" Stop!" came a command from out of his range of vision. Lan painfully twisted about and stared upward. A woman, dark, loose hair blowing in the wind whipping along the ridge, stood with arms crossed. She wore a hide shirt decorated with feathers and streamers of orange and yellow silk. Tiny bits of silver caught and reflected the waning sun and made Lan squint slightly.
The archers relaxed, but they kept their arrows only an instant away from deadly flight into his aching body.
" He uses magic," the woman said. " Does any here recognize him?"
" None, Rugga," answered the man off to one side. " He is not of Wurnna."
" I walk the Road," Lan said. His voice strengthened as he forced the power from within to flow smoothly. He struggled to his feet, but he had to keep one hand against the granite facing. The strength he now " borrowed" magically would soon flee. " I escaped the valley of the spiders. I seek Iron Tongue."
" So you said," the woman above called. " Why do you want him?"
Lan swallowed bile rising from inside and controlled his own lightheadedness. He had the sinking sensation that he had been found by a group at odds with the ruler of Wurnna.
He had no choice. He had to pursue this line or soon he' d be unable to follow any.
" We have a common enemy. Claybore and his grey- clad legions."
" And not also the spiders?"
" I have no quarrel with them, though they did try to eat me."
The woman laughed. It wasn' t a pleasant sound.
" They eat many of our rank. It seems that Iron Tongue refuses to let me eradicate them once and for all. They serve some purpose which he refuses to reveal to a mere sorcerer, such as myself."
" He uses them as an excuse to enslave other humans," muttered one of the hunting party.
" Silence, fool." Rugga came more fully into view for Lan, then simply stepped out into thin air. Instinct forced his leaden arms aloft to catch her, but it wasn' t necessary. The woman floated downward as if following a drifting feather. And as light as that feather, she touched rock only a pace from Lan Martak.
" You have endured much," she said, cool, gray eyes working over his body. " Once you were quite handsome. But now." She shrugged.
" I have been through much."
" Cocooned, from the look of your clothing." Slender fingers reached out and tugged at bits of the web still clinging to his garments. Those fingers lingered for a moment before leaving. Where Rugga had touched him the flesh warmed and came alive.
" You are a mage," he said.
" There are few enough of us left, no thanks to Iron Tongue and his ambitions. We do what we must to survive."
" If it weren' t for Rugga, we' d be:" began one of the hunters. A cold gaze from the woman froze the words in his throat. He averted his eyes and shuffled back a few paces.
" My hunters abuse their privilege of speech away from Wurnna."
Lan took in all he saw and heard and came to unsatisfying conclusions about these people. These were not free men; while not slaves, they were under close supervision with independent thought and action discouraged strongly. Rugga, while not supporting Iron Tongue, did little to change the man' s rules. Iron Tongue ruled Wurnna. Rugga obeyed, reluctantly.
" I don' t wish to seem abrupt, but I' m not feeling well," he said, a veil of black slipping down over his eyes. Lan fought but his knees buckled. A strong arm supported him- Rugga' s.
" Help him, fools. We return to the city immediately."
" But we haven' t finished the hunt. Iron Tongue won' t approve. The siege. We need the food!"
" Silence!"
Even half- unconscious, Lan felt ripples of power blasting forth in that word. Rugga used magic to control her minions. He slumped all the way into oblivion, his head resting against the woman' s breast.
Lan Martak came to, instantly alert. The aches and pains in his body were history. He had never felt more alive in his life. He sat bolt upright and peered about him. Rugga sat tailor- fashion a few feet away, working on a succulently roasted leg of some game fowl. Of the other hunters, he saw nothing.
" They scout ahead. Claybore has Wurnna under siege," she explained, then she returned to eating. But the gray eyes never left Lan. He felt as if she stripped the flesh from his bones and examined the skeleton in minute detail.
" How long has it been? Since you found me?"
" A day. Perhaps a day and a half." She smirked at his expression. " My magics are as powerful as yours. I had never seen the strengthgiving spells used in quite the way you tried. The application had a curious combination of adroitness and inefficiency. I improved on it."
" How?" Lan expressed real curiosity. This was the first chance he' d had to question a practicing mage. The others he' d met had either been hostile, like Claybore, or obsessed with their own particular projects. " My grasp of such things is limited."
" You' re self- taught?" This obviously startled Rugga. She covered it by saying, " In a manner of speaking, all sorcerers are self- taught. The spell works like this."
She began a low, haunting chant, weaving the elements of Lan' s strength spell with other, different spells. The man followed the lines of magic, tracing them, letting them insinuate themselves into his brain until he understood.
" Very nice," he complimented. The smile he got in return told him that Rugga thought he meant something other than the effectiveness of the spell. Looking at her with refreshed vision, Lan decided his words covered all aspects. Rugga' s feather- and silk- decorated shirt hung open at the front, the laces loosened to allow him to see the warm white breasts pressing forward. As she casually tossed away the remains of her dinner, he caught flashes of pink cresting the peaks.
The woman was fully aware of him and his appraisal. She lounged back, supporting herself on one elbow, long, slender legs thrust out. A deep green fabric clung to her thighs and calves with static intensity. Ankle- high boots of soft brown leather form- fitted her feet, giving her the ability to walk quietly and surefootedly on the rocky trails. About her slender waist hung a simple pouch fastened with a thong of leather wrapped around a large bone button.
" The others have gone ahead," she repeated. " We are quite alone."
Lan felt subtle tugs of magic. Her allure was undeniable, but Rugga enhanced it with a spell. With a single wave of his hand he brushed away the imprisoning magics.
" Not that way," he said, holding down his anger. " None uses magic to sway me."
Her thin eyebrows arched. " You are the first to ever notice my spell. I am growing clumsy in my old age." Her eyes hardened, then she added, " Or I have never before met a mage of your prowess. You are wrapped in contradiction, my friend."
" Wurnna. I must go to Wurnna and meet Iron Tongue."
" He is so important? When we can: dally here?"
This time the only attraction Lan felt was purely physical. Rugga used no spell on him.
" A few hours seems less important to me than it once did," he said. She rose like a hunting panther and slipped down beside him. Her arms crushed him even as her lips worked feverishly against his. Lan felt a spell being cast, but this one he did not fight. It enhanced his physical prowess, made every nuance of their touch more vital, more exciting. He even learned the spell and returned it to Rugga, to the woman' s obvious delight.
It was almost sunset before they started on the trail for Wurnna.
" I feel it," Lan Martak said softly. " The very air quivers with magic."
" So it has been since Claybore found this planet. Iron Tongue refuses to do more than counter the spells, but he holds the greyclad soldiers at bay."