“He loves her,” said Ducasien.
“He does not,” Inyx snapped back. “It’s some damned geas Claybore put on him. Lan knows it, but the compulsion spell is too subtle for him to break.”
“That is a convenient excuse,” said Ducasien.
“It is not an excuse. It’s the truth. There’s no other explanation for the way Lan acts around her. She is an avowed enemy. He killed her husband and she has tried to murder him repeatedly.”
“There’s no accounting for tastes, especially when it comes to love.”
Inyx started to say something further to Ducasien, then thought better of it. The man was new to the Road and the ways of mages. He had no clear-cut idea what a tiny spell might do-or the power of a major one. Still, even knowing how adept and cunning Claybore was did not ease the pain Inyx felt at this moment.
Both Kiska and Lan were under the compulsion spell, but Kiska slipped free at all the worst times to attempt to kill Lan. Inyx wondered if Claybore’s intent was physical death or just a wounding, a weakening at the precisely opportune second. Claybore battled for the most ambitious of all goals: godhood.
“This world is freed of the grey-clads, at least for the time being,” Inyx said, changing the subject. “Nowless had better organize a new government if he wants to keep the countryside from falling into chaos.”
“Nowless isn’t much of an administrator,” said Ducasien.
“Or much else, if you ask me,” Inyx said. She blinked when she realized what Ducasien really meant.
“Why not?” the man said. “This is a lovely world. We can stay and rule.”
“You would be king?”
“Perhaps not king, but something significant. When I left Leponto I never thought of settling down and finding a single spot to live. Now the idea appeals to me. It becomes even more beguiling if I-we-were in positions of power.”
“I have never considered it,” said Inyx, frowning. She had walked the Road for years and relished the thrill of adventure. But all things must come to pass. Was it time to cease her aimless ramblings?
With Ducasien?
Lan Martak walked up, Kiska trailing behind. The woman had a smirk on her face that contrasted with Lan’s glum expression.
“What do you want?” demanded Inyx.
“To speak with you. Alone.”
“Oh? Think you can leave your precious Kiska for such a long time?”
“Don’t be more of a bitch than you have to, Inyx. This is important.”
“I am sure it is.”
Lan looked at her, pain in his eyes. “I can’t help myself. I’ve tried. Every spell I’ve ever known or heard of, I’ve tried over and over. Claybore did not attain such power without being very, very good at his magics.”
“And you’re some tyro from a backwater world. Is that it?”
“Yes, Inyx, that’s so.” The hurt in his words softened Inyx’s mood.
“You left Krek to fend for himself. And you’ve repeatedly chosen her over me. Oh, Lan, why? Why did it have to turn out this way?” Inyx stiffened when she felt the mental reaching out. She and Lan were bound together as one again-almost. The final link never formed. Inyx let the tears welling in her eyes run down her cheeks. Once more she had been cheated. The promise had not been fulfilled.
“I need you,” he said simply.
Inyx looked past Lan to where Ducasien and Kiska stood in stony silence. Ducasien fingered the hilt of his sword. Inyx knew the man well enough by now to know he considered drawing and killing; Inyx also knew that Ducasien would never succeed. Lan’s magics were quicker than any sword.
Lan Martak. Ducasien.
“Lan,” she said, “I’ve made my decision. I can’t continue with you. Ducasien and I are going to stay here. There’s so much to be done. The people are good but unorganized. If they are ever to be able to fight off another wave of the grey soldiers, there has to be a strong army.”
“You and Ducasien will rule here, then?”
“Not rule,” she said, loathing the idea of having life and death over others, “but advise. We are needed. I am needed.”
“But…”
Inyx cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Kiska has told me much that you’d probably not care to have related. Does the name Brinke mean anything to you?”
Lan frowned. Inyx saw anger building within him, but it wasn’t directed at her. If Claybore’s geas had not been so damnably strong, Lan Martak would have reduced Kiska to a smoldering pile of lard. Instead, he shook impotently, unable to act against her.
“It’s true, then,” said Inyx. Infinite tiredness washed over her like the ocean’s pounding surf. “That was no spell of Claybore’s doing, I’m sure.”
“What would you have me do? You deserted me. You went off with him.”
“I deserted you?” Inyx’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise. Then she laughed. “We have nothing more to say to one another, Lan. Whatever understanding there was between us has fled.”
“Inyx…”
She pushed past him and returned to stand beside Ducasien, hand on his arm.
“Lan, oh, Lan,” called out Kiska. “Are we leaving soon? These are such dreary people. So inhospitable.”
“Be quiet,” he said, but there was no fire in his voice. Kiska laughed at him.
Nowless and Julinne stood to one side, confused. They whispered between themselves, obviously debating the motives of these people who had saved them from the grey-clads. Finally, Nowless shrugged and stepped forward.
“We celebrate this night,” he said. “We want you to be our honored guests, don’t you know.”
“Thanks, Nowless. We accept,” Ducasien said before Lan could answer.
Lan nodded assent. He jerked away when Kiska tried to lock her arm through his. In silence more fitting to the defeated than the victors, they trudged back into the rocky hills and Nowless’s camp to begin the celebration.
“You’re so good to me, Lan,” cooed Kiska. She spoke the words the instant she knew Inyx was within earshot. From the disheveled brown hair and the flushed expression on the woman’s face, Inyx had no trouble guessing what Kiska and Lan had been doing.
She repressed a shudder thinking of that woman in Lan’s arms.
“Nowless is ready to begin the feast,” said Inyx, ignoring Kiska the best she could.
“We’ll be there shortly,” answered Lan, lacing up the front of his tunic. Kiska laughed delightedly at the hurt she gave both Lan and Inyx. The young mage went over in his head all the spells and counters he had learned. For the millionth time he went over them and found nothing to release him from Claybore’s geas. The pure torture was knowing he was under the spell and unable to do anything but abide by it.
He fastened his sword-belt around his waist and left Kiska where they had been given bedrolls and a small tent. Lan started toward the fire and the celebrants, then paused. The feast would continue for some time with or without him. He climbed up onto the rocks and found a tiny upjut on which to stand and survey the land.
“A good world,” he said softly. “Inyx has done well in choosing it. That spot yonder would make a good farm. Plenty of water from the river, but with little chance of being flooded out should it overflow its banks. And the village-Marktown-is close by. A good market for crops.”
He pictured himself in the fields, tending the crops, weeding, joyously performing the backbreaking labor. It was a life for which he had been destined until he had fled his home world by walking the Cenotaph Road. Since then Lan’s life had been out of control-out of his control. He was nothing more than a pawn in a celestial game, being moved from one conflict to another. Lan didn’t even know for certain who the players were, but he had strong suspicions.
“Resident of the Pit, you have not done well by me. Not at all.”
“No, the fallen god hasn’t,” came the words from behind him. Lan had already felt the magical stirrings of a shift from one world to another. His own ward spells were firmly in place. The
dancing light mote strained to launch itself against Claybore, but Lan held it in check.
“What do you want?” Lan asked. “You have not joined me to share the serenity of this moment.”
Claybore laughed. “What you call serenity I find boring. There are none to pay homage to me here. The wind? Why not summon an obedient air elemental? The night? Look into the depths of eternity and find diversion there. I need stimulation, not serenity.”
“You want only worshippers.”
“Is that so wrong? I deserve it. Of all those along the Road, I am the strongest. It is my destiny to rule.”
“I’ll stop you.”
“Is it truly your destiny to attempt it? Or, as you intimated, are you only doing another’s insane bidding? Martak, I have no great love for you…”
Lan snorted.
“…but I will make you an offer unlike any I have granted any other. I will give you half of everything.”
“What? Half of the universe?” Lan didn’t know whether to laugh or spit.
“Yes,” Claybore said earnestly. “I have come to the conclusion that being a god will be like ash on the tongue without strife. If there is none to oppose me, what more intense boredom can there be?”
“I already oppose you.”
“But not of your own free will. The Resident of the Pit fills your head with his obsolete teachings. Together we can destroy the Resident and work for our own ends.”
“That’s what he wants. Why give the Resident surcease?” Lan wondered at this strange offer, then pieces fell together.
“You still fear the Resident of the Pit, but you cannot destroy a god. With my help, you can? Yes,” said Lan, understanding bursting upon him now. “With my help you can finally destroy the Resident.”
“And gain half the universe for yourself. I need the opposition to make life interesting.”
Lan said nothing. There had to be more. Claybore did not make this offer lightly-or honestly.
“It cuts the other way, also,” said Claybore. “You are immortal. Without an adversary you will find life impossibly dull. You need me as much as I need you.”
“You are evil.”
“So you think. From my point of view, you are demented. I offer stability to the worlds along the Road. My rule might not be pleasant, but it will be firm. The petty humans will have a society that fills their need for security. There will be no sudden, unsettling shifts of policy. Even as they hate me, they will cherish what I bring them.”
“You bring them slavery.”
“I bring them security.”
Lan wondered if Claybore truly believed this. Perhaps so. It mattered little. He knew the horrors the disembodied mage would wreak. He and Claybore stood at opposite poles.
But what would Lan do when he triumphed over Claybore and relegated the sorcerer to insignificance? As much as he hated Claybore and all the sorcerer stood for, he had to admit the mage was right. An important element of his life would be gone. No Claybore, no struggle. With the powers at his command, Lan Martak could send worlds spinning from their orbits. He could destroy worlds-and create new ones. No task, major or minor, was beyond his grasp. Where would be the challenge without Claybore?
“You begin to understand,” said Claybore. “I offer you half the universe not out of altruism but out of self-interest. I need strong opposition, just as you do.”
“I will not help you kill the Resident of the Pit.”
“But Lan,” pleaded Kiska k’Adesina, scrabbling up the rocks to stand beside him, “think of it! The power! You must accept. You have to. I would be a queen of a million worlds. Give me my heart’s desire. Accept Claybore’s offer.”
Lan swallowed hard. He knew what Kiska’s only desire was. She wanted revenge on him for what he had done to her. Accepting Claybore’s offer only magnified the chances for Kiska to strike.
But…
Lan Martak weakened. He saw the truth in Claybore’s words. Without evil there can be no good. To live forever had seemed an awesome attainment once. Now Lan realized how dulling it might become. Who had he met along the Road able to stimulate him as Claybore did, to bring out the finest qualities? He needed a foil of his own caliber as much as the sorcerer needed him.
Eternity was a long, long time. There had to be something diverting. He began to comprehend why the Resident wanted only death.
“No, Lan,” came a soft whisper. “Do not listen.”
The Resident of the Pit spoke to him.
“How do I know you won’t use me to kill the Resident, then double-cross me?” Lan asked.
“You don’t.” Lan realized this might be one of the few times he received an honest answer from Claybore. “But isn’t that what we speak of now? The challenge? The striving?”
“Lan,” whispered the Resident of the Pit, “there is more than ruling. You will become like Claybore if you try to force your will on so many worlds. There are other answers. Seek them. Seek them.” The Resident’s power faded but the memory lingered. Lan swelled with the power radiated from that god-entity’s light touch on his mind.
“No,” Lan said.
“You are hasty. There is so much I can show you,” said Claybore.
Lan stiffened as the night became darker. In the distance he saw a shimmering curtain that parted to reveal a shaft of the purest obsidian black. Radiating spikes crowned it and they began to rotate slowly. The material of the slick-sided tower sucked light and heat away from Lan. He felt himself drawn to the column, drawn and repelled at the same time. All he knew, all he wanted to know, was locked up within that column.
“The Pillar of Night,” Claybore said softly. “It is your fate because you have so foolishly denied me.”
Lan Martak continued to stare at the vision of the Pillar of Night until Kiska tugged at his arm and pulled him angrily toward the feast. He followed her as if he were in a deep trance.
The Pillar of Night! His destiny-and the universe’s.
CHAPTER NINE
“It holds the key to Claybore’s defeat,” said Lan Martak. “I know it. If I can find out the secret hidden by the Pillar of Night I know I can defeat him.”
Inyx stared at Lan from across the campfire. Ducasien’s arm rested around her shoulders, and the man’s steely stare speared into Lan’s very soul. The mage continued with his pleas. He had to make them understand the importance of what he had been shown.
“It is Claybore’s weapon, but it can be turned against him. I feel it.”
“Then why mention it in her presence?” Ducasien glared at Kiska k’Adesina, who sat licking thick grease off her fingers before picking up still another roast haunch. She loudly cracked open a bone and sucked noisily at the marrow, appearing unconcerned that she was the topic of conversation.
“I need your help,” said Lan, almost stuttering. He couldn’t find the words to make them understand what strain he endured because of Kiska. Inyx knew Claybore had laid the geas on him but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. They weren’t sorcerers.
“Claybore has shown you this Pillar,” said Inyx. “If it can be used against him, why show it to you at all?”
“Every time I have seen it, there has been an unsettling power flow from it,” explained Lan. “Claybore uses this to unbalance me, to counter my spells. It… it’s like a riposte. You wait for your opponent to attack, then you parry and lunge.”
“The mere sight of this black rock puts you off balance so much?” asked Ducasien. The man’s tone told all. He thought Lan lied for his own purposes.
“It’s a magical construct, not a real rock. It sucks up light. And the spikes atop it must signify something I have yet to learn.”
“Let her tell you. She’s Claybore’s commander in chief now.”
Kiska smiled and finished off a second piece of the roast meat. She tossed the gnawed bones over her shoulder and into the dark. Lan winced when she did this; it was poor camp sanitation. But what did Kiska care? She wouldn’t be long on this world, because
she knew Lan had to pursue Claybore, wherever the dismembered mage went.
“At least, when she’s with me, she commands nothing. Claybore’s robbed of her services in that respect.”
Ducasien whispered something to Inyx. The dark-haired woman shook her head, then gave in.
“Good night, Lan,” Inyx said. “I don’t think there’s any reason to continue this conversation further.”
“You won’t help me?” he asked, stricken.
“You don’t need us. You made that clear many times over. Your magics are beyond our ken. Let me stay where my weapon-the sword-is adequate.”
“The grey-clad soldiers are just pawns. Claybore is the hand moving them, the brain guiding their motion.”
“Eliminate enough pawns, Martak,” said Ducasien, “and the hand has nothing left to move.”
Inyx and Ducasien left the circle of light cast by the campfire. Lan listened as their boots disturbed tiny pebbles. He heard the sliding of cloth against tent and then soft, intimate sounds that turned him cold inside.
“Let’s leave this dreary world, darling Lan,” said Kiska. “I tire of those fools.”
Lan Martak jerked away from her and stood, his lips already forming the spells to move him-them-back to the world where the Pillar of Night rose like an inky cloud to blot out the very sun. He and Kiska popped! away from this world and the victory over the grey-clads and Ducasien and… Inyx.
“She spies on us. I am sure of it,” said Brinke. “Claybore must know our every word.”
Lan had to agree. He and Kiska had returned to this world a week ago and Claybore had thwarted his every scheme, countered his spells with a sureness that came from knowledge.
“Is he able to see into the future?” asked Brinke. “It hardly seems possible. This Julinne’s talent is unique in my experience.”
“You must be right when you said that Claybore had a source of information within our ranks,” said Lan. “But how is it accomplished? I have watched Kiska carefully and have failed to see how she contacts him. The most delicate of ward spells is bypassed. He is cunning, that Claybore.”
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