Khoolocrah. We, too, soon shall die."

"Why so?"

"It is Mabden time. Arioch decides." The shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Arioch decides. Soon Mabden will come and destroy us."

"You will fight them, of course."

"No. It is Mabden time. Arioch commands. He lets the Ragha-da-Kheta live longer because they obey him, because they do not resist him. But soon we shall die."

Corum shook his head. "Do you not think that Arioch is unjust to destroy you thus?"

"Arioch decides."

It occurred to Corum that these people had not been so fatalistic once. Perhaps they, too, were in a process of degeneration, caused by the Knight of the Swords.

"Why should Arioch destroy so much beauty and learning as you have here?"

"Arioch decides."

King Temgol-Lep seemed to be more familiar with the Knight of the Swords and his plans than anyone Corum. had yet met. Living so much closer to his domain, perhaps they had seen him.

"Has Arioch told you this himself?"

"He has spoken through our wise ones."

"And the wise ones-they are certain of Arioch's will?"

"They are certain."

Corum sighed. "Well, I intend to resist his plans. I do not find them agreeable!"

King Temgol-Lep drew his lids over his eyes and trembled slightly. The warriors looked at him nervously. Evidently they recognized that the king was displeased.

"I will speak no more about Arioch," King Temgol-Lep said. "But as our guest we must entertain you. You will drink some wine with us."

"I will drink some wine. I thank you." Corum would have preferred food to begin with, bat he was still cautious of giving offense to the Ragha-da-Kheta, who might yet supply him with the boat he needed.

The king spoke to some servants who were waiting in the shadows near the door into the palace. They went inside.

Soon they returned with a tray on which were tall, thin goblets and a golden jug. The king reached out and took the tray in his own hands, balancing it on his knee. Gravely, he poured wine into one of the cups and handed it to Corum.

Corum stretched out his left hand to receive the goblet.

The hand quivered.

Corum tried to control it, but it knocked the goblet away. The king looked startled and began to speak.

The hand plunged forward and its six fingers seized the king's throat.

King Temgol-Lep gurgled and kicked as Corum tried to pull the Hand of Kwlt away. But the fingers were locked on the throat. Corum could feel himself squeezing the life from the king.

Corum shouted for help before he realized that the warriors thought that he was attacking the king on his own volition. He drew his sword and hacked around him as they attacked with their oddly wrought clubs. They were plainly unused to battle, for their actions were clumsy and without proper coordination.

Suddenly the hand released King Temgol-Lep and Corom saw that he was dead.

His new hand had murdered a kindly and innocent creature! And it had ruined his chances of getting help from the Ragha-da-Kheta. It might even have killed him, for the warriors were very numerous.

Standing over the corpse of the king, he swept his sword this way and that, striking limbs from bodies, cutting into heads. Blood gushed everywhere and covered him, but he fought on.

Then, suddenly, there were no more living warriors. He stood in the courtyard while the gentle sun beat down and the fountain played and he looked at all the corpses. He raised his gauntleted alien hand and spat on it.

"Oh, evil thing! Rhalina was right! You have made me a murderer!"

But the hand was his again, it had no life of its own. He flexed the six fingers. It was now like any ordinary limb.

Save for the splashing of the water from the fountain, the courtyard was silent.

Corum looked back at the dead king and he shuddered. He raised his sword. He could cut the Hand of Kwll from him. Better to be crippled than to be the slave of so evil a thing!

And then the ground fell away from him and he plunged downward to fall with a crash upon the back of a beast that spit and clawed at him.

The Third Chapter THE DARK THINGS COME

Corum saw daylight above and then the flagstone slid back and he was in darkness with the beast that dwelled in the pit beneath die courtyard. It was snarling in a corner somewhere. He prepared to defend himself against it.

Then the snarling stopped and there was silence for a moment.

Corum waited.

He heard a shuffling. He saw a spark. The spark became a flame. The flame came from a wick that burned in a clay vessel full of oil.

The clay vessel was held by a filthy hand. And the hand belonged to a hairy creature whose eyes were full of anger.

"Who are you?" Corum said.

The creature shuffled again and placed the crude lamp in a niche on the wall. Corum saw that the chamber was covered in dirty straw. There was a pitcher and a plate and, at the far end, a heavy iron door. The place reeked of human excrement.

"Can you understand me?" Comm still spoke the Nhadragh tongue.

"Stop your gabbling." The creature spoke distantly, as if he did not expect Corum to know what he was saying. He had spoken in the Low Speech. "You will be like me soon."

Corum made no reply. He sheathed his sword and walked about the cell, inspecting it. There seemed no obvious way of escape. Above him he heard footsteps on the flagstones of the courtyard. He heard, quite clearly, the voices of the Rhaga-da-Kheta. They were agitated, almost hysterical.

The creature cocked his head and listened. "So that is what happened," he mused, staring at Corum and grinning to himself. "You killed the feeble little coward, eh? Hm, well I don't resent your company nearly so much. Though your stay will be short, I fear. I wonder how they will destroy you…"

Corum listened in silence, still not revealing that he understood the creature's words. He heard the sound of the corpses being dragged away overhead. More voices came and went.

"Now they are in a quandary," chuckled the creature. "They are only good at killing by stealth. What did they try to do to you, my friend, poison you? That's the way they usually get rid of those they fear."

Poison? Corum frowned. Had the wine been poisoned? He looked at the hand. Had it-known? Was it in some way sentient?

He decided to break bis silence. "Who are you?" he said in the Low Speech.

The creature began to laugh. "So you can understand me! Well, since you are my guest, I feel you should answer my questions first. You look like a Vadhagh to me, yet I thought all the Vadhagh had perished long since. Name yourself and your folk, Friend."

Corum said, "I am Corum Jhaelen Irsei-the Prince in the Scarlet Robe. And I am the last of the Vadhagh."

"And I am Hanafax of Pengarde, something of a soldier, something of a priest, something of an explorer-and something of a wretch, as you see. I hail from a land called Lywm-an-Esh-a land far to the west where…"

"I know of Lywm-an-Esh. I have been a guest of the Margravine of the East."

"What? Does that Margravate still exist? I had heard it had been washed away by the encroaching seas long since!"

"It may be destroyed by now. The Pony Tribes…"

"By Urleh! Pony Tribes! It is something from the histories."

"How come you to be so far from your own land, Sir Hanafax?"

"It's a long tale, Prince Corum. Arioch-as he is called here-does not smile on the folk of Lywm-an-Esh. He expects all the Mabden to do his work for him-chiefly in the reduction of the older races, such as your own. As you doubtless know, our folk have had no interest in destroying these races, for they have never harmed us. But Urleh is a kind of vassal deity to the Knight of the Swords. It was Urleh that I served as a priest. Well, it seems that Arioch grows impatient (for reasons of his own) and commands Urleh to command the people of Lywm-an-Esh to embark on a crusade, to travel far to the west where a seafolk dwell. These folk are only about fifty in all and live in castles built into coral. They are called the Shalafen. Urleh gave me Arioch’s command. I decided to believe that this was a false command-coming from another entity unfriendly to Urleh. My luck, which was never of the best, changed greatly then. There was a murder. I was blamed. I fled my lands and stole a ship. After several somewhat dull adventures, I found myself amongst this twittering people who so patiently await Arioch's destruction. I attempted to band them together against Arioch. They offered me wine, which I refused. They seized me and placed me here, where I have been for more than a few months."

"What will they do with you?"

"I cannot say. Hope that I die eventually, I suppose. They are a misguided folk and a little stupid, but they are not by nature cruel. Yet their terror of Arioch is so great that they dare not do anything that might offend him. In this way they hope he will let them live a year or two longer."

"And you do not know how they will deal with me? I killed their king, after all."

"That is what I was considering. The poison has failed. They would be very reluctant to use violence on you themselves. We shall have to see."

"I have a mission to accomplish," Corum told him. "I cannot afford to wait."

Hanafax grinned. "I think you will have to, Friend Corum! I am something of a sorcerer, as I told you. I have a few tricks, but none will work in this place, I know not why. And if sorcery cannot aid us, what can?"

Corum raised his alien hand and stared at it thoughtfully.

Then he looked into the hairy face of his fellow prisoner. "Have you ever heard of the Hand of Kwll?"

Hanafax frowned. "Aye… I believe I have. The sole remains of a God, one of two brothers who had some sort of feud… A legend, of course, like so many-"

Corum held up his left hand. "This is the Hand of Kwll. It was given me by a sorcerer, along with this eye-the Eye of Rhynn-and both have great powers, I am told."

"You do not know?"

"I have had no opportunity to test them."

Hanafax seemed disturbed. "Yet such powers are too great for a mortal, I would have thought. The consequences of using them would be monstrous…"

"I do not believe I have any choice. I have decided. I will call upon the powers of the Hand of Kwll and the Eye of Rhynn!"

"I trust you will remind them that I am on your side, Prince Corum."

Corum stripped the gauntlet from his six-fingered hand. He was shivering with the tension. Then he pushed the patch up to his forehead.

He began to see the darker planes. Again he saw the landscape on which a black sun shone. Again he saw the four cowled figures.

And this time he stared into their faces.

He screamed.

But he could not name the reason for his terror. He looked again.

The Hand of Kwll stretched out toward the figures. Their heads moved as they saw the hand. Their terrible eyes seemed to draw all the heat from his body, all the vitality from his soul. But he continued to look at them. The Hand beckoned. The dark figures moved toward Corum. He heard Hanafax say, "I see nothing. What are you summoning? What do you see?"

Corum ignored him. He was sweating now and every limb save the Hand of Kwll was shaking.

From beneath their robes the four figures drew huge scythes.

Corum moved numbed lips. "Here. Come to this plane. Obey me."

They came nearer and seemed to pass through a swirling curtain of mist.

Then Hanafax cried out in terror and disgust. "Gods! They are things from the Pits of the Dog! Shefanhow!" He jumped behind Corum. "Keep them off me, Vadhagh! Aah!"

Hollow voices issued from the strangely distorted mouths: "Master. We will do your will. We will do the will of Kwll."

"Destroy that door!" Corum commanded.

"Will we have our prize, master?"

"What prize is that?"

"A life for each of us, Master."

Corum shuddered. "Aye, very well, you'll have your prize."

The scythes rose up and the door fell down and the four creatures that were truly "Shefanhow" led the way into a narrow passage.

"My kite!" Hanafax murmured to Corum. "We can escape on that."

"A kite?"

"Aye. It flies and can take both of us."

The Shefanhow marched ahead. From them radiated a force that froze the skin.

They mounted some steps and another door was burst by the scythes of the cloaked creatures. There was daylight.

They found themselves in the main courtyard of the palace.

From all sides came warriors. This time they did not seem so reluctant to kill Corum and Hanafax, but they paused when they saw the four cloaked beings.

"There are your prizes," Corum said. “Take as many as you will and then return to whence you came,"

The scythes whirled in the sunshine. The Rhaga-da-Kheta fell back screaming.

The screaming grew louder.

The four began to titter. Then they began to roar. Then they began to echo the screams of their victims as their scythes swung and heads sprang from necks.

Sickened, Corum and Hanafax ran through the corridors of the palace. Hanafax led the way and eventually stopped outside a door.

Everywhere now the screams sounded and the loudest screams of all were those of the four.

Hanafax forced the door open. It was dark within. He began to rummage about in the room. "This is where I was when I was their guest. Before they decided that I had offended Arioch. I came here in my kite. Now…”

Corum saw more soldiers rushing down the corridor toward them.

"Find it quickly, Hanafax," he said. He leapt out to block the corridor with his sword.

The spindly beings came to a halt and looked at his sword. They raised their own bird-claw clubs and began cautiously to advance.

Corum's sword darted out and cut a warrior's throat. He collapsed in a tangle of legs and arms. Corum struck another in the eye.

The screams were dying now. Corum's foul allies were returning to their own plane with their prizes.

Behind Corum, Hanafax was dragging forth a dusty arrangement of rods and silk. "I have it, Prince Corum. Give me a short while to remember the spell I need."

Rather than being frightened by the deaths of their comrades, the Rhaga-da-Kheta seemed spurred on to fight more fiercely. Partly protected by a little mound of the slain, Corum fought on.

Hanafax began to call out something in a strange tongue. Corum felt a wind rise that ruffled his scarlet robe. Something grabbed him from behind and then he was rising into the air, over the heads of the Rhaga-da-Kheta, speeding along the corridor and into the open.

He looked down nervously.

The city was rushing past below them.

Hanafax dragged him into the box of yellow and green silk. Corum was sure he would fall, but the kite held.

The ragged, unkept figure beside him was grinning.

"So the will of Arioch can be denied," Corum said.

"Unless we are his instruments in this," said Hanafax, his grin fading.

The Fourth Chapter IN THE FLAMELANDS

Corum got used to the flight, though he still felt uncomfortable. Hanafax hummed to himself while he chopped at his hair and whiskers until a handsome, youngish face was revealed. Apparently without concern, he discarded his rags and drew on a clean doublet and pair of breeks he had brought with him in his bundle.

"I feel a thousand times improved. I thank you, Prince Corum, for visiting the City of Arke before I had entirely rotted away!" Corum had discovered that Hanafax could not sustain his moods of introspection but was naturally of a cheerful disposition.

"Where is this flying thing taking us, Sir Hanafax?"

"Ah, there's the problem," Hanafax said. "It is why I have found myself in more trouble than I sought. I cannot-um-guide the kite. It flies where it will."

They were over the sea now.

Corum clung to the struts and fixed his eyes ahead of him while Hanafax began a song which was not complementary either to Arioch or to the Dog God of the Eastern Mabden folk.

Then Corum saw something below and he said drily, "I would advise you to forget the insults to Arioch. We appear to be flying over the Thousand-League Reef. As I understand it, his domain lies somewhere beyond that."

"A fair distance, though. I hope the kite brings us down soon."

They reached the coast. Corum screwed up his eyes as he tried to make it out. Some of the time it seemed to consist of water alone-a kind of huge inland sea-and some of the time the water vanished completely and only land could be seen. It was shifting all the time.

"Is that Urde, Sir Hanafax?"

"I think it must be the place 'Urde' by its position and appearance. Unstable matter, Prince Corum, created by the Chaos Lords."

"The Chaos Lords? I have not heard that term used before."

"Have you not? Well, it is their 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. It is hard to accept, I agree."

"Some Vadhagh legends say it was once round."

"Aye. Well, the Vadhagh began their rise just 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…"

"Is this the truth?"

"It is a truth," Hanafax shrugged. "I know other versions of the same tale. But I am inclined to believe this one."

"These Great Gods-you speak of the Sword Rulers?"

"Aye, the Sword Rulers and others. Then there are the Great Old Gods, to whom all the myriad planes of Earth are merely a tiny fragment in a greater mosaic." Hanafax shrugged. "This is the cosmology I was taught when I was a priest. I cannot vouch for its truth."

Corum frowned. He looked below and now they were crossing a bleak yellow and brown desert. It was the desert called Dhroonhazat and it seemed entirely waterless. By an accident of fate he was being borne toward the Knight of the Swords faster than he had expected.

Or was it an accident of fate?

Now the heat was increasing and the sand below shimmered and danced. Hanafax licked his lips. "We're getting dangerously close to the Ramelands, Prince Corum. Look."

On the horizon Corum saw a thin, flickering line of red light. The sky above it was also tinged red.

The kite sped nearer and the heat increased. To his astonishment, Corum saw that they were approaching a wall of flame that stretched as far as he could see in both directions.

"Hanafax, we shall be burned alive," he said softly.

"Aye, it seems likely."

"Is there no means of turning this kite of yours?"

"I have tried, in the past. It is not the first time it has taken me away from one danger and into a worse one.”

The wall of fire was now so close that Corum could feel its direct heat burning his face. He heard it rumble and crackle and it seemed to feed on nothing but the air itself.

"Such a thing defies naturel" he gasped.

"Is that not a fair definition of all sorcery?" Hanafax said. "This is the Chaos Lords' work. The disruption of the natural harmony is, after all, their pleasure."

"Ah, this sorcery. It wearies my mind. I cannot grasp its logic."

"That is because it has none. It is arbitrary. The Lords of Chaos are the enemies of Logic, the jugglers of Truth, the molders of Beauty. I should be surprised if they had not created these Flamelands out of some aesthetic impulse. Beauty-an ever-changing beauty-is all they live for."

"An evil beauty."

"I believe that such notions as 'good' and 'evil' do not exist for the Chaos Lords."

"I should like to make it exist for them." Corum mopped his sweating head with his coat sleeve.

"And destroy all their beauty?"

Corum darted an odd look at Hanafax. Was the Mabden on the side of the Knight? Had he, in fact, trapped Corum into accompanying him?

"There are other,.quieter kinds of beauty, Sir Hanafax."

"True."

Everywhere below them now the flame yelled and leaped. The kite began to increase its height as its silk started to smolder. Corum was certain it would soon be destroyed by the fire and they would be plunged into the depths of the flame wall.

But now they were above it and, in spite of the silk's suddenly springing alive with little fires and Corum's feeling he was being roasted in his armor Like a turtle in its shell, they now saw the other side of the wall.

A piece of the kite fell blazing away.

Hanafax, his face a bright red, his body running with sweat, clung to a strut and gasped, "Grasp a beam, Prince Corum! Grasp a beam!"

Corum took hold of one of the beams beneath his body as the burning silk was ripped from the frame and fluttered into the fires below. The kite dipped and threatened to follow the silk. It was losing height rapidly. Corum coughed as the burning air entered his lungs. Blisters appeared on his right hand, though his left hand seemed immune.

The kite lurched and began to fall.

Corum was flung back and forth during the crazy descent, but he managed to keep his hold on the strut. Then there was a cracking sound, a mighty thump, and he lay amidst the wreckage on a surface of flat obsidian, the wall of flame behind him.

He raised his bruised body upright. It was still unbearably hot and the flames sang close to his back, rising a hundred feet or more into the air. The fused rock on which he stood was green and glistened and reflected the flame, seeming to writhe beneath his feet. A little distance to his left ran a sluggish river of molten lava, a few flames fluttering on its surface. Everywhere Corum looked was the same shining rock, the same red rivers of fire. He inspected the kite. It was completely useless. Hanafax was lying amongst its struts cursing it. He got up.

"Well," he kicked at the blackened, broken frame, "you'll never fly me into any more dangers!"

"I think this danger is all we need," Corum. said. "It could be the last one we'll ever face.”

Hanafax picked up his swordbelt from the wreckage and tied it round his waist. He found a singed cloak and put it on to protect his shoulders. "Aye, I think you could speak truth, Prince Corum. A poor place to meet one's end, eh?"

"According to some Mabden legends," Corum said, "we might already have met our ends and been consigned here. Are not certain Mabden netherworlds said to be made of eternally burning flame?"

Hanafax snorted. "In the East, perhaps. Well, we cannot go back, so I suppose we must go forward."

"I was told that an Ice Wilderness lay toward the north," Corum said. "Though how it does not melt being so near to the Flamelands, I do not know."

"Another quirk of the Lords of Chaos, doubtless."

"Doubtless."

They began to make their way over the slippery rock that burned their feet with every step, leaving the wall of flame behind them, leaping over rivulets of lava, moving so slowly and so circuitously that they were soon exhausted and paused to rest, look back at the distant flame wall, mop their brows, exchange daunted looks. Thirst now plagued them and their voices were hoarse.

"I think we are doomed, Prince Corum."

Corum nodded wearily. He looked up. Red clouds boiled above, like a dome of fire. It seemed that all the world burned.

"Have you no spells for bringing on rain, Sir Hanafax?"

"I regret not. We priests scorn such primitive tricks."

"Useful tricks. Sorcerers seem to enjoy only the spectacular."

"I am afraid it is so.” Hanafax sighed. "What about your own powers? Can you not," he shuddered, "summon some kind of aid from whatever netherworld it is your horrid allies came?"

"I fear those allies are only useful in battle. I have no true conception of what they are or why they come. I have come to believe that the sorcerer who fitted me with this hand and this eye had no clearer idea himself. His work was something of an experiment, it seems."

"You have noticed, I take it, that the sun does not appear to set in the Flamelands. We can expect no night to come to relieve us."

Corum was about to reply when he saw something move on a rise of black obsidian a short distance away. "Hush, Sir Hanafax…"

Hanafax peered through the smoky heat. "What is it?"

And then they revealed themselves.

There were about a score of them, mounted on beasts whose bodies were covered in thick, scaly skin resembling plate armor. They had four short legs and cloven feet, a nest of horns jutted on heads and snouts, and small, red eyes gleamed at them. The riders were covered from head to foot in red garments of some shining material which hid even their faces and hands. They had long, barbed lances for weapons.

Silently, they surrounded Corum and Hanafax.

For a few moments there was silence, and then one of the riders spoke. "What do you in our Flamelands, Strangers?"

"We are not here from choice," replied Corum. "An accident brought us to your country. We are peaceful"

"You are not peaceful. You bear swords."

"We did not know there were any inhabitants to these lands," Hanafax said. "We seek help. We wish to leave."

"None may leave the Flamelands save to suffer a mighty doom." The voice was sonorous, even sad. "There is only one gateway and that is through the Lion's Mouth."

"Can we not…?"

The riders began to close in. Corum and Hanafax drew their swords.

"Well, Prince Corum, it seems we are to die."

Corum's face was grim. He pushed up his eye patch. For a moment his vision clouded and then he saw into the netherworld once again. He wondered for a moment if it would not be better to die at the hands of the Flameland dwellers but now he was looking at a cavern in which tall figures stood as if frozen.

With a shock Corum recognized them as the dead warriors of the Ragha-da-Kheta, their wounds now bloodless, their eyes glazed, their clothes and armor torn, their weapons still in their hands. They began to move toward him as his hand stretched out to summon them.

"NO! These, too, are my enemies!" Corum shouted.

Hanafax, unable to see what Corum saw, turned his head in astonishment.

The dead warriors came on. The scene behind them faded. They materialized on the obsidian rock of the Flamelands.

Corum backed away, gesticulating wildly. The Flameland warriors drew their mounts to a stop in surprise. Hanafax's face was a mask of fear.

"No! I…"

From the lips of the dead King TemgoI-Lep came a whispering voice. "We serve you, Master. Will you give us our prizes?"

Corum controlled himself. Slowly, he nodded. "Aye. You may take your prizes."

The long-limbed warriors turned to face the mounted warriors of the Flamelands. The beasts snorted and tried to move back but were forced to stand their ground by their riders. There were about fifty of the Ragha-da-Kheta. Dividing into groups of two or three, their clawed clubs raised, they flung themselves at the mounted beings.

Barbed lances came up and stabbed down at the Ragha-da-Kheta. Many were struck, but it did not deter them. They began to drag the struggling riders from their saddles.

Pale-faced, Corum watched. He knew now that he was consigning the Flamelands warriors to the same netherworld from which he had summoned the Ragha-da-Kheta. And his actions had sent the Ragha-da-Kheta to that netherworld in the first place.

On the gleaming rock, around which ran rivers of red rock, the ghastly battle continued. The clawed clubs ripped the cloaks from the riders, revealing a people whose faces were familiar.

"Stop!" Corum cried. "Stop! That is enough. Kill no more!"

Temgol-Lep turned his glazed eyes on Corum. The dead king had a barbed spear sticking completely through his body, but he seemed unaware of it. His dead lips moved. "These are our prizes, Master. We cannot stop."

"But they are Vadhaghl They are like me! They are my own people!"

Hanafax put an arm on Corum's shoulder. "They are all dead now, Prince Corum."

Sobbing, Corum ran toward the corpses, inspecting the faces. They had the same long skulls, the same huge, almond eyes, the same tapering ears.

"How came Vadhagh here?" Hanafax murmured.

Now Temgol-Lep was dragging one of the corpses away, aided by two of his minions. The scaled beasts scattered, some of them splashing through the lava uncaringly.

Through the Eye of Rhynn, Corum saw the Ragha-da-Kheta pull the corpses into their cave. With a shudder, he replaced the eye patch. Save for a few weapons and tatters of armor and clothing, save for the disappearing mounts, nothing remained of the Vadhagh of the Flamelands.

"I have destroyed my own folk!" Corum screamed. "I have consigned them to a frightful doom in that netherworld!"

"Sorcery has a way of recoiling suddenly upon its user," Hanafax said quietly. "It is an arbitrary power, as I said.”

Corum wheeled on Hanafax. "Stop your prattling, Mabden! Do you not realize what I have done?"

Hanafax nodded soberly. "Aye. But it is done, is it not? Our lives are saved."

"Now I add fratricide to my crimes." Corum fell to his knees, dropping his sword on the rock. And he wept.

"Who weeps?"

It was a woman's voice. A sad voice.

"Who weeps for Cira-an-Venl, the Lands That Are Now Flame? Who remembers her sweet meadows and her fair hills?"

Corum raised his head and got to his feet. Hanafax was already staring at the apparition on the rock above them.

"Who weeps, there?"

The woman was old. Her face was handsome and grim and white and lined. Her gray hair swirled about her and she was dressed in a red cloak such as the warriors had worn, mounted on a similar horned beast. She was a Vadhagh woman and very frail. Where her eyes had been were white, filmy pools of pain.

"I am Corum Jhaelen Irsei, Lady. Why are you blind?"

"I am blind through choice. Rather than witness what had become of my land, I plucked my eyes from my head. I am Oorese, Queen of Cira-an-Venl, and my people number twenty."

Corum's lips were dry. "I have slain your people, Lady. That is why I weep."

Her face did not alter. "They were doomed," she said, "to die. It is better that they are dead. I thank you, Stranger, for releasing them. Perhaps you would care to release me, also. I only live so that the memory of Cira-an-Venl may live." She paused. "Why do you use a Vedragh name?"

"I am of the Vadhagh-the Vedragh, as you call them-I am from the lands far to the south."

"So Vedragh did go south. And is their land sweet?"

"It is very sweet."

"And are your folk happy, Prince Corum in the Scarlet Robe?"

"They are dead, Queen Oorese. They are dead."

"All dead, then, now? Save you?"

"And save yourself, my queen."

A smile touched her lips. "He said we should all die, wherever we were, on whichever plane we existed. But there was another prophecy-that when we died, so would he. He chose to ignore it, as I remember.”

"Who said that, Lady?"

"The Knight of the Swords. Duke Arioch of Chaos. He who inherited these five planes for his part in that long-ago battle between Order and Chaos. Who came here and willed that smooth rock cover our pretty hills, that boiling lava run in our gentle streams, that flame spring where green forests had been. Duke Arioch, Prince, made that prediction. But, before he departed to the place of his banishment, Lord Arkyn made another."

"Lord Arkyn?"

"Lord of Law, who ruled here before Arioch ousted him. He said that by destroying the old races, he would destroy his own power over the five planes."

"A pleasant wish," murmured Hanafax, "but I doubt if that is true."

"Perhaps we do deceive ourselves with happy lies, you who speak with the accent of a Mabden. But then you do not know what we know, for you are Arioch's children."

Hanafax drew himself up. "His children we may be, Queen Oorese, but his slaves we are not. I am here because I defied Arioch's will."

Again she smiled her sad smile. "And some say that the Vedragh doom was of their own doing. That they fought the Nhadragh and so defied Lord Arkyn's scheme of things."

"The Gods are vengeful," Hanafax murmured. "But I am vengeful, too, Sir Mabden," the queen said. "Because we killed your warriors?" She waved an ancient hand in a gesture of dismissal. "No. They attacked you. You defended yourselves. That is what that is. I speak of Duke Arioch and his whim-the whim that turned a beautiful land into this dreadful wasteland of eternal flame."

"You would be revenged, then, on Duke Arioch?" Corum said.

"My people once numbered hundreds. One after the other I sent them through the Lion's Mouth to destroy the Knight of the Swords. None did so. None returned."

"What is the Lion's Mouth?" Hanafax asked. "We heard it was the only escape from the Flamelands."

"It is. And it is no escape. Those who survive the passage through the Lion's Mouth do not survive what lies beyond it-the palace of Duke Arioch himself."

"Can none survive?"

The Blind Queen's face turned toward the rosy sky.

"Only a great hero, Prince in the Scarlet Robe. Only a great hero."

"Once the Vadhagh had no belief in heroes and such," Corum said bitterly.

She nodded. "I remember. But then they needed no beliefs of that kind."

Corum was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Where is this Lion's Mouth, Queen?"

"I will lead you to it, Prince Corum."

The Fifth Chapter THROUGH THE LION'S MOUTH

The queen gave them water from the cask that rested behind her saddle and called up two of the lumbering mounts for Corum and Hanafax to ride. They climbed onto the beasts, clasped the reins, and then began to follow her over the black and green obsidian slabs, between the rivers of flame.

Though blind, she guided her beast skillfully, and she talked all the while of what had been here, what had grown there, as if she remembered every tree and flower that had once grown in her ruined land.

After a good space of time she stopped and pointed directly ahead. "What do you see there?"

Corum peered through the rippling smoke. "It looks like a great rock…"

"We will ride closer," she said.

And as they rode closer, Corum began to see what it was. It was, indeed, a gigantic rock. A rock of smooth and shining stone that glowed like mellowed gold. And it was fashioned, in perfect detail, to resemble the head of a huge lion with its sharp-fanged mouth wide open in a roar.

"Gods! Who made such a thing?" Hanafax murmured.

"Arioch created it," said Queen Oorese. "Once our peaceful city lay there. Now we live-lived-in caves below the ground where water runs and it is a little cooler."

Corum stared at the enormous lion's head and he looked at Queen Oorese. "How old are you, Queen?"

"I do not know. Time does not exist in the Flamelands. Perhaps ten thousand years."

Far away another wall of flame danced. Corum remarked upon it.

"We are surrounded by flame on all sides. When Arioch first created it, many flung themselves into it rather than look upon what had become of their land. My husband died in that manner and thus did my brothers and all my sisters perish."

Corum noticed that Hanafax was not his usual talkative self. His head was bowed and he rubbed at it from time to time as if puzzled.

"What is it, Friend Hanafax?"

"Nothing, Prince Corum. A pain in my head. Doubtless the heat causes it."

Now a singular moaning sound came to their ears. Hanafax looked up, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. "What is it?"

"The Lion sings," said the Queen. "He knows we approach."

Then from Hanafax's throat a similar sound issued, as a dog will imitate another's howling.

"Hanafax, my friend!" Corum rode his beast close to the other's. "Is something ailing you?"

Hanafax stared at him vaguely. "No. I told you, the heat…" His face twisted. "Aah! The pain! I will not! I will not!"

Corum turned to Queen Oorese". "Have you known this to happen before?"

She frowned, seeming to be thinking rather than displaying concern for Hanafax. "No," she said at last. "Unless…"

"Arioch! I will not!” Hanafax began to pant.

Then Corum's borrowed hand leapt up from the saddle where it had held the reins.

Corum tried to control it, but it shot straight toward Hanafax's face, its fingers extended. Fingers drove into the Mabden's eyes. They pierced the head, plunging deep into the brain. Hanafax screamed. "No, Corum, please do not… I can fight it… aaaahr.”

And the Hand of Kwll withdrew itself, the fingers dripping with Hanafax's blood and brains, while the lifeless body of the Mabden fell from the saddle.

"What is happening?" Queen Oorese called.

Corum stared at the mired hand, now once again his. "It is nothing," he murmured. "I have killed my friend."

He looked up suddenly.

Above him, on a hill, he thought he saw the outline of a figure watching him. Then smoke drifted across the scene and he saw nothing.

"So you guessed what I guessed, Prince in the Scarlet Robe," said the queen.

"I guessed nothing. I have killed my friend, that is all I know. He helped me. He showed me…" Corum swallowed with difficulty.

"He was only a Mabden, Prince Corum. Only a Mabden servant of Arioch."

"He hated Arioch!"

"But Arioch found him and entered him. He would have tried to kill us. You did right to destroy him. He would have betrayed you, Prince."

Corum stared at her through brooding eyes. "I should have let him kill me. Why should I live?"

"Because you are of the Vedragh. The last of the Vedragh who can avenge our race."

"Let it perish, unavenged! Too many crimes have been committed so that that vengeance might be won! Too many unfortunates have suffered frightful fates! Will the Vadhagh name be recalled with love-or muttered in hatred?"

"It is already spoken with hatred. Arioch has seen to that. There is the Lion's Mouth. Farewell, Prince in the Scarlet Robe!" And Queen Oorese spurred her beast into a gallop and went plunging past the great rock, on toward the vast wall of flame beyond.

Corum knew what she would do.

He looked at the body of Hanafax. The cheerful fellow would smile no more and his soul was now doubtless suffering at the whim of Arioch.

Again, he was alone.

He gave a shuddering sigh.

The strange, moaning sound once again began to issue from the Lion's Mouth. It seemed to be calling him. He shrugged. What did it matter if he perished? It would only mean that no more would die because of him.

Slowly, he began to ride toward the Lion's Mouth. As he drew nearer, he gathered speed and then, with a yell, plunged through the gaping jaws and into the howling darkness beyond!

The beast stumbled, lost its footing, fell. Corum was thrown clear, got up, sought the reins with his groping hands. But the beast had turned and was galloping back toward the daylight that flickered red and yellow at the entrance.

For an instant Corum's mind cooled and he made to follow it. Then he remembered the dead face of Hanafax and he turned and began to trudge into the deeper darkness.

He walked thus for a long while. It was cool within the Lion's Mouth and he wondered if Queen Oorese had been voicing nothing more than a superstition, for the interior seemed to be just a large cave.

Then the rustling sounds began.

He thought he glimpsed eyes watching him. Accusing eyes? No. Merely malevolent. He drew his sword. He paused, looking about him. He took another step forward.

He was in whirling nothingness. Colors flashed past him, something shrieked, and laughter filled his head. He tried to take another step.

He stood on a crystal plain, and imbedded in it, beneath his feet, were millions of beings-Vadhagh, Nhadragh, Mabden, Ragha-da-Kheta, and many others he did not recognize. There were males and females and all had their eyes open; all had their faces pressed against the crystal; all stretched out their hands as if seeking aid. All stared at him. He tried to hack at the crystal with his sword, but the crystal would not crack.

He moved forward.

He saw all the Five Planes, one superimposed upon the other, as he had seen them as a child-as his ancestors had known them. He was in a canyon, a forest, a valley, a field, another forest. He made to move into one particular plane, but he was stopped.

Screaming things came at him and pecked at his flesh. He fought them off with his sword. They vanished.

He was crossing a bridge of ice. It was melting. Fanged, distorted things waited for him below. The ice creaked. He lost his footing. He fell.

He fell into a whirlpool of seething matter that formed shapes and then destroyed them instantly. He saw whole cities brought into existence and then obliterated. He saw creatures, some beautiful, some disgustingly ugly. He saw things that made him love them and things that made him scream with hatred.

And he was back in the blackness of the great cavern where things tittered at him and scampered away from beneath his feet.

And Corum knew that anyone who had not experienced the horrors that he had experienced would have been quite mad by now. He had gained something from Shool the sorcerer besides the Eye of Rhynn and the Hand of Kwll. He had gained an ability to face the most evil of apparitions and be virtually unmoved.

And, he thought, this meant that he had lost something, too…

He moved on another step.

He stood knee deep in slithering flesh that was without shape but which lived. It began to suck him down. He struck about him with his sword. Now he was waist deep. He gasped and forced bis body through the stuff.

He stood beneath a dome of ice and with him stood a million Corums. There he was, innocent and gay before the coming of the Mabden, there he was moody and grim, with his jeweled eye and his murderous hand, there he was dying…

Another step.

Blood flooded over him. He tried to regain his feet. The heads of foul reptilian creatures rose from the stuff and snapped at his face with their jaws.

His instinct was to draw back. But he swam toward them.

He stood in a tunnel of silver and gold. There was a door at the end and he could hear movement behind it.

Sword in hand, he stepped through.

Strange, desperate laughter filled the immense gallery in which he found himself.

He knew that he had reached the Court of the Knight of the Swords.

The Sixth Chapter THE GOD FEASTERS

Corum was dwarfed by the hugeness of the hall. Suddenly he saw his past adventures, his emotions, his desires, his guilts as utterly inconsequential and feeble. This mood was increased by the fact that he had expected to confront Arioch the moment he reached his court.

But Corum had entered the palace completely unnoticed. The laughter came from a gallery high above where two scaled demons with long horns and longer tails were fighting. As they fought, they laughed, though both seemed plainly near death.

It was on this fight that Arioch's attention seemed fixed.

The Knight of the Swords-the Duke of Chaos-lay in a heap of filth and quaffed some ill-smelling stuff from a dirty goblet. He was enormously fat and the flesh trembled on him as he laughed. He was completely naked and formed in all details like a Mabden. There seemed to be scabs and sores on his body, particularly near his pelvis. His face was flushed and it was ugly, and his teeth, I when he opened his mouth, seemed decayed.

Corum would not have known he was the God at all if it had not been for his size, for Arioch was as large as a castle and his sword, the symbol of his power, if it had been placed upright, would have stood as high as the tallest tower of Castle Erorn.

The sides of the hall were tiered. Uncountable tiers stretched high toward the distant dome of the ceiling, which, itself, was wreathed in greasy smoke. These tiers were occupied, mainly with Mabden of all ages. Corum saw that most were naked. In many of the tiers they were copulating, fighting, torturing each other. Elsewhere were other beings-mainly scaly Shefanhow somewhat smaller than the two who were fighting together. Arioch's sword was jet black and carved with many peculiar patterns. Mabden were at work on the sword. They knelt on the blade and polished part of a design, or they climbed the hilt and washed it, or they sat astride the handgrip and mended the gold wire which bound it.

And other beings were busy, too. Like lice, they scampered and crawled over the God's huge bulk, picking at his skin, feeding off his blood and his flesh. Of all these activities, Arioch seemed oblivious. His interest continued to be in the fight to the death in the gallery above.

Was this, then, the all-powerful Arioch, living like a drunken fanner in a pigsty? Was this the malevolent creature which had destroyed whole nations, which pursued a vendetta upon all the races to spring up on the Earth before his coming?

Arioch's laughter shook the floor. Some of the parasitic Mabden fell off his body. A few were unhurt, while others lay with their backs or their limbs broken, unable to move. Their comrades ignored their plight and patiently climbed again upon the God's body, tearing tiny pieces from him with their teeth.

Arioch's hair was long, lank, and oily. Here, too, Mabden searched for and fought over the bits of food that clung to the strands. Elsewhere in the God's body hair Mabden crept in and out, hunting for scraps and crumbs or tender portions of his flesh.

The two demons fell back. One of them was dead, the other almost dead but still laughing weakly. Then the laughter stopped.

Arioch slapped his body, killing a dozen or so Mabden, and scratched his stomach. He inspected the bloody remains in his palm and absently wiped them on his hair. Living Mabden seized the scraps and devoured them.

Then a huge sigh issued from the God's mouth and he began to pick his nose with a dirty finger that was the size of a tall poplar.

Corum saw that there were openings beneath the galleries and stairways twisting upward, but he had no notion where the highest tower of the palace might be. He began to move, soft-footed, around the hall.

Arioch's ears caught the sound and the God became alert. He bent his head and peered about the floor. The huge eyes fixed on Corum and a monstrously large hand reached out to grasp him.

Corum raised his sword and hacked at the hand, but Arioch laughed and drew the Vadhagh prince toward him.

"What's this?" the voice boomed, "Not one of mine. Not one of mine."

Corum continued to strike at the hand and Arioch continued to seem unaware of the blows, though the sword raised deep cuts in the flesh. From over his shoulders, from behind his ears, and from within his filthy hair, Mabden eyes regarded Corum with terrified curiosity.

"Not one of mine," Arioch boomed again. "One of his. Aye. One of his."

"Whose?" Corum shouted, still struggling.

"The one whose castle I recently inherited. The dour fellow. Arkyn. Arkyn of Law. One of his. I thought they were all gone by now. I cannot keep an eye on little beings not of my own manufacture. I do not understand their ways."

"Arioch! You have destroyed all my kin!"

"Ah, good. All of them, you say? Good. Is that the message you bring to me? Why did I not hear before, from one of my own little creatures?"

"Let me go!" Corum screamed.

Arioch opened his hand and Corum staggered free, gasping. He had not expected Arioch to comply.

And then the full injustice of his fate struck him. Arioch bore no malice toward the Vadhagh. He cared for them no more nor less than he cared for the Mabden parasites feeding off his body. He was merely wiping his palette clean of old colors as a painter will before he begins a fresh canvas. All the agony and the misery he and his had suffered was on behalf of the whim of a careless God who only occasionally turned his attention to the world that he had been given to rule.

Then Arioch vanished.

Another figure stood in his place. All the Mabden were gone.

The other figure was beautiful and looked upon Corum with a kind of haughty affection. He was dressed all in black and silver, with a miniature version of the black sword at his side. His expression was quizzical. He smiled. He was the quintessence of evil.

"Who are you?" Corum gasped.

"I am Duke Arioch, your master. I am the Lord of Hell, a Noble of the Realm of Chaos, the Knight of the Swords. I am your enemy."

"So you are my enemy. The other form was not your true form!"

"I am anything you please, Prince Corum. What does 'true' mean in this context? I can be anything I choose-or anything you choose, if you prefer. Consider me evil and I will don the appearance of evil. Consider me good-and I will take on a form that fits the part. I care not. My only wish is to exist in peace, you see. To while away my time. And if you wish to play a drama, some game of your own devising, I will play it until it begins to bore me,"

"Were your ambitions ever thus?"

"What? What? Ever? No, I think not. Not when I was embattled with those Lords of Law who ruled this plane before. But now I have won, why, I deserve what I fought for. Do not all beings require the same?"

Corum nodded. "I suppose they do."

"Well," Arioch smiled. "What now, Little Corum of the Vadhagh? You must be destroyed soon, you know. For my peace of mind, you understand, that is all. You have done well to reach my Court. I will give you hospitality as a reward and then, at some stage, I will flick you away. You know why now."

Corum glowered. "I will not be flicked' away, Duke Arioch. Why should I be?"

Arioch raised a hand to his beautiful face and he yawned. "Why should you not be? Now. What can I do to entertain you?"

Corum hesitated. Then he said, "Will you show me all your castle? I have never seen anything so huge."

Arioch raised an eyebrow. "If that is all…?"

"All for the moment."

Arioch smiled. "Very well. Besides, I have not seen all of it myself. Come." He placed a soft hand on Corum's shoulder and led him through a doorway.

As they walked along a magnificent gallery with walls of coruscating marble, Arioch spoke reasonably to Corum in a low, hypnotic voice. "You see, Friend Corum, these Fifteen Planes were stagnating. What did you Vadhagh and the rest do? Nothing. You hardly moved from your cities and your castles. Nature gave birth to poppies and daisies. The Lords of Law made sure that all was properly ordered. Nothing was happening at all. We have brought so much more to your world, my brother Mabelode and my sister Xiombarg."

"Who are the others?"

"You know them, I think, as the Queen of the Swords and the King of the Swords. They each rule five of the other ten planes. We won them from the Lords of Law a little while ago."

"And began your destruction of all that is truthful and wise."

"If you say so, Mortal."

Corum paused. His understanding was weakening to Arioch's persuasive voice. He turned. "I think you are lying to me, Duke Arioch. There must be more to your ambition than this."

"It is a matter of perspective, Corum. We follow our whims. We are powerful now and nothing can harm us. Why should we be vindictive?"

"Then you will be destroyed as the Vadhagh were destroyed. For the same reasons."

Arioch shrugged. "Perhaps."

"You have a powerful enemy in Shool of Svi-an-Fanla-Brool! You should fear him, I think."

"You know of Shool, then?" Arioch laughed musically. "Poor Shool. He schemes and plots and maligns us. He is amusing, is he not?"

"He is merely amusing?" Corum was disbelieving.

"Aye-merely amusing."

"He says you hate him because he is almost as powerful as yourself."

"We hate no one."

"I mistrust you, Arioch."

"What mortal does not mistrust a God?"

Now they were walking up a spiral ramp that seemed comprised entirely of light.

Arioch paused. "I think we will explore some other part of the palace. This leads only to a tower." Ahead Corum saw a doorway on which pulsed a sign-eight arrows arranged around a circle.

"What is that sign, Arioch?"

"Nothing at all. The arms of Chaos."

"Then what lies beyond the door?"

"Just a tower." Arioch became impatient. "Come. There are more interesting sights elsewhere."

Reluctantly, Corum followed him back down the ramp. He thought he had seen the place where Arioch kept his heart.

For several more hours they wandered through the palace, observing its wonders. Here all was light and beauty, and there were no sinister sights. This fact disturbed Corum. He was sure that Arioch was deceiving him.

They returned to the hall.

The Mabden lice had vanished. The filth had disappeared. In its place was a table laden with food and wine. Arioch gestured toward it.

"Will you dine with me, Prince Corum?"

Comm's grin was sardonic. "Before you destroy me?"

Arioch laughed. "If you wish to continue your existence a while longer, I have no objection. You cannot leave my palace, you see. And while your naivete continues to entertain me, why should I destroy you?"

"Do you not fear me at all?"

"I fear you not at all."

"Do you not fear what I represent?"

"What do you represent?"

"Justice."

Again Arioch laughed. "Oh, you think so narrowly. There is no such thing!"

"It existed when the Lords of Law ruled here."

"Everything may exist for a short while-even justice. But the true state of the universe is anarchy. It is the mortal's tragedy that he can never accept this."

Comm could not reply. He seated himself at the table and began to eat. Arioch did not eat with him, but sat on the other side of the table and poured himself some wine. Corum stopped eating. Arioch smiled.

"Do not fear, Corum. It is not poisoned. Why should I resort to such things as poisons?"

Corum resumed eating. When he had finished he said, "Now I would rest, if I am to be your guest."

"Ah," Arioch seemed perplexed. "Yes-well, sleep, then." He waved his hand and Corum fell face forward upon the table.

And slept.

The Seventh Chapter THE BANE OF THE SWORD RULERS

Corum stirred and forced his eyes open. The table had gone. Gone, too, was Arioch. The vast hall was in darkness, illuminated only by faint light issuing from a few of the doorways and galleries.

He stood up. Was he dreaming? Or had he dreamed everything that had happened earlier. Certainly all the events had had the quality of dreams become reality. But that was true of the entire world now, since he had left the sanity of Castle Erorn so long ago.

But where had Duke Arioch gone? Had he left on some mission in the world? Doubtless he had thought his influence over Corum would last longer. After all, that was why he wished the Vadhagh all destroyed, because he could not understand them, could not predict everything they would do, could not control their minds as he controlled those of the Mabden.

Corum realized suddenly that he now had an opportunity, perhaps his only opportunity, to try to reach the place where Arioch kept his heart. Then he might escape while Arioch was still away, get back to Shool and reclaim Rhaliaa. Vengeance now no longer motivated him. All he sought was an end to his adventure, peace with the woman he loved, security in the old castle by the sea.

He ran across the floor of the hall and up the stairway to the gallery with the walls of coruscating marble until he came to the ramp that seemed made of nothing but light. The light had dimmed to a glow now, but high above was the doorway with the pulsating orange sign-the eight arrows radiating from a central hub-the Sign of Chaos.

Breathing heavily, he ran up the spiral ramp. Up and up he ran, until the rest of the palace lay far below him, until he reached the door which dwarfed him, until he stopped and looked and wondered, until he knew he'd reached his goal.

The huge sign pulsed regularly, like a living heart itself, and it bathed Corum's face and body and armor in its red-gold light. Corum pushed at the door, but it was like a mouse pushing at the door of a sarcophagus. He could not move it.

He needed aid. He contemplated his left hand-the Hand of Kwll. Could he summon help from the dark world? Not without a "prize" to offer them.

But then the Hand of Kwll bunched itself into a fist and began to glow with a light that bunded Corum and made him stretch his arm away as far as it would go, flinging his other arm over his eyes. He felt the Hand of Kwll rise into the air and then strike at the mighty door. He heard a sound like the tolling of bells. He heard a crack as if the Earth herself had split And then the Hand of Kwll was limp by his side and he opened his eyes and saw that a crack had appeared in the door. It was a small crack in the bottom of the right corner, but it was large enough for Corum to wriggle through.

"Now you are aiding me as I would wish to be aided," he murmured to the hand. He got down on his knees and crawled through the crack.

Another ramp stretched upward over a gulf of sparkling emptiness. Strange sounds filled the air, rising and dying, coming close and then falling away. There were hints of menace here, hints of beauty, hints of death, hints of everlasting life, hints of terror, hints of tranquillity. Corum made to draw his sword and then realized the uselessness of such an action. He set foot on the ramp and began to climb again,

A wind seemed to spring up and his scarlet robe flew out behind him. Cool breezes wafted him and hot winds scoured his skin. He saw faces all around him and many of the faces he thought he recognized. Some of the faces were huge and some were infinitely tiny. Eyes watched him. Lips grinned. A sorrowful moaning came and went. A dark cloud engulfed him. A tinkling as of glass bells ringing filled his ears. A voice called his name and it echoed and echoed and echoed away forever, A rainbow surrounded him, entered him, and made his whole body flash with color. Steadily he continued his walk up the long ramp.

And now he saw he was coming to a platform that was at the end of the ramp but which hung over the gulf. There was nothing beyond it.

On the platform was a dais. On the dais was a plinth and on the plinth was something that throbbed and gave forth rays.

Transfixed by these rays were several Mabden warriors. Their bodies were frozen in attitudes of reaching for the source of the rays, but their eyes moved as they saw Corum approach the dais. Pain was in those eyes, and curiosity, and a warning. Corum stopped.

The thing on the plinth was a deep, soft blue and it was quite small and it shone and it looked like a jewel that had been fashioned into the shape of a heart. At every pulse, tubes of light shot forth from it. This could only be the heart of Arioch.

But it protected itself, as was evident from the frozen warriors surrounding it.

Conim took a pace nearer. A beam of light struck his cheek and it tingled.

Another pace nearer and two more beams of light hit his body and made it shiver, but he was not frozen. And now he was past the Mabden warriors. Two more paces and the beams bombarded his whole head and body, but the sensation was only pleasant. He stretched out his right hand to seize the heart, but his left hand moved first and the Hand of Kwll gripped the heart of Arioch.

"The world seems full of fragments of Gods," Corum murmured. He turned and saw that the Mabden warriors were no longer frozen. They were rubbing at their faces, sheathing their swords.

Corum spoke to the nearest. "Why did you seek the heart of Arioch?"

"Through no choice of my own. A sorcerer sent me, offering me my life in return for stealing the heart from Arioch's palace."

"Was this Shool?"

"Aye-Shool. Prince Shool,"

Corum looked at the others. They were all nodding. "Shool sent me!" "And me!"

"And Shool sent me," said Corum. "I had not realized he had tried so many times before."

"It is a game Arioch plays with him," murmured one of the Mabden warriors. "I learned that Shool has little power of his own at all. Arioch gives Shool the power he thinks is his own, for Arioch enjoys the sport of having an enemy with whom he can play. Every action Arioch makes is inspired by nothing but boredom. And now you have his heart. Plainly he did not expect the game to get so out of hand."

"Aye," Corum agreed. "It was only Arioch's carelessness that allowed me to reach this place. Now, I return. I must find a way from the palace before he realizes what has happened."

"May we come with you?" the Mabden asked.

Corum nodded. "But hurry." They crept back down the ramp.

Halfway down, one of the Mabden screamed, flailed at the air, staggered to the edge of the ramp, and went drifting down into the sparkling emptiness.

Their pace increased until they reached the tiny crack at the bottom of the huge door and crawled through it, one by one.

Down the ramp of light they went. Through the gallery of coruscating marble. Down the stairway into the darkened hall.

Corum sought the silver door through which he had entered the palace. He made one complete circuit of the hall and his feet were aching before he realized that the door had vanished.

The hall was suddenly alive with light again and the vast, fat figure Corum had originally seen was laughing on the floor, lying amidst filth, with the Mabden parasites peering from out of the air beneath his arms, from his navel, from his ears.

"Ha, ha! You see, Corum, I am kind! I have let you have almost everything you desired of me. You even have my heart! But I cannot let you take it away from me, Corum. Without my heart, I could not rule here. I think I will restore it into this flesh of mine."

Corum's shoulders slumped. "He has tricked us," he said to his terrified Mabden companions.

But one Mabden said, "He has used you, Sir Vadhagh. He could never have taken his heart himself. Did you not know that?"

Arioch laughed and his belly shook and Mabden fell to the floor. "True! True! You have done me a service, Prince Corum. The heart of each Sword Ruler is kept in a place that is banned to him, so that the others may know that he dwells only in his own domain and may travel to no other, thus he cannot usurp some rival ruler's power. But you, Corum, with your ancient blood, with your peculiar characteristics, were able to do that which I am unable to do. Now I have my heart and I may extend my domain wherever I choose. Or not, of course, if I choose not to."

"Then I have helped you," Corum said bitterly, “when I wished to hinder you…"

Arioch's laughter filled the hall. "Yes. Exactly. A fine joke, eh? Now, give me my heart, little Vadhagh.”

Corum pressed his back to the wall and drew his blade. He stood there with the heart of Arioch in his left hand and his sword in his right. "I think I will die first, Arioch."

"As you please."

The monstrous hand reached out for Corum. He dodged it, Arioch bellowed with laughter again and plucked two of the Mabden warriors from the floor. They screamed and writhed as he drew them toward his great, wet mouth, full of blackened teeth. Then he popped them into his maw and Corum heard their bones crunch. Arioch swallowed and spat out a sword. Then he returned his gaze to Corum.

Corum jumped behind a pillar. Arioch's hand came round it, feeling for him. Corum ran.

More laughter, and the hall reverberated. The God's mirth was echoed by the tittering voices of his Mabden parasites. A pillar crashed as Arioch struck at it, seeking Corum.

Corum dashed across the floor of the hall, leaping over the broken bodies of the Mabden who had fallen from the corpulent body of the God.

And then Arioch saw him, seized him, and his chuckles subsided.

"Give me my heart now."

Corum gasped for breath and freed his two hands from the soft flesh that enclosed him. The giant's great hand was warm and filthy. The nails were broken.

"Give me my heart, Little Being."

"No!" Corum drove his sword deep into the thumb, but the God did not notice. Mabden clung to the hair of the chest and watched, their grins blank.

Corum's ribs were near to breaking, but still he would not release the Heart of Arioch that lay in his left fist.

"No matter," said Arioch, his grip relaxing a trifle, "I can absorb both you and the heart at the same time."

Now Arioch began to carry his great hand toward his open mouth. His breath came out in stinking blasts and Corum choked on it, but still he stabbed and stabbed. A grin spread over the gigantic lips. All Corum could see now was that mouth, the scabrous nostrils, the huge eyes. The mouth opened wider to swallow him. He struck at the upper Up, staring into the red darkness of the God's throat.

Then his left hand contracted. It squeezed the heart of Arioch. Corum's own strength could not have done it, but once again the Hand of Kwli was possessed of a power of its own. It squeezed.

Arioch's laughter faded. The vast eyes widened and a new light filled them. A bellow came from the throat. The Hand of Kwll squeezed tighter still. Arioch shrieked.

The heart began to crumble in the hand. Rays of a reddish blue light sprang from between Corum's fingers. Pain flooded up his arm.

There was a high whistling sound. Arioch began to weep. His grasp on Corum weakened. He staggered backward.

"No, Mortal. No…" The voice was pathetic. "Please, Mortal, we can…"

Corum saw the God's bloated form begin to melt into the air. The hand that held him began to lose its shape.

And then Corum was falling toward the floor of the hall, the broken pieces of Arioch's heart scattering as he fell. He landed with a crash, tried to rise, saw what was left of Arioch's body writhing in the air, heard a mournful sound, and then Corum lost consciousness, hearing, as he did so, Arioch's last whispered words.

"Corum of the Vadhagh. You have won the eternal bane of the Sword Rulers…"

The Eighth Chapter A PAUSE IN THE STRUGGLE

Corum saw a procession passing him.

Beings of a hundred different races marched or rode or were carried in that procession and he knew that he watched all the mortal races that had ever existed since Law and Chaos had begun their struggle for domination over the multitudinous planes of the Earth. In the distance, he saw the banners of Law and of Chaos raised, side by side, the one bearing the eight radiating arrows, the other bearing the single straight arrow of Law. And over all this hung a huge balance in perfect equilibrium. In each of the balance's cups were marshaled other beings, not mortal. Corum saw Arioch and the Lords of Chaos in one and he saw the Lords of Law in the other.

And Corum heard a voice which said, "This is as it should be. Neither Law nor Chaos must dominate the destinies of the mortal planes. There must be equilibrium."

Corum cried out, "But there is no equilibrium. Chaos rules All!"

The voice replied, saying, "The balance sometimes tips, It must be righted. And that is the power of mortals, to adjust the balance."

"How may I do that?"

"You have begun the work already. Now you must 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!"

"YOU MUST!"

The procession marched on, not seeing Corum, not seeing the two banners flying, not seeing the Cosmic Balance that hung over them.

Corum hung in cloudy space and his heart was at peace.

Shapes began to appear and then he saw that he was back in Arioch's hall. He sought for his sword, but it was gone.

"I will return your sword before you leave, Prince Corum of the Vadhagh."

The voice was level and it was clear.

Corum turned.

He drew a sudden breath. "The Giant of Laahr!" The sad, wise face smiled down on him. "I was called that, when I was in exile. But now I am no longer exiled and you may address me by my true name. I am Lord Arkyn and this is my palace. Arioch has gone. Without his heart he cannot assume flesh on these planes. Without flesh, he cannot wield power. I rule here now, as I ruled before."

The being's substance was still shadowy, though not as formless as before.

Lord Arkyn smiled. "It will take time before I assume my old form. Only by a great power of will did I enable myself to remain on this plane at all. I did not know when I rescued you, Corum, that you would be the cause of my restoration. I thank you."

"I thank you, my lord."

"Good breeds good," Lord Arkyn said. "Evil breeds evil."

Corum smiled, "Sometimes, my lord.”

Lord Arkyn chuckled quietly. "Aye, you are right-sometimes. Well, mortal, I must return you to your own plane."

"Can you transport me to a particular place, my lord?"

"I can, Prince in the Scarlet Robe."

"Lord Arkyn, you know why I embarked upon this course of mine. I sought the remnants of the Vadhagh race, my folk. Tell me, are they all gone now?"

Lord Arkyn lowered his head. "All, save you."

"And cannot you restore them?"

"The Vadhagh were always the mortals I loved most, Prince Conun. But I have not the power to reverse the very cycle of time. You are the last of the Vadhagh. And yet…" Lord Arkyn paused. "And yet there might come a moment when the Vadhagh will return. But I see nothing clearly and I must speak no more of that."

Corum sighed. "Well, I must be content. And what of Shool? Is Rhalina safe?"

"I think so. My senses are still not capable of seeing all that happens and Shool was a thing of Chaos and is therefore much harder for me to see. But I believe that Rhalina is in danger, though Shool's power has waned with the passing of Arioch."

"Then send me, I beg you, to Svi-an-Fanla-Brool, for I love the Margravine."

"It is your capacity for love that makes you strong, Prince Corum."

"And my capacity for hate?"

"That directs your strength."

Lord Arkyn frowned, as if there was something he could not understand.

"You are sad in your triumph, Lord Arkyn? Are you always sad?"

The Lord of Law looked at Corum, almost in surprise. "I suppose I am still sad, yes. I mourn for the Vadhagh as you mourn. I mourn for the one who was killed by your enemy, Glandyth-a-Krae-the one you called the Brown Man,"

"He was a good creature. Does Glandyth still bring death across the land of Bro-an-Vadhagh?"

"He does. You will meet him again, I think."

"And then I will till him."

"Possibly."

Lord Arkyn vanished. The palace vanished.

Sword in hand, Corum stood before the low, twisted door that was the entrance to Shool's dwelling. Behind him, in the garden, the plants craned up to drink the rain that fell from a pale sky.

A peculiar calm hung over the dark and oddly formed building, but without hesitation Conun plunged into it and began to run down eccentric corridors,

"Rhalina! Rhalina!" The house muffled his shouts no matter how loudly he uttered them.

"Rhalina!"

Through the murky dwelling he ran until he heard a whining voice he recognized. Shool!

"Shool! Where are you?"

"Prince Shool. I will be given my proper rank. You mock me now my enemies have beaten me."

Corum entered a room and there was Shool. Corum recognized only the eyes. The rest was a withered, decrepit thing that lay upon a bed, unable to move.

Shool whimpered. "You, too, come to torment me now that I am conquered. Thus it always is with mighty men brought low."

"You only rose because it suited Arioch's sense of humor to let you."

"Silence! I will not be deceived. Arioch has taken vengeance upon me because I was more powerful than he."

"You borrowed, without knowing it, a fraction of his power. Arioch is gone from the Five Planes, Shool. You set events in motion which resulted in his banishment. You wanted his heart so that you might make him your slave. You sent many Mabden to steal it. All failed. You should not have sent me, Shool, for I did not fail and it resulted in your undoing."

Shool sobbed and shook his haggard head.

"Where is Rhalina, Shool. If she is harmed…"

"Harmed?" A hollow laugh from the wizened Hps. "I harm her? It is she who placed me here. Take her away from me. I know she means to poison me."

"Where is she?"

"I gave you gifts. That new hand, that new eye. You would be crippled still if I had not been kind to you. But you will not remember my generosity, I know. You will-"

"Your 'gifts,' Shool, near crippled my soul! Where is Rhalina?"

"Promise you will not hurt me, if I tell you?"

"Why should I wish to hurt so pathetic a thing as you, Shool? Now, tell me."

"At the end of the passage is a stair. At the top of the stair is a room. She has locked herself in. I would have made her my wife, you know. It would have been magnificent to be the wife of a God. An immortal. But she…"

"So you planned to betray me?"

"A God may do as he chooses."

Corum left the room, ran down the passage and up the short flight of stairs, hammering with the hilt of his sword upon the door. "Rhalina!"

A weary voice came from beyond the door. "So your power has returned, Shool. You will not trick me again by disguising yourself as Corum. Though he be dead, I shall give myself to no other, least of all…"

"Rhalina! This really is Corum. Shool can do nothing. The Knight of the Swords has been banished from this plane and with him went Shool's sorcery."

"Is it true?"

"Open the door, Rhalina."

Cautiously bolts were drawn back and there was Rhalina. She was tired, she had plainly suffered much, but she was still beautiful. She looked deeply into Corum's eyes and her face flushed with relief, with love. She fainted.

Corum picked her up and began to carry her down the stairway, along the passage. He paused at Shool's room.

The onetime sorcerer was gone. Suspecting a trick, Corum hurried to the main door. Through the rain, along a path between the swaying plants, hurried Shool, his ancient legs barely able to carry him.

He darted a look back at Corum and chattered with fear. He dived into the bushes.

There was a smacking sound. A hiss. A wail. Bile rose in Corum's throat. Shool's plants were feeding T the last time.

Warily he carried Rhalina along the path, rugging limself free from the vines and blooms that sought to iold him and kiss him, and at last he reached the shore. A boat was tied up there, a small skiff which, with careful handling, would bear them back to Moidel's Castle.

The sea was smooth beneath the gray rain that fell upon it. On the horizon, the sky began to lighten.

Corum placed Rhalina gently in the boat and set sail for Moidel's Mount.

She woke up several hours later, looked at him, smiled sweetly, then fell asleep again.

Toward nightfall, as the boat sailed steadily homeward, she came and sat beside him. He wrapped his scarlet robe around her and said nothing.

As the moon rose, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

"I had not hoped…" she began. And then she wept for a little while and he comforted her.

"Corum," she said at length, "how has our luck improved so."

And he began to tell her of what had befallen him. He told her of the Ragha-da-Kheta, of the magical kite, of the Flamelands, of Arioch, and of Arkyn.

He told her all, save two things.

He did not tell her how he-or the Hand of Kwll-had murdered King TemgoI-Lep, who had tried to poison him, or her countryman Hanafax, who had tried to help him.

When he had finished her brow was unclouded and she sighed with her happiness.

"So we have peace, at last. The conflict is over."

"Peace, if we are lucky, for a little while." The sun had begun to rise. He adjusted his course.

"You will not leave me again? Law rules now, surely, and…"

"Law rules only upon this plane. The Lords of Chaos will not be pleased with what has happened here. Arioch's last words to me were that I have incurred the bane of the Sword Rulers. And Lord Arkyn knows that much more must be done before Law is once again secure in the Fifteen Planes. And Glandyth-a-Krae will be heard of again."

"You still seek vengeance against him?"

"No longer. He was merely an instrument of Arioch. But he will not forget his hatred of me, Rhalina."

The sky cleared and was blue and golden. A warm breeze blew.

"Are we then, Corum, to have no peace?"

"We shall have some, I think. But it will be merely a pause in the struggle, Rhalina. Let us enjoy that pause while we may. We have won that much, at least."

"Aye." Her tone became merry. "And peace and love that are won are more greatly appreciated than if they are merely inherited!"

He held her in his arms.

The sun was strong in the sky. Its rays struck a jeweled hand and a jeweled eye and it made them bum brightly and flash like fire.

But Rhalina did not see them burning, for she slept again in Corum's arms.

Moidel's Mount came in sight. Its green slopes were washed by a gentle blue sea and the sun shone on its white stone castle. The tide was in, covering the causeway.

Corum looked down at Rhalina's sleeping face. He smiled and gently stroked her hair.

He saw the forest on the mainland. Nothing threatened.

He glanced up at the cloudless sky.

He hoped the pause would be a long one.

This ends the First Book of Corum