The spider stopped and stood.
“Ahead. I sense him,” said Lan.
The arachnid also felt the tinglings of magic—from the Kinetic Sphere buried within Claybore’s breast. The world-shifting device touched on the magics Krek was most sensitive to.
“Claybore is off some distance in that direction,” said Krek, lifting a long front leg and pointing away to the right.
“Not Claybore. I want to eliminate Lirory Tefize first. The pair of them together was almost more than I could handle. Get rid of Lirory, then Claybore. I don’t think Claybore can stand alone against me, even with his arms.”
“You take on more than you should,” observed the spider. “Forget this nonsense for the moment. Free friend Inyx and then the three of us can properly enter battle.”
“Where’s the spiderish bloodthirstiness I’m always hearing about? You wanting out of this?” asked Lan.
“Battle does not thrill me, not the way you humans wage it. You refuse to eat the vanquished. Why bother, except that they would kill you first?”
“Lirory Tefize regains his power too rapidly. He has some magical device to aid him,” said Lan, lost in the upcoming battle. He walked as if in a trance and stopped beside Kiska k’Adesina. The woman took his arm and held it, more like a lover than an avowed enemy.
The arachnid only watched in concern. He had never fully understood human mating rituals. To his mind, they had been observed and consummated between Lan Martak and Inyx. But now Lan Martak acted as if Kiska were of great importance to him as a friend and lover. Krek wobbled about and finally gave up trying to get to the root of Lan Martak’s motivations.
“He’s resting in his chamber,” said Lan in a low voice. “I must attack now.”
“You’ll attract Claybore’s attention,” warned Kiska k’Adesina.
“Stay here with Krek. You’ll be all right.”
“Why do you care about her at all, Lan Martak?” asked the spider. “She wishes you only harm.”
Lan didn’t answer. He faced a blank wall and began muttering his chants of power. The rock began flowing, first in tiny rivulets, then in wrist-thick rivers. The hole grew larger and larger until finally even Krek could walk through it into Lirory Tefize’s chambers.
The gnome let out a shriek of pure anguish and almost dived across the room, twisting in midair to seat himself on a large slag rock throne. Only when he had both hands on the armrests did the gnome allow himself to smile.
“You still live, Martak. Your resourcefulness astounds me. Few of us even here in Yerrary can survive the fog.”
Krek said, “He had considerable help.” Lirory ignored the spider, his attention fully on Lan.
“Since you did not graciously die outside my mountain, you must stain its floors by dying within.”
Lan laughed harshly, the sound totally unlike anything Krek had heard from the sorcerer’s lips before. Mixed together with the Voice powered by the metal tongue resting within his mouth came contempt, derision, even hatred not borne of Lan’s own soul.
Lirory scowled, then began a chant pitched too low for Krek to hear. The air within the high-roofed, pyramid-shaped chamber took on an electric tension as the magics sizzled.
Lan stepped forward, but Lirory held him at bay. The very rock throne on which the gnome sat began to glow bright green. The gnome mage’s entire body tensed as he absorbed the aura and focused it toward Lan, who turned it aside with magical shields of his own. Only when he was sure his own strength was sufficient did Lan initiate his attack. And a prodigious one it was.
Krek flinched away as the air writhed with half-born elementals, creatures ripped from other worlds, shadowy beings lunging and slashing at Lirory Tefize. The gnome’s face clouded with fear at the sight; Lan had instinctively known what produced the most panic in his opponent. They traded spells, but the outcome quickly became obvious to the spider: deadlock.
As swiftly as the spider realized it, so did Lirory. The gnome shifted weight slightly in his throne and directed a paralyzing blast straight for Krek. The lumbering creature had no time at all to avoid the spell, even if he could have. Speed meant little against the magics used within this chamber.
“Lan Martak,” Krek moaned out. “My legs are again frozen. He reduces me to a pathetic heap of fur!”
Lan glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Lirory. Kiska came and stood by the man’s side, as if the pair of them fought Lirory. Krek thought the battle lost now. Kiska would distract Lan and Lirory would magically annihilate him—this was, after all, what Kiska k’Adesina had strived for across so many worlds.
“Away, Krek,” came the Voice. “Get away from here!”
The spider’s entire body rippled with pain as Lan gave the command he had delivered before. The overwhelming urge to leave seized Krek, shook him, forced him to move first one leg and then the other. Nothing counted except getting away from Lan Martak.
Lirory began sweating. The emerald glow of his throne took on a deeper hue as power surged through the gnome.
“You can’t best me,” said Lan. The mage’s face remained unwrinkled with exertion or doubt. No perspiration ran down his forehead. Lirory’s very fingers dug fiercely into the stone armrests as he fought against Lan’s implacable defenses, his potent offenses.
“I am better,” the gnome grated out between clenched teeth. “I am!”
Krek’s pain mounted as he fought to obey Lan’s command in spite of the nerve-numbing spell Lirory cast over him. Krek finally got away, his huge bulk tumbling through the hole in the wall and out into the corridor. Once outside Lirory’s huge stone chamber, all traces of the gnome’s spell vanished.
Inside, however, the magical battle continued to rage in ways Krek would never understand. But what he did understand was that a deadlock was again forming—unless he could somehow divert Lirory’s attention. Lan needed more time to regain his strength; Lirory drew too heavily from the power base in his throne to allow Lan to completely triumph.
Krek spat out a climbing web. The bright silver dot tipping the web arched up and found a protruding stone from the pyramidal apex forming the ceiling. The dot of adhesive hit the stone, spattered across, and firmly held the web strand. Krek squeezed forward, keeping his body as compact as possible, then launched himself. He swung a short distance before scuttling aloft on his thin strand of webstuff. In seconds he dangled over Lirory’s throne, directly under the apex.
The spider’s immense bulk caused the gnome to nervously glance overhead from time to time. This decreased the mage’s ability to continually counter Lan’s magical thrusts effectively. But when Krek came hurtling downward on the end of his web, Lirory Tefize’s nerve broke and he shot from the throne as if propelled by springs.
The instant that contact was lost between his body and the power-giving throne, the gnome knew he had made a fatal error.
“Martak, please, no!” the gnome shrieked.
But it was too late for him.
A fire elemental whooshed into existence around the gnome’s stocky body, whirled twice, and then shrieked in triumph as it leaped upward, trailing flames as it went. Lirory Tefize turned to ash under the intense heat of the salamander. Krek screamed as the flaming mass rocketed upward toward him.
Lan waved his hand almost contemptuously and the elemental vanished inches from the spider and the inflammable webbing.
Krek dropped to the floor and said, “You nearly allowed it to devour me, as it did Lirory.”
“I stopped it in time. What are you worrying about?”
Krek crouched down, pulling legs in tightly around him. This was not the response he expected from Lan Martak. It was as if this human creature were another inhabiting Lan Martak’s body.
“You did well, Lan,” said Kiska. The woman’s thin fingers stroked his arm and came to rest on his shoulder. He seemed to bathe in the admiration showered upon him by his bitter enemy.
“Thanks. I knew Lirory wasn’t able to stand up to me. Now
we go after Claybore.”
“No, Lan,” said the woman. “You need to rest. Lirory almost killed you.”
“Killed me?” Lan’s laugh sounded harsh to Krek. “That’s not possible. I’m immortal.” But he did not rush out to seek Claybore. Instead, he sat upon Lirory’s throne. Where the gnome had created a green aura, Lan produced a pale red one. He closed his eyes and soaked in the power being generated from inside the throne.
“Lan Martak, we must go rescue friend Inyx and her companion,” said Krek. “If you are not attacking Claybore right away, there is time and need.”
“There is no need,” Lan contradicted. “When Lirory died, his spell on them vanished. Go get Inyx and that Ducasien fellow out of their prison. It ought to be easy now.”
“You will not accompany me?” the spider asked, more surprised than hurt.
“Do it,” snapped Lan. The Voice echoed throughout the chamber. Krek felt infinite sorrow as he obeyed the magical command—sorrow that he obeyed because he had to rather than because he wanted to. Lan Martak’s magics took on more and more power and he used them in ways Krek did not approve of.
The spider lumbered out of Lirory’s chamber and down the corridor until he found a trough of acid water seeking a lower level. With care, he skirted the trough and the bubbling liquid it held and spiraled downward to the lowest level of Yerrary. There it took Krek only a few minutes to find the excavations and the cell where Lirory Tefize had left the humans to die.
Krek stood and stared into the cell. Inyx slept, Ducasien’s arm protectively around her shoulder. The man simply stared at a blank wall. Krek worried that Lan Martak might have been wrong, that it wasn’t possible to get the two from within the cell.
“Friend Inyx,” the spider said softly. “I have come for you.”
Bright blue eyes snapped instantly open. For a fraction of a second, Inyx looked as if she didn’t believe this was happening, that she only dreamed of rescue. Then she shoved herself to her feet and dove forward, arms outstretched. Krek caught her between his two front legs and spun her around clumsily.
“Krek! You did it! You rescued us!” she cried.
“Friend Inyx, I have only come for you. It is Lan Martak who has destroyed Lirory and lifted the spell binding you in the cell.”
She frowned slightly and then called to Ducasien, “Come on. We’ve got work to do! Lan’s gotten rid of Lirory Tefize.”
Ducasien approached more slowly, as if unsure of the spider’s intentions.
“He’s my friend, Ducasien,” Inyx said, laughing and crying at the same time. “I never thought I’d see him again. Oh, do come on! We’ve got to join Lan.”
Ducasien trailed behind the woman and the spider, stopping only to retrieve their weapons where Lirory had cast them aside before imprisoning them. He caught up and handed the weapons to Inyx, who strapped on the swordbelt and made sure the sword rested easy in its sheath.
“I knew he could do it. I told you he could!” Inyx kept saying over and over.
“Friend Inyx,” began Krek. Then the spider stopped. How did he tell her that Lan had not specifically rescued her? In point of fact, Lan had refused to aid her. The spell was broken only as a result of Lirory Tefize’s defeat, not because Lan had applied himself to the task directly. While the results were the same, Krek’s spiderish mind worried over the motives.
“What’s bothering you?” Inyx asked.
“Nothing.”
“I knew Lan wouldn’t let us rot there.” Inyx held out her arms and displayed the tiny reddenings from acid water dribbling down onto her flesh. “We weren’t in there long enough to get really hungry or thirsty, but another day of the water coming in on our heads might have finished us off. I’m so glad he succeeded in breaking the ward spell!”
They made their way up through Yerrary and back to Lirory’s chamber. The sight of Kiska k’Adesina brought forth Inyx’s sword in a smooth draw. But before the dark-haired woman could launch a killing attack, Lan stopped her with a single command.
The Voice froze her solid.
“What’s going on, Lan?” Inyx raged. She fought against his spell and lost. “Why do you allow her to roam freely? Kill her!”
“No,” the young mage said. “I need her.”
“For what?” cried Inyx.
“Hush,” cautioned Ducasien from one side. “There is more to this than you can unearth easily.”
Inyx shot him a hot glare, but quieted. Lan released the spell binding her and she stood, holding her sword in hand, ready for a quick thrust.
“Explain this to me, Lan,” she said. “Krek is acting strangely. Is there anything wrong between the two of you?”
“I am very busy. Run along and find some food. Rest. Do something. I need to finish going through Lirory’s grimoire. There is a clue in here somewhere as to how I can best use Claybore’s legs against him. He doesn’t have them yet, and if I recover them first, I can use them.”
“Lan!” protested Inyx. But he had turned from her, dismissed her, had not even properly greeted her.
Inyx’s anger rose until Krek forcibly restrained her.
“Lan Martak’s power is too great to fight,” the spider said. “Do as he commands—for the moment. You need food and water. Both you and friend Ducasien do.”
Inyx’s gaze snapped around and fixed on Krek’s huge brown eyes. Although Krek had named Ducasien “friend,” he had pointedly failed to do so with Lan.
Hot tears in her eyes, Inyx spun and left Lan without a backward glance. Krek heaved a deep, shuddering sigh and trailed along behind her, wondering if he should ask if such rude behavior formed a new part of human mating rituals that he knew nothing about.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Claybore shifted slowly on his metallic legs as his hands stroked over his body. The sensation of touch was superb. For so long he had been without arms and hands that he had forgotten the exquisite sense almost entirely.
Damn Terrill and his meddling ways! And damn the Resident of the Pit for giving Terrill the powers he needed for the initial dismemberment! But Claybore gloated now. He had triumphed, after so many centuries. Terrill lay dead—or better than dead—and the Resident of the Pit had lost all power.
Claybore continued stroking himself as he cast forth his scrying spell. Before him as if they were in the same room stood Lan Martak and Kiska k’Adesina. Only Lirory Tefize’s ashes remained on the floor, the throne upon which the gnome had once rested now lay inert, dull, more dead than alive.
“So he has defeated you, my friend,” mused Claybore. “It is no great surprise. You were overconfident. If he had not dispatched you so easily, I would have done so soon enough.”
Claybore studied the scene with some enjoyment. Lirory had thought to keep the upper hand because Claybore didn’t know where his legs were hidden. At that Claybore let out a laugh that echoed along the hallways of infinity, rocking from one planet to the next.
His shadow creature had sniffed out those legs in less than an hour—and located the various traps the gnome had laid. While Lirory’s magics had been great, Claybore’s were far greater. The shadow hound knew no dimension, slipped in and out of rooms and through walls and worlds, seeking, sniffing, finding.
“Should I loose you on him yet?” Claybore asked the shadow hound. A dim outline appeared at the mechanical feet. Savage fangs ripped forth and clamped on the metal leg, bending a strut and breaking off a cogged wheel. With a pass of his wondrously alive hand, Claybore sent the shadow hound bouncing away.
The creature flickered insubstantially as it strove to regain its position on this world. The ebony eyes burned with even darker swirls of hatred and the claws on the front feet pawed futilely in the air.
“Think not to turn on me, beast,” cautioned Claybore. “I can send you back into nothingness. Just like this!”
The shadow hound let forth with an anguished howl of frustration and pain and… vanished.
Claybore waited for a few seconds, then resummone
d the hound. Contrite now, it groveled at his feet. Claybore’s fleshless mouth opened in a parody of a smile. This was the way it had been in the old days, when his power was unquestioned, when he was able to do as he pleased on any world. A death here and there—who cared? He had been invincible.
Claybore would be again.
“Come along, my little friend,” he said to the shadow hound. “I would speak once more with the Resident.”
Claybore delighted in seeing his old nemesis captive and impotent while his own power returned. He reached the lowest levels of Yerrary and made his way through the rubble to the cistern where the Resident dwelled on this world. Claybore gestured for the hound to find a suitable blood offering. Nothing less than the still-living carcass of some animal would animate the Resident of the Pit.
The hound returned, a small rodent clutched in its mouth. The brown furry rat squealed in anguish as the punishing fangs cut through its flesh and sank bone-deep. Claybore motioned for the shadow creature to deliver the offering. The rat fell into the pit, twisting and trying to snap at its attacker.
A droplet of blood from a wound activated the sequence leading to the summoning of the Resident.
“I wished to speak one last time, Resident of the Pit,” said Claybore. “When I regain my legs, I will again be in control. Does that bother you?”
“No,” came the baleful reply.
“It ought to. You opposed me once and see where it has landed you. Once you were a god. No longer. I brought about your downfall.”
“Terrill brought about yours.”
“He is no more,” snapped Claybore, the ruby lights in the eye sockets flaring forth in hot anger. “Just as you lost all in that battle, so did he.”
“Terrill is not dead.”
“Terrill is not alive, either,” said Claybore. “I defeated him. I defeated you. And I want you to know that your pawn is soon to fall to my queen.”
The Resident of the Pit did not reply. Claybore warmed to the telling, his audience unable to flee. Triumph flared within his breast, turned the Kinetic Sphere a soft, pulsating pink, made his entire body come more alive than it had been in a millennium. He gestured wildly, more for the sensation of movement than to emphasize his point. He wanted to gloat and gloat he would!
[Cenotaph Road 05] - Fire and Fog Page 13