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."