" You will not win, Claybore," he said confidently.
The spell Claybore cast exploded like the heart of a sun, blinding him, leaving him cut free of all his senses and floating through empty infinity.
" The water you wanted," panted Broit Heresler. " We have it. But there' s bad news."
Inyx looked at the tuns of acid rainwater accumulated from Eckalt' s vats. How the burning quality of the water might be used, she wasn' t sure, but it had to provide a potent weapon in the right circumstance.
" None of you was hurt?" she asked anxiously. She counted heads and saw Broit had returned with all the gnomes he' d set out with.
" You needed Eckalt' s help, didn' t you?" asked the clan leader.
" Eckalt knows more of the inner workings of Yerrary than anyone else I' ve met. He hops around down there, doing his work, dispensing his distilled water, and accumulating knowledge in return."
" Eckalt is dead."
" What? Claybore?" she demanded, ire rising. She had liked the toad- being. Ducasien came and laid a hand on her shoulder. She spun, even madder when she saw the man' s face. It was as if he held back a secret he thought would hurt her. That failure of trust added fuel to the fire of her anger.
" Not Claybore," said Broit Heresler. " Lan Martak. He killed Eckalt without remorse. There were witnesses. Several of the Wartton clan saw it all. Martak lifted Eckalt with a spell and hurled him into the well where you say this Resident thing lives."
" Lan gave the blood sacrifice," Inyx said in a choked voice. " He sacrificed an intelligent being. Eckalt was such a harmless little creature."
" He murdered Eckalt, is what he did," said Broit Heresler. " And he didn' t even leave us a proper body to bury. That might not be such a loss, though, if we can create another cenotaph because of it. A new way on and off the world is always a boon. New travelers, new corpses to bury. There' s usually a way to turn trouble into gain, especially if you' re clever like I am."
" But he could have sensed Eckalt' s intelligence," she said.
" He didn' t even try," said Ducasien. " I already knew but didn' t want to say anything. He is a callous killer, this friend of yours."
" There is nothing wrong in that," cut in Krek, " but the circumstances hardly warranted it. Lan Martak could have spent a few more minutes looking for an appropriate sacrifice to awaken the Resident."
" The power has gone to his head. He thinks only of himself, that he is invincible," declared Ducasien.
" You' re still thinking to help this corpse- destroyer?" asked Broit. " Not that it' s any cause for alarm, as long as he creates enough business for us Hereslers."
" I say we consecrate the cenotaph to Eckalt, then leave this world," said Ducasien.
" Friend Ducasien has a point," said Krek. The spider bobbed up and down, then added, " However, we know only one side of this issue. Should we not query Lan Martak first? While he has sorely mistreated me, my innate sense of fair play comes to the fore. In the past we owed him much. Surely, we can ask and listen to his explanation."
Inyx saw all eyes on her. The decision rested squarely on her shoulders whether they were to carry out the planned attack in conjunction with Lan' s magical assault or simply turn and leave Yerrary and this world.
Ducasien wanted to leave. Krek asked for answers from Lan.
Her vote decided the issue.
" You recovered nicely, Martak," congratulated Claybore. But the younger mage did not take it as a compliment. To do so meant Claybore gained a fraction of power over him.
Spinning through space- blinded and deaf, totally without senseshad startled him, but fear wasn' t his response. He had fought and found within himself the right ways of countering Claybore' s attack.
He whirled back and still faced Claybore. No time had elapsed. The wild flight had been entirely illusory- but ever so real while he was caught up in the spell.
" A petty trick," he said, knowing how Claybore had done it. " Goodbye."
The spell he cast contained elements of the most powerful spells he was capable of controlling. The invisible web caught at Claybore and further cracked the skull, a piece falling to the stone floor. Lan tightened and the magics spilled over from the edge of his control and eroded away the coffin immediately in front of Claybore.
That almost proved his undoing.
The leg, freed of the magical bindings Lirory Tefize had placed upon it, kicked out of the copper coffin and balanced in a mockery of life on the floor. The sight of the dismembered leg moving of its own volition startled Lan into relaxing his attack.
And when Claybore riposted, it came in an unexpected fashion. The leg hopped forward and kicked straight for Lan' s groin. The physical pain meant little to Lan; the shock of seeing the leg attack allowed cracks to develop in his own defenses.
Claybore entered that breach easily. The spells used by the mage beat at Lan' s every vulnerable point. He was forced backward, driven to the wall. The inner core on which he relied came to his aid, giving him the respite to reform his defenses.
All the while the ghastly leg continued to hop and kick at him.
" See, Martak? All of me wants to see you die," said Claybore. " And you will- you will die as only an immortal can. You will live forever and be in complete pain for all eternity. Nothing will save you. You will cry in the dark for surcease and never find it. You will die, not in body, but in mind. Die, Martak, die!"
Lan couldn' t stop the surging attack, but he could turn it aside enough to keep from succumbing. And knowing his strength was nowhere near adequate to destroy Claybore as he' d thought, cunning took over. Lan Martak turned aside the assault and redirected it for the hopping, kicking leg.
" No!" came the shriek as Claybore realized what was happening.
His leg vanished in a sizzling cloud of greasy black smoke, lost forever.
" Your skin is gone. I have your tongue. Now your leg is destroyed. Who is losing, Claybore?"
Lan twisted away as heat destroyed the other copper coffin. Droplets of molten metal seared his skin, raised blisters, burned like a million ants devouring his flesh. The other leg bounded free of its vaporized coffin and went hopping toward Claybore.
Lan tried to stop it and found the other sorcerer' s spells prevented it. Leg and torso would soon be reunited. What power would this give Claybore? Lan didn' t want to find out.
" You can' t stop me, Martak," gloated Claybore. " You had your chance. You' ve failed."
" Aren' t you the one failing, Claybore? Where' s your right leg? It' s gone. Completely destroyed. The other soon will be."
" Never!"
Lan sent out tangling spells to numb the nerves in the leg. They failed. The leg did not live in the same way other things did. He hurled fireballs and sent elementals and opened pits and still he failed to prevent the inexorable movement of the left leg as it hopped toward Claybore.
Every spell he wove sapped that much more strength from him. Lan realized with a sick feeling that Claybore was growing stronger. When the leg rejoined, his power would be supreme.
Lan was lost. The universe was lost- and ruling over it would be a new god: Claybore.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lan Martak fought with all the ferocity of a cornered rat. Try as he would, however, Claybore always proved the stronger. Lan thought he had strength and youth on his side; Claybore' s primary advantage was experience that sapped Lan' s strength, made him commit to foolish attacks using his spells so that they were sent skittering off harmlessly.
Lan felt weakness again. His hands shook and his vision blurred. But he all too clearly saw that Claybore' s left leg hopped toward the sorcerer. In only seconds the limb would be rejoined. Claybore would have triumphed to that extent- and it might be enough to bring his evil plans to fruition.