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“I’ll aid you willingly,” said the black giant.

“And what shall we call you—you who are ourselves?” Corum asked him.

“Call me Erekosë—though another name suggests itself to me—for it was as Erekosë that I came closest to knowing forgetfulness and the fulfillment of love.”

“Then you are to be envied, Erekosë,” Elric said meaningly, “for at least you have come close to forgetfulness . . .”

“You have no inkling of what it is I must forget,” the black giant told him. He shook his reins. “Now Corum—which way to the Vanishing Tower?”

“This road leads to it. We ride down now to Darkvale, I believe.”

* * *

Elric’s mind could hardly contain the significance of what he had heard. It suggested that the universe—or the multiverse, as Myshella had named it—was divided into infinite layers of existence, that time was virtually a meaningless concept save where it related to one man’s life or one short period of history. And there were planes of existence where the Cosmic Balance was not known at all—or so Corum had suggested—and other planes where the Lords of the Higher Worlds had far greater powers than they had on his own world. He was tempted to consider the idea of forgetting Theleb K’aarna, Myshella, Tanelorn and the rest and devoting himself to the exploration of all these infinite worlds. But then he knew that this could not be for, if Erekosë spoke the truth, then he—or something which was essentially himself—existed in all these planes already. Whatever force it was which he named ‘Fate’ had admitted him to this plane to fulfill one purpose. An important purpose affecting the destinies of a thousand planes it must surely be if it brought him together in three separate incarnations. He glanced curiously at the black giant on his left, at the maimed man with the jeweled hand and eye on his right. Were they really himself?

Now he fancied he felt some of the desperation Erekosë must feel—to remember all those other incarnations, all those other mistakes, all that other pointless conflict—and never to know the purpose for it all, if purpose indeed there were.

“Darkvale,” said Corum pointing down the hill.

The road ran steeply until it passed between two looming cliffs, disappearing in shadow. There was something particularly gloomy about the place.

“I am told there was a village here once,” Corum said to them. “An uninviting spot, eh, brothers?”

“I have seen worse,” murmured Erekosë. “Come, let’s get all this done with . . .” He spurred his roan ahead of the others and galloped at great speed down the steep path. They followed his example and soon they had passed between the lowering cliffs and could barely see ahead of them as they continued to follow the road through the shadows.

And now Elric saw ruins huddled close to the foot of the cliffs on either side. Oddly twisted ruins which had not been the result of age or warfare—these ruins were warped, fused, as if Chaos had touched them while passing through the vale.

Corum had been studying the ruins carefully and at length he reined in. “There,” he said. “That pit. Here is where we must wait.”

Elric looked at the pit. It was ragged and deep and the earth in it seemed freshly turned as if it had been but lately dug. “What must we wait for, friend Corum?”

“For the tower,” said Prince Corum. “I would guess that this is where it appears when it is in this plane.”

“And when will it appear?”

“At no particular time. We must wait. And then, as soon as we see it, we must rush it and attempt to enter before it vanishes again, moving on to the next plane.”

Erekosë’s face was impassive. He dismounted and sat on the hard ground with his back against a slab of rock which had once belonged to a house.

“You seem more patient than I, Erekosë,” said Elric.

“I have learned patience, for I have lived since time began and will live on at the end of time.”

Elric got down from his own black horse and loosened its girth strap while Corum prowled about the edge of the pit. “Who told you that the tower would appear here?” Elric asked him.

“A sorcerer who doubtless serves Law as I