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linked hands which stood about a mound in an oak-grove.
    ‘ ‘Lord of the Mound. Lord of the Silver Hand. Only you can save us.”
    And Corum found himself replying: “How can I save you?”
    The answering voice sounded excited. “You answer at last! Come to us, Corum of the Silver Hand. Come to us Prince in the Scarlet Robe. Save us as you have saved us in the past.”
    “How can I save you?”
    “You can find for us the Bull and the Spear and lead us against the Fhoi My ore. Show us how to fight them, for they do not fight as we fight.”
    Corum stirred. Now he could see them. They were tall and good-looking young men and women whose bronzed bodies glinted with warm gold, the color of autumn corn, and the gold was woven into intricate and pleasing designs. They wore armlets, anklets, collars and circlets, all of gold. Their flowing clothes were of linen dyed in light reds, blues and yellows. There were sandals upon their feet. They had fair hair or hair as red as rowanberries. They were, indeed, the same race as the folk of Lwym-an-Esh. They stood in the oak-grove, hands joined, eyes closed, and they spoke as one.
    “Come to us, Lord Corum. Come to us.”
    “I will consider it,” said Corum, making his tone a kindly one, “for it is long since I have fought and I have forgotten the arts of war.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “If I come, I will come tomorrow.”
    The scene faded, the voices faded. And Corum slept peacefully until morning.
    When he awoke he knew that there was nothing to debate. While he slept he had decided, if possible, to answer the call of the people of the oak-grove. His life at Castle Erorn was not only miserable, it served no one, not even himself. He would go to them, crossing the planes, moving through time, and he would go to them willingly, proudly.
    Jhary found him in the armory. He had selected for himself the silver byrnie and the conical helm of silvered steel and his full name engraved above the peak. He had found greaves of gilded brass and he had laid out his surcoat of scarlet silk, his shirt of blue samite, A long-hafted Vadhagh war-axe stood against a bench and beside it was a sword manufactured in a place other than the Earth, with a hilt of red and black onyx, a lance whose shaft was carved from top to bottom with miniature hunting scenes comprising more than a hundred tiny figures, all depicted in considerable detail. There also was a good bow and a quiver of well-fletched arrows. Resting against these was a round war-board, a shield made of a number of layers of timber) leather, brass and silver and covered all over with the fine, strong hide of the white rhinocerus which had once lived in the northern forests of Corum’s land.
    “When do you go to them?” said Jhary, inspecting the array.
    “Tonight.” Corum weighed the lance in his hand. “If their summoning is successful. I shall go mounted, on my red horse. I shall ride to them.”
    Jhary did not ask how Corum would reach them and Corum himself had not considered that problem, either. Certain peculiar laws would be involved, and that was all they knew or cared to know. Much depended on the power of invocation of the group who waited in the oak-grove.
    Together they broke their fast, and then they went up to the battlements of the castle. From there they could see the wide ocean to the west and the great forests and moors to the east. The sun was bright and the sky was wide and clear and blue. It was a good, peaceful day. They talked of the old times, recalling dead friends and dead or banished gods, of Kwll who had been more powerful than either the Lords of Law or the Lords of Chaos, who had seemed to fear nothing. They wondered where Kwll and his brother Rhynn had gone, whether there were other worlds beyond the fifteen planes of Earth and if those worlds resembled Earth in any way.
    “And then, of course,” said Jhary, “there is the question concerning the Conjunction of the Million Spheres and what follows when that