" Oh, woe, I have killed so many. I have failed. I have taken lives for no reason."
" Krek, they' ll kill me!" screamed Lan. " Are you going to help me or not?"
Seeing that the spider simply stood and didn' t move to attack, the grey- clad soldiers concentrated on Lan. He succeeded in getting the tree trunk to his back, but this didn' t slacken the attack from the five soldiers confronting him. His arms grew tired from parrying their strong attacks. His body grew increasingly bloody from the shallow cuts they inflicted. None was serious by itself, but the large number of scratches bled profusely. Without a miracle, he' d weaken and die.
" Krek, it wasn' t your fault. She made you fight. She put you under a spell. It was Nashira' s fault!"
He turned a lunge directly for his midsection, riposted, and buried his sword halfway into the soldier' s belly. This proved Lan' s undoing. His blade hit bone and twisted from his grip. He' d killed one attacker; he stood armed only with a knife against four others.
" Do you think so?" came Krek' s whining voice.
" Yes, dammit, yes, it was Nashira' s fault. She forced you!"
" Hmmm," mused the spider.
Lan Martak closed his eyes and waited for cold steel to rip through his torso, to spill real blood onto the dry earth. A scurrying noise sounded, confusing his mental image of the grey- clad soldiers' progress. When no killing blow landed, he opened his eyes. All four of the greys lay on the ground, arms severed, bodies cut in half, one decapitated. The commander' s lantern stood to one side, casting a yellow glow on the grisly scene.
" That did feel different," commented Krek. " I killed for a reason, my reason."
" You killed to save me. There wasn' t any pleasure in it."
" Oh, but there was. I enjoyed it. But I did it on my own, not because Nashira held me in her sway."
" Great. Let' s get out of here. We' ve still got to get outside the walls before she learns we' ve gone. I don' t know what spells she has at her command. Or what her son can do."
" Kyle?" asked Krek in his mild voice. " A most strange hatchling. Old beyond his years."
Lan grunted as he climbed once again into his saddle. If they had to fight another pitched battle, he didn' t think he' d survive. As he rode, he tried to bind the worst of his cuts. None proved serious, but all were paining him greatly by the time they reached the great wall enclosing Melitarsus.
" This is a good spot," said Krek. " We can scale it here." A long strand of his sticky web- stuff shot upward and caught on an outjutting at the top of the wall. He began walking up the sheer rock front as easily as if he crossed a room.
" Krek, what about me?"
" Oh, I shall send down a strand for you once I reach the top."
" I need the horse. We' ll never be able to get far enough away if I have to walk."
" You humans," sighed the spider. " If you had a proper number of legs, your travelling would be ever so much more pleasant and rapid."
" You go on up. Wait for me on the other side of the wall. I' ll find a postern gate and get out that way." Lan waited until Krek reached the top of the wall, then spurred his horse on, going south toward a spot he remembered from his first day in Melitarsus. Once he sighted a flyer silently soaring through the night. The soft whistle of wind as it caressed the long, thin wings caused Lan to stop and wait. The white scarf worn by the pilot lashed back in the breeze, caught silver moonbeams. The flyer sailed on, oblivious to what happened a hundred feet below. Lan let out a sigh of relief and hurried on. He had to find the way out before the flyer or one of the guards spotted him or Krek. Less than ten minutes' riding brought him to a small, locked gate.
He dropped off and applied his knife point to the lock. The stubborn metal grated and ground and refused to open.
" What are you doing?" came the rough question. Guiltily, Lan spun to face one of the wall guards.
" Heard something on the other side. Wanted to see what happened there."
" This gate' s always locked. Nothing but ' hoppers on the other side." The guard' s eyes narrowed as he studied Lan. The adventurer' s bloody clothing, the obvious signs of a recent fight, the knife working on the inner mechanism of the lock, all eventually penetrated the dull guard' s mind.
" You' re trying to escape!" he cried.
Lan Martak was in no condition to fight. He flicked his wrist and sent his knife cartwheeling toward the man. The knicked blade caught the guard in the upper arm. He howled in pain. Then came silence, after Lan' s meaty fist knocked the man out. Using his knife again to cut up the guard' s uniform, Lan took the strips and securely bound him. He was sick of killing, of bloodshed. Melitarsus thrived on it; its ruler required gore on a daily basis. He refused to further feed Nashira' s sick needs. After all, this man only did his duty.
Lan dragged the bound, unconscious guard out of sight. As he did so, he felt a thick ring of keys. Taking them, he tried one after another until one unlocked the gate.
Krek waited on the other side, docilely munching on one of the large ' hoppers.
" Old spider, old friend, let' s get away from this place before they think of new ways of holding us. The combination of sorcerer and flyer would be more than I could handle in my condition."
" I quite agree," said the spider. " And, friend Lan Martak, the veriest traces of Nashira' s geas still remain on me. Watch me carefully in case it pulls me back to Melitarsus."
" The further we get from the city, the less hold the spell will have." Even as he spoke, Lan muttered counters he had learned on a world far away- his home.
Like chains breaking, the last vestiges of Nashira' s binding spells fell away. Lan sucked in a deep, clean breath of air. It smelled of freedom. They hastened toward the distant crag of Mount Tartanius- and Claybore.
CHAPTER SIX
They rode hard all the first day, then had to stop to forage. Lan wished they' d had time to prepare more carefully for the road, but quickness in escaping Melitarsus had outweighed other concerns. He even chided himself for not stealing one of the Maxwell' s demonpowered vehicles. While the demons were cantankerous, the speed they generated far exceeded that of a horse.
A vague fluttering of magic behind them provided the only indication that Nashira tried to stop them; by the time Lan sensed the spell, they had travelled well beyond its effective range. Still, Krek fed well on the grasshoppers and Lan had little trouble trapping an occasional rabbit. The ' hoppers had pretty well stripped the countryside bare of foliage to rob Lan of any greens in his diet, but this seemed a small price to pay to be free of Nashira.
" Friend Lan Martak," said Krek, slowly munching a ' hopper carcass, " I see a cloud of dust in the distance."
Lan spun and squinted. Riders. From Melitarsus.
" Damn, I didn' t think they would follow. Nashira must value us more than I thought."
The spider shook like a leaf in a high wind at the thought of returning to the arena. He discarded his bug meal and rose up on all eight of his coppery- furred legs.
" They will not take me back. I can reach the Sulliman Range before they catch up, I can elude them forever. No human can catch me in mountains."
The mountains loomed purple and huge in the distance. Lan wondered how many more days travel lay before them. If they stayed on the road, their pursuers would overtake them before too long. He had no stomach for fighting off another armed band- if he were even able to do so. His cuts had begun healing, and he often helped the process along with a few healing chants he' d learned. In a way, this didn' t work to his advantage. His wounds healed, but the use of even so minor a magic spell tired him greatly. He had no formal training in the arcane arts.