“Their death begins now,” said Ducasien. He lifted his arm and gave Nowless the signal. Bass rumblings shattered the still air and caused huge clouds of white smoke and dust to rise. Through the veiling curtain came ponderous boulders, rolling slowly at first, then with greater speed. Nowless had aimed well. Two boulders missed the fort entirely; six more crashed into the wood wall and broke it to splinters.
The legionnaires in the fort boiled forth, swords in hand. Ducasien gave another signal. Clouds of arrows arched up and landed among the soldiers, killing many. A second signal. The slings whirred and hissed and sent forth their tiny pellets of explosive. Against the massive wooden fort walls, these pellets were useless; against humans they took a deadly toll.
“They’ve taken cover,” said Inyx. “We must go down and engage them if we are to wipe them out entirely.”
“Another round of boulders,” said Ducasien. Explosions, another pair of huge rocks crushing their way through the interior of the fort, disarray among the grey-clads within.
Inyx gave the command for their band to charge down the hill and engage the soldiers. All the distance down the hill she saw arrows arcing overhead to keep the greys in confusion. But Inyx still worried, even though their plan had worked perfectly to this point.
The mage. Where was he?
Inyx saw Patriccan just as she and fifty sword-waving guerrillas reached the breached wall of the fort. The sorcerer walked out, hands hidden in thick folds of his long brown robe. A slight smile danced on his lips. He felt the battle had been won.
“I have expected you,” he said. His voice carried strangely over the distance. Inyx heard him as clearly as if he whispered in her ear.
“Surrender!” Inyx yelled to the mage. “Your time on this world is past.”
“Oh?”
A flight of arrows buried itself in the ground around the mage. He deflected the vicious broadheads from his own body but apparently cared little for saving the soldiers. Another dozen of them died near him. But the mage’s hands continued working their spells. Inyx saw the air turning hazy in front of Patriccan. And behind, up on the hill where Nowless commanded, came deafening explosions.
“Never use the mystical exploding rock against a mage,” Patriccan said, as if lecturing a class of dimwits. “It is too easily turned against you.”
“Inyx,” gasped Ducasien. “All the slingers are dead.”
“Yes, all died. They foolishly carried their projectiles in pouches around their waists. I daresay most were blown in half.” Patriccan smiled malevolently and continued, “Now it is your time to die.”
He raised his hand to cast the spell. Inyx stood stolidly, awaiting death. She had come far and had wished for a better end than this. The least she could do was meet her fate with courage.
Patriccan finished the spell but nothing happened. Confused, he tried another. And another and still another.
“What’s wrong?” demanded Ducasien. “Forget your chants?”
Patriccan shook his head and stared at his hands, as if accusing them of high crimes.
Inyx clapped hands over her ears to protect them from the shrill whistle of an air elemental. She twisted about and saw the lightning-laced haze surging through the darkening sky, plummeting down directly for Patriccan.
The mage saw the danger and began defensive spells. Only great skill prevented the elemental from ripping him limb from limb. As it was, Patriccan fought for his very life. The tide of battle had turned in a split second.
“Kill them. Kill the greys!” shouted Inyx. “Do it while we can!”
The soldiers fell easy prey to their naked swords. But Inyx kept one eye on Patriccan and his battle with the elemental. He struggled to escape and couldn’t. And there was no way an ordinary mage could hope to either summon or disrupt an elemental.
“Who sent it?” asked Ducasien, coming to stand beside Inyx.
She shook her head. It had to be Lan Martak, but she found it difficult to believe.
The air elemental winked out of existence. Replacing it was the figure she had grown to hate.
“Claybore!”
“Ah, the cast in the little drama has gathered. Fine.” The dismembered mage turned to Patriccan and studied his bruised, broken body. “He is the worse for his encounter with Martak’s airborne ally. Where is Martak?”
“Here, Claybore.” Thunder sounded and shock waves rolled across the clearing. Emptiness had been replaced by two figures. Lan Martak strode up. “You brought me here, for whatever reason.”
“How melodramatic an entrance,” said the dismembered sorcerer. “And the capable Commander k’Adesina is with you,” continued Claybore, as if Lan had not even spoken. “How are you, my dear?”
Lan’s entire body began glowing green as he mustered his sorcerous powers. Claybore laughed and said, “This is the moment. I have the edge now, Martak. Before, you eluded me. Not now. You will cease to exist now!”
The wall of spells erected by the two lifted all the others and carelessly tossed them away. Inyx landed heavily, bruising her shoulder. Ducasien fell into a tree some yards distant. The others of their attack force hobbled and dragged themselves away.
Even Kiska k’Adesina had been discarded by the casual blast of magics.
Inyx got to her feet and drew her dagger. The brief excursion through the air had cost her the sword. Eyes narrowed, she stalked Kiska.
“Lan might not be able to deal with you, but I can!” Inyx drove the sharp point of the dagger down squarely for Kiska’s back, but the woman managed to sidestep the blow. They locked together and wrestled to the ground.
“He loves me,” taunted Kiska. “You have lost him forever.”
“Claybore’s spell forces him to love you,” Inyx spat out. She tried to bury her teeth in Kiska’s neck and failed. They rolled over, with Kiska coming out on top, knees pinning Inyx’s shoulders to the ground. Inyx winced in pain from her injury.
“Oh? And why does Lan sleep with the Lady Brinke? Is this more of Claybore’s magic?”
“Who?”
Kiska made a small gesture. A picture took form just in front of Inyx’s eyes. She saw a lovely, tall blonde woman slowly slipping out of a purple robe to stand naked before Lan Martak. A smile crossed Lan’s lips as he began pulling free the laces on his tunic.
“No! It’s a lie.” Even as she spoke, Inyx knew what she witnessed was a true rendering of a scene that had happened.
“More?” Kiska laughed as the scene played faster than normal, complete to its finish in less than a minute. “There were other times. He has abandoned you, slut. He has left you to die on this backwater world. And die you will!”
Inyx’s mind raced. How had this scene been reconstructed? Magically. Did Kiska control any spells? No. Who did? Claybore!
“You try to weaken my will,” Inyx said. She twisted against her bad shoulder, then rocked in the other direction, unseating Kiska. They rolled over and over, struggling for dominance.
Both were sent tumbling once more by a wave of heat from where the real battle took place. Lan and Claybore were locked in a furious fight so intense it crossed worlds and returned to boil the very ground beneath their feet. Neither mage noticed. Both vied for supremacy by using every magical trick at their command.
Inyx saw Lan being forced back, yielding, slowly being crushed by the imponderable weight of magics on him.
“Fight, Lan!” she cried. “Stop him!”
She had no idea if her words cheered the mage or if he reached down and found some inner resource that he’d missed. His defense strengthened. He forced Claybore back. Inyx saw the disembodied sorcerer begin to waver. His arms flopped loosely now, as if they would spring from his torso. Even his bone-white skull began cracking.
“He’s losing,” she whispered in awe. For the first time since she and Lan had walked the Road together, she had the hope that Claybore would be decisively defeated.
Even Kiska k’Adesina watched, her face ashen with the realization that her master might lose.
As suddenly as the shift in power came, another replaced it. Inyx gasped and struggled for breath. Invisible fingers closed about her windpipe.