World of Mazes cr-3

by Неизвестный

  She might have stood for an instant or centuries. Inyx had no way of deciding how long it had been between sighting Lan and the feeling of being sucked into a vortex. Slight tuggings pulled at her ankles, her legs, her body. She turned and cried out as her misty body began spinning in a miniature tornado.

  Hardness rubbed her arms and back. Suffused light shone in her eyes. Detail came into the world. She rested in a stone crypt, the top pulled away to reveal an eight- foot- tall spider and a haggard man, his eyes shining with feral brilliance and a shock of sweat- soaked brown hair swaying across his forehead.

  " Lan!" Inyx sat up in the crypt, reaching out to him. " You:" Her words trailed off as the vertigo she associated with walking the Cenotaph Road took possession of her senses, spinning her around and making her feel as if she' d been turned inside out. " No!" she cried piteously, but the protest echoed hollowly inside the rugged stone crypt, now turned dark and dank.

  She sniffed the air, then coughed. Mildew had attacked the stone, giving a musty odor. Inyx shoved upward against rough stone and felt the lid to the crypt begin to slowly grate away. Using muscles that had been inactive for- how long?- caused aches to assert themselves. The dark- haired woman loved the feel.

  A body! She was out of the white limbo and back in the real world. But which world? Somehow, Lan had created a cenotaph to get her out of the nothingness between worlds. He had also miscalculated the opening time. She had escaped her private, dimensionless hell but had been tossed at random along the Cenotaph Road.

  Muscles tensed as she sat half- upright and pushed harder against the stone. It didn' t matter which world this cenotaph opened onto. Lan and Krek would follow as soon as theirs opened once again. They would be with her. The three of them together!

  Inyx rejoiced.

  The starry heavens above displayed constellations unfamiliar to her. Cool dew moistened her forehead, and the heady scent of pine forest came from close by. Soft winds whispered through the treetops and came to caress her face, sensuously touching her face, throat, breasts. She lived and rejoiced in every sensation. For too long, she had been deprived of all of them. Sitting up, she saw dark forms moving nearby. Humans, from the sound of their motion and the words they uttered.

  " Greetings," she called out, anxious once again to be with anyone not a ghost. Inyx pulled herself to her feet, still in the crypt. As her eyes adjusted to the night' s darkness, she felt a cold lump forming in the pit of her stomach.

  The men she faced were all grey- clad soldiers. They ringed her in. She had escaped Claybore' s curse in the whiteness to find his army' s might in another world. Inyx was trapped.

  CHAPTER TWO

  " The time is almost upon us," said Krek. " Prepare to follow through the cenotaph."

  " I' m ready," said Lan. " Are you, Morto?"

  " No."

  " What?"

  " I' m not going." The dead mage' s son stood to one side of the hut, his chin held high and a glow about him that Lan had never seen before. He appeared more confident now, his shoulders straighter and his face composed. For too long he had lived in his father' s long shadow. Morto obviously had come to a decision on his own now, possibly for the first time. Free of familial obligation, he grew as a man.

  " Why not?"

  " I will stay on this world. Others offer me nothing I can' t find here."

  " And?"

  " I would carry on Ehznoll' s religion. The strength of this cenotaph is a tribute to his courage. There must have been parts of his belief more potent than any magic. Perhaps faith is always stronger. It is something I must explore for my own peace of mind. Also, my father lies on this mountain; I think my destiny does, also."

  " Come with us, Morto. Don' t spend your life in this way. Help us continue your father' s fight against Claybore."

  " My fight lies elsewhere. I haven' t the talent or will to do battle with Claybore. Let me stay and tend to this holy shrine. It is something I can do, something I want to do. Go, go find your friend."

  " The cenotaph opens, friend Lan Martak." The giant spider jumped nervously from one side to the other, his long, furry legs knotting with eagerness to go through the world- shifting cenotaph.

  " Morto?"

  " Go."

  Lan' s blossoming magical sense " saw" the cenotaph begin to open. It glowed like a brightly lit doorway leading into a far better place. Krek momentarily blocked off the light, then vanished. Through the illuminated rectangle Lan saw a new world, a world completely different from the barren, glassy plain atop Mount Tartanius. He glanced back at Morto to see another kind of light, a religious fervor such as had sent Ehznoll plunging to his death.

  Lan never hesitated. With the litheness of youth, he vaulted into the crypt and immediately lay down. Less than a second elapsed before the magics he had released began taking hold of his mind and body. He started to call out in joy that his spells actually worked. He experienced a vertigo of the world- shifting, but it was a familiar sensation now. Lan calmed and blinked, opening his eyes to see Krek looming high above the new crypt. Luckily the spider had removed the lid and gotten free; otherwise, the fit trying to get both of them into the same coffin- sized space would have been too tight for comfort.

  " It is night," said Krek. " Almost dawn."

  " Inyx, where' s Inyx?" Lan demanded. He forced his way past the crouching spider, worming his way through the legs imprisoning him in the cenotaph.

  No Inyx.

  " She' s not here," he said, crestfallen.

  " There is no way to know how long it has been since she arrived," said the spider.

  " But it' s only a day."

  " It was only a day for us. Time moves strangely on different worlds. She might have been here a week already. She might have decided we were not coming and gone exploring on her own."

  " She wouldn' t do that," protested Lan. But in his heart he knew Krek was probably right. Inyx lacked patience. She might have decided that they could follow her when they arrived.

  Krek jumped out and lightly dropped into soft earth beside the gravesite. He bobbed up and down, canting his head to one side while thinking his spiderish thoughts. Lan didn' t bother asking what those thoughts were. He began circling the cenotaph, studying the ground, looking for a sign indicating where Inyx might be. He had fought too long and hard and had gone through too many tribulations to give up easily on her.

  So close. Back on Mount Tartanius she had been just inches away before the magic of the cenotaph transported her here.

  His magics, his cenotaphs. Lan Martak cursed himself for not understanding better the magics contained in Abasi- Abi' s brown leather- bound grimoire. His hand touched the book carefully tucked away inside his tunic. The lore of the ages rested in that small book. Learning it wouldn' t be an overnight task. Abasi- Abi had spent his life growing in power; when he faced Claybore, that knowledge had only delayed his final fate.

  Lan dropped to hands and knees and examined a scuffed area in the dirt.

  " Krek, look at this. A group of men were here, perhaps three or four days ago. The weathering of their footprints shows as much."

  " There has not been any rain," said the spider. " For which I am thankful. How ugly having water fall from the sky and mat the fur on your legs."

  " The prints, Krek," said Lan, bringing his friend' s attention back to the ground.

  " Ah, yes, the prints. A dozen soldiers."

  " All the imprints are the same," said Lan, feeling a coldness creeping up inside. If the men waiting around had been the usual ragtag band of itinerants, their boots would have different markings. All these heelprints were identical, with the only difference being the size of the sole. Soldiers.

  " There is some small sign of Inyx. There." The spider pointed using one of his long legs.

  " Yes, that might be Inyx' s," said Lan, " but we can' t tell. It' s different, but it' s been stepped on too many times."

  " She might be in the hands of the grey- clad soldiers."
r />   " Or maybe these are local militia." Lan said it and didn' t believe it. Claybore' s skills were vast. He might have felt the creation of a new cenotaph leading off Mount Tartanius. If so, it was a small matter to send a company of soldiers to watch this site. When Inyx emerged, the soldiers captured her.

  And he had been the one sending her directly into their arms.

  " Nothing I do is right," Lan lamented.

  " The creation of this cenotaph was well done. You still learn, and we do battle with a powerful mage. All in all, you have not done badly. With a few exceptions."

  " I don' t want to hear about it," said Lan, cutting off the itemized list of his failures. He knew them only too well. Each and every one burned like a fresh wound in his mind.

  " The soldiers," said Krek, moving about in a rocking motion, his tiny head bobbing and mandibles clacking ferociously, " went this way. Shall we, also?"

  Lan checked to be sure his sword slipped easily in its sheath, then began his long, ground- eating stride in the direction Krek had indicated. It might have been a day or a week before that the woman had come through the cenotaph, but now only distance separated Inyx from them.

  " The world is full of game, good forests teeming with edible plants, everything we could want." Lan lounged back and stared up into the cloudless blue sky. For two days they' d tramped along, following the trail left by the small patrol of grey- clads. The lack of any indication that Inyx was with them made Lan a little uneasy, but this seemed their only choice. He carefully examined the tracks at every point along the way, hoping for some sign showing the woman' s presence, and finding none. He went forward on hope alone.

  " What a singularly annoying sound," said Krek. The spider hunkered down into a lumpy brown mass next to a tree. " The shrieking sounds pierce my ears."

  At first Lan didn' t hear anything. It finally came to him, distant, high- pitched. He scanned the clear sky and found two dots weaving and darting about. Squinting, he saw tiny jets of flame lancing from the rear of each spot.

  " Whatever can that be?" Lan felt an uneasiness as the dots grew in size, coming closer. His burgeoning sense of magic twinged like an arthritic knee before a rainstorm.

  " They move too quickly to be gliders."

  " But they are under human control."

  " They certainly would not be under arachnid control," sniffed Krek. " No self- respecting spider would ever enter such a dangerous flying contraption."

  The dots grew in size until Lan made out details. Metallic, the craft sported short wings on either side and had markings indicating opposing sides in some unknown war. The craft engaged in swiftly paced aerial combat. Long lances of eye- searing violet flame lashed from the back, somehow propelling the craft and keeping it airborne. As the craft maneuvered for position, huge gouts of fire lashed forward in attempts to engulf the other craft. Lan noticed that, as the front of the craft spewed forth flame, it shuddered and slowed. Only when the forward fires died did the speed pick up again.

  " An odd form of combat. One totally not to my liking," said Krek. " You humans manage to find the most diabolical ways of killing yourselves of any species I have encountered along the Cenotaph Road. It is a wonder you are proliferating so while displaying such vicious, self- destructive tendencies."

  " The one has a skull emblem on the side. Do you think:?" Even before Lan got the words from his mouth, that craft swerved, seemed to slide sideways in the air, and got behind the other craft. Flames danced forward, searing the enemy' s tail section. Lan winced when he saw the result. The craft in front blasted apart in midair.

  " A fire elemental," he said in awe. " I read about them in AbasiAbi' s grimoire, but even he lacked the spells to properly contain them." In midair danced the now- released propulsive system of the doomed craft. The elemental shrieked in glee at being freed and arrowed straight up and out of sight. Its shrill cries of freedom rang in Lan' s ears long after it had gone.

  " The craft comes down nearby."

  " The man inside," said Lan. " He' ll be killed if he stays with it."

  The metallic bird tumbled and pitched, pieces cartwheeling away as it descended. Lan saw the pilot push back a transparent hatch, then vault into air, seemingly to his death. Lan' s heart almost stoppedthen he felt intense magics forming again.

  Air sucked away from where he stood, rushed together, and formed a vortex surging upward into the sky. The cyclone caught up the man flailing about in midair and tossed him back into the sky. Battered by the high winds generated by the air elemental but pulled inexorably by gravity, the man slowly came to earth.

  Long before his feet touched the ground, the remnants of his craft smashed into the forest not a hundred yards from Lan and Krek. Lan glanced up at the pilot, still whirling around in his personal storm, then ran for the downed and smouldering craft. His curiosity overpowered his desire to help the man.

  Krek followed until they came within a few feet of the craft. Hot metallic smells filled the air. The craft' s tail section had vanished and one wing had been ripped off in the descent. The cramped quarters where the pilot had crouched rested above a thick tube running the length of the craft.

  " That' s how they did it," marvelled Lan. " They trapped the fire elemental. The rushing heat expelled from the rear shoved the craft forward, but when the pilot wanted to attack, he opened up the front end of the chamber holding the elemental. Flame rushed forward, along the tube the pilot straddled. The elemental' s heat gushed out to spray the enemy craft."

  " How interesting," Krek said testily. " The air is not fit for breathing. The metallic tang is much too unpleasant." The spider bounced away a few paces.

  " But how did he generate the air elemental to get him safely to the ground?" Lan wondered out loud. " What sorcerers this world must have! Maybe we can find some to oppose Claybore and stop him before he grows too powerful."

  " You dream, friend Lan Martak."

  " What?"

  " This incident indicates a war. The skull emblem on the side of the victor might hint that Claybore already rules this world."

  The man looked at the blistered insignia on the side of the downed craft: a fist holding a dagger. What Krek said might be true.

  " The only way of finding out is to ask."

  They ran for the middle of the field where the air elemental still kicked up a choking column of dust. The pilot of the craft had collapsed in a pile in the center of the rotating windstorm. Lan ignored Krek' s pleas to give up this mad quest and find a nice, peaceful spot where the wind didn' t rip at furry legs, and pushed inward.

  The pilot, more dead than alive, struggled for a moment.

  " It' s all right," soothed Lan. " I' m not going to hurt you. Tell me what happened."

  " The grey army. Th- their air arm is too strong. Too good."

  " You fight the grey- clad soldiers?"

  A single nod.

  " How much of this world have they taken over?"

  " Almost all," came the disheartening answer. " Only small bands of resistance remain. The howler, the one I flew, it was our last. We are grounded now."

  " Howler? You mean the craft holding the fire elemental?"

  Again a single nod. The man weakened visibly.

  " Is Claybore here?"

  Incomprehension.

  " The leader of the grey- clad soldiers. Is he personally on this world? My friends and I fight him. We would join with your group. Tell me how we can do that." The man tensed, then sagged. " Tell me!" raged Lan. He realized the man had died. Ugly burns on the man' s left side had been the cause of death. The pain must have been excruciating. Claybore' s aerial craft had done too good a job at killing.

  Lan allowed the man' s head to sink into the soft earth. He had made his last landing.

  " We' ll stop Claybore," he promised the dead pilot. " We will." He rose and turned to Krek. The winds from the air elemental had died to a soft breeze, but that breeze had masked the sounds of approaching men. High overhead Claybore' s ho
wler rocked back and forth in salute, then shrieked off, the captive elemental protesting mightily at the exertion.

  Circling Lan were twenty grey- clad soldiers. Krek had already been captured.

  CHAPTER THREE

  For a moment, Inyx and the soldiers stood staring at one another in disbelief. They hadn' t drawn their weapons, and she was too surprised to move. She recovered her wits first.

  Diving, twisting, she succeeded in getting past the one closest to her. His powerful hands grabbed and caught the fabric of her tunic, but his grip and her determination to leave were stronger than the cloth. It ripped, leaving him holding only a swath of useless cloth. Boots scuffled in the dust and she heard the soldiers' growing confusion. She had a chance. As she ran for the shelter of the pine trees nearby, she pulled her sword.

  " Who is she?" demanded one of the soldiers behind her.

  " What difference does it make? We were ordered to stop anyone coming out of this cenotaph. So what if she doesn' t fit the description Silvain gave us? Get her!" The words convinced her that Claybore' s soldiers waited for Lan and Krek, not her. Claybore didn' t know she had been freed from the white limbo between worlds. As Inyx ran for cover, she debated the wisdom of trying to eliminate all the men around the grave. Something gnawed at the fringes of her mind and kept her from turning and challenging them.

  She finally found a small hummock behind which to hide. Panting, she slowly controlled her racing heart and got herself under better control. Sword in hand, she waited. The soldiers blundered about in the dark until their leader finally called them back. For a few minutes, nothing happened, then light blazed forth.

  One of the soldiers held aloft an iron cage. Trapped inside was a small demon, valiantly blazing and casting light in all directions. Whenever the light began to fade, the soldier holding the cage rapped the bars sharply with a stick.

  " Don' t you dare turn off," warned the soldier. " You know what I' ll do to you,"