"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."