“Yes?”
“Maybe his powers are materially weakened by the shift between worlds. Maybe he needs the Kinetic Sphere for more than interworld travel. If he sucks power from it, being distant from the globe might sap his strength.”
“Possible,” conceded Krek, “though it is more likely he sits aloft and waits, like a proper spider in the center of a web.”
“How apt your comparisons are today, friend spider,” said Lan. “I think he races us for the summit. Whoever reaches the top of Mount Tartanius first wins the prize of the Kinetic Sphere.”
“I prefer the thought of succulent grasshoppers.”
“We could rescue Inyx.”
“Hmmm,” mused the spider. “I rather did like her. We share certain traits.”
“Only a few, I trust,” said Lan, remembering Krek’s bride and her appetites.
“The best ones,” Krek assured him.
Lan Martak looked from the dirt-rolling Ehznoll and his disciples up the craggy slopes of the Sulliman Range to the immense Mount Tartanius. Atop that peak lay more than his destiny. The destiny of worlds hung in the balance.
He’d reach the Kinetic Sphere first. He had to.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“It’s closing in on me, Krek,” Lan Martak cried in panic. He’d been dozing while riding and had another dream. Walls circled around, then began to crush him into pulp. Intense claustrophobia seized him; the times in his life when he’d been the most powerless were those times he’d been closed in. Trapped in the cellar while he listened to his half-sister being raped and murdered; accidentally locked in a trunk when a small child; stranded for fourteen days in a mine shaft he explored in the el-Liot Mountains; those were the horrific times of his life. Lan belonged in the open spaces, not simply because he loved it — he needed it. Being locked in not-so-slowly drove him insane.
“What? What closes in? The world is wide and beautiful, even if it is filled with debris like Ehznoll and his band.”
Lan shivered. The dream had seemed closer to reality than the world did now. He glanced upward, toward the crest of Mount Tartanius. His magic sense tightened until he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. As the days progressed, so did his feeling that some power grew within him. His magic sensing ability had become as sharp as a razor, as taut as a pulled wire. He felt ready to lash out, to explode under the tension.
“Up there. I feel it. I feel the power radiating from the top of the mountain.”
“It is strong,” said the spider. “I do believe it is the Kinetic Sphere. No mere cenotaph ‘looks’ quite like it. It is little wonder even you can sense it. What is peculiar is an inability to do so.”
“They don’t sense it at all,” said Lan. Ehznoll and his band frolicked in the dirt, flinging bits of dried mud at one another. They were anything but dour this day. Ehznoll had said something about its being a holiday for them, a day to rejoice and revel in their nearness to the earth. To Lan, they didn’t seem to be doing any more than they had done on prior days.
“Little wonder,” sniffed Krek. “It would take a major hosing down to even reach their skin. Their four physical senses are totally numbed by the layers of filth they wear like a cloak.”
“Five senses.”
“There you go again, prattling on about this elusive sense of smell. If it is anything like you describe it — and I believe it all a product of your twisted human mind — it gives you no advantage dealing with them.”
“They can’t sneak up on me.”
“Nor can they on me.” Krek flexed his long legs, tightening his grip on the rock until the tips of his talons penetrated the stone. He detected the most sensitive of vibrations in this fashion.
“Lan Martak!” called Ehznoll. “We stop for the remainder of the day. Join us in our frolics.”
Lan dismounted and went to the pilgrim. He tried holding his breath against the odors emanating from the unkempt man’s robe. He fought a losing battle.
“I … I feel called. Krek and I should scout ahead.”
“The good earth will not deceive us,” spoke up a woman nearby. “Trust in the planet. The dirt will never leave us. We are the children of the earth.”
“Never left the womb, either,” muttered Krek from behind. Lan motioned for the spider to be silent.
“Just the same, we’ll check out the route.”
“Stay, stay and rejoice with us,” the woman said, coming closer. Grimy fingers reached out to stroke Lan’s cheek. He flinched. She didn’t notice. Moving closer, she whispered in a husky voice, “We rejoice in many ways.”
“Uh, isn’t that against your tenets?”
“What? Making love?” she asked, surprised. As her eyebrows shot up, a tiny particle of dirt dislodged. Lan saw she had blonde hair rather than the dull brown caused by the dust and dirt. “Hardly. If anything, it is part of our most basic sacrament. If we aren’t fruitful, how can we possibly ensure that the praise of our earth is carried on to future generations?”
“Don’t most religions call for celibacy?” asked Lan. He backed up slightly and ran into Krek. The giant spider didn’t move. He peered over the man’s shoulder with intense interest.
“Is this part of the human mating ritual, also? You have such varied techniques, friend Lan Martak, that I am amazed. We mountain arachnids engage in much simpler courtship rites.”
“And then your damn bride devours you!” blurted Lan.
Krek only shrugged, shivering ail over.
“Take part in the rejoicing, stranger,” the woman urged again. “I am one of the holiest.”
“The dirtiest, you mean?”
“It’s the same thing,” cut in Ehznoll. “She is giving you singular honor. Melira is a standout, even in this devout band.”
The woman had allowed her cowl to fall back. Hair hung in greasy strings on either side of her smudged face. Lips chapped, front tooth broken, dirt everywhere, she only repelled Lan instead of attracting him. When she shifted the coarse brown robe back and off her shoulders, holding the filthy garment in the crooks of her elbows and revealing her upper chest, he almost turned and ran. Only Krek's bulk prevented him from getting on his mare and riding until either he or the horse collapsed from exhaustion.
Her breasts swayed like pendulums, each with a slightly different frequency of oscillation. Dirt encrusted the upper slopes, and pink nipples poked through the grime. Lan’s mind instantly Hashed to what the rest of Melira’s body would be like.
“I’ve taken a vow of celibacy,” he said quickly.
“Indeed, friend Lan Martak, when was this?”
“Shut up, Krek. I. uh. Look the vow because of the friend we're trying to find and rescue. Yes, that’s it. I promised Inyx not to be with another woman.”
“Is she so perverted?" asked Melira in what she considered a seductive voice. “Our cult allows free choice during each rejoicing. There are no permanent bonds. You are too attractive to merely sit on the sidelines and not take part.”
“My vow is sacred. To me, to Inyx, to the earth.” Both Melira and Ehznoll sighed.
“So he it. A vow to the earth takes precedence.” It was Lan’s turn to sigh — with relief. The pair turned and rejoined the tiny band of pilgrims, already stripping and kneeling to throw dirt on one another before they started serious praying.
“Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to even be around when they start —” The man stopped and stared at his friend. Krek stood rigidly, claws buried in the hard flint rocks. His eyes had glazed over, and rigor mortis might have set in for all the animation he showed. “What’s the matter?”
“Big,” came Krek’s tiny voice. “Never seen — felt — anything like it. Huge!”
The way the spider inflected the words caused Lan to whip out his sword and peer about. He personally sensed no magics; that left Krek’s vibration detection. Whatever so paralyzed the spider had to be dangerous.
“Is it the grey-clad soldiers? Has Kiska gotten loose and brought a company down o
n us?”
“No. Only one. But enormous!”
“Krek, tell me what it is. I … by the demons of the Lower Places!” Lan gasped and took an involuntary step backward. He craned his neck up — up — up — and saw only pincers emerging over a rock. Each pincer spanned almost four feet. His mare reared and kicked out futilely. Lan made no effort to calm her. In this battle the slightest misattention meant death.
More of the monster emerged. Lan irrationally thought back to the bog world where he’d saved Krek from wolves. He’d thought the eight-foot-tall spider to be a monster. The limpid dun-colored eyes, sometimes soft and forlorn, softened the image. Krek’s personality also took away from the idea of the spider being a monster.
The monster crawling over the rock to tower over them took away his breath. The scorpion-creature topped Krek’s eight feet by a sizable margin. Perhaps by as much as ban’s height. The hard-shelled torso looked strong enough to fend off anything short of a battering ram. A tiny head perched on the abdomen, eyes of only hatred peering forth.
“The stinger, watch out for the stinger,” cried Krek.
The long tail arced over the scorpion’s body, down past the head, and caught the mare squarely on the back. A loud snapping noise, the horse’s hysterical neighs, then the sound of blood spilling forth. Death had come quickly for the animal.
“How do we fight it?” gasped Lan. He looked at his fine steel sword. It might as well have been a toothpick against this beast.
Krek hopped away, bobbing and spinning a web. The spider fought his own battle. Seeing that Krek worked at a hunting web, Lan ducked and waved his sword high over his head in an attempt to distract the scorpion. If he won enough time for the spider to finish his sticky strands, they had a chance. Krek had once told him he’d caught and held a bear in those strands.
“Hey, hey, hey!” he called, jumping about as if he’d become quite insane. “This way.” The scorpion’s head followed his movement, but the body didn’t stir. It needed a steady base for the proper use of the deadly stinger. Lan saw it coming. Reflexes saved his life. He parried with his sword at the last possible instant. Sparks leaped from his blade as the tail slid away harmlessly. But the impact had been so severe Lan’s entire arm went numb with shock.
He backpedalled quickly to stay out of the range of a second stinger attack.
“What’s wrong with you?” Lan demanded of Ehznoll. “Fight this damn thing. It’ll kill us all!”
“It is a creature of the earth. We will pray for it.”
“It’ll kill you!”
“Our prayers to the godhead of earth will be answered. The planet will not allow us to die, not on this day of rejoicing, not under the awfulness of the empty sky. We are devout pilgrims; we will not be sacrificed in this manner.”
Ehznoll and the others commenced praying. Lan stood in stunned silence and, one by one, they dropped to one knee, crossed wrists over their breasts, and began singing. The whine of a scorpion’s tail slashing through the air made him leap without even looking. He hit the ground hard, rolled into flint, felt tiny cuts opening all over his still-paralyzed arm. In a way, the injuries aided him. Feeling — pain — came back to him more rapidly.
“Krek, hurry it up. This thing’s starting to look hungry.”
He stared up at the monster, the stinger poised directly over its head. A single drop of green fluid beaded there. Lan didn’t have to be told this poison could immobilize any living creature. Scorpions of much smaller size paralyzed with the poison, then stored their meal away for future use.
As the stinger lashed downward again, a single wrist-thick strand of web-stuff rose to meet it. The sticky material clung but didn’t hold back the tail. Krek continued to bind the scorpion, one strand at a time, until a dozen thick cords partially contained it, holding it down on the rock. The enraged scorpion let out a bellow more appropriate to a mountain lion and shook itself all over.
Webs popped as if the spider had used only common twine. Still, Krek didn’t give up. More of his hunting web arched up to entangle the monster. It became a battle of technique. The scorpion was powerful enough to break all the bands — in time. Krek fought to put more on than the creature could burst at any given instant.
Lan watched in helpless fury. His friend fought the battle; he was little better than Ehznoll and his pilgrims. Still, even with feeling returned in his sword arm, what could he do? The most vital portions of the scorpion’s anatomy lay a full yard above his furthest reach. Even if he’d dared, he didn’t think a single sword capable of penetrating that exoskeleton.
“How long will he stay bound?” he called out to the spider.
“He breaks loose even as I spin the webs. Fleeing is out of the question. He moves too quickly to outrun.”
“Keep him pinned down, Krek. I’ve got an idea.”
The spider didn’t answer; his full attention lay in combatting the scorpion. Lan Martak raced for the edge of the ravine, clambered up the side, then began the arduous climb up the rock face of the cliff overlooking the area. Each finger grip seemed incapable of holding his weight. Rock broke loose and tumbled downward. His knees skinned and hands bloody, Lan fought to climb the sheer rock face. Once he turned and glanced at the scene below. He was easily thirty feet up now; the scorpion dwarfed all below. Krek appeared a toy in comparison and the band of praying pilgrims even smaller.
For an instant, Lan debated dropping from his vantage point, getting onto the creature’s back, and trying to find a soft spot in the thick armor. Between head and abdomen gave the best chance of stopping the scorpion. Then he saw the stinger arc over, aiming for the spider. Krek danced away — barely.
Lan Martak knew it was impossible to attack the scorpion by straddling its back. That tail would slice him in two. He kept climbing.
What seemed years later, he pulled himself onto the top of the cliff, bruised, bloodied, and out of the breath. Again he looked down, from more than forty feet up this time. Krek’s hunting web gleamed in the sunlight. The scorpion’s hard shell looked like burnished brass. And, over the sounds of the battling arachnids, came the steady, doleful chanting from Ehznoll’s people. Less than twenty feet from the titanic battle, they continued to pray.
Lan intended to do more than pray.
He used his sword. Thrusting it between two large boulders, he levered and bent his back. Hands slipping from the blood, muscles aching from exertion, lungs burning, sweat running into eyes and mouth, he pulled. Nothing happened at first, then he heard a deep-throated creaking.
“Please, don’t let the sword break,” he moaned as he redoubled his efforts. A deeper creaking noise echoed down the valley. Then he fell heavily, the boulder pulled from its place.
He rolled over and called to those below, “Watch out!” But his words came too late for any to react.
They were saved by the scorpion’s lightning-fast reflexes. It saw the boulder hurtling downward at it. The long, deadly tail struck out with force, but it only served to deflect the rock from its trajectory. It fell onto the back of the scorpion. A sound like a pistol shot rang out as the heavy rock crushed the monster to a bloody, ichorous pulp.
Lan felt his gorge rising at the sight, but he controlled himself. Weakly, he swallowed, tasting bitterness. He spat and that helped. By the time he began his descent back to Krek and Ehznoll and the others, he’d regained his composure.
*
“I swear I saw someone from up there, Krek. I wasn’t hallucinating.”
“Who else wanders these hills? Only Ehznoll and his pilgrims, friend Lan Martak. No one else on this world would be so intent on discovering paradise.”
“I saw someone,” the man said firmly. “Only one man, leading a pack animal. Might have been three miles up the canyon, but certainly no farther.”
“I feel no one,” said the spider.
“You’re still shaking from the fight with the scorpion.”
“Nonsense.” The spider shook even harder.
“
And those crazy bastards didn’t even lift a hand to help,” snapped Lan, anger replacing the fright he’d felt anew seeing the crushed carcass of the monstrous scorpion.
“Are you referring to my band?” said Ehznoll. “We destroyed the creature. What more can you ask of us?”
“You did what?” roared Lan, losing his temper.
“Our prayers were answered by the godhead residing in the planet.”
“No godhead climbed that cliff. No godhead pried loose that boulder. I did it all. Me!”
“Without the sweet earth’s approval, you could have done nothing. I told you the earth wouldn’t allow us to die in plain sight of the sky. The truly devout die only out of sight of the infinite, awful void.”
“He does seem to have a point, friend Lan Martak.”
“What?” Lan spun on his friend, then quieted. In a voice as low and controlled as he could make it, he said, “Didn’t your hunting strands hold the scorpion down?”
“Of course, but they were anchored in the earth.”
“See?” said Ehznoll, his eyes gleaming with religious fervor.
“You’re not becoming a convert, are you, Krek?”
“We accept all into the faith.” Ehznoll tossed dirt onto Krek’s furry legs. The spider danced away. “Accept our sacrament. Join us in our ecstasy!”
“I will consider it,” said Krek, warily watching the pilgrim for more fountains of dust.
“Be like the clods of the earth. Join with your neighbors. Unite into a whole.”
“Let’s just be on our way,” Lan said tiredly. He ached and his horse had been slaughtered. From now on he walked with the rest of them. While Ehznoll went back to his band, Lan sank down and closed his eyes. Visions appeared immediately. He fought down panic at the sight of a fleshless skull floating, seeming to mock him.
His eyelids flickered up. Krek stood over him.
“I felt his power, too. Claybore is near.”
“Then he doesn’t have the Kinetic Sphere. Not yet!”
“It is a long ways to the summit of Mount Tartanius. We have much to contend with.”
The Sorcerer's Skull (Cenotaph Road Series Book 2) Page 9
