[Cenotaph Road 05] - Fire and Fog

by Robert E. Vardeman - (ebook by Undead)

  “Where?” asked Krek. “I feel the gnomes ahead. Where is Claybore?”

  Lan pointed without seeing. His finger directed their attention through solid rock. Krek and Inyx exchanged looks and shook their heads. This was a seeing beyond simple vision.

  “We can’t go after Claybore and fight off the Nichi. Not if what Broit says is true,” said Inyx.

  “Are you calling me a liar, skyscraper?” demanded Broit.

  “Nothing of the sort,” said Inyx. “We’re just trying to sort out what our best course of action is.”

  “Use the funny tanglefoot spell again. That’ll stop them all,” said Broit. “I liked watching those Nichi flopping about as if they’d just fallen out of the stewpot.”

  “It will also alert Claybore. The numbers of Nichi this time are a score more than we encountered the first time. And he is so close. So very close.” Lan’s voice trailed off as he “watched” the excavation proceeding. Claybore did not detect him because the mage’s full attention was directed to whatever was within the pit.

  “Ahead, then to the right,” said Lan. “That is the best way to approach Claybore. I can attack him directly when I can see him.”

  “Aren’t you seeing him now?” asked Broit. “What’s with you, man? You talk in riddles.”

  “He is a mage,” said Krek. “Not that good a one, at times, but still, a mage. We all know they are a bit off in the head.”

  “Oh, yeah, righto.”

  “The next intersection,” said Lan, almost in a dreamlike state of concentration now. “We go right and then I’ll be able to see him directly, with my own eyes. The attack. How do I attack?”

  “That intersection’s where the Nichi will clobber us,” said Broit. “Their favorite spot for ambush, it is. Yes, indeed.”

  “Broit, does Heresler territory lie directly down this corridor?”

  “Not more than a mile further down. No turnings, just a straight-ahead run.”

  “Then,” said Inyx grimly, “we will run the entire way. You first. I’ll follow and make sure they come for us.” Her sword slipped easily from its sheath. This time she knew she’d spill blood with it. The woman almost thrilled to that. She was a warrior and enjoyed a good battle. The way Lan now fought with spells and geases and creatures that weren’t quite real did not appeal to her. Such magics had their place, but would never replace a well-fought duel with swords—or hand to hand.

  “Let me make sure this is the way you want it,” said Broit. The gnome uneasily wiped perspiration from his wrinkled forehead, chunks of dirt falling away. “I run through the junction and get them chasing me. You come after, hacking and slashing at them before they catch up with me? What then?”

  “The others follow me,” said Inyx.

  “What about them?” Broit looked suspiciously at Krek and Lan.

  “They take the right tunnel and find Claybore.”

  “Why not let the spider come with us? He, uh, he’d make a good decoy. Better than me.”

  “He goes with Lan,” Inyx said firmly. She wanted Lan to have some physical protection along the way. While the man was an expert swordsman, the conjurings took too much of his attention. Krek could fend off any attack until Lan’s defenses were properly formed—and the battle taken to Claybore.

  “Let him use just a little spell on the Nichi,” begged Broit. “That’ll take some of the pressure off you.”

  “We do it this way. If Lan casts too potent a spell, he’d draw Claybore’s attention. That would be the end for all of us.”

  “If I attack first, when he is not prepared, this might end it. The contest would be over once and for all,” Lan said, more to himself than to the others. It seemed too incredible to believe, all the agony, all the death and destruction behind them. Victory would be his with a single magical bolt.

  “Let’s gooooo!” cried Inyx, running off and prodding Broit ahead of her with the naked edge of her sword. The gnome yelped and danced and ran like all the demons of the Lower Places chased after him. The gnome realized he might be better off if they were, too. Inyx brooked no small hesitation and gave freely of the flat of her sword, promising even more if Broit Heresler so much as thought of slowing his breakneck pace.

  “They enter the intersection,” said Krek. “The Nichi swarm out and follow Broit. Inyx follows this group. Ah, she has removed four of them from the fracas. Such expertise with her weapon. A pity she is human. What a fine spider she would have made. Not as good as my Klawn, of course; but still, a fine arachnid.”

  “Now,” said Lan, almost in a trance. “We must go now. Hurry. Claybore is nearing the end of the excavation. He is close to retrieving whatever lies in the pit.”

  The intersection was devoid of life. Several gnome corpses lay strewn about where Inyx’s deadly blade had separated them from their lives. From further down the corridor came sounds of a fierce battle raging. Shouts, screams of agony; the shuffle of feet, and the clank of metal weapons. These Nichi were armed with more than brooms.

  “Inyx makes the battle sound interesting,” said Krek, his huge body swaying toward that corridor, and then in the direction where Claybore worked so feverishly to retrieve still another bodily part.

  “If I attack without hesitation, I can end it all,” said Lan. “I will! This is it, Krek. We’ll be victorious. I know it!”

  Lan ran off, Krek trailing behind. The spider’s pace became slower and slower as they went, because of the narrowing tunnel. He soon scooted along, legs bent almost double. Mumbling about the idiocy of this quest, the spider eventually came into a small antechamber. Lan stood, his face turned toward a dark opening in the wall before them.

  “Claybore is through there,” he said. Lan quaked inside, but it was not with fear. This was the shivering of anticipation, of need to begin. He had met Claybore in magical battle before. Neither had been able to vanquish the other. But now, with Claybore’s tongue resting within his mouth, Lan Martak knew he had the power and the ability to stop the sorcerer.

  “Let us not keep him waiting,” said Krek. “I want to return to the peaks of my beloved el-Liot Mountains and once more feel the wind whispering seductively through my leg fur.” He rubbed one thick foreleg against another and saw even larger patches fall off. Krek sniffed indignantly at this. “Let us definitely put an end to all this chasing about.”

  Lan Martak stormed forward, his spells already forming on his lips. His dancing light mote familiar raced to his aid, built the power about him, built into a spear of pure magic, and turned until it aimed directly at Claybore.

  The sorcerer’s mechanical legs remained firmly planted, but the upper torso spun so that the fleshless skull peered directly at Lan.

  “You!” came the soundless cry. In the pits of those dark eye sockets came a stirring, a beginning of the ruby death beams.

  With a single gesture, Lan snuffed out those death beacons. His triumph towered and he released the bolt of pure magic.

  Claybore let out a shriek of total agony. Never before had Lan been able to carry the battle to Claybore. With the tongue, Lan Martak was more than a match for the disembodied sorcerer. His power surging, Lan launched a new and different form of attack. Again came Claybore’s immediate anguish.

  “Stop,” the sorcerer begged. “We can rule together. Stop this!” He tried to mount a counteroffensive. Lan crushed the attack before it had even halfway formed to menace him.

  “You have created untold misery along the Road,” said Lan. “Your mindless rush to regain that stripped from you by Terrill is now at an end. Terrill was unable to destroy you. I might be unable, also. But I feel it within my power. Using your own tongue against you, using the spells locked forever with it, using the grimoire I obtained atop Mt. Tartanius from another of your foes, I can destroy you.”

  “No, stop. Please. We can negotiate.”

  In that instant Lan knew he had won. He formed another bolt and sent it directly for the center of Claybore’s skull. The bone chipped and began crackin
g. Another bolt sailed for the Kinetic Sphere buried within Claybore’s chest cavity. The pinkly pulsating sphere allowed the mage to move from one world to the next without using the cenotaphs. Lan wrapped the Kinetic Sphere in a layer of heavy spells that prevented Claybore from escaping.

  Lan Martak formed the ultimate stroke. This carried the full force of every spell he commanded, used the full resources he had gained along the Cenotaph Road.

  Claybore stood helpless before him.

  The spell was cast—cast and deflected at the last possible instant. Lan blinked in surprise. This could not have happened, yet it did. Claybore lacked the necessary power to save himself.

  “Lirory!” cried the dismembered sorcerer. “Aid me now! Again! Aid me again!”

  Standing with hands folded at the far side of the pit was a gnome. His eyes blazed emerald green and brighter than any sun.

  “This must be the wizard of the Tefize clan Broit spoke of,” said Krek.

  The spider spat forth a hunting web, intending to tangle the gnome and pull him into the pit. The web vaporized inches before striking the sorcerer gnome.

  “I am no novice,” said Lirory Tefize.

  “Aid me, Tefize!” pleaded Claybore.

  “The arms can be yours—in exchange for that which we have mentioned,” bargained the gnome.

  “Yes, yes! He kills me!”

  “An immortal dying? How terrible,” said Lirory Tefize, mocking Claybore. “That is unthinkable.” The gnome’s entire stature altered, grew. Power blasted from his thick body until Lan had to throw up hands to shield his eyes. He recovered and caught up his familiar light mote, using it to absorb some of this prodigious energy.

  Lan knew the tide of battle had turned against him. Unless he quickly summoned all his magical lore, he would die, and Krek and Inyx and untold millions of others would spend their lives under the yoke of tyranny Claybore promised.

  He had summoned the ebon dragon once. He did so again. The huge creature filled the room, its nothingness reaching out and taking all the punishment Lirory Tefize and Claybore could offer. It sucked in their energies and demanded more. Lan urged it forward, to attack, to absorb the sorcerers as it now sucked at their power.

  “An unusual manifestation,” said the gnome. “Can you see it, mage? Allow me to show it to you.”

  Lan screamed. Somehow, the emptiness of the dragon was pulled inside out and revealed fully to him. He saw death and misery of every conceivable form. It gnawed at his mind, jerked at his emotions, tore him away from the battle.

  Again the protective light mote saved him. As Lan cowered from the horrors revealed within his dragon, Claybore attacked. The savage lunge of pure energy sank into the light mote and—almost—penetrated through to the other side. How a single point of light had dimension Lan didn’t know or even want to consider now. That it had thwarted still another of Claybore’s assaults was sufficient.

  “The pit widens,” said Krek. The spider stepped back, but the edge followed him. He and Lan were soon trapped on a single ledge, their backs to the stone wall of Yerrary.

  “It works in other ways,” said Lan, regaining his composure. He had panicked for a moment when Tefize joined the battle. Fighting two mages might be difficult, but it wasn’t impossible. Not for him!

  Krek started to say something, when he noticed what Lan did. The very rock melted and flowed all around. Tefize and Claybore found their footing increasingly vitreous. Tefize sank to his knees, his waist. Claybore’s mechanical legs were entirely drawn down into the rock.

  “Freeze!” cried Lan, sending forth a wave of intense cold. The molten rock returned to its normal solidity, now holding both sorcerers firmly in its grasp.

  “That ought to hold them,” said Krek. But the spider worried. He shot forth web after web, trying to stick it to the ceiling and swing over to the encapsulated mages. Lirory Tefize vaporized every single strand as it flew toward the ceiling.

  “I know, Krek,” comforted Lan. “The pair of them work well together. I shall have to do something more, it seems.”

  He and Krek had been trapped on a ledge along the pit. Now the ledge grew, flowed and merged with solider portions of the cave floor. Soon enough they were on firm footing again and no longer threatened with a long fall into the excavation.

  “You have beaten me, Lan Martak,” said Claybore without a hint of rancor. This more than anything else put Lan on guard. Claybore would never surrender. Not this easily. Not when there was a single spell yet to be cast, a single geas to be applied.

  “Then I want proof of it!” shouted Lan. He blasted outward with the most devastating spell of which he was capable. Lan almost laughed aloud when he saw Claybore’s skull begin to split in half.

  Then he screamed. From within the skull came insects of all sizes and shapes. Pincers snapping, mosquito-stingers probing, the cloud of insects erupted forth and filled the entire chamber.

  Spell after spell failed. Lan used the Voice to make the insects disperse. Nothing happened. Krek attempted to eat them. He spat out the hideous creatures and silently offered his apology to Lan.

  From every side the insects came at him—and Tefize and Claybore added magical jabs until he fought simply to remain sane. His body slowly being gnawed away by the bugs, his mind railing against the renewed assault by the two sorcerers, his emotions torn between admitting he had failed and retreating or staying and fighting to the death, Lan Martak was gradually beaten back.

  “Friend Lan Martak, let us leave immediately,” urged the spider. “We have lost this bout. There will be another.”

  “Go, Krek,” sobbed out Lan. “You go. Whatever they’ve done to me, I can’t move. My legs are numb.”

  “The insects do their work well,” said Lirory Tefize with some satisfaction.

  “I give you my sincerest congratulations. I had not thought this ploy would work,” said Claybore. “But it has!”

  Lan Martak was beaten ever backward by the opposing magics and his body was being devoured by the insects. Truly, he had now lost both battle and war.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Look out!” cried Inyx, lunging to prevent the wooden stick from landing squarely atop Broit Heresler’s pointed head. The gnome didn’t even take note of her quick action. He snorted and kicked and kept fighting. But Inyx saw the tide of battle inexorably going against them. While it was noble of her to provide a decoy for Lan and Krek to find and fight Claybore, she wasn’t about to die under a wave of gnomes brandishing sticks and brooms and the occasional knife and spear.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said to Broit. “We can take that passage and cut down the number of them following us.”

  “The Nichi know all these tunnels,” complained the gnome. “I don’t. If only we could reach Heresler territory. Then things would be different. We’d have them turned into corpses in nothing flat.”

  Inyx didn’t have the wind to tell Broit that escape was more important than making the most number of dead bodies. She didn’t want to stand and fight; she wanted to flee and find a quiet spot to recuperate. Her body was covered with growing black-and-blue spots and one throbbing bruise over her right knee caused her to limp slightly. She doubted the bone had been injured when the Nichi fighter had smashed her with the rock, but only a closer examination would tell for certain.

  Right now, she fought mostly on adrenaline.

  “We can’t run. It’s not sporting,” said Broit.

  “We can’t stay and let them pick us off. We’re only two against their many.”

  “A Heresler fights.”

  “You can damned well die a Heresler, then!” snapped Inyx. She slashed and hacked her way through a small knot of gnomes and fought into the corridor, stumbling when her right leg gave way under her. She rolled, came to her feet, and braced herself for a moment against the rock wall.

  To her surprise, a gnarly arm supported her until she got her leg moving properly.

  “Thanks, Broit. I thought you were staying t
o fight.”

  “Let’s run. We can discuss this matter elsewhere.”

  “In Heresler territory?”

  “Certainly.”

  The pair of them ran, Broit’s short legs doing a good job of keeping up with Inyx’s longer-legged strides. But run as they would, the Nichi followed, screaming their vengeance as they came. The dark-haired woman wondered what drove those gnomes. Many of them lay dead and more than a score had acquired nasty-looking wounds. If they broke off the attack, they could claim a victory.

  But the Nichi attacked and attacked and attacked.

  Inyx fought, turned down different corridors, fought some more, doubled back, and eventually got herself lost in the rocky maze that was Yerrary.

  By the time she lunged, spitted the gnome confronting her, and watched the misshapen creature buckle and fall dead, Inyx realized she and Broit Heresler had become separated. She couldn’t even remember the exact moment—or the exact place.

  “This doesn’t look too promising,” she said aloud. In every direction she turned, the tunnels appeared the same. Grey rock with the clinging phosphorescent moss on the ceilings and no sign of life or shadow. “Where do I go now?”

  Inyx tried to backtrack by following the faint evidence of scuffle marks on the floor, but this took her in circles. The woman tried cutting small blazes into the stone wall to show her route and quickly discovered herself even more lost in the tunnels.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Lan Martak. Recently, they had forged a mind to mind link that both thrilled and frightened her. Never had she been so close to any man than when she and Lan made love and the mental link formed along with the physical.

  But it was closed to her.

  “And why not?” she said to herself, more for the comforting sound of her words than any other reason. “He’s battling Claybore. He has no time for linking with me.” She shuddered at the prospect of disturbing Lan at the wrong instant. Such would cause him great danger. Inyx almost felt guilty at the attempt, even though she desperately needed to know how to find her way through this confusing maze.