He didn’t even remember sinking to the ground to sit tailor-fashion. The first effort to block Claybore’s magic failed. Lan tried to spread the mote of light into a curtain once more, but this time the energies were too thin to hold the enormous weight of a dam. All Claybore needed was a magical spear thrust through the dam under water level; a thousand motes plugging the hole wouldn’t stay the tons of water rushing outward.
Lan changed his mode of attack.
And in front of him floated the ghostly visage he had come to know and hate.
“So, my petty apprentice mage, you think to stop me in this little task?”
“I will, Claybore.” Lan’s gaze didn’t waver as he stared directly into those hollow eye sockets. The tiny whirlwinds of red no longer inspired fear. He had matured and Claybore no longer menaced him—in that fashion. Nor did the other sorcerer attempt to use the ruby death shafts. The duel became more subtle, but nonetheless deadly.
Claybore’s attention wavered for a moment. Lan instinctively knew that tremendous spells were being conjured. His friend the mote of light reported back: water elemental.
The undine stirred in the muck at the bottom of the lake formed by the dam, stretched her muscles, shivered, and rippled with reborn power. The water about her boiled and blackened and she expanded, grew in stature, in power, finally lived after so many centuries of discontented slumber in the lake bottom.
The command impressed on her dull brain held her captive, but the command was a simple one. Swim. A water elemental did that best above all else. She swam. Directly for the base of the dam built in ancient days by those of Wurnna. The cold stone wouldn’t deter her. She was powerful, aided by powerful magics.
All this the mote reported to Lan Martak. For the briefest of instants, he quailed at the thought of what he must do. Fear welled up within him, then subsided as reason took control of his emotions. He did what had to be done.
His chants filled the valley of spiders with a plaintive, eerie sound. His hands moved constantly, weaving the complex binding spells in the air before him. And above all, his mind wrestled with the summoning, power coming from the gem-bracelet and necklace—and from deep within his own soul.
The salamander screamed vengeance as it formed in the air above the valley. Vaguely aware of the consternation among the spiders, Lan could do nothing to ease their fears. Conjuring elementals required total concentration; they were cunning creatures not easily bound and all too willing to turn on the mage summoning them.
“Into the lake,” Lan ordered his fire elemental. The salamander hissed in rage and railed against the command that would cause its brief existence to be snuffed out. Lan’s control lacked much of that shown by Claybore, but the control was adequate. Reluctantly, the fire elemental arched in the air, a sinuosity of flame and blinding light that turned night into day, then launched itself directly for the retaining dam and the undine behind it.
Fire and water do not mix. As the elementals collided, water with fire, huge columns of steam rose to support the nighttime sky. The female undine fought recklessly with male salamander, but the outcome was never in question. Both snuffed out of existence.
Lan fell supine on the valley floor, panting, his face flushed. He blinked sweat from his eyes and peered up at Krek. With voice cracking, he asked, “Did I stop him?”
“There is no water in the valley.”
“I stopped him. I stopped Claybore!” Lan exulted for a moment, then realized that the battle was not won by a single round. Claybore did these conjurings only to slow him. Every second spent fighting elementals and worrying over new and more diabolical traps allowed Kiska k’Adesina time to drop more boulders on feckless Wurnna.
Weakened as he was, Lan Martak took the time to do a quick survey of the valley. The dam had been weakened by the swift but brutal struggle of elementals; the important point was that it held. Cracks formed along important junctures but the dam held.
“Any signs of fire in the web?” he asked.
“Only a few from the fire elemental raging above. Those portions of the web have been isolated and new supports are being spun.” Lan again sent out his magical scout. The arachnids coated endangered portions of their web with a sticky chemical similar to that used on their hunting webs. This retarded the fire long enough to give them time to spin new supporting cables and then cut loose the burning sections.
“No lives were lost.”
“But time has been stolen away,” said Krek. “Claybore manipulates us all like pieces on a game board. He occupies our time with fear—of fire and water, oh, the horror of it all!—and cares not if we perish. If so, he is content. If not, he has gained the time to further his schemes elsewhere. He must be stopped, friend Lan Martak.”
“I’m trying. And you’ve got to try again with Murrk. Without the aid of the spiders, I don’t think Wurnna can survive.”
“The dam will break soon,” came the Webmaster’s shrill voice. Lan spun around to see the giant spider hanging from a strand a few feet above his head.
“You have time to fix it now.”
“We cannot fix such things. In ancient times that structure was built by the humans to gain access to this valley and the rock mines they value so. We lack the skill to repair it.”
Lan began to see another quirk of history on this world. The mages of Wurnna had built the dam to reach the power stone mines, but the spiders had moved in once the yearly floods were stemmed.
“You can leave the valley,” he said, knowing what response he was likely to get. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Never! This is our home! For centuries this is our web!”
“With Wurnna gone, defeated by Claybore, I suppose there’ll be no one left to repair the dam.”
Murrk considered the ramifications for a short while—a virtual snap decision on the part of the spider—and then said, “If we fight off the interloper soldier humans, will the other humans repair the cracks and insure our safety?”
“They’d be so grateful for the help, I’m sure they would do it willingly.”
Murrk whistled and clicked and bobbed about for ten minutes. In that time the already dark sky darkened even more with the bulk of hundreds of spiders.
Lan Martak had his relief force. If only they weren’t too late to save Wurnna.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“There’s no chance for attack,” said Jacy Noratumi. “Look. They pick us off one by one. We must retreat.”
“That’s cut off, too,” Inyx pointed out. The tip of her sword indicated the various strategic positions occupied by Silvain’s archers. As long as the greys held the high ground, Inyx and her company could neither attack nor retreat.
Even as she spoke, one of Silvain’s men tried to go up the narrow path leading to the top of the mountain. One of her own archers rose and let fly a deadly shaft. The arrow flew straight and true; the man on the path died—and so did Inyx’s archer. A dozen hidden positions loosed arrows directly into the chest and belly.
“They can afford to trade one for one since they outnumber us,” Noratumi said glumly. “And there is scant we can do.”
Inyx hated having to agree. They’d be cut down if they attempted to return to Wurnna. A frontal assault was equally as suicidal. And staying only allowed Kiska k’Adesina time to move boulders atop the mountain for Claybore and his mages to scoot over the city and drop, letting gravity do most of the work.
“Keep firing and play it safe,” was all she could suggest. The woman studied the situation and, for the greater part of a day, observed no weakness. Near twilight the next day, however, she pointed out certain flaws in the armed array facing them.
“Attack is still out of the question,” said Noratumi, “but escape appears more likely. Does Silvain toy with us?”
“I don’t think Silvain is even in camp,” she said. “I believe he took another route around the cliff and has rejoined Claybore.”
“If that is so, perhaps k’Adesina has also left her pos
t up there.” Jacy pointed above to where tiny antlike creatures—workers—toiled to line up heavy boulder after boulder along the rim.
“That can only mean the main attack is imminent.” She considered their alternatives and all looked equally bleak. “We go back to Wurnna. Now.”
Noratumi silently signaled those near to pass along the order. Smashing repeatedly against the force guarding the path up the mountainside accomplished nothing. Inyx took every step away imagining what an arrow driving into her spine might feel like. While there were short, quick engagements, most of her force succeeded in regaining the trail leading back to Wurnna.
“What if this is another trap?” asked one of the archers.
“We have to take the chance that Silvain is no longer commanding that detachment,” said Noratumi. “It’s a better chance than we had.”
“But the possibility of traps….”
“Exists,” admitted Inyx. “We also know to stay over long means our death.” She hit the rocky trail at an easy lope and quickly outdistanced the others. Being alone helped her think of the things that were important; she ignored the possibility of a cleverly laid trap.
Lan. He must have known her mission was a long shot with a one-in-a-million chance of succeeding. Was his trip to the valley of spiders any less of a clutching at feeble hope? She doubted it. By dawn Wurnna would again find the rocks descending from on high. In less than a day Claybore would have smashed the city to dust.
What then? Inyx didn’t want to think about it. Claybore’s conquest of still another world would be total.
The diminished band reached Wurnna a half-hour before the pale pinks of dawn lit the horizon. Inyx felt no joy at the sight of a new day, for this one would be filled with death and destruction unlike any she’d witnessed before along the Cenotaph Road.
“Why don’t they use their damned rocks?” Jacy Noratumi paced along the walkway, hands clasped behind his back. Now and then he reared back to study the mountains on either side of the fortress. In plain sight were twin rows of boulders large enough to smash the city to gravel, but Claybore refrained from launching them.
“Perhaps he is occupied elsewhere,” suggested Rugga, hovering near Noratumi.
“Or he might be tired. He must tire like other mages. He has so few other sorcerers to aid him that he might require time to rest.”
Inyx scoffed at this, saying, “He is immortal. Even Terrill wasn’t able to kill him. His power is limited, true, but there has never been a time when he’s held off attacking through weakness. He plays a war of nerves with us. He lets us see the boulders long enough to anticipate. He breaks our will to defend Wurnna.”
“It’s working,” was all Noratumi said.
Iron Tongue came striding up, looking as if he had won the war and ruled all the world. Inyx discounted the man totally now; he had lost contact with reality. While his words still carried their magical power, thanks to the tongue resting in his mouth, those words were confused and of little effect now.
“He runs from us. I have won!” the demented mage crowed. He opened his mouth and thrust out his metallic tongue in the direction of Claybore’s encampment at the far end of the canyon. It caught the noonday sun’s rays and transmuted them into dark and sinister light, as that reflected from a polished coffin. Inyx had to look away.
“Look. In the plain.” Rugga rushed forward, pointing.
“A trick. Kill the bastard!” roared Noratumi. The archers sprang to their feet and loosed volley after volley of arrows. They turned aside harmlessly before touching either Claybore’s skull or torso or the mechanical carrying them.
“Hold!” boomed the dismembered sorcerer’s voice. “I would parlay.”
“See? He surrenders to me. To me, Iron Tongue of Wurnna!” The cackling drowned out Claybore’s next words.
“… above you, unused. But at any time they can be brought down. My terms are just and fair. I want my tongue. In exchange I shall grant all within Wurnna their freedom.”
“What of the city?” called Rugga.
“It must be destroyed, but all within shall remain alive.”
Inyx shook her head vehemently. Noratumi and Rugga were slower to admit that Claybore plotted a trap.
“Why offer us a truce at all?” asked Inyx. “He can crush us with his boulders. He has the power. Claybore is not one to refrain from wanton violence.”
“He wants the tongue intact. Using the aerial bombardment might harm it,” said Rugga. “That is the only reason I can think of. I say, give it to him. We can fight him another day.”
“He won’t keep his word,” blazed Inyx. “He will kill us the instant he has the tongue. Its use will make him infinitely stronger. You can imagine how potent will be the spells cast using it. Look at what he does with it.” The distaste in her voice brought Iron Tongue’s head swiveling around.
“You speak of me, wench? I am considering Claybore’s offer. There is a certain justice in what he offers.”
“Dammit, you just said you’d won. Will you surrender so quickly?” Inyx saw that arguing with a madman accomplished nothing. Iron Tongue’s mood and thought flipped from minute to minute.
“He will beg me for the tongue. Yes, I like that idea. Wurnna will survive, if he begs me for my tongue.” He thrust out the parody of a tongue in Claybore’s direction once more, somehow managing to cause a grotesquely unnatural ripple to flow from one metallic end to the other. Tiny blue sparks lapped at the edges before it vanished back into the mage’s mouth.
Inyx leaned forward, hands on the protective stone of the battlement, too angry to speak. It wasn’t her place to decide for those of Wurnna. Iron Tongue was still their leader, demented or not. Rugga might seize power. She turned and looked at the woman, weighing the chance this might happen. A quick assassinating stab with a dagger into Iron Tongue’s kidney would leave the rulership vacant. But Rugga obviously had other goals now. She and Jacy Noratumi stood too close, eyed each other in a way Inyx understood all too well. Rugga wanted nothing more to do with Wurnna and leadership. She wanted only Noratumi.
“Fight,” Inyx said, her voice almost too low to be heard. “Fight to the death. It’s cleaner than what he offers. He will never allow us to walk away.”
Iron Tongue rocked forward, bent slightly at the hips, as if summoning up the energy to give in to Claybore. Inyx’s hand rested on her sword hilt. She wondered if a quick draw and a powerful slash across the throat would decapitate Iron Tongue. She doubted it. There would have to be a second cut, but the first might silence him enough to prevent use of the full force of his tongue.
An instant before she unsheathed and executed, hideous screams came cascading down from above. Startled, the dark-haired woman looked up. Then she let out a loud whoop of joy.
“Lan did it! The spiders!”
The soldiers either leaped or were tossed off the mountains by the score. Where once there had been boulders falling, now the air filled with flailing, screaming bodies. Darker forms dotted the cliffs, moving upward with agile grace.
“A boulder!” came the warning. “The boulders fly!”
One did smash into Wurnna, but the rest simply rolled off the canyon rim to plunge impotently to the floor some distance from the city. Inyx spun and looked out at the plain stretching in front of the city gates. Claybore balanced atop his mechanical as if stunned by the sudden turn of events. When he rattled off, shouting orders as he went, his troops milled in obvious disarray.
“Iron Tongue,” said Inyx. “Use the Voice. Stop the troops from running away.”
“Halt!” The word rolled like thunder down the canyon. The grey-clads froze in their tracks. In spite of two figures going through the ranks, flogging and kicking, the majority of the soldiers stood frozen in their tracks.
“Those two,” muttered Noratumi. “Silvain and k’Adesina?”
“Probably. Claybore called them in for what was to be his moment of triumph.”
“Why’d you want the troops to stand? Now
they can wheel and fight. We’re in no shape to fend off another assault.” Rugga wore every piece of the power stone jewelry she had and still it seemed to give her little enough energy to conjure. The toll on her strength had been extreme while keeping Claybore’s magics at bay.
“Wait. Just wait.” Inyx knew how Krek thought. If the giant arachnid commanded those on the heights, as she suspected he did, there would soon be a new element introduced into battle at the floor of the canyon. When spiders came crashing down on thick strands of webstuff, she knew the heights were secure. The spiders gathered, at first by ones and twos, then by dozens, to move away from Wurnna and into the frozen ranks of Claybore’s army.
Even the power of Iron Tongue’s command faded as raw terror shook the men and women facing eight-foot spiders with clacking mandibles and a ferocity little known outside the insect kingdom.
The carnage was great and the confusion in Claybore’s ranks even greater. Inyx found herself delighting in the sight of blood flowing in trickles, streams, rivers. To her left Iron Tongue stood stunned and uncomprehending. To her right Jacy and Rugga clung to one another. Inyx might gain vicarious revenge and savor the destruction, but none of the other humans did.
“They deserve this,” Inyx tried to explain. “They tried to destroy your city. They did destroy Bron.”
“But this…” croaked Rugga, turning away.
“This ends the physical threat,” came a new voice. “But Claybore will not give up this easily.”
“Lan!” Inyx rushed to him and gave him the hero’s kiss he deserved. He pushed her away, oddly distant.
“The battle is just beginning. Rugga, assemble all the mages. Claybore will fight like a cornered rat now. We must be ready. We must keep the tongue away from him at all costs.”
To be out of sight of the bloodshed wreaked by the spiders, Rugga was happy to go on any mission, no matter how trivial. Only Lan Martak realized that the ferocity of battle had yet to reach a climax.
[Cenotaph Road 04] - Iron Tongue Page 18
