“Come on, Inyx. Summoning the air elemental warned Claybore. It had to. That was potent magic, but nothing else seemed to work.”
He half-dragged her back to where Broit Heresler stood in the doorway leading into the mountain. Beside him crouched Krek, shaking and openly crying.
“Why did I ever leave my fair young bride to walk the Road? Oh, Klawn, can you ever forgive me?”
“Shut up, Krek,” commanded Lan. The spider’s head snapped around when he saw Lan pulling Inyx inside. Broit slammed and locked the door. Lan noted with some satisfaction the rubber seals all around to prevent the fog from entering Yerrary.
“Give us a few minutes to rest, Broit. Then we can be on our way.”
“Never seen anybody get away from the fog before. Don’t know what it does, but it’s a killer. Usually find the bodies miles from here. What a chore, dragging them to the graveyard. Can’t just leave them in a nice pile by the door, no way. Nothing’s ever that easy, even death.” Broit cocked his head to one side and peered at Lan. “You’re damn good. Think you can get rid of the Tefize and their pet sorcerer?”
“I’m going to try.”
“Don’t know what good that’s going to do me. Just cause more work. Bodies, bodies everywhere! That’s all that happens when we have a couple tame mages to do our fighting for us.”
Lan Martak rested and closely watched both Krek and Inyx. The spider threw off the effects of the fog rapidly enough, but Inyx took longer. As she gasped for air, Lan considered the psychic effects he’d felt. Visions weren’t produced by another, as when Claybore sent his nightmares to haunt Lan’s sleep. Rather, these were images generated by the individual. He had no idea what Krek had seen, but it had terrified the spider. His own goals were all promised, if only he follow. And Inyx had again been shown her dead husband Reinhardt.
Lan smiled without humor. That image had been used to imprison the woman before, on another world, by a human mage without a shred of conscience or decency. Inyx had remembered and had used it to counter the fog’s insidious effects long enough for Lan to recover and act.
He stroked over Inyx’s raven hair, noting the spot where Krek’s mandibles had cut a lock free. She no longer fought. He hummed quietly, soothingly. Of all the people he had met along the Cenotaph Road, of all the friends he had made, she was truly special.
Inyx was more than a friend to him. Much more.
Lan closed his eyes and sent forth his dancing light mote to scout through Yerrary. There was no need to play coy now. Claybore had to have sensed the prodigious powers released by the air elemental as it sucked up all the fog in its wild bid for freedom. The magical battle would soon be joined and he might as well know Claybore’s location.
To his surprise, Lan found not only evidence of Claybore, but also of another mage, one nearly as powerful.
His eyes flashed open and focused on Broit.
“Are there other mages in Yerrary?” he asked.
“None left in the sorcerer’s clan,” said Broit. “Damn Lirory Tefize. When the sorcerers wiped themselves out almost to the man, the handful left petitioned other clans for membership. The Tefize were dumb enough to take Lirory.”
“And he took over,” finished Lan.
“Hard to believe a bunch of shit-movers would even think about having a sneaky mage in their ranks, and now they’ve got one running their clan business.”
It was always this way, Lan mused. A powerful enough sorcerer had advantages over everyone else. Mostly the mages were reclusive and desired nothing but their own solitude. Occasionally, with ones like Claybore and this Lirory Tefize, they nurtured ambitions spanning worlds. They were the dangerous ones. They were the ones Lan had to fight.
“I sense Lirory,” he said. “And Claybore. He shines like a black flame. But there is another presence, one I can’t penetrate.”
“Those are the real corpse-makers around here,” said Broit. “The pair of them keeps us dragging, it does.”
“Lan?” came a soft voice. “Are you all right?”
“Are you?” he asked Inyx.
“If we’re inside the mountain and together, the answer’s ‘yes.’ ”
“I must have alerted Claybore to our presence,” he told her. “The air elemental was like a finger pointing us out to him.”
“We survived the fog. We can survive Claybore.”
“I hope so, but there are things within this mountain I don’t understand.” He told her of Lirory Tefize and the powerful emanations he felt from the gnome clan leader and of the undecipherable radiations from still another mage. “Worst of all, I feel a very strong force within Yerrary. Claybore might be able to recover more than just one bodily part.”
“How many are here?” she asked.
“Four, They might be his arms and legs.”
“Why are all four here?”
“Lirory,” broke in Broit Heresler. “He walks the Road and he’s been collecting dead parts from all over. Why, nobody can say. We wanted to bury them, but he got huffy about it.”
“Lirory’s been accumulating them. For Claybore? Or for his own ends?”
“Any Tefize is a slippery character,” said Broit. “Who can say?”
“He might be bartering the parts for concessions from Claybore,” said Inyx. “Such a trade would appeal to Clay-bore. He wouldn’t have to scour the worlds on his own to regain much of his power.”
“Broit said there weren’t any grey-clads on this world. This might be because of Lirory Tefize. He holds Claybore’s legions at bay with the threat of destroying the body parts he controls.”
“Claybore would make him ruler of the entire planet if he turned over the parts,” said Inyx. “Why hasn’t he already done so?”
“Lirory is ambitious. He holds out for more, if I know that bugger,” said Broit.
“What more can there be?” asked Krek, finally shaking off his depression. “A world? A hundred worlds? What price is too high for Claybore to pay?”
Lan thought it over and finally said, “I don’t know, but it might have something to do with the other presence I feel. Potent magics not of Claybore’s doing are present. Perhaps Lirory bargains with two parties.”
“Another Claybore?” groaned Krek. “Is not one ample for our feeble efforts?”
“I don’t know what’s going on. We’ll have to check it out personally and see. Broit, lead on.”
“You certain you want to ally with the Heresler?” the gnome asked. “These other clans have some high-class talent aiding them, damn them all. So why us?”
“We like you,” said Inyx, laying her hand on the gnome’s shoulder. Broit looked confused. Perhaps it was the first time anyone had ever told him he was likable.
“I only asked because it’s taken us so long getting inside. We’re going to have to cross Nichi territory to get safe.”
“Who are they?”
“Sweepers,” the gnome said with some disgust. “All they do is push their filthy brooms around the corridors, stirring up dust and dissension. Awful people. And ugly! They are enough to make you die just looking at them.”
Lan said nothing. Broit Heresler hardly appeared to be the height of beauty, but different worlds had different standards. He looked at Krek and had to smile. The spider always chided him on not having enough legs. And Krek’s bride Klawn—Lan had seen her. The spider’s description of her hardly jibed with reality. Larger even than Krek, she had tried to devour him on their wedding night and still Krek described her as loving and petite and the epitome of spiderish pulchritude.
“Are you going to take root or come along?” Broit asked snappishly.
“You lead, we follow. I’ll keep a lookout for Claybore.”
Inyx shot Lan a quick, anxious look and he shook his head to reassure her that Claybore was not near.
“This is a claustrophobic place,” muttered Krek. “Look at the terribly constricted halls. Not like a good web spun across a mountain valley. Imagine living inside the mountain, ra
ther than dangling from the outer slopes.”
“Remember the rain and the fog,” said Inyx. “And you saw how the rock burned when the rain hit it. Would you want a web exposed to those conditions?”
“It is as I said. This is a terrible place. Friend Lan Martak, let us hasten off this world and onto another, more bucolic one.”
“We’ve work to do here, Krek. But don’t worry. I don’t want to stay here any more than you do.”
“What’s wrong with Home?” shouted Broit Heresler. “Isn’t this good enough for you buggers? Looks great to me. Fine place. Fine.”
“I’m sure,” said Inyx, trying to soothe the gnome’s anger, “Yerrary will grow on us.”
“You make it sound like a fungus. This is a great place to live. Wait ’til you see our clan territory. Best in all of the mountain. You’ll like it—you’ll see.”
Lan held up his hand cautioning Inyx and Krek. His light mote familiar bobbed about and returned. On its rippling surface he “read” what lay ahead of them in the hewn-rock tunnel.
For almost a hundred yards there were no cross-corridors. The rock itself was firm and virtually impenetrable, the tunnel being lit by phosphorescent moss growing on the roof and walls, casting a glow in such a way that there were no shadows anywhere. This all-pervading light erased shadows caused by contours and gave an odd appearance to both clothing and people. But beyond that was a chamber holding no fewer than twenty gnomes.
“Broit, is this way safe? There are many of your people ahead and waiting.” Lan couldn’t interpret whether or not those ahead were of the Heresler clan or another. From all Broit had said, he doubted they were friendly.
“It had better be safe. It’s the only way back to Heresler territory without leaving Yerrary and daring the slopes.” The gnome shivered with disgust at the idea of braving the elements outside his precious Home once more.
“Behind us is nothing,” said Lan. “Shall we go forward?” He glanced from Inyx to Krek. Both nodded, knowing he would not lightly ask this question.
Broit already stormed ahead, swinging his short arms and leaning forward as he walked.
“The moss tickles,” complained Krek. The giant spider brushed the top of his body along the tunnel roof as he went. “And it tastes awful.” He made a spitting noise.
“Nichi!” cried Broit. “Those are the sweepers and they’re waiting for us!”
“I told you,” said Lan. He conjured a small spell to brush the gnomes from their path, then felt the spell snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane. “We are under attack magically,” he said.
Inyx and Krek found themselves already occupied with swarming gnomes taking swings at them with brooms and rakes. Broit Heresler shrieked and cavorted about, kicking and gouging and biting. All in all, this part of the battle appeared ineffectual.
Lan Martak felt the magics building around him, powerful magics able to smash cities, to wreck entire worlds. This was the real battle. Lose it and he lost all.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lan Martak sidestepped a broom handle thrust for his mid-section. He hardly noticed the rake that began its descent, aimed squarely for the top of his head. Inyx fielded that one, her steel sword blade deflecting the blow that wouldn’t have greatly injured Lan but would have distracted him from his conjurings.
That break in his concentration might have proven fatal.
Coming toward them, channeled by the walls of the tunnel was something. Lan tried to put words to describing it and failed. The creature writhed and twisted and cavorted—and spewed forth noxious gases that made only those not of the Nichi clan gasp and wheeze.
“Magics,” he said.
“Awful,” said Krek. “It is starting to cause my fur to bristle and fall out in huge clumps. Absolutely awful.”
Lan had to smile. Krek vowed that the human sense of smell was only a wild tale concocted to make him feel inferior. The spider’s sense of taste amounted to little more than differentiating between dry and succulent, but his other senses were acute in the extreme, especially his ability to sense vibration.
“Feel anything moving? Or is this pure illusion?” Lan asked the arachnid.
Krek drove talons into the rock walls and floor and stood for a moment, as if considering a weighty problem. Finally satisfied, he withdrew and said, “Nothing material comes.”
Lan nodded and turned his full attention to the inexorably moving monster blocking their path in the tunnel. He ignored the fight between the gnomes and Inyx; her prowess far exceeded theirs. They danced in and out, poking and swinging their brooms, but they feared her flashing sword and quick, deadly lunges.
Lan muttered a small spell, then wove a blazing pattern in the air before him. The pattern shifted, burnt out, then exploded silently, ashes scattering out and over the groping apparition almost atop them.
The ashes lightly fluttered down and brushed the creature’s leather hide. It shivered, then gave voice to a heartrending shriek of the purest agony. With a puff of smoke, it vanished, leaving behind only the telltale fumes it had emitted on its track down the corridor.
“What of them?” asked Krek, pointing to the gnomes still tentatively battling Inyx. “Shall I eat them?”
“No!” cried Broit Heresler. “You can’t do that. It’s against the law.”
“These Nichi clansmen want to kill you, don’t they? Haven’t they aligned themselves with the Tefize?” Lan puzzled over the gnome’s insistence on not harming those attacking.
“Of course they have. Dismember them, torture them, do as you will. Kill them by all means. But don’t eat them! There wouldn’t be a fit corpse left to bury!”
Krek snorted in derision and plopped himself down to watch the gnomes and humans come to terms. Some forms of combat he simply did not understand and never would.
Lan almost shared his friend’s opinion this time.
“You have to be able to bury the corpse for religious reasons?” he asked. Inyx still held at bay the entire pack of Nichi clan sweepers. He saw no great need for haste in this matter. The magical creature had been banished back to the limbo from which it had been conjured and the gnomes were ineffectual fighters at best.
“Yerrary take us, no! If you eat the damn bodies, there won’t be any work for the Heresler. We’re gravediggers. Damn fine ones, too. We have to protect our jobs, though. And from the likes of him. Who’d have thought it?” Broit Heresler jerked his thumb in Krek’s direction. The spider impassively watched.
“So you don’t care if I do this?” Lan moved so that he spun in a small circle, his arm waving free. As the tip of his index finger passed the position of each Nichi, they gasped and fell heavily to the floor. The harder they tried to stand, the worse their condition became. “The spell is simple enough. It confuses their limbs, weakens them, and increases the debility the more they struggle.”
“Can’t bury ’em ’til they’re dead,” complained Broit.
“That’s not our worry,” said Lan.
“Well,” Broit said, “maybe we can bend the rules. If nobody’s watching, you know?”
Inyx came over and sheathed her sword when she saw what Lan had done to the gnomes.
“How long will they be like that?” she asked.
“Can’t say. This is the first time I’ve ever tried the spell. I don’t believe it’s permanent. It’s too weak a spell.”
“Effective. You ought to have tried it sooner. We could have used it any number of times.”
“The spell seems to have come along with the tongue. I… I can’t quite explain how or why. There are simply things popping up in my memory that were never there before. Spells, vague remembrances of other places and people.”
“We’d best continue on. This little reception party might only be the start. And whoever sent the magical creature intended us real harm.” Inyx skirted the edge of the group of kicking, complaining gnomes and entered the corridor beyond. “This is the way, isn’t it, Broit?”
“Yes, of course it
is,” the diminutive gravedigger said. “Heresler territory is only a ways beyond.”
Lan trailed the others, unsure about their safety. The creature he had vanquished had been too easily destroyed. And it had not been sent by Claybore. The “feel” of the dismembered sorcerer was not contained within the structure of the monster.
“Ahead,” came Krek’s warning, “lies a tunnel filled with more of the gnomes. They tap their feet and anxiously scrape the sides of the tunnel. I believe this means they will attack when we get near enough.”
“Oh, no!” moaned Broit Heresler. “This is the Nichi’s favorite ambush spot. We can’t go back, either. A tunnel curves around. By the time we retreated, they’d be there to cut us off. We’ve got to fight because we can’t run. No way.”
“Some guide you are,” muttered Inyx. “You lead us right into the middle of the enemy.”
“Listen, skyscraper,” Broit said, coming up to Inyx, tipping his head back and peering straight up into her face, “this part of Yerrary is pretty simple, but it’s not Heresler territory. We don’t have a lot of different ways we can go.”
“Do the Nichi often attack?” asked Krek.
“Not too often,” Broit said. “Today they are. Our bad luck. I only hope one of the really good diggers gets my body. Hate to be laid away in a slipshod grave.”
“We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” said Inyx with sugary sweetness.
“Don’t need to be sarcastic,” Broit muttered, lowering his eyes to the floor and shuffling his feet a little.
“Lan?” called back Inyx. “What do we do? What do you see?”
“Magic is all around. Claybore is near. He does nothing to aid the attack. He’s not even aware of it, but the other mage is.”
“What other mage?”
“I don’t know. But Claybore… digs. He’s excavating to find something. Huge amounts of power emanate from that pit.”
“Another part of his body?” asked Inyx.
“It must be more than a single part. Not even the tongue radiated this particular type of aura, and it carried with its spells of immense power.”
[Cenotaph Road 05] - Fire and Fog Page 4
