“Lan Martak,” came Krek’s voice, “she attempted to stab you in the back. You saw. You know of her treachery.”
“I love her,” he choked out. His heart leaped with joy when he saw her muddy brown eyes flicker open and focus on him. Lan read only hatred blazing up at him and it didn’t matter. He loved her.
He had to. That was the curse laid upon him.
“Good riddance,” snarled Kiska k’Adesina. She stood close beside Lan Martak on the mountaintop. The circle of energy surrounding them held the acid rain at bay and gave them a clear view of the tiny procession wending its way across the barren plain to the graveyard. Lan watched and felt a coldness inside grow until he wanted to scream. Inyx gone. Krek gone. His friends had abandoned him because he was unable to break free of Claybore’s spell binding him so tightly-so cunningly!-to Kiska. He didn’t want them to leave, yet his actions had driven them off.
There’d be no more of Krek’s odd observations on life and the worlds they explored together. Inyx would no longer be there to comfort him or defend his back during battle.
The thought of Inyx in Ducasien’s arms sent rivers of hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
Lan Martak clenched his fists and shook with emotion.
“You don’t need them. You have me. What were they, anyhow? A slut and an overgrown bug. You love me, Lan my darling. We can rule together.”
“Be quiet,” he said. Kiska only laughed at him, knowing his impotence in dealing with her.
The cenotaph blinked open and glowed a pale yellow. Lan watched the magics that linked one world to another begin to flow. First one brighter spot, then another, and finally a third and last. Inyx. Ducasien. Krek. Gone.
All that remained on this world was the burning ground where the rains washed over the stone.
“Claybore must be destroyed,” he said.
“Yes, my love,” came Kiska’s mocking words.
Lan Martak clapped his hands and summoned newfound power to shift worlds without a cenotaph or the Kinetic Sphere. He didn’t need Inyx or Krek. Claybore would be stopped. He’d show them.
A second clap of his hands prepared the world-spanning bridge of magic.
He would stop Claybore and rule a million worlds.
On the third clap of his hands, only barren rock showed where he and Kiska had stood. They now walked a lush, green meadow on a world distant in space and time.
CHAPTER TWO
The skies split above Lan Martak’s head. Gone were the heavy, leaden clouds that had sent their torrents of acid-laced rain down on the mountain kingdom of Yerrary. Replacing them came rainbows blazing through the spectrum, touching on all the colors and adding new ones Lan had never before seen. Then these, too, vanished and melted into swirling, churning whites and greys that took form, lurched out at him, and dissipated. Dizzy, stumbling, he fell forward into…
… green.
… soft.
… summer.
Lan Martak blinked and smiled slowly as he surveyed this new world. Traveling through the cenotaphs had always produced a disjointed sensation, a falling that ended with an abrupt stop. His new magics gave him more control over the transition between worlds. Claybore might require the Kinetic Sphere to perform his world-stepping, but Lan now went him one better. Only a simple uttered spell gave him access to all the worlds along the Cenotaph Road!
“This is much nicer,” said Kiska k’Adesina. “That other world was too dreary.” Lan looked at her, empty inside. No emotion sprang forth when he deigned to notice the brown-haired woman. She was his avowed enemy, and he felt nothing.
Lan almost rejoiced in this neutrality. He tried to coax more of it into play. He knew full well that Claybore had placed a geas on him, but no spells or chant at Lan’s command removed it. Kiska would be a millstone around his neck and, one day when he least expected it, that weight would carry him under the surface and drown him. If only he could remove her before then!
He wanted to. Deep inside he knew a provocation great enough would give him the strength to sunder Claybore’s geas. He tried to bring it forth. Intellectually he knew that she was responsible for untold suffering on a dozen planets. She commanded Claybore’s grey-clad legions and subjugated entire worlds in the dismembered mage’s name. Lan had no love for Kiska k’Adesina.
And yet he did. The man choked as the geas asserted itself. Lan fought the churnings deep within, the love tinglings that mocked him and his most adroit spells. He shook off the sexual urges and concentrated on the world spread before him.
“Summer,” he said. A light, humid breeze caressed his face and warmed flesh that had been chilled on another world just a step-and incalculable distances-away. He sucked in a lungful of the air and tasted freshness, the heady fragrance of flowers in bloom, the slight decays of forest mulch that meant renewed growth for other plants and trees. He closed his eyes and heard the insistent hum of insects. Lan batted away a few of the more eager bugs as they landed on his forehead and neck.
Kiska gripped his arm and broke the serene mood. “Look, Lan, there. Below. In the valley.”
Reluctantly, he focused his gaze on the terrain stretching out from beneath his feet. Even without his magics, he knew what it was like being a god. Simply standing and looking at this fair world caused the feelings to rise within.
“Claybore’s legions,” he said. Twin lines of grey marched along the riverbanks. From their formation he saw they had no fear of attack. This was their world and they ruled it totally. Lan moved so that he could study Kiska’s reaction. She was, after all, a commander in Claybore’s army. The small smirk on the woman’s face told him what he needed to know. These troops spelled danger for him.
But how?
Did the trap lie in avoiding contact with the troops, or in openly confronting them? Should he flee now before they spotted him or should he attack while surprise was in his favor? Endless possibilities flowed through his mind, like clear water across a river rock. Lan found no answer.
“Well?” demanded Kiska. “What are you going to do?”
“What would you have me do? There are hundreds of them. I can hardly fight each and every one.” He placed his hand on the sword still dangling from his belt. It had been a long while since he’d drawn the weapon. His battles had become more magical.
“A sword?” she said scornfully. “Use your magic. Slay all of them with a fireball.”
“You want me to alert Claybore? Any use of magic will allow him to home in on me.”
“Why not?” Kiska asked. “You can defeat him.” The sly look in her eye told Lan that she believed otherwise. She tried to lure him into a not too subtle trap.
“We go,” he said. “Down the other side of the hill.”
“Where? Where are we going? Are we to wander aimlessly, looking for pretty stones and interesting plants? Or do you have a plan?”
“No plan,” Lan said. Kiska moved closer to him, but he shrugged off her embrace. The man wanted nothing more than to be alone with his own thoughts-to be alone physically. But the geas prevented him from chasing her away. The mere thought of Kiska k’Adesina being out of his sight caused him to shiver uncontrollably and break into a sweat.
They walked down the far side of the hill until they came to a tributary to the river flowing down the far valley. Here they made camp, Lan looking for easy game to catch. He started to stun a small, furry creature with a spell, then held back at the last instant. Instead, he clubbed it with a rock. The spell, no matter how trivial, would alert Claybore to his presence. Lan’s instincts told him to keep hidden for as long as he could, learn Claybore’s weaknesses, find his own strengths, and explore the odd vision given him on the other world.
The Pillar of Night, Claybore had called it.
The memory blurred for Lan, something quite unusual. The magics bound within that towering spire of the blackest stone provided the key to destroying Claybore. All Lan had to do was learn the secret of the Pillar of Night. He snorted and shook his head. Simple. Or it ought to be for one who had pretensions of becoming a god.