[Cenotaph Road 05] - Fire and Fog

by Robert E. Vardeman - (ebook by Undead)

  “Keeps you busy,” said Inyx.

  “Damn right it does. The Hereslers perform vital service.”

  “When did the tide begin to go against you?” asked Lan.

  “What makes you think it has been?” demanded Broit. “I never said anything about anything going wrongo. Not in the least.”

  “A guess.”

  “Maybe a month, maybe two. If you ask me—and you can now, since I’m clan chieftain—it’s that mage the Tefize recruited. He’s been making mischief all over the place.” Broit spat once more.

  “The disembodied mage?” asked Lan, trying to sound as casual as possible. He felt electricity surging throughout his body. Most of all, his tongue tingled with the need to demand of this gnome the truth. Such a use of magic would certainly bring unwanted attention from Claybore; Lan fought down the urge.

  “He’s the one. Another walker along the Road. Damn fool doesn’t have any legs. Uses a mechanical gadget to get about on. No arms, either, but it doesn’t seem to bother him a whole lot. He’s around, but he’s not the one causing all the fuss.”

  “The woman with him is probably the one, right?” asked Inyx.

  “You folks know where all the bodies are hidden, that’s for sure,” said Broit. “Kiska k’Adesina, they call her. What a bitch. Always getting into trouble and making a mess. She’s increased the Heresler work load tenfold since she showed up.” Broit rubbed over his bent back to show how much gravedigging had increased since Claybore’s new commandant had arrived.

  “Are there many of the grey-clad soldiers about?”

  “Who? No soldiers, not since we killed off the last of the Larsh clan some sixty years ago. Buried every last one of them, we did. Some were still alive when we did, too. Served ’em right.”

  “What would happen if the Tefize are victorious in this civil war you’re waging?” asked Lan.

  Broit Heresler shrugged.

  “Would they wipe out all of the Hereslers?”

  “Sure would. In a snap.” Broit wound up, harumphed, and spat a good ten feet, watching the spittle attract acid droplets as it flew. By the time it hit the ground, it virtually exploded like a small artillery shell.

  “You don’t seem overly concerned with this,” said Inyx. “Wouldn’t you like a bit of help to prevent being killed?”

  “Wouldn’t turn it down,” said the gnome. “Wouldn’t want to accept it, either. Big load to carry when you start taking favors from people. Look at what’ll happen to the Tefize. This Claybore will take them for a bunch, count on it.”

  “If you are no longer around, what matters it to you?” asked Krek.

  “Everyone’s got to go sometime. Nobody knows that better’n a gravedigger, righto?”

  “I suppose so,” said Lan.

  “Got to finish up,” said Broit, peering out from under the magical umbrella at the overcast sky. “If we don’t, we’re going to get caught in the fog. Wouldn’t want to be cut off from Yerrary, no way.”

  “Yerrary?” asked Lan. “Is that the mountain I saw?”

  “More’n any mountain you ever saw. That’s Home.”

  “But the mountain’s name is Yerrary?”

  “Well,” said the gnome, obviously thinking hard on the subject, “it is and it isn’t. Yerrary’s the name of our major deity, not that anybody worships her any more. But we still use the name for Home. Seemed right at the time. Now, who cares? We’re all dead sooner or later.”

  “That we are,” said Inyx.

  “You two get digging. And cover him up. I don’t want him coming around again. Hate to bend the shovel more’n I have already.” Broit sat and supervised while the other two gnomes diligently worked in the acid rain to dig three more graves and to cover over the one in which their onetime leader lay.

  Lan almost protested, then stopped himself. Different cultures, different customs. Broit appeared to be an amiable enough sort, whereas his predecessor hadn’t been. They’d need all the aid they could get to fight off Claybore and Kiska k’Adesina. Alliance with the Heresler clan might not be enough, but it gave them a starting point.

  “Enough for the day. Got to go.” Broit rose and stalked off, the acid rain hardly bothering him, even though tiny pieces of his shirt burned away as he went.

  “A moment, Broit,” called Lan. “Might we accompany you?”

  “Why?”

  “We’d like to see Yerrary—Home.”

  “Do as you please.”

  “And we’d like to align ourselves in support of your fight against the Tefize. Claybore is our enemy, also.”

  “That doesn’t mean the Tefize necessarily are. The enemy of my enemy isn’t always my friend.”

  Lan wondered at the society forming such an obdurate philosophy, but he pressed onward. He needed to gain entry into Yerrary with the least possible disturbance. He had no doubt that k’Adesina already had posted guards on the entry points to prevent easy access. And once inside, the mountain passages probably went for miles—hundreds of miles. A sympathetic guide would aid them considerably.

  “It is true this time. I would destroy every member of the Tefize to stop Claybore.”

  “Bloodthirsty bugger, aren’t you? Well, come along. I’ll think on it as we go.” Broit nervously glanced around, checking the clouds, then studying a timepiece fastened to his wrist. “Time’s a’wasting. Hurry it up.”

  The three gnomes set out at a pace belying their short legs. Lan and Inyx found it difficult to keep up with them and even Krek once muttered a spiderish curse about the poor footing.

  “Why hurry so?” Lan asked Broit.

  “Fog’s coming in. Want to be inside the mountain before sundown.”

  “You mean this isn’t nighttime?”

  “Bright as day,” he was assured by the gnome. “At sunset’s when the fog rolls in. Damn stuff.”

  Lan maintained the umbrella overhead although he worried about its being detected as they neared the mountain. Yerrary rose up from the plain a full mile or more, its sides deeply eroded and here and there sporting jagged prominences showing where the gnomes had placed structures of their own. As he neared, the young mage saw tiny windows glowing with warm yellow light. Doorways dotted the entire mountainside and he knew there would be no way for k’Adesina to guard every one of them.

  She would have to rely on the Tefize spy network for information—and that might take long hours to filter up to her. And if the Tefize were as uncooperative as the Hereslers appeared, she might never hear of his entry. Lan felt hope flaring. A quick entry, an even quicker attack, and victory was his!

  “Even the mountain burns,” grumbled Krek. “Look at it!”

  As the rains cascaded over the rocky slopes and ran down gulleys, ten-foot-thick pillars of fire rose to gut the sky.

  “There,” said Broit, pointing with his stubby arm. “There’s our way in.”

  A single door stood ajar at the base of the mountain. Lan collapsed his magical umbrella and sent the dancing mote of light forward to reconnoiter. It spun crazily and obediently whirled back to him, reporting no traps.

  “Lan,” said Inyx, her voice oddly pitched. “The fog. Look how it rolls down the side of the mountain. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  The fog formed claws and scratched at bare rock. Flaming paths were left behind as the fog crept ever downward.

  Seeing this caused Broit and the other gnomes to break into a dead run.

  “Why do they fear the fog?” Lan wondered aloud. “They certainly didn’t seem to mind the rain burning away their clothing and flesh.”

  The fog billowed and roiled as if it had a life of its own. Lan and Inyx reached the doorway and turned to see Krek struggling to join them. A single feathery digit of fog cut the spider off from the doorway, almost as if the mist had a mind of its own.

  “Krek?” called Lan. Something snapped inside the man. His tone changed and he used the Voice. “Krek! Come here immediately! Follow my voice. Now!”

  “Lan,
what’s wrong?” Inyx asked anxiously.

  Krek came through the fog, mandibles clacking. He roared a battle cry and charged them, intent on destruction. From the way his dun-colored eyes glazed over, it was obvious that he had gone berserk.

  “Kill everyone!” screeched the giant spider as he bore down on Lan and Inyx.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Stop him, Lan! He’s gone crazy!” Inyx barely dodged the rampaging spider. Krek’s mandibles clacked savagely just over her head. A lock of her lustrous dark hair went flying. Inyx dived forward and tried to stop him, but the spider’s ponderous bulk proved too much for her. Inyx was dragged along and then tossed off as easily as Krek might rid himself of a small mite crawling on his leg.

  “Krek, stop,” said Lan Martak. He used the Voice, putting full magical power behind it. To his surprise, Krek didn’t even slow. It was as if the spider hadn’t heard.

  “STOP!” he roared. The very slopes of the mountain behind rumbled with the command. The three gnomes who had preceded them into Yerrary spun and froze to the spot. The Voice, backed by all of Lan’s magical skills, worked to perfection with them.

  Krek continued to hack and slash and menace anyone drawing close to him. The arachnid was totally out of control.

  “What’s happened to him?” cried Inyx. She wiped a bloody smear off her cheek where she’d been scratched during her brief attempt to slow Krek.

  “The fog,” muttered Broit Heresler, pointing. Lan saw tendrils of the fog billowing about, forming an almost solid figure, then seeping upward, seductively, slowly, inexorably toward them.

  “What about it?” he demanded.

  “The fog is a killer. You’ve no wish to be in it. Look what it did to the long-legged one.”

  Lan formed his protective barrier, again using the light mote familiar. But again to his surprise, the barrier presented no hindrance at all to the fog. It came on, oozing around and even through. He took a moment to check the fog’s composition, hoping to find this was only an illusion sent by Claybore to confound and harass.

  The fog was real, nothing more than water droplets held in a fine cloud.

  “Has the acid burned through his fur and driven him insane?” asked Inyx, huddling close to Lan. She feared nothing, but knew from her futile attempt to stop Krek that there was no more she could do. The mage had to perform what, to her, looked like a miracle.

  “The rain has stopped. There’s only the fog,” said Lan, trying to figure out what was happening. Claybore was innocent of this. There was no acid sear to drive Krek wild. What was it?

  “The fog’s a killer, it is,” said Broit. “Get in out of it. You’ll never rescue the big one. Righto?” he said, turning to the other two gnomes. Their gnarly hands tried to hide their faces; they succeeded so well all Lan saw was their abused vegetable ears sticking out on either side. He realized they were still under his command to stop. He freed them with a single pass. The pair ran off into the bowels of the mountain, safely Home.

  Broit remained behind.

  “Go, too,” urged Lan. “This is our problem.”

  “It’ll be mine if you don’t cut him down. Think how many corpses that one can create if left alone. You’ll need someone to tag the bodies properly and make sure they get the right grave site.”

  “What is it about the fog?” asked Lan, even as he performed another, more intricate spell to slow Krek’s berserker rage. The spell failed, also.

  “Doesn’t look to be much, does it? The fog’s got things in it.”

  “What sort of things? Living?”

  Broit Heresler shrugged his hunched shoulders. Licking his lips nervously, he began pointing outward.

  “See there and there? The fog comes on like it has a mind of its own. Who knows why it seeks out people, but it does. Then it drives them bonko, right out of their wits.”

  “There is nothing alive in the fog,” said Lan. His magical explorations of the fog turned up nothing. “It must be a chemical, just as the rain was acid.”

  “Take one sniff of that fog and you’ll be like he is.” Broit Heresler backed through the entryway when Krek circled around and again came for them. The giant spider saw nothing. His path was dictated by the terrain and nothing more. He fought unseen enemies and if a friend happened in the way, that friend died.

  “He doesn’t have an inkling of what he’s doing,” said Lan. “The fog. Does it come off the mountain?”

  “Of course it does,” said Broit. “The rains set the mountainside on fire, then the fog drifts down, usually reaching its worst at sunset or sunrise.”

  “Some chemical enters the fog and is carried along on ordinary water drops. If inhaled, it acts as a mind-twisting drug.”

  “How’s that help Krek, even if it is true?” asked Inyx. Lan held the woman back. She obviously tensed to make another attempt to tackle the eight-legged juggernaut.

  “Watch.”

  Lan closed his eyes and forced his dancing mote of light into another shield. This time he kept it dense enough to prevent even the smallest of air particles from passing the membrane. The sheet of light spun and whirled and dropped like a net over the caroming spider. Krek fought it, slashing helplessly at it. While the scintillant sheet did nothing to stay his reckless running, it completely shut off the air.

  “I made a mistake in not knowing the fog’s nature,” said Lan. “Remember in the tunnel leading to Wurnna how I prevented the power stone dust from reaching us?”

  Inyx nodded but kept a careful eye on Krek. The spider still rolled and clawed and snapped viciously, but those actions were becoming weaker and weaker as oxygen-deprivation began.

  “I kept the light shield so that air passed but larger dust particles didn’t. I tried the same thing at first with Krek. Now I shut off all flow either in or out of the shield. I have him encapsulated.”

  “A bug in amber. How nice,” said Broit Heresler. “Can I dig the grave for him when he suffocates? Never had to do one this big. Course, there was the mass burial we Hereslers did about thirty years back. I wasn’t around to personally view it, but the grave was big, and I mean big. Everyone’s still talking about it. The stuff of legends, don’t you know?”

  “There won’t be a grave. As soon as he collapses, I’ll release the shield and we can drag him inside. The fog doesn’t enter Yerrary, does it?”

  “We have tight doors.”

  Krek rolled onto his back and all eight legs kicked spastically. Ever weaker, the spider eventually lay without moving.

  “Don’t let him die, Lan,” said Inyx, her fingers digging into the mage’s arm.

  “You know I won’t. I’m going to have to put the shield around us. No air to breathe except what we start with, so move fast. Ready, now!”

  Lan and Inyx ran out, hidden behind the impervious shield of light. Each grabbed one of Krek’s thick legs and started to pull. Before they got halfway back to the entrance to the mountain fastness, Lan felt himself growing weaker, lightheaded, almost to the point of passing out.

  “You’re doing a better job at this than I am,” he told Inyx. “I’ll hold the shield around you alone to give more air. I’ll follow.”

  “Lan, the fog’s coming back.”

  “Get Krek inside. Do it!”

  Lan rearranged the spell so that only Inyx remained inside the protective bubble of magic. The instant he freed himself, air gusted into his straining lungs. Gratefully, he dropped to his knees and sucked in huge draughts of life-giving oxygen. In the distance he heard Broit Heresler screeching about the fog.

  Turning, Lan saw filmy tendrils reaching out for him. He smiled. These weren’t foggy tendrils, these were a woman’s fingers. A lovely woman caressing his face, beckoning him on. He stood and stared into the fog. It parted like a curtain in a theatre, revealing the most gorgeous creature Lan had ever seen.

  Not quite human, she possessed a beauty transcending the physical.

  “Come to me,” she urged. Long fingers reached out to stroke and entice
. Lan moved toward her. “I want you for my own. Together we can be invincible. Together, we can be gods.”

  “I’d like that,” said Lan, moving away from the mountain and into the ethereal woman’s embrace. But he did not find it. She danced away lightly, taunting him, leading him on.

  “Come,” she whispered seductively. “Come and I will grant you all your wishes.”

  “Stop Claybore,” he said.

  “That, yes. I can give you that.”

  “Inyx. Be with Inyx.”

  “You choose another woman over me? What a man! You can have us both. Come, come!”

  He followed. He heard a faint cry from behind, but he ignored it. How could he be burdened with petty conversation when he was being promised universes?

  Lan fell heavily onto his face when something smashed into the back of his knees.

  “Dammit, Lan, the fog’s got you, too!” came the cry.

  Angry at being denied his ultimate fantasies, he kicked out. Inyx hung on with grim tenacity.

  “Back, Lan. Fight it. The fog’s burning away your brain. I can’t hold out much longer. Hurry, Lan. Fight it!”

  Inyx gasped out the last of her pent-up breath, imploring Lan to action. The sight of the lovely woman clinging to his leg, her face red with exertion, shook him.

  “I need you,” came the siren’s call from the fog. “Leave her. I can give you anything—everything!”

  Lan’s brain churned and felt as if it would rip from his skull.

  “Lan,” wheezed Inyx, slowly succumbing to the fog’s induced dreams. “It’s Reinhardt. But it can’t be. Vision, image. Not real. I remember being fooled before. Not real.”

  The mention of Inyx’s dead husband snapped Lan back to a semblance of command over his emotions, his body. Reaching deep within, he summoned the most powerful magics of which he was capable. A small spire rose, spun, turned into a vortex catching the foggy tendrils within. The air elemental boiled about, shrieking with insane joy as Lan released it from eternal bondage.

  The elemental spun to the sky and blasted itself free, taking with it most of the fog. Lan stood with the wind whipping around, snapping at his clothes, clawing at his face, and sucking out the moisture. He endured and the fog’s effects faded.