" I can cocoon her, like the others, friend Lan Martak," piped up Krek, as if reading the man' s mind. " She will free herself eventually."
" Before she died of hunger or thirst?"
The spider quivered, giving his equivalent of a shrug. Lan wasn' t enthused with this solution, but it provided the most effective means of keeping k' Adesina out of his hair- and without wantonly murdering her. No matter what she thought, he wasn' t a killer. Fight in selfdefense, yes, but not a cold- blooded murderer.
In that respect, he wasn' t like her dead husband, Lyk Surepta.
" Ready, Lan?" he asked. When he saw the spider' s answering headbob, he released the woman. She rolled, got to her feet, and tried to flee. A long, sticky strand of web- stuff tangled her legs. In less than five minutes she hung suspended between two rocks, her arms and legs securely glued under copious layers of silk.
" Leaving her thusly will prevent wild animals from sampling her flesh," said Krek. " It works quite well in the Egrii Mountains. We often have food for our hatchlings stored away for months."
" You' ll die, Lan Martak," she cried. " I' ll see your filthy heart cut out for all you' ve done."
" Let' s ride, Krek," he said. Nothing he said to the woman would have any effect. Perhaps dangling in her silken prison for a few daysa week? — might lessen her hatred. But he doubted it.
Lan Martak rode off, the feeling of Kiska k’ Adesina’ s eyes boring into his back. How long would it be before she managed to exchange a simple look of hatred for a steel dagger? Lan didn' t want to think about it. Too much lay ahead.
Mount Tartanius.
And Claybore.
CHAPTER SEVEN
" Will she die, do you think?" asked Lan of his companion. He turned in the saddle to see the spider wiggling his head from side to side. That didn' t tell the human anything. The spider' s gait had changed as the terrain became progressively rockier. This might signify added effort in walking rather than an affirmative answer to the question.
" Well?" he pressed.
" You mean the woman soldier?"
" Of course, I do. Who else?"
" It is often difficult following your meaning. You humans have thought processes that are decidedly inferior to arachnids'."
" Don' t give me your half- baked philosophy. Give me your opinion."
" She will probably escape. The cords binding her were not unduly tight, nor altogether well wrapped. In my opinion, you should have eaten her."
Lan shuddered, thinking of spiderish mores. Such cannibalism as Krek so casually mentioned was a part of everyday life in the insect kingdom. Lan hadn' t even been able to bring himself to leave the woman with her throat slit, though she' d' ve done such a thing to him gladly.
" The other three will be longer in getting free. I spun extra adhesive onto their bonds. They maligned me."
" Oh," said Lan, interested and happy to get his mind off his problems and onto something else. " What did they say?"
" I prefer not to repeat such vile calumnies."
" You didn' t do anything like fasten the cords around their necks, did you?"
" That spindly stick holding up their heads? No, friend Inyx dissuaded me from doing that some time ago."
" Inyx," said Lan aloud, then regretted it.
" You miss her, friend Lan Martak?"
" Yes. With her along I doubt we' d have gotten into half the predicaments we had."
" Her counsel is wiser," agreed the spider. Lan felt no joy in hearing the arachnid confirm it, though.
" Do you still ' see' the cenotaph atop Mount Tartanius?"
Krek stopped, rotated his head until the human thought it might screw off, then bobbed up and down.
" It is there. A very strong one. That is why I believe it might be the Kinetic Sphere rather than a simple cenotaph joining worlds. From such a vantage point, Claybore could survey the entire planet."
" I don' t think he' s up there. The Kinetic Sphere might be, but not Claybore."
" Why do you say that?"
" He' d use the Sphere to come after us. We' re the immediate danger facing him. I think, when I knocked it out of his hand between worlds, he was thrown elsewhere on this world. Something about the summit pulled the Kinetic Sphere, but the rest of us were strewn about."
" This is the tallest peak on the planet."
" We might be in a race to recover the Kinetic Sphere." Lan felt grim satisfaction in that thought. If he recovered the Sphere, that took away much of Claybore' s power. The decapitated sorcerer still retained a potent store of magics, but the ability to shift worlds at random, without the use of a naturally occurring cenotaph, might stop his immediate plans for conquest. If the loss of the Kinetic Sphere didn' t stop him, it slowed him drastically.
" If we are in a race, the track becomes more and more crowded. Look ahead."
Lan glanced up and saw a small encampment. Rude tents were pitched in a haphazard fashion, some of them even opening into the cruel wind blowing off the mountains. No drainage had been provided; a rain would wash the encampment down the slopes and into oblivion. Even elementary sanitation had been ignored.
" They' re not much in the ways of roughing it. Think it might be some of Nashira' s friends from Melitarsus?"
" They are too plainly dressed for that," said the spider. His eyes proved more acute than Lan' s in the gathering gloom of evening.
" It' s not going to do us any good trying to skirt them. They' ve spotted us. Look."
High atop a rock overlooking the camp stood a man dressed in a simple brown robe, the cowl tossed up to conceal his face. He flapped his arms like some giant, coarse bird unable to fly. Lan guessed he signalled them to approach.
They entered the camp amid the deathly silence of the gathered people. The only sound to be heard was wind howling through crags too distant to see in the darkness. A man tried to light a fire using steel and flint. He held both wrong; the sparks skittered into the night rather than onto the firewood. Lan felt the eyes peering at him, evaluating him. Whoever these people were, they weren' t Claybore' s troops. None of the grey- clad soldiers set camp in such slovenly fashion.
" Greetings," called out Lan. " We' re travellers. Heading into the Sulliman Range."
" For what purpose?"
Lan tried to figure out which of the grim, brown- black figures had spoken. They remained anonymous under their hoods.
" We climb Mount Tartanius."
A sigh of relief passed through the throng. One by one, they slipped away until only one man remained. He tossed back his cowl and stared up at Lan. A tingle of dread passed through the mounted man. The eyes burned with an eerie inner light that made him uneasy.
A sputtering noise, followed by a loud hiss, frightened Lan' s horse. By the time he' d controlled his mount, the firemaker had done his job, more by accident than design. A small campfire blazed, pushing back the velvet shadows. The new light did nothing to erase Lan' s uneasiness about the man confronting him.
" I am Ehznoll," came the simple words.
" Am I supposed to know you?"
" I am a pilgrim."
" We are, too, in a way," explained Lan.
" We?"
Lan glanced around. Krek had sunk into the shadows of a nearby rock and merged with them.
" My friend is a bit shy. You don' t hold anything against spiders, do you. Large ones?"
Ehznoll shook his head. Lan got the impression that nothing frightened this man. Not that courage had anything to do with it; fanatical intensity surrounded his every movement.
" Come on into the light, Krek. You don' t have to get too close to the fire." To Ehznoll, he quietly explained, " My friend hates fire and water both."