Fire and Fog cr-5

by Неизвестный

  " I waited for you to tire yourself, to do the work for me."

  " I am not tired, Claybore."

  " You kid yourself, then," said Claybore, laughing. His mocking gestures angered Lan, who watched as the sorcerer came into the chamber on clanking mechanical legs driven by subtle magics. The arms took up a defensive pose, ready to subvert any spell Lan might cast.

  Lan savored this moment. Claybore might decry his skills, but Lan knew deep within how he had grown as a mage. Claybore was not only wrong, he was defeated and didn' t know it. Lan Martak felt the power on him. He could not lose.

  " This after you' ve told me it' s possible to destroy your parts. Kiska was wrong. The parts are not immortal. The whole might be, but not the parts."

  " Immortality rests with all the parts, but that doesn' t mean the segments cannot be destroyed," said Claybore. " Left alone, they will survive for all eternity."

  " Consummate magics will destroy them," said Lan, almost gloating now.

  " Terrill tried and failed."

  " I' m better than Terrill."

  The chalk- white skull tipped sideways, the eye sockets taking on a blackness darker than space. The jaw had been destroyed and the area around the nose hole had become riddled with cracks. Claybore' s skull disintegrated a bit more under each attack. Lan felt confident that he would turn the skull into dust before the day was out.

  " You think so?" mocked Claybore.

  " I feel it."

  " You' re a fool. You' re a fool I have manipulated for my own ends for some time. You cannot win. You don' t even understand what the stakes are we play for."

  " Conquest. Power."

  " Yes, that," said Claybore, stopping beside the copper coffin holding his left leg. " And more. Power is worthless unless it is used. And after you' ve conquered a few thousand worlds, what then? With immortality, mere power is not enough."

  " What else can there be?" asked Lan, wondering if this was a trick to gull him into vulnerability.

  " Godhood. Not only power, but the worship of all living beings. Their birth, their death, every instant in between ruled totally- by me! For millennia there has been no true god because I imprisoned the Resident of the Pit."

  Lan' s agile mind worked over the details and filled in gaps. It all fit a pattern. Whether what was being said was truth or not he didn' t know, but it could well be. Terrill had been the Resident of the Pit' s pawn in the battle against Claybore, but what was the nature of that conflict?

  It had to be for the godhood Claybore mentioned; The sorcerer had dueled the reigning deity- the Resident of the Pit- and had somehow gained the upper hand. But the Resident fought back with Terrill as his principal weapon. Lacking full power, the Resident had not destroyed Claybore, but Terrill had succeeded in scattering the bodily parts along the Road.

  " You get a glimmering of the truth," said Claybore. " I failed to destroy the Resident and ended up dismembered. But the Resident was unable to regain godhood because I hold him imprisoned. A stalemate lasting centuries."

  " And one which is drawing to a close," said Lan. " Regaining your legs will give you the power to finally destroy the Resident. After all this time, you will be able to kill a deity."

  " Yes," came the sibilant acknowledgment. " And in the universe ruled by the god Claybore, there will be no further use for one such as yourself. Prepare to die, Lan Martak."

  Lan readied himself for the battle. He stood on one side of the chamber, the coffins holding the legs between him and Claybore. All that he had gone through, the death and the misery, the pain and learning would now be put to the test.

  " You will not win, Claybore," he said confidently.

  The spell Claybore cast exploded like the heart of a sun, blinding him, leaving him cut free of all his senses and floating through empty infinity.

  " The water you wanted," panted Broit Heresler. " We have it. But there' s bad news."

  Inyx looked at the tuns of acid rainwater accumulated from Eckalt' s vats. How the burning quality of the water might be used, she wasn' t sure, but it had to provide a potent weapon in the right circumstance.

  " None of you was hurt?" she asked anxiously. She counted heads and saw Broit had returned with all the gnomes he' d set out with.

  " You needed Eckalt' s help, didn' t you?" asked the clan leader.

  " Eckalt knows more of the inner workings of Yerrary than anyone else I' ve met. He hops around down there, doing his work, dispensing his distilled water, and accumulating knowledge in return."

  " Eckalt is dead."

  " What? Claybore?" she demanded, ire rising. She had liked the toad- being. Ducasien came and laid a hand on her shoulder. She spun, even madder when she saw the man' s face. It was as if he held back a secret he thought would hurt her. That failure of trust added fuel to the fire of her anger.

  " Not Claybore," said Broit Heresler. " Lan Martak. He killed Eckalt without remorse. There were witnesses. Several of the Wartton clan saw it all. Martak lifted Eckalt with a spell and hurled him into the well where you say this Resident thing lives."

  " Lan gave the blood sacrifice," Inyx said in a choked voice. " He sacrificed an intelligent being. Eckalt was such a harmless little creature."

  " He murdered Eckalt, is what he did," said Broit Heresler. " And he didn' t even leave us a proper body to bury. That might not be such a loss, though, if we can create another cenotaph because of it. A new way on and off the world is always a boon. New travelers, new corpses to bury. There' s usually a way to turn trouble into gain, especially if you' re clever like I am."

  " But he could have sensed Eckalt' s intelligence," she said.

  " He didn' t even try," said Ducasien. " I already knew but didn' t want to say anything. He is a callous killer, this friend of yours."

  " There is nothing wrong in that," cut in Krek, " but the circumstances hardly warranted it. Lan Martak could have spent a few more minutes looking for an appropriate sacrifice to awaken the Resident."

  " The power has gone to his head. He thinks only of himself, that he is invincible," declared Ducasien.

  " You' re still thinking to help this corpse- destroyer?" asked Broit. " Not that it' s any cause for alarm, as long as he creates enough business for us Hereslers."

  " I say we consecrate the cenotaph to Eckalt, then leave this world," said Ducasien.

  " Friend Ducasien has a point," said Krek. The spider bobbed up and down, then added, " However, we know only one side of this issue. Should we not query Lan Martak first? While he has sorely mistreated me, my innate sense of fair play comes to the fore. In the past we owed him much. Surely, we can ask and listen to his explanation."

  Inyx saw all eyes on her. The decision rested squarely on her shoulders whether they were to carry out the planned attack in conjunction with Lan' s magical assault or simply turn and leave Yerrary and this world.

  Ducasien wanted to leave. Krek asked for answers from Lan.

  Her vote decided the issue.

  " You recovered nicely, Martak," congratulated Claybore. But the younger mage did not take it as a compliment. To do so meant Claybore gained a fraction of power over him.

  Spinning through space- blinded and deaf, totally without senseshad startled him, but fear wasn' t his response. He had fought and found within himself the right ways of countering Claybore' s attack.

  He whirled back and still faced Claybore. No time had elapsed. The wild flight had been entirely illusory- but ever so real while he was caught up in the spell.

  " A petty trick," he said, knowing how Claybore had done it. " Goodbye."

  The spell he cast contained elements of the most powerful spells he was capable of controlling. The invisible web caught at Claybore and further cracked the skull, a piece falling to the stone floor. Lan tightened and the magics spilled over from the edge of his control and eroded away the coffin immediately in front of Claybore.

  That almost proved his undoing.

  The leg, freed of the magical bindings
Lirory Tefize had placed upon it, kicked out of the copper coffin and balanced in a mockery of life on the floor. The sight of the dismembered leg moving of its own volition startled Lan into relaxing his attack.

  And when Claybore riposted, it came in an unexpected fashion. The leg hopped forward and kicked straight for Lan' s groin. The physical pain meant little to Lan; the shock of seeing the leg attack allowed cracks to develop in his own defenses.

  Claybore entered that breach easily. The spells used by the mage beat at Lan' s every vulnerable point. He was forced backward, driven to the wall. The inner core on which he relied came to his aid, giving him the respite to reform his defenses.

  All the while the ghastly leg continued to hop and kick at him.

  " See, Martak? All of me wants to see you die," said Claybore. " And you will- you will die as only an immortal can. You will live forever and be in complete pain for all eternity. Nothing will save you. You will cry in the dark for surcease and never find it. You will die, not in body, but in mind. Die, Martak, die!"

  Lan couldn' t stop the surging attack, but he could turn it aside enough to keep from succumbing. And knowing his strength was nowhere near adequate to destroy Claybore as he' d thought, cunning took over. Lan Martak turned aside the assault and redirected it for the hopping, kicking leg.

  " No!" came the shriek as Claybore realized what was happening.

  His leg vanished in a sizzling cloud of greasy black smoke, lost forever.

  " Your skin is gone. I have your tongue. Now your leg is destroyed. Who is losing, Claybore?"

  Lan twisted away as heat destroyed the other copper coffin. Droplets of molten metal seared his skin, raised blisters, burned like a million ants devouring his flesh. The other leg bounded free of its vaporized coffin and went hopping toward Claybore.

  Lan tried to stop it and found the other sorcerer' s spells prevented it. Leg and torso would soon be reunited. What power would this give Claybore? Lan didn' t want to find out.

  " You can' t stop me, Martak," gloated Claybore. " You had your chance. You' ve failed."

  " Aren' t you the one failing, Claybore? Where' s your right leg? It' s gone. Completely destroyed. The other soon will be."

  " Never!"

  Lan sent out tangling spells to numb the nerves in the leg. They failed. The leg did not live in the same way other things did. He hurled fireballs and sent elementals and opened pits and still he failed to prevent the inexorable movement of the left leg as it hopped toward Claybore.

  Every spell he wove sapped that much more strength from him. Lan realized with a sick feeling that Claybore was growing stronger. When the leg rejoined, his power would be supreme.

  Lan was lost. The universe was lost- and ruling over it would be a new god: Claybore.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lan Martak fought with all the ferocity of a cornered rat. Try as he would, however, Claybore always proved the stronger. Lan thought he had strength and youth on his side; Claybore' s primary advantage was experience that sapped Lan' s strength, made him commit to foolish attacks using his spells so that they were sent skittering off harmlessly.

  Lan felt weakness again. His hands shook and his vision blurred. But he all too clearly saw that Claybore' s left leg hopped toward the sorcerer. In only seconds the limb would be rejoined. Claybore would have triumphed to that extent- and it might be enough to bring his evil plans to fruition.

  " All the universe will be mine to rule," came Claybore' s mocking words, so soft and sibilant that they were almost a whisper. " More than ruling, all the peoples of those worlds will worship me. I shall reign supreme forever!"

  " Won' t that pall on you?" gasped out Lan. He countered a nervenumbing spell and started a chant of his own to renew his attack. Power slipped from him like a dropped cloak. Grabbing at it only caused it to slide away faster.

  " Ask me in a million years."

  " You' ll ruin worlds."

  " Yes."

  " You don' t care. You owe it to the people you' ll rule not to harm them."

  " Why?" Then Claybore' s laughter echoed in Lan' s skull. " Your tone has changed, Martak. Now you' re trying to invest me with a conscience. You' re admitting I have won. It is apparent, isn' t it?"

  " Yes," Lan grated out- but he had one last spell to try. Lirory Tefize had recorded this one and Lan had not dared use it. The binding spell holding Claybore' s arms and legs had been potent. Would it still work and would it work on Claybore himself?

  Lan began the motions with his fingers. The air twisted into improbable shapes before him. The words formed colored threads in the midst of the writhing mass. And he sent his light mote directly into the vortex to supply power.

  The virtually uncontrolled spell burst forth with more vehemence than Lan had anticipated- or Claybore expected.

  The sorcerer screamed as his leg froze in midhop and fell lifeless to the stone floor. His rejoined arms began twitching spastically and Lan watched in fascination as the Kinetic Sphere, Claybore' s very heart, began pushing outward from his chest. But the spell was not without effect on Lan himself. His mouth turned metallic and his tongue began to glow hotter and hotter. Lirory' s spell affected all of Claybore' s bodily parts, and that included Claybore' s tongue.

  " You can' t do this!" shrieked Claybore. The ghastly apparition of the sorcerer leaped and cavorted about, dodging unseen menace. The cracks in the skull deepened until Lan wondered how it held together. With the jawbone already gone, Claybore turned even more gruesome with every passing moment.

  Lan found himself unable to speak, but the sensation of victory assuaged that. Claybore was becoming wrapped in the spell and would soon lie as numbed on the floor as his left leg. No longer even kicking, the leg presented no menace at all. Its magics were contained. And Claybore would be soon, also.

  Lan blinked in surprise when all the magical attack against him suddenly ceased. His tongue still burned, but that was the product of his own conjuring.

  " Given up so easily, Claybore?" he croaked out. Then Lan saw what the sorcerer did. The attack hadn' t lessened, it had shifted.

  Kiska k' Adesina writhed on the floor, face blue from the spells cutting off her air. Her body arched violently as if her back would snap, then she flopped onto her belly and fingers cut into stone as she tried to escape Claybore' s punishment.

  " Stop it!" cried Lan.

  Without thinking, he directed his full power to shielding the woman from Claybore. The instant his attack on Claybore stopped, the disembodied sorcerer countered.

  " You can' t let her come to harm, can you, Martak?" chided Claybore. " You love her. You must protect her. You have to. She means more than your own life, doesn' t she?"

  " No," said Lan. The weakness of his reply told him everything. He did love Kiska k' Adesina, his sworn enemy, the woman who hated him with an obsession bordering on insanity; he loved her.

  " I see it in your face. Defend her. Keep her from harm."

  Claybore' s spells trapped the woman on the floor like a bug with a pin through it. She gasped for breath, twisted about as joints snapped and limbs turned in ways never intended. Lan watched as Claybore broke her physically with his powerful spells.

  But if he protected Kiska adequately, he left himself open to attack. One or the other it was possible to defend, but not both of them.

  " She dies, Martak. Your lover dies."

  The desolation welling up within Lan couldn' t be expressed. He had no true love for Kiska. She had tried to kill him on more occasions than he could count, yet he did love her. Irrationally, without any regard for Inyx or his feelings for her, Lan loved Kiska.

  " Look at her pain, Martak. I really don' t want to do this to her, but it gives me some practice. When I become a true god, I think I shall do this every day."

  Lan gambled everything on forming one last spell to hurl every spark of energy he had directly at Claybore- to stun Claybore, to stop the torture Kiska felt.

  The bolt lashed forth with such
intensity the rock walls turned viscid and flowed in sluggish molten streams. The dancing light mote guided the tip of this energy blast directly for Claybore' s skull. The sorcerer staggered back, his metallic legs beginning to melt under the onslaught. But the reaction was not that which Lan expected. Claybore was being driven to the wall and yet an aura of triumph surrounded him.

  " Stop her!" came Krek' s voice. Lan ventured a quick glance to one side and saw Kiska k' Adesina rising up, dagger in hand. And the dagger was aimed straight for Lan' s back.

  As long as he maintained the spell against Claybore, Lan couldn' t move, couldn' t defend himself against physical attack. Even worse than this was the sight of the woman he loved trying to kill him, as if she still plotted with Claybore for his downfall.

  Inyx rushed forward, quick, strong hand gripping Kiska' s wrist and twisting at the last possible instant. Lan felt hot steel rake over his back. Thick streams of blood gushed forth, but the wound was messier than it was dangerous.

  But the shock of seeing the woman he loved try to kill him broke the continuity of his spell. Claybore began magically worming free of the attack.

  " Come," the sorcerer hissed. " Come to me!"

  The leg, once numbed, now twitched and kicked and bobbed until it was again hopping across the chamber. Lan' s power waned; he was unable to cope with Inyx and Kiska fighting, the spell he launched against Claybore and the countering spell the sorcerer returned, and the sight of the leg hopping to rejoin the body.

  " Krek," he moaned. " The leg. Stop it!"

  Krek' s huge front leg reached out and batted away the leg, sending it into the far wall. Flesh hissed slightly as it touched rock already turned molten from other spells.

  " The heat. Oh, my precious fur is smoldering," cried the spider.

  " Never mind that. Stop the leg from reaching Claybore."

  Lan' s words needed more conviction to get the spider to move. The way the man' s tongue burned within his mouth told him that his own enervating spell had been turned against him. Claybore' s cunning played on his every weakness, his every mistake.