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."