"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?"
"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!"
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 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.
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.