" Now, Krek," the young warrior mage said, " let' s see to putting out your fires."
" Water! Fire! I drown and burn! This is the worst of all possible worlds. Why did I ever leave fair Wurnna behind? I could have made peace with Murrk and the other spiders. They' d let me stay high in the webs, swinging in the gentle breezes. But no, I walk the Road and find both fire and water to confound me!"
" Lan, he does need help," said Inyx. She furrowed her brow in worry as huge patches of coppery fur on the spider' s legs began turning into charcoal and falling off in gobs. " He won' t be able to endure much more of this."
Lan rubbed his hands together, then let his fingers trace out a fiery pattern that hung suspended in the air. The pattern took on new shapes and burned with an intensity equal to that of the rocks silently erupting into flame all around. Spinning, the pattern became nothing more than a blur, then sped directly for the spider.
Krek let forth a shrill scream of almost human agony, then vented one of his gusty, spiderish sighs. He shook for a moment, then stood on all eight legs.
" Whatever you did, friend Lan Martak, thank you. The burning is gone. But my poor fur:." Krek' s head craned around and studied the damage done to his fine leg fur.
" It' ll grow back, Krek. Just wait and see," soothed Inyx.
While the pair of them talked in low tones, Lan walked to the edge of the protection formed by his magical umbrella and peered out at the landscape. Seldom had he seen such a foreboding place. The watchfires sputtered and leaped wherever the acid rain touched- but he did see a narrow path leading off into the cloud- obscured distance. Occasional gusts of wind cleared the horizon to reveal a towering mountain wrapped in a flame envelope. Other than this, the world appeared denuded of all contour.
" Not even vegetation," he mused, looking over the terrain. Lan realized this might mean nothing. After all, they had emerged on this world in the center of a graveyard. Around him stood small marker stones commemorating the passing of dozens of lost souls. The cenotaph from which they' d emerged was even more poorly marked, giving it the aspect of a pauper' s grave. The more he looked around, the more Lan warmed to the idea that this was a potter' s field where the indigent were lain to whatever rest they could find.
" Any sign of Claybore?" asked Inyx, coming to his side and putting a gentle hand around his waist.
" Magically, I haven' t tried. I fear any use of a scrying spell might alert him."
" The umbrella won' t draw his attention?" Fearfully, she looked above to where the acid rain pelted down onto the thin magical sheet stretched taut.
" There are hints of magic all around. This won' t command any more attention than the others. But you are right. We must keep the use of my spells to a minimum or we will warn him of our presence. Surprise is our greatest ally at the moment."
" You' ve grown in your powers so much I hardly know what you can and can' t do," she said, her voice strained.
He missed the tone.
" Claybore' s power is still greater. And if he finds his arms and legs on this world, there will be no stopping him."
" The tongue won' t stand against him?"
" I: I don' t know," Lan admitted. He rolled the iron organ about in his mouth. It carried with it a metallic taste, but other than this he might as well have had his natural tongue. But the young mage knew the power of the tongue. He had seen the commands given for suicide followed instantly and without question. The tongue enhanced a spell, gave him the Voice, made him much, much more than he had been.
And in some fashion he didn' t understand, it allowed him to more closely understand Claybore. This tongue had once been a part of that renegade mage; now that it rested inside Lan' s mouth, the two were merged in a subtle and magical way.
" Where is he? Can you tell without the scrying spell?"
" No, I can' t," he told his raven- haired companion. Lan looked into Inyx' s brilliant blue eyes and saw concern there, concern for him. " About all I can find is what my senses tell me."
" We already know this is a terrible place," moaned Krek. " An awful place full of vile things. Oh, woe! Why did I leave my web and my lovely bride Klawn?"
Lan ignored the spider' s lamentations.
" There' s nothing to be seen except for the peak rising yonder." He pointed it out to Inyx when another strong gust of wind cleared away the veiling fog around it.
" Don' t be so sure. Lower your sights a little. There, over to the right." Inyx pointed. Lan followed the sleek line of her arm to a spot not a hundred yards away.
" Interesting. They seem to be digging a grave," he said.
" Robbing it is my guess. Who else would dare the wretched elements on this planet but grave robbers?"
" Quiet, Krek. Let' s go see if we can strike up a conversation and learn something of this place."
" I do not wish to speak to anyone. Not if they are native to this horrid place," the spider said, sulking.
" Then you' ll sit in the middle of the rain. The umbrella comes with me."
Lan whistled, gestured, and started off. The glowing protective sheet sailed several feet above his head. Inyx kept pace and Krek saw that he had to, also, or end up out in the searing acid rain. The arachnid lumbered along, grumbling as he went.
" Good day," called out Lan from a safe distance. The gravediggers barely stood four feet tall and were immensely powerful. Wrists as thick as Lan' s forearm twisted shovels and spades in the rocky soil. Their noses were bulbous like potato sprouts and the gnarly ears protruding from the sides of their misshapen heads looked to be more vegetable than animal in origin. One of the diggers turned a rheumy eye toward Lan, but other than this, none paid him the slightest attention.
" Sociable crew, aren' t they?" commented Inyx.
" You try," urged Lan. " Sometimes you can strike up a conversation better than I can."
Inyx tried and failed. The four gnomes continued digging until they had a grave a half- dozen feet deep and two by five across the rocky plain.
" Mayhaps they are incapable of speaking," said Krek. " Or perhaps they are merely rude little buggers."
" Rude!" blared the one Lan took to be the leader. " We' re not rude! How dare you offend us by saying such a vile thing? The Heresler clan is more polite than any of the others- all the others taken together! Ask any of us!"
" Did we offend you?" asked Lan. " There are many differences in cultures."
" You didn' t offend me. You? Either of you two fools?" The leader took a quick inventory of his men and shook his head. Hair the diameter and texture of seaweed fluttered over his eyes. He pushed the greasy hair back into uneasy equilibrium without even noticing he did so.
" Allow me to introduce:" Lan began.
" Who cares who you are? We have work to do."
" And he thinks he' s not rude. Wonder what the others are like?" asked Inyx.
" Others? You have contact with the Tefize?"
" What could it matter to you?" asked Lan.
The gnome threw down his shovel and stomped over to stand less than six inches away from Lan. Chin thrusting upward, hands on broad hips, the gnome glared at Lan.
" They are sworn enemies. Do you have dealings with the Tefize or not?"
" No." Lan used just the slightest amount of the Voice with his answer. Inyx cringed when she felt the power radiating outward. The gnome hardly took note of it. He only nodded briskly.
" Good."
He turned to go back to his digging.
" Wait!" Lan' s patience was nearing an end. " We want information. We need shelter, we need food, we want to find out if another has come this way. We need a lot of things."
" Who doesn' t?"
Lan had grown up on a forested world where hunting provided the major means of his sustenance. Patience had become inbred with him. To lie in a tree over a game trail waiting for the right- sized doe or buck, then to leap down like an attacking pard required skill and determination and: patience.