Lan cringed whenever he saw her eyeing him.
He turned to Krek, saying, " How are you faring? I find myself increasingly winded."
" The air is fine. In the Egrii Mountains, we spiders inhabit peaks much higher than this lowly pass."
" Lowly for you, high for me. I' m used to sea level. Aren' t you the least bit tired?"
" No."
As they moved on after Ehznoll had finished his new supplications, Lan wondered how much longer he could keep up the pace. The pilgrims were fired with religious ecstasy. Sheer enthusiasm kept them going forward. Krek had been born and raised at elevations much greater. His own lungs burned with every breath. He forced himself to suck in as much air as possible, hold it longer than usual, then exhale quickly. Even this didn' t supply his aching muscles the oxygen necessary for quick pace.
" There' s a hut," he panted. " Let' s rest there."
" As you wish, friend Lan Martak," agreed the spider. His mood lightened appreciably as they worked ever higher. He returned to the lands he knew best and slowly forgot his lapse of bravery when the dam had been sundered. " This rude peasant hut is old but serviceable for one of your species. If I understand the workings, the pipe emerging from the roof might be connected to a heating device inside."
Lan rubbed chapped hands together and felt a brief surge of warmth from the friction. To sit in front of a wood- fired stove seemed closer to heaven to him than the crest of Mount Tartanius.
" Come on. I' ll bet the last party' s even left us firewood."
" The last party is likely to have been Claybore and his lackey," pointed out the spider. That dampened Lan' s spirit and made him more cautious. While Ehznoll and the others collapsed to pray loudly after hearing Claybore' s name again, Lan circled the hut, critically studying it.
" I don' t see any traps. I don' t sense any magical ward spells. Anything, Krek?"
The spider' s head swayed from side to side, indicating he " saw" nothing.
" Here goes nothing." Lan kicked open the door and stood, sword in hand, waiting. No demons raved outward to devour him. No spells turned him into a newt. Only the musty odor of a long- closed room came forth to make his nostrils twitch.
He entered. The hut remained as it had been for decades. Piles of equipment left by prior expeditions littered the floor. Heavy furs dangled from pegs on the walls. The pot- bellied stove itself dominated the center of the room. Lan couldn' t imagine the work it' d taken to get such a heavy iron implement up the slopes to this point.
" Firewood," said Krek, disdain in his voice. " And do not light the fire while I am within spark distance. A tiny ember might ignite my fur," Ripples passed up and down the legs.
" Don' t worry, old spider. I' ll only use a small pyromancy spell. And it' ll be inside the stove." Lan poked about the litter and found a grimy fur cloak long enough to barely drag the ground when he slung it about his shoulders. " This is going to be a great help. The nights are too cold for the clothing we have. There' s enough here to keep us from freezing to death."
" Speak for yourself. The weather is fine."
Lan ignored him and dug further. He touched a small wooden crate and felt electric tingles pass up his arm. Magic. He cautiously opened the lid and saw a dozen woollen caps inside, caps to be pulled down over the head with eyeholes and no other opening.
" Guess we' re not supposed to talk or breathe," he said. The feel of magic still persisted. He didn' t detect any hint of evil, only magic. He shoved his head into one of the caps, positioning the eyes so he could see. " I can breathe!" he exclaimed. " The magic spell does something to make breathing easier."
" Your voice remains muffled," said Krek. The thick wool prevented Lan from hearing the softer " Good."
" And foodstuffs. Trail rations. Enough for us to make a good try at the mountain."
" Enough for all you humans. This spot is obviously popular with those scaling mountains. It is a shame you cannot leave behind for future travellers the masks and fur capes when you no longer require them."
It was true. No matter what the outcome atop Mount Tartanius, Lan Martak would never again pass this way. If he regained the Kinetic Sphere, that magical gateway opened a myriad worlds to him; he wouldn' t risk the descent to return this equipment. And if Claybore triumphed, Lan needed nothing at all- except the dirt around him that Ehznoll and the others worshipped.
Lan didn' t seek a grave. He sought Inyx- and freedom to walk the Cenotaph Road.
CHAPTER TEN
" Look out!"
Lan Martak ducked, bent forward, and felt heavy rock cascade onto the pack he carried. His legs buckled and he teetered on the ledge, his fingers beginning to slip from the tenuous hold on loose stone. A strong hand pushed him back against the sheer rock face of the cliff.
" Thanks, Ehznoll," he said, his breath coming in short, quick pants in spite of the magical breathing device he wore. " I' d' ve tumbled over the edge."
" No, you wouldn' t," the pilgrim said firmly. " The good earth does not want you. Not yet. You have to fulfill your mission first."
Lan glanced down. The ledge they traversed was hardly wider than his boots; the drop beyond that six- inch width looked like miles. The valley so far below glowed a living green, distance fogging it over with a soft purple. He closed his eyes and turned to face the cliff. The journey was easier when he looked inward.
" What mission?" he asked the fanatical pilgrim. " Getting off this ledge alive?"
" Meeting once again with the new god."
" Claybore."
" Claybore," the man affirmed. " You must be privileged beyond most mortals to have met him."
" What if I told you he wasn' t a god, but a devil? A demon sent to confound you and steer you away from righteousness?"
Ehznoll laughed.
" I' ve seen visions of Claybore. The good earth has spoken to me. He is a new god, and no blasphemy you utter changes that. Or do you only test me? Yes, that' s it. You think to test my faith. No, fellow pilgrim, my faith is unshakable."
Lan swallowed hard as he inched across the ledge and found an open area in the side of the mountain. Mount Tartanius abounded with such refuges, for which he was dutifully thankful. He worried over Ehznoll' s single- minded belief that the vision he' d seen constituted godhood for the decapitated sorcerer. No amount of argument convinced Ehznoll that Claybore had tried to kill them. The man' s entire life had been geared to religious beliefs; when his first " vision" came, he misinterpreted it totally.
Lan had seen Claybore. The magics used by the sorcerer projected images, nightmares, that could be seen as clearly as Nashira' s magic eyes had watched Lan back in Melitarsus. Lan recognized the visions for what they were. Ehznoll, in his haste to believe, erred. Mistaking evil for good had been done before Ehznoll. It would be done again by a myriad others, after this lapse of skepticism proved his undoing.
" Hello, friend Lan Martak," came Krek' s voice. The spider walked down the side of a rock and crouched beside him. " Enjoy your jaunt along the mountain face?"
" Loved it," Lan lied. The arachnid cantered off to let the humans make their own way. Lan didn' t doubt Krek' s abilities could take him to the summit in only a few days. Only friendship and the need for companionship kept the spider from racing ahead.
" These smaller lumps give way to real hills farther in."