“We’re out of the desert,” he heard himself saying, almost in disbelief. “We made it!”
“Of course we made it, you silly human. I never doubted for a moment we would. Here, look. See? Is this not the most wonderful pond you have ever seen?”
“What? Pond? Water!”
“Oh, yes, it is that. I referred to the waterbugs. So tasty. Succulent, even.”
The arachnid bobbed up and down, mandibles dexterously snapping closed on one insect after another. Krek became so greedy he had to use two of his front legs to force the bugs into his mouth. Lan paid him no attention. Falling flat on his stomach, he plunged his head under the cool, fresh surface of the tiny pond. Only when he began to gasp for air did he surface, sputtering and letting the restoring water run down his face.
“Are you going to drink that terrible fluid or simply play in it?” demanded Krek. “It appalls me watching you frolic and cavort about so. In water. How absolutely disgusting.” The spider quivered all over to make his point.
“A year’s rest wouldn’t do me more good at the moment,” Lan said, hardly exaggerating. This time when he plunged his face down to the rippling surface, he drank. Slowly at first, then with greater need. He forced himself to stop. His body required a certain length of time before it absorbed what he had drunk. A few minutes later, he again sampled the water. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to take in too much and make himself sick.
Lounging back, bare feet in the water and the shadow of a large rock protecting him from the sun, Lan vented a deep, heartfelt sigh.
“It’s been hard, old spider, but the going gets easier from here on.”
“How is that?” Krek appeared distracted. He canted his head to one side, as if listening to faint sounds in the distance.
Lan concentrated and heard nothing. He’d never been clear on whether or not Krek’s hearing was more acute than his own. The spider’s senses were definitely not those of a human. The large saucer-sized dun eyes lacked the segmenting of smaller arachnids, but those deep eyes were by no means human-appearing. Krek claimed to have no sense of smell and Lan believed what “taste” the spider displayed relied more on the succulence than the flavor of what he devoured. The juicier the bug, the more he enjoyed it. One sense that Krek possessed that far outstripped Lan’s was that of feel. Digging down into the earth, Krek could detect the faintest of vibrations long before his human companion received any hint of movement.
“Do you feel something moving about?” he asked.
“No.” The answer came curt and uncharacteristically short.
Lan closed his eyes and forced his tiny mote of light into existence again. He sent it forth, but it returned quickly and without new information. Using it too often might be dangerous, he knew. Claybore’s magics were more sophisticated; the light mote might lead the older sorcerer back to his adversary. Also, Lan Martak knew little of the magics powering the mote. Discovering it by accident, he had simply used it. What it was, where it came from, and why it even existed were questions he had not tried to answer. Simply surviving Claybore’s magical onslaughts was too engrossing for him to do much experimenting.
“Tell me what it is, Krek.”
“I sense… something. I hardly dare believe I can be so lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“There are… others near.” Again the vagueness irritated Lan, but he pushed it from his mind. Let his friend be mysterious for a while. His magical senses told him they were relatively safe. He needed to rest. The battles in the Twistings, the chase across worlds, the encounter with Alberto Silvain at the oasis, and then the deadly trek to these mountains had sapped his reserves.
He fell into a deep sleep.
And Claybore visited him with even more frightening nightmares. He slept, but he did not rest.
“They will be at this city-state of Bron soon,” said Krek. “Do you not wish to hurry after Inyx?”
“I’m recovering,” Lan told the spider. “My energy levels feel about up to normal. Maybe even more than normal.” The surges and pulses of magic he controlled surpassed anything he had dealt with before. Lan Martak knew he still lacked the skills to confront Claybore directly, but he also knew he had sufficient strength now to pursue the worlds-spanning battle.
“Inyx awaits you.”
The spider’s insistence troubled Lan. He didn’t want to appear too eager to chase after Inyx—and Jacy Noratumi—but it continually rose to his mind that he did not like her being with the man. Jealousy? That was as handy a word as any for what he felt. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t push it aside.
“Very well. Let’s keep well into the mountains where there’s water and bugs and start for Bron.”
He rose and started off in the proper direction. Krek didn’t move.
“Come on. You were the one demanding we get a-hiking.”
“Not that way. There is a valley down there.”
“So?” Lan used a minor spell to check for other magic use. He found no indication of humans, much less magical spells waiting to trip him up. Only faint magical emanations came from a distance, and these he discounted as meaningless.
“Spiders. Others. Like me.”
The young warrior-mage frowned. Whenever Krek became reticent, he was holding back important information. The normally loquacious spider had been abnormally quiet the past days while they rested for their journey to Bron.
“Is that a danger?”
“You passed only briefly through the Egrii Mountains and did not encounter others of my kind.”
“I met your bride Klawn.” Lan swallowed hard at the thoughts Krek was several feet taller than the human, and Lan counted as tall. Klawn dwarfed Krek in all ways, including her single-mindedness.
“She is such a petite thing, is she not?” The arachnid sighed happily. “I do so wish she might be here.”
“The others, Krek, the others.”
“What? Oh, yes. Those even in my web had little use for humans. Always disturbing us with your rumbling wagons, those hideous demon-powered engines coughing and whining, never stopping for a pleasant chat, always assuming you were masters of the high reaches. Most of my clan enjoyed eating humans.”
Krek’s mandibles clacked shut in an unconscious gesture.
Lan only winced.
“We tried to reason with you humans, but it bought us little enough. So we tried charging for every caravan that used our passes. Some of you even tried sneaking through. You can imagine how that distressed us.” Again the clack of razor-sharp mandibles.
“That’s how you accumulated your web treasure. The, uh, tariffs on humans.”
“Exactly. But few of my kind ever liked humans, even when you paid the paltry fees due us. And truth to tell, you are not very good food.”
“You’re trying to tell me these mountain arachnids might like humans even less.”
“That puts it succinctly enough. Of course, they will welcome me. I am a visiting Webmaster. We spiders arrange the proper protocol, always. As long as it is clear I have no intention of remaining in the area for very long, the local Webmaster will greet me like a long-lost cousin. Which I am.”
Lan considered what he remembered of the lay of the land. The valley ahead provided the quickest route to Bron, a distance not more than two days’ travel. Krek’s not too subtle hints had lit the fires of anguish inside him; he must hasten to rejoin Inyx to put them to rest. But skirting the valley and finding another road through the mountains might cost precious days—or even weeks.
“I’m sure you can convince them that I, too, am just passing through and pose no threat to them. I might even be able to gift them in some way, using a few of my spells.”
“Such as your fire spell?” Krek’s voice almost broke from the loathing. The only thing he hated worse than water was fire. His tinder-dry leg fur would turn him into a blazing bonfire if he became too careless.
“I had other things in mind. A hunting spell might please them. I could roust out all t
he insects in the valley and trot them down for your friends.”
“They might not be my friends.”
“Your fellow spiders,” Lan corrected. “I’m sure such a trade—the bugs for safe passage—would be satisfactory for all parties.”
Krek hesitated, then bobbed his head in agreement. Lan couldn’t tell how enthusiastic the spider was about the idea, but it hardly mattered. Lan felt the pressure of time mounting on him again, and not just to rejoin his beloved. Claybore fought on two fronts. If one should turn into a victory for the mage, he might spend more time seeking out Lan.
“Let’s be off.”
Krek didn’t answer.
A full day of hiking brought them to the lip of a valley as lush and pretty as any Lan Martak had ever seen. The tiny stream meandering down the center caused huge trees to thrust skyward. From these limbs soared spider webs as thick as his wrist. Fastened on valley walls, trees, rock spires, each other, those webs crisscrossed the entire air above the floor. Caught in the webs were birds of prey as large as the dire-eagles that inhabited the el-Liot Mountains on Lan’s home world. He thanked all the powers of the universe that he need not rely on wing power to get through the canyon.
“Down?” asked Krek.
“Of course. Polish up on your spider talk. I see a delegation coming now.” The human pointed at three tiny black dots that grew with amazing rapidity until they took on detail as full-sized arachnids rivaling Krek in bulk.
“Stay here,” ordered the spider. He ambled forward and planted himself a few yards away. While his friend waited, Lan studied the webs more carefully. Some strands were sticky while others—the aerial walkways for the spiders—were simply ropelike. The intricate geometric patterns appeared to be the individual spinner’s signature, just as a human painter signed his oils. When Lan’s eyes tired of tracing the spirals and twists, he focused once more on his friend.
Krek spoke with great animation to two of the three. The third spider remained high above in his web, a sentry to guard against treachery. Lan understood none of the rapid talk but guessed that it went well. Krek was relaxed and the object of some deference. His theory of being greeted as a wandering Webmaster turned into fact.
“How goes it?” Lan asked, his voice pitched to carry downslope to where Krek and the others hunkered down and talked.
In a deceptively mild, unhurried response, Krek called back, “I advise you to run for your life, friend Lan Martak. These are honorable friends—of mine. Toward you they show nothing but animosity. I do believe they wish to eat you, even though I have warned them you carry a foul taste.”
“What?”
“I do not jest. Run for your life. I shall try to dissuade them, but even my talents in this arena might prove too small.”
The youth hesitated, not sure if Krek made fun of him or not. A quick look overhead convinced him of his danger. The sentry spider had spun a walking web between his perch and a rock to Lan’s right. The arachnid balanced on the thick strand and came straight for the human. The intent was all too clear.
Lan’s mind raced. A fire spell would burn the web out from under the spider. It might also set fire to other webs. A conflagration raging through the valley might kill many of the spiders trapped on their webs. While he had no desire to murder them, he had even less desire to be killed by them.
Behind was the terrain they had covered since entering the mountains. He might return to the spring they’d first encountered and from there reenter the desert and follow Inyx to Bron. Or he might push on, hope that Krek could stay them long enough, and reach the far side of the valley and be days closer to Bron.
His decision made, Lan Martak ran forward, dodging past Krek and the others and down into the valley. He sprinted hard, enjoying the feel of his muscles so smoothly responding. When he entered the worlds of magic, he had scant use for muscle. The power of the mind was all. But he had grown up in forests, living by his wits and strong arm, enjoying rare-cooked haunch of deer and other game.
He smiled in relief when he saw no pursuit formed behind. Both spiders continued to talk with Krek and the guard above remained high on the rim of the valley and did not drop down to chase him.
Lan fell into a ground-devouring pace that allowed him to move with fluid, effortless grace. Around him the tranquility of the forests supplied him with new power, new stamina. Occasionally a shadow of an overhead spider web crossed his path, but these were rare. When he reached the far side, he’d wait for Krek to catch up.
Would he gloat then! Krek always chided him for being so slow, for not having the proper number of legs to adequately propel him. For once he’d beat Krek.
The sounds of the forest died suddenly. Lan ran a few paces, then stopped, listening hard for the cause of this disturbing inactivity. He heard nothing. Frowning, he scanned the trees and underbrush hoping for a sign of what was wrong. Nothing.
Then he remembered to look above.
The sky blackened with the massive bodies of a thousand spiders. They swung from web to web until they congregated above him, blocking out the sun. It was as if night had fallen in midday.
“No,” he whispered, holding back the spells that would send gouts of flame leaping upward. Wanton killing would solve nothing; he realized the futility of attempting to slay so many opponents.
Frantically looking around, he saw a tiny stream wetly thrusting itself out from a rocky face in the canyon wall, a minor tributary feeding the larger creek in the middle of the valley. He sprinted for it, hoping the spiders would stay away from the water. On their aerial highway, they were not in the least inconvenienced. Heavy strands spatted onto the rock face beside him. Spiders began sliding downward toward him, intent on their pursuit.
Lan jerked free his sword and slashed at the strand nearest him. His blade cleanly sliced through, sending the spider tumbling to the valley floor behind. He eliminated another and another of the strands in this fashion until it occurred to him that he only signed his own death warrant.
There was no way he could cut all the strands. For every one he hacked, two more were firmly secured to the rock wall just beyond his reach. In minutes, he would be surrounded by spiders.
He had seen Krek’s mandibles break a steel sword.
The stream burbled mindlessly as it made its way to the valley floor. Lan looked up, into the reaches from whence it sprang. A tiny opening, hardly large enough for his muscular body gave him a small chance for escape. He clumsily worked up a narrow chimney with the water flowing between his legs, found the opening, and began wiggling through.
For a moment, his bulk plugged the stream. He sputtered as the dammed water rose above his head. Jerking about, skinning his shoulders, he forced his way through and into a small pool behind the hole. Released water roared around him, then returned to a quieter flow.
The man stared back through the small hole; a huge brown eye glared back.
“Aieee!” he started, then calmed. The following spider was too large to fit through the hole, even if the water threat was to be endured. But Lan realized his escape was going to be of short duration. He knew Krek could work up and down mountains with little effort. Scaling the cliffs overlooking the valley would be simplicity itself for these spiders. In no time they’d be above him again.
Lan Martak splashed loudly through the pool, up onto a sandy embankment and then ran as though all the demons of the Lower Places nipped at his heels. He lost track of the turnings made by the stream, but the journey was continually uphill. When the stream vanished totally, the young mage stopped to study it. An artesian spring thrust upward from the rock and fed the tiny river.
Glancing around, he saw he had emerged from the valley and stood on a rocky ridge. To his right stretched the distance-hazy green of the valley of spiders. Ahead lay even more treacherous mountain terrain. To the left—and far, far down—raged a river.
“It’s either ahead or back,” he said to himself. Ahead didn’t promise anything but sore feet and hard work.
He turned to head back in the direction where he and Krek had originally entered the mountainous region and gasped.
Not one, but fully a hundred spiders advanced on him.
Again he fought to restrain himself. A fire spell would fry them in their tracks. But there might be another way out. There had to be. Wanton killing accomplished nothing.
The river so far below beckoned. A pathway down the rock face might exist. He ran to the edge and stared down into a five-hundred-foot drop. The sheer granite face put the lie to any such escape existing. Climbing down would require mountaineering gear—and time he didn’t have.
“I hope the river’s deep,” he said, taking a breath. The spiders advanced, mandibles slashing at the air. Lan Martak took two running steps and leaped out into space. And fell and fell and fell.
CHAPTER FIVE
Metallic clanking and the subliminal hum of magics filled the air. Alberto Silvain pushed back from the table and stood at attention as Claybore entered the room.
“Master!” the man cried, bringing his clenched fist to his heart in salute.
Claybore did not answer—at least with human lips. The words swelled and flowed, filling Silvain’s ears and mind, but no physical sound came from the fleshless skull poised atop the armless torso. This grisly pairing was supported by a mechanical body of steel wire and wheels, long metal shins and arms, and a magic spell that caused it to glow a pale blue as it moved.
Empty eye sockets in the skull boiled with darkness, then flared forth brilliant crimson beams. Silvain stood absolutely still as the twin beams blasted through the space on either side of his arms. He felt the heat, the stinging, searing destructiveness so near and did not flinch. To have done so would have meant death.
The mechanical turned about, and the death beams vanished. Silvain slumped slightly. Claybore was angry with him for the debacle in the Twistings, but not so wroth that he would kill.
[Cenotaph Road 04] - Iron Tongue Page 5