by Неизвестный
Inyx turned to examine the room further. As she moved, the world reeled about her. She dropped to her knees, feeling as if she had shifted between worlds, using a cenotaph. Colors flowed in wild, kaleidoscopes, sounds starting below her range of hearing, then crescendoed upward till her head almost split. She felt, she tasted, she heard and experienced: damnation.
The woman spun through space and time, tumbling, lurching, jerking, twisting, especially twisting, forever twisting inside and out.
Inyx knew she had truly found the Twistings.
" Bigger than life," muttered Lan Martak. " This is similar to the projection device used by the Suzerain back in Melitarsus."
" Larger," said Krek. " And the Lord of the Twistings is not as personable."
" Personable," snorted Lan. " That woman tried to imprison us. Even if it was a prison of gold and fineries."
" Note how he controls the crowd with his voice. Seldom have I seen a more consummate politician," said Krek. " This is a touch of magic. Perhaps not in the sense you mean when you chant spells, but it is magic, nonetheless."
Lan had to agree. The Lord built the crowd' s emotions to a fever pitch, then stopped just short of inciting them to riot. Then he began again, teasing and tormenting them, moving them along in the direction he desired. The poor campaigner who had been on the platform under the giant screen when the Lord of the Twistings appeared had become a nonentity. No one noticed him now, even with his colorful illusions cavorting about, performing increasingly obscene acts. Lan turned back to the Lord' s immense face when the other office- seeker stopped his erotic images and left the platform in disgust.
" Crime is vicious," the Lord said, as if he stated a newly found truth of the universe. " Only punishment befitting the crime will stop the rampaging rise of offenses against the public."
The crowd screamed. The picture altered from the Lord' s face to a long hallway with a huge vault door at the end. The people around Lan and Krek fell strangely silent at the sight. The silence spread until Lan heard only his own heart beating. Over fifty thousand people stood without making a single sound.
" The Twistings," explained the Lord. " This is my weapon against crime. Cast the criminal in!"
The crowd sucked in and held its collective breath in anticipation. Lan' s eyes widened in recognition when he saw whom the mechanicals shoved forward.
" Inyx!"
" Be silent, friend Lan Martak. If you let on you know her, they will rip you to bloody pieces."
He didn' t need Krek to tell him that. He raged at the sight of the mechanicals shoving Inyx past the vault door, then closing it. The last view he had of her was standing in a bare room, a perplexed expression on her face. The scene changed to the exterior of the vault door, cunningly painted with a smiling portrait of the Lord on it.
In everything, the Lord advertised himself.
" Such will be the fate of all criminals. The Twistings!" came the disembodied voice.
" The Twistings! The Twistings! The Twistings!" The throng screamed until Lan' s ears revolted and refused to listen.
He grabbed one of Krek' s back legs and pulled the spider from the plaza. They sought out a back alley and slumped against the cool walls of the buildings. Only when a ringing note in his ears came did Lan speak. His voice sounded hollow, distant. He was still partially deaf from the intense noise of the crowd' s cheers.
" What do we do now?" asked Krek.
" Go after her."
" These Twistings that so fascinate the crowd do not appear to be easily visited," the spider pointed out. " Such a venture on our part might be dangerous or even suicidal."
Lan knew his friend was right. What did he owe Inyx? He turned that question over and over in his mind. He had gotten her into this fix, at least indirectly. Without his interference with Claybore she would have never become lost in the whiteness between worlds. Still, he had rescued her from that fate. Whatever drove her into Dicca and the Twistings wasn' t morally his burden.
Yet he felt it was.
Did he love Inyx? Lan Martak had no easy answer for that one. They had fought side by side. Did this shared blood constitute love? He doubted it. Rather he felt an admiration for her, a loyalty to her. She was definitely a friend.
Maybe more. Maybe.
Lan looked up at the silent bulk of the spider. He had fought and killed for Krek. Krek had done likewise for him. Yet as close as they were, something was lacking in their friendship. He guessed it was Inyx. When the three were together, they functioned as a whole, a unit, something transcending individuals.
Did he love Inyx? Yes. But mixed in with that love were other emotions no less powerful.
" We can' t leave her," he said. The decision made, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. They might march into the Twistings, into death, but the attempt to rescue Inyx had to be made.
" So we retrieve her," said Krek.
They started for the palace of the Lord of the Twistings.
" No wall," said Krek. " I have not been able to spin a worthwhile web since we came to this miserable world. I had hoped to be able to dangle freely, swinging to and fro, from the tallest spire of a castle. But this, this is pathetic!"
Lan worried, but for different reasons. Any ruler accumulated enemies, those who had been turned down for jobs, those defeated, those ruined, even the insane. From what he had seen of the Lord of the Twistings, the man probably required constant bodyguards. The position was coveted by many; assassination had to play a major role in this world' s politics. It did everywhere else.
" There aren' t any guards to be seen, either," Lan pointed out. " It can' t be this easy. We don' t just walk in."
" He might prefer an open- door policy when dealing with his adoring populace."
" He might prefer being buggered by a dwarf," snapped Lan. " There are guards around. There must be."
" What of magical wards?"
" Nothing. I don' t even feel the generation of any illusions."
" I see none," said the spider. " There is one sure way of finding if our senses lie."
" Krek, no!" he called, but the spider began walking across the grassy lawn toward the palace. His rolling gait didn' t vary as he approached the nearest building.
Lan swallowed hard and followed. Halfway across the lawn, he felt his body from the waist down go numb, as if his spine had been snapped. Falling forward, he began dragging himself with his hands. He wanted to call out to Krek but refrained. A momentary burst of magic had told him ward spells did exist; he was too unsophisticated to detect them until it was too late.
To his surprise, the paralysis vanished within a few feet. Lan crouched, running his hands over his legs, enjoying the tingle as his fingernails cut into flesh. He turned and studied the terrain he' d just walked. By deep concentration he " saw" a spot on the lawn. Unlike a perpetual guard spell, this was somehow triggered mechanically. His weight had set off a debilitating spell. How the Lord mixed physical with psychic Lan had no way of knowing.
Turning his tuned sense forward, he " saw" several other patches dimly glowing. Avoiding those brought him to Krek' s side.
“ There were traps in the grass,” he said.
" Oh? I found none."
" There are benefits to being eight- legged- and long- legged, at that. Any of the traps you might have triggered sent a column of energy directly upward. Your body stays well away from where your feet are placed."
" Keeping all my feet beneath my body as you humans do is obviously impractical."
Lan began a retort, then froze. He heard a name mentioned that sent a thrill of discovery throughout his body.
Claybore!
He motioned to Krek. They picked their way closer to the building, then edged along the wall. Lan " saw" several more of the traps and indicated Krek should pass them by also. With contemptuous ease, Krek stepped over the magically glowing spots.
" But Claybore," came the protest from inside a palace room, " he did it on purpose. I h
ad no chance to oppose his action, not in front of half the city."
" Silvain, you disappoint me," came Claybore' s familiar voice. Lan peered in. The soldier he' d seen escorting Inyx from Luister lenLarrotti' s Fine Rooms hunched over a box. Wavering inside the box was a blue wraith- Claybore' s skull.
" Do you wish me to lead a force into the Twistings?"
" No! Not yet. That part of me residing with this upstart' s maze is important, but not vital."
" How goes the search for your tongue?" asked Silvain, obviously desiring a change of topic.
" It is difficult. The village chieftains require much persuasion, but I am hopeful that the information I require will soon be given. With my tongue once again in my head:"
" You will be invincible," finished Silvain.
The cold chuckle Lan remembered all too well filled the room, echoing, reverberating, building to a horrific pitch. The wavering blue mirage inside the box shook from side to side in negation.
" Not invincible. But certainly more powerful. To again be able to enunciate certain spells. That will speed the conquest. I need the freedom of a tongue to chant those spells most desired."
" May your quest be successful," Silvain said earnestly.
" And yours, Alberto, may it also be successful. I want that part of me returned. Also remember that the woman must die, as must the man and the bug."
Lan placed a restraining hand on Krek' s nearest leg.
" It will be done."
" I am sure it will. I place complete trust in you, Alberto." The dancing ghost- image inside the box crumbled into nothingness. Alberto Silvain leaned back and wiped sweat from his forehead.
Ducking down, Lan said softly, " Claybore is already at work in another world. Whatever it is of his body left on this planet can' t be too important, not if he is leaving it to a subordinate."
" Silvain appears competent enough."
" Claybore doesn' t take chances," Lan said. " I got the feeling that whatever they want is: Krek, run for it!"
Lan Martak spotted a patrol of grey- clad soldiers marching in precise step. Their officer had already located them before Lan shoved Krek in the opposite direction and shouted his order.
The soldiers had been trained well. Their death tubes sprang to hand. Lightning bolts slashed through the air in front of the fleeing pair, bringing them to a complete halt. Lan' s mind raced as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Getting into the palace undetected had been easy. How had they been detected?
Krek silently lifted a leg and pointed toward the sky.
Fluttercraft circled above, far enough away so that the sound of their rapidly spinning blades didn' t reach the ground but not so far away they couldn' t spy on every square inch of the palace grounds.
Lan' s mind tumbled and churned in agitation, preventing him from attaining the concentration required for casting any of the spells he knew. Even if he had been able to divert the death beams from himself, there wasn' t any way he could protect Krek, too.
The soldiers maintained position, cylinders pointing directly at their targets. Striding through their rank came their captain, smiling broadly. Lan knew he had reason to be happy: he' d just fulfilled Claybore' s command to capture the " man and the bug."
" The commandant has been expecting you," said the officer. He bowed and indicated Lan and Krek should precede him.
Lan walked off. To face death.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sensation of falling through infinity vanished, only to be replaced by one of spinning. Inyx staggered like a drunk, reaching out for support and finding nothing. Colors flared and odd odors assailed her nostrils. Whining deafened her, and her skin dripped ichorous fluids that made Inyx nauseated simply from the feel.
The assault on her brain ended as quickly as it had begun. Inyx stood in a hallway. Behind her was nothing. Ahead, the same. Which way had she come? No indication of passage told the tale. She dropped to hands and knees and began checking the floor in both directions.
Nothing.
An examination of the walls failed to disclose any hidden doorways. The floor appeared substantial, and the ceiling, while peeling yellowed paint, looked solid.
For all intents and purposes, she had entered a bare room, turned, and ended up in the middle of a very, very long hallway with no obvious entry point.
" Well, I' m alive. I' ve been in worse places." She tried not to think of the almost- dead quality between worlds. Inyx looked left, then right. " Which shall it be? To the left." It mattered little since no differentiation was possible.
Inyx walked. And walked and walked. For hours she walked. No doors. No cross- corridors. No one.
" So this is the horrific Twistings," she muttered. " The Lord bores his victims to death with the sameness of it all." Her words echoed slightly, then died. Coming in on top of the echo, however, her sensitive ears detected a: chomping.
Inyx looked behind her. A light blue bulbous creature, more teeth than body, waddled along, filling up the entire corridor. Its massive jaws swung open, revealing an impossibly large mouth. The jaws closed with a bone- jarring crunch. It advanced. The jaws opened.
Inyx ran.
The beast whined in triumph and speeded up. She stumbled, braced herself against the wall, and kept running. Her fastest was barely enough to stay in front of the opening and closing mouth. Once, when she slowed down the tiniest fraction, hot breath gusted along her neck and the chomping sound came too close for safety. Tiny bits of skin stayed on the teeth; Inyx picked up the pace.
She came to a branching in the corridor. To the left, she noticed the floor had been littered with small yellow globules. Trying to hurdle them and stay ahead of the blue gobbling creature didn' t seem too conducive to long life. If she remained in the same corridor, the path was clear. Inyx kept on the straight and narrow.
Only when she' d gone another twenty paces down the hall did she venture a look behind. The hungry beast stood at the junction, turning to face the perpendicular corridor, then back toward Inyx. It made a decision and walked off on tiny legs toward the yellow globes. It vanished from sight.
The woman gasped and leaned against the wall, arms around her own body. Safe. For the moment.
" I was wrong about you, Lord," she said when she regained her wind. " You' re not the kind to be content boring me to death. You' re trying to run me to death." And, she silently added, scare me until my heart explodes from the fright.
The paths open to her didn' t seem too appealing. To continue meant more of the same. Going back only covered terrain she' d already seen, even if it had been at a dead run. Curiosity enticed her to the juncture. Peering around the corner, she saw the blue monster gulping up the yellow globules. The sight of the creature feasting set her own stomach to rumbling. She couldn' t remember how long it had been since she' d eaten. From Alberto Silvain she had gotten nothing. Her last real meal had been a drugged one given her by Luister len- Larrotti.
If the blue beast ate and survived on the globular fruits, so could she. The only problem was stealing one away from the creature. It had picked the hallway clean and made a right- angle turn some distance away to vanish from sight.
Cautiously, Inyx followed.
Her careful advance saved her life. She heard the gulping, snuffling sounds in time to turn and run. The round blue appetite had doubled back and now pursued her. Inyx ran, skidded around the bend in the tunnel, and stopped. Coming toward her were wraithlike creatures. The lead one glowed an incandescent red. Behind came one of a more subdued sea- green. Eyes burned like insanity and tiny hands groped in front. To her left came the blue glob. She had only one way to flee.
Inyx took it.
Unholy screeching noises echoed past her as she ran. She turned and saw the blue spheroid attacked by the leading wraith. To her surprise, the contest was one- sided. In spite of the teeth and voracity, the blue ball had no chance.
Inyx slowly learned the hierarchy in the Twistings. And she had to
class herself as being at the bottom.
*****
The wraith hovered at the juncture of two corridors, facing away from her. On silent feet, Inyx advanced. Her hands reached out. With a movement more like a striking jungle cat, she caught the wraith around the spot where its throat ought to be. Inyx felt substance; the creature only looked ghostlike. She leaped, her legs circling the beast' s body. Her weight and ferocity forced it down. The darkhaired woman found what passed for a throat, and cut off wind.
It took over three minutes to strangle the wraith. It took even less for her to discover it wasn' t edible.
The corridor stretched as far as the eye could see, strewn with the yellow fruits. Weak and shaking from lack of food, Inyx still took the precaution of checking the cross- corridors for any sight of either wraith or blue eating monster. Nothing.
Hungrily, she picked up the nearest globe and bit through tough skin. The warm pulp inside dribbled down her chin, over her tongue, and into her throat. She spat out heavy pink seeds without taking her mouth away from the succulence of the fruit. Inyx ignored all conventions of politeness and decency. When the fruit had been messily consumed, she went on to another and another. Eating so much fruit might eventually give her the runs- it also saved her life.
The sugars triggered energy sites in her body. She felt her head clearing. No longer dizzy and faint, she rose, wiped away the pulp from her mouth and tunic, then picked up one of the cannonball- sized fruits. It proved semiportable.
" No!" she cried. Inyx sighted another of the blue monsters. It entered the hallway and began devouring all the fruit leading to her. She had learned that they never passed up a meal. This gave her time to escape, clutching a single fruit for some future meal.
She found another juncture and ducked into it to avoid several wraiths drifting toward her. The same sensations she' d experienced entering the Twistings caught her up again. She spun and whirled and finally dropped to her knees- in a different part of the Twistings.