" All the universe will be mine to rule," came Claybore' s mocking words, so soft and sibilant that they were almost a whisper. " More than ruling, all the peoples of those worlds will worship me. I shall reign supreme forever!"
" Won' t that pall on you?" gasped out Lan. He countered a nervenumbing spell and started a chant of his own to renew his attack. Power slipped from him like a dropped cloak. Grabbing at it only caused it to slide away faster.
" Ask me in a million years."
" You' ll ruin worlds."
" Yes."
" You don' t care. You owe it to the people you' ll rule not to harm them."
" Why?" Then Claybore' s laughter echoed in Lan' s skull. " Your tone has changed, Martak. Now you' re trying to invest me with a conscience. You' re admitting I have won. It is apparent, isn' t it?"
" Yes," Lan grated out- but he had one last spell to try. Lirory Tefize had recorded this one and Lan had not dared use it. The binding spell holding Claybore' s arms and legs had been potent. Would it still work and would it work on Claybore himself?
Lan began the motions with his fingers. The air twisted into improbable shapes before him. The words formed colored threads in the midst of the writhing mass. And he sent his light mote directly into the vortex to supply power.
The virtually uncontrolled spell burst forth with more vehemence than Lan had anticipated- or Claybore expected.
The sorcerer screamed as his leg froze in midhop and fell lifeless to the stone floor. His rejoined arms began twitching spastically and Lan watched in fascination as the Kinetic Sphere, Claybore' s very heart, began pushing outward from his chest. But the spell was not without effect on Lan himself. His mouth turned metallic and his tongue began to glow hotter and hotter. Lirory' s spell affected all of Claybore' s bodily parts, and that included Claybore' s tongue.
" You can' t do this!" shrieked Claybore. The ghastly apparition of the sorcerer leaped and cavorted about, dodging unseen menace. The cracks in the skull deepened until Lan wondered how it held together. With the jawbone already gone, Claybore turned even more gruesome with every passing moment.
Lan found himself unable to speak, but the sensation of victory assuaged that. Claybore was becoming wrapped in the spell and would soon lie as numbed on the floor as his left leg. No longer even kicking, the leg presented no menace at all. Its magics were contained. And Claybore would be soon, also.
Lan blinked in surprise when all the magical attack against him suddenly ceased. His tongue still burned, but that was the product of his own conjuring.
" Given up so easily, Claybore?" he croaked out. Then Lan saw what the sorcerer did. The attack hadn' t lessened, it had shifted.
Kiska k' Adesina writhed on the floor, face blue from the spells cutting off her air. Her body arched violently as if her back would snap, then she flopped onto her belly and fingers cut into stone as she tried to escape Claybore' s punishment.
" Stop it!" cried Lan.
Without thinking, he directed his full power to shielding the woman from Claybore. The instant his attack on Claybore stopped, the disembodied sorcerer countered.
" You can' t let her come to harm, can you, Martak?" chided Claybore. " You love her. You must protect her. You have to. She means more than your own life, doesn' t she?"
" No," said Lan. The weakness of his reply told him everything. He did love Kiska k' Adesina, his sworn enemy, the woman who hated him with an obsession bordering on insanity; he loved her.
" I see it in your face. Defend her. Keep her from harm."
Claybore' s spells trapped the woman on the floor like a bug with a pin through it. She gasped for breath, twisted about as joints snapped and limbs turned in ways never intended. Lan watched as Claybore broke her physically with his powerful spells.
But if he protected Kiska adequately, he left himself open to attack. One or the other it was possible to defend, but not both of them.
" She dies, Martak. Your lover dies."
The desolation welling up within Lan couldn' t be expressed. He had no true love for Kiska. She had tried to kill him on more occasions than he could count, yet he did love her. Irrationally, without any regard for Inyx or his feelings for her, Lan loved Kiska.
" Look at her pain, Martak. I really don' t want to do this to her, but it gives me some practice. When I become a true god, I think I shall do this every day."
Lan gambled everything on forming one last spell to hurl every spark of energy he had directly at Claybore- to stun Claybore, to stop the torture Kiska felt.
The bolt lashed forth with such intensity the rock walls turned viscid and flowed in sluggish molten streams. The dancing light mote guided the tip of this energy blast directly for Claybore' s skull. The sorcerer staggered back, his metallic legs beginning to melt under the onslaught. But the reaction was not that which Lan expected. Claybore was being driven to the wall and yet an aura of triumph surrounded him.
" Stop her!" came Krek' s voice. Lan ventured a quick glance to one side and saw Kiska k' Adesina rising up, dagger in hand. And the dagger was aimed straight for Lan' s back.
As long as he maintained the spell against Claybore, Lan couldn' t move, couldn' t defend himself against physical attack. Even worse than this was the sight of the woman he loved trying to kill him, as if she still plotted with Claybore for his downfall.
Inyx rushed forward, quick, strong hand gripping Kiska' s wrist and twisting at the last possible instant. Lan felt hot steel rake over his back. Thick streams of blood gushed forth, but the wound was messier than it was dangerous.
But the shock of seeing the woman he loved try to kill him broke the continuity of his spell. Claybore began magically worming free of the attack.
" Come," the sorcerer hissed. " Come to me!"
The leg, once numbed, now twitched and kicked and bobbed until it was again hopping across the chamber. Lan' s power waned; he was unable to cope with Inyx and Kiska fighting, the spell he launched against Claybore and the countering spell the sorcerer returned, and the sight of the leg hopping to rejoin the body.
" Krek," he moaned. " The leg. Stop it!"
Krek' s huge front leg reached out and batted away the leg, sending it into the far wall. Flesh hissed slightly as it touched rock already turned molten from other spells.
" The heat. Oh, my precious fur is smoldering," cried the spider.
" Never mind that. Stop the leg from reaching Claybore."
Lan' s words needed more conviction to get the spider to move. The way the man' s tongue burned within his mouth told him that his own enervating spell had been turned against him. Claybore' s cunning played on his every weakness, his every mistake.
But if Krek was unable to move, Broit Heresler and his few surviving clansmen did act. They rushed into the chamber, spades and picks cutting and hacking at the leg. The limb tried valiantly to defend itself against the tiny chunks being taken out of it, but there were too many gnomes attacking.
Claybore cursed, tried to blast the gnomes, and found himself overextended. He dared not relent in his attack on Lan; to do so meant his own demise. But he needed his leg and the gnomes prevented it from rejoining him.
" Bring out the water," Broit called. Others of the grave- digger clan rolled huge barrels into the room.
" You can' t do that!" shrieked Claybore.
They threw the acid rainwater onto the leg. Flesh smoldered and turned putrescent. Soon, only the bare leg bones remained, and they were easily hammered into dust by the gnomes.
" You' ve lost, Claybore," said Lan. " Stop your drive for power now. We can work out some sort of truce."
" Truce? You fool! You don' t understand. I' ve tasted ultimate power. I can' t turn away from it. I can' t share it."