" Die!" cried the mage. The word exploded from his mouth, backed by the full power of the tongue. Lan stumbled and had to support himself under the onslaught of that command. Iron Tongue might be insane, but the power of his tongue remained.
The effect on the giant convinced Lan that the battle might be winnable. He hadn' t counted on the potent effects of the tongue Claybore so ardently sought to recover. The giant that was Alberto Silvain stumbled and lurched as if drunk on some heady wine. While still countering the force of Iron Tongue' s command, the giant was vulnerable.
Lan Martak took full advantage to send the deadly bolt of energy the others had forged directly into Silvain' s chest. The bolt appeared to be the largest lightning strike seen by humanity; to Lan it was a spear with a razor- sharp point driving straight for Silvain' s heart. Not content with this, Lan diverted a bit of his power to further widen the vast cavity in the ground.
When the spear struck dead- center in his chest, Silvain let out a roar rivaling an erupting volcano. And, as in a volcano, torrents of hot lava exploded outward from him. This lava was the giant' s lifeblood. Larger- than- life hands clutching vainly at the energy bolt piercing his flesh, Silvain sank to his knees.
" Martak," boomed the single name from his lips. It combined admiration, accusation, and condemnation all in that instant.
Lan widened the hole until the dirt began crumbling under Silvain' s knees. The giant fought to stay upright on his knees, to avoid falling into the limitless pit in front of him.
Iron Tongue let go another command to die that caused the flames leaping and cavorting along Silvain' s limbs to extinguish like candles in a hurricane.
" Martak," Silvain repeated, then convulsively heaved the immense sword at Wurnna' s battlements. Lan took the opportunity to enlarge the bottomless hole a few inches further. The flaming giant fell forward into it, twisting and struggling, then grew smaller and smaller, cooler and cooler, then vanished from sight.
Lan let out a gasp of relief that was replaced by stark terror when he blinked and saw the thrown sword inexorably moving toward him. The weapon moved as if dipped in honey, but it moved. Spells bounced off it. The dancing light mote couldn' t touch it. Nothing deflected it.
" Out of the way," he commanded, knowing this might be Wurnna' s doom. Claybore had counted on him attacking the wrong weapon. He had sacrificed Silvain in order to deliver this weapon. Silvain was a pawn now discarded; the sword carried magics Lan couldn' t even guess at.
" I shall stop it," declared Iron Tongue. The ruler stood proudly on the battlement, chest bared as if daring Claybore to make the attempt. The sword moved smoothly, slowly, an unstoppable evil force.
Iron Tongue sucked in a lungful of air, then wove the command for the sword to vanish. It never wavered in its painstakingly slow journey toward Iron Tongue and Wurnna.
" Stop; I say. I command you. I am Iron Tongue. You can' t ignore my command. Stop, stop!"
The huge sword point pierced Iron Tongue' s chest. Like a branding iron through snow it came on, his flesh not even retarding the magical weapon' s progress. Iron Tongue twitched and weakly fought, a new command on his lips. Mouth falling open in death, the sorcerer' s tongue obscenely dangled out.
" It' s aimed for me," Lan said, pushing Inyx away. " Go join Jacy and the others. I don' t want you close by."
" No, Lan, we' re in this together."
He didn' t argue. With a wave of his hand he conjured a shock wave that lifted her from her feet and tossed her off the battlements. She landed below in a pile of rubble. He couldn' t even take the time to see if the fall had injured her. Even if it had, the fall was less likely to kill than the magical device he now faced.
The sword passed entirely through Iron Tongue, finally allowing the dead mage to slump to the stone walkway. As if guided by an unseen hand, the point turned and directed itself for Lan' s midsection. Spell after spell he tried, all fruitlessly. His mind worked at top speed, trying to understand what Claybore had done. Then he had it. The spells fell into their proper place; his hands moved in the proper orbits; the chants sounded right.
The sword struck.
Lan screamed, his concentration gone as excruciating pain lashed his senses. He jerked away as it pinked just under his eye and felt the sword dig deeper into his flesh, his bone. He futilely grabbed at the sword blade with his hands, knowing even as he did so that no physical force would move the magical from its course. The sword point dug deeper into cheek, burrowing into the jawbone, driving for the back of his head where the point might sever the spinal column.
Lan couldn' t stop the deadly advance; the joined forces of the remaining mages of Wurnna did. Rugga built on what Lan had started, forging a parrying force that turned the blade at the last possible instant.
" Destroy it!" shrieked Rugga. " Destroy Claybore' s evil sword!"
Her anger and hatred flowered and added supplemental power to the spell she had guided. While weakened, the sorcerers of Wurnna found enough strength to shatter the blade. As it had sailed, so did it explode. Ruptured pieces turned slow cartwheels, barely moving, still deadly. Only when the last had embedded harmlessly in stone or deep in the earth did Rugga and Inyx rush forward to tend to Lan.
" Oh, no, by all the Fates, no," Inyx said over and over. She stood in shock at the sight. The lower right portion of Lan' s jaw had been sheared away; his mouth was a bloody ruin. Thick spurts of his life juices blossomed and washed down his neck and chest.
" Claybore' s revenge must be sweet," said Rugga, the bitterness there for all to hear. " He' s cut out the tongue of his most powerful adversary. Lan Martak will never again utter a spell."
Inyx bent to staunch the bleeding. If Lan would never speak again, at least she could save his life. His eyelids fluttered up and glassy eyes softened at the sight of her, then he lapsed into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
" Do something," pleaded Inyx. " He' s dying." The woman' s crude and usually effective first aid hadn' t staunched the geysering flow of blood from Lan' s jaw, where arteries had been clipped by the sword. He no longer made bubbling noises of pain. His body refused to believe such agony was possible and rejected any further misery.
But Inyx felt it fully for him. He' d been a handsome man, young, vital, quick of wit and quicker with his friendship and love. Now he lay with the lower right half of his jaw cut away. His tongue had vanished along with bone and teeth and palate, making only deepthroated sounds possible now. Lan Martak had lapsed into a state closer to coma than consciousness; he didn' t need to talk.
" He is dying," came the mocking words. " I can save him. Give me the tongue and I will save your lover." The image of Claybore' s skull and torso floated a few feet away. Inyx knew this was only illusion, that the sorcerer remained safely hidden away where none might physically reach him.
The offer tempted her sorely. Lan' s life for the worthless tongue in a dead mage' s mouth. Then she heard soft rustlings of silk. She turned and saw Krek mounting the perpendicular stone wall as if it had stairs cut into it. The soft sounds came from the fur on his legs brushing as he walked.
" Friend Inyx," the spider said simply. He had taken in all that had occurred with one swift glance. " I feel as you do for our fallen friend, but what was his mission?"
" To stop Claybore," she said, her voice choked. Then, firmer with resolve, she glared at Claybore' s fleshless skull and defiantly said, " Burn in all the Lower Places. You won' t get the tongue!"
" He is dying. I can save him."
" He dies thwarting you. What more can any warrior ask? He died honorably, nobly, for a cause that means something."