“At least, when she’s with me, she commands nothing. Claybore’s robbed of her services in that respect.”
Ducasien whispered something to Inyx. The dark-haired woman shook her head, then gave in.
“Good night, Lan,” Inyx said. “I don’t think there’s any reason to continue this conversation further.”
“You won’t help me?” he asked, stricken.
“You don’t need us. You made that clear many times over. Your magics are beyond our ken. Let me stay where my weapon-the sword-is adequate.”
“The grey-clad soldiers are just pawns. Claybore is the hand moving them, the brain guiding their motion.”
“Eliminate enough pawns, Martak,” said Ducasien, “and the hand has nothing left to move.”
Inyx and Ducasien left the circle of light cast by the campfire. Lan listened as their boots disturbed tiny pebbles. He heard the sliding of cloth against tent and then soft, intimate sounds that turned him cold inside.
“Let’s leave this dreary world, darling Lan,” said Kiska. “I tire of those fools.”
Lan Martak jerked away from her and stood, his lips already forming the spells to move him-them-back to the world where the Pillar of Night rose like an inky cloud to blot out the very sun. He and Kiska popped! away from this world and the victory over the grey-clads and Ducasien and… Inyx.
“She spies on us. I am sure of it,” said Brinke. “Claybore must know our every word.”
Lan had to agree. He and Kiska had returned to this world a week ago and Claybore had thwarted his every scheme, countered his spells with a sureness that came from knowledge.
“Is he able to see into the future?” asked Brinke. “It hardly seems possible. This Julinne’s talent is unique in my experience.”
“You must be right when you said that Claybore had a source of information within our ranks,” said Lan. “But how is it accomplished? I have watched Kiska carefully and have failed to see how she contacts him. The most delicate of ward spells is bypassed. He is cunning, that Claybore.”
All of Lan’s efforts to engage Claybore in direct battle again had failed. Lan took this to mean that the other sorcerer knew he was the weaker; Lan once saw an arm fall from Claybore’s shoulder, only to have the mage reattach it with hasty binding spells. And of the Kinetic Sphere-Claybore’s heart-there was no sign. Lan had successfully ripped it from the mage’s chest and randomly cast it along the Road. It might take Claybore years to regain it, or centuries, if Lan were lucky.
Until that time, Claybore’s powers were diminished. Not much, but perhaps enough. If only Lan could pin Claybore to one spot and make him fight!
“There is so little I can do,” said Brinke. The regal, tall blonde folded her hands in her lap and slumped. “My own spells are undeveloped. Until Claybore came, there was scant reason to nurture them. Now it is too late to learn what is needed.”
“But Claybore’s been here on this world for centuries,” said Lan. He frowned. “I don’t understand. You make it sound as if he’d only recently come.”
“I have never seen this Pillar of Night you speak of. Indeed, I had no idea this world was even visited by travelers along the Road until a few years ago. Claybore and a few of his officers arrived.”
“They organized local companies of the greys, then spread their influence,” Lan said. “That’s the usual pattern. But what was unusual was that Claybore did not leave once his power had been established.”
“That is so,” she said.
Lan looked at the woman and grew increasingly uncomfortable. He was powerfully attracted to her. While his dalliances with Kiska were not of his choosing, those with Brinke definitely were. And he felt increasingly guilty about them. Kiska winked lewdly and looked the other way, but he knew she had spoken of them to Inyx. And it was Inyx that bothered Lan the most. He had no pretensions of fidelity, either on his or on Inyx’s part, but involvement with Brinke put him at a disadvantage.
He still loved Inyx and anything used to push her farther away tore at his guts.
“Claybore,” the blonde went on, “controls this world with an iron grip. Few of us have successfully fought him. My family was halved during the first real uprising. We were halved again in number over subsequent skirmishes and only I remain to carry the fight to the mage.” Bitterness tinted her words as Brinke remembered the horrors of conflict that she had witnessed.
It was always this way, Lan knew.
“You have managed to keep Claybore at bay,” said Lan. “You must have powers you don’t realize.”
“I have no idea why Claybore hasn’t destroyed me as he did the others. Impalement. Beheading. Quartering. He magically tossed my sister high into the air and fed her to an air elemental. She lived for five days before she died.” In a voice almost too soft for Lan to hear, Brinke added, “It rained her blood for over an hour.”
“There has been overmuch of Claybore’s brutality. I have a plan that might work, but I cannot allow Kiska to accompany me. She would report directly to Claybore when she learned what I intend to do.”
“She can be kept in a cell for a few days, I think,” said Brinke. “With enough blanketing spells around her she won’t be able to contact Claybore.”
“That’s my only hope,” said Lan.
Brinke’s eyes locked with his again and Lan felt his heart stirring, going out to this lovely, brave woman.
“I am depending on you to hold her,” he said.
“Count on me. You must steel yourself to be without her, and that might be worst of all. What is your plan?”
“Not much of one,” Lan admitted. He began pacing, unconsciously locking his hands behind his back as he had seen Ducasien do. “The Pillar of Night is the key. I know it. But my ignorance about what it actually is holds me back. Scouting the Pillar is all I can do. With subtle enough magics, I might be able to creep close enough to examine it without Claybore discovering.”
“A double,” Brinke said suddenly. “We can arrange for a double. Oh, not anyone who can perform the arcane spells you command, but a physical double to walk the battlements and be seen from a distance. I am sure Claybore has spies watching the castle. If we can dupe them for only a few days, that will give you time to reconnoiter.”
Lan had little faith in such a deception. Claybore’s magics were such that the slightest of spells would reveal the double. But Lan had nothing to lose by trying.
“Do you have someone in mind? I can spin a few spells about him that might confuse any seeing him.”
“With a suit of your clothes and some expert makeup,” said Brinke, “this will work. I know it!”
They discussed the potential for danger to the double for some time. Then their words turned more intimate and Lan forgot his reservations about becoming involved further with this gorgeous, beguiling woman.
He left just before dawn the next day.
Lan sensed the power emanating from the Pillar of Night as if it were a column of intense flame. Even from a hundred miles away, he knew the precise location and homed in toward it. The man longed to use some small spell to propel himself across the distance in the blink of an eye, but he knew this would prove fatal. Stealth was his ally. He had no idea if his double parading around Brinke’s castle had fooled anyone or not, but Lan had to believe it had.
He had spent more than ten days in the demon-powered flyer, listening to the hissing of the creature in the back compartment. The demon’s continual complaints wore on him; when he didn’t effectively silence the demon, the vituperation became worse.
“What a cruel master you are,” shrieked the demon through a tiny port just behind Lan’s head. “Lady Brinke never flies more than an hour at a time. You tire me.”
“You can’t tire,” said Lan, tired. “Would you have me send you back to the Lower Places?”
“See?” cried the demon. “Threats! You abuse me, then you threaten me when I speak of it. How awful you are!”