Lan glanced nervously down the sheer face of the mountain. A mile, maybe two, of empty space before the green valley amounted to more than " small lumps" in his opinion.
" The way is easy for several miles. This crevice broadens, goes inward, and provides a nice path even a cripple can navigate," the spider went on. " Even a human cripple," he added in a smug, superior tone.
" Any sign of Claybore?" Lan asked in a soft voice. He didn' t want to stir Ehznoll again.
" None. The man carrying the wooden case containing the skull is not to be seen, either. Most mysterious. I doubt any but a spider is able to scale Mount Tartanius so quickly. I am at a loss to explain it."
" Maybe he knows a secret way up."
" If so, he will arrive at the crest before us."
" Tell me something cheerful."
" There is another party of humans ahead."
" What? Who? Why didn' t you mention this before?"
" I commented first on Claybore, as you requested. Then I proceeded to report on the man thought to be supplying transport to the skull. I now arrive at the news of another party of five humans, less than a mile distant. They struggle along, one of their number being very old and infirm."
" Five of them. Could one of those five be Claybore' s legs?"
" Doubtful."
" Why?"
" None has a pack animal with him." " But, Krek," moaned Lan, " look at the slopes we' ve been climbing. No pack animal can make it along those ledges. He' d' ve left it behind. He would be walking, just like I am."
" You walk because the scorpion killed your horse."
" I: never mind." Lan shook his head. The spider' s logic- or lack of it- defied analysis. Because the man aiding Claybore had a pack animal once, he had to have it now, or so thought Krek. The terrain proved too treacherous for any but the most agile now. Something in Krek' s mind didn' t make the jump that any pack creature remained behind.
" Shall I ask those ahead to slow so we can join them?"
" Let' s approach them cautiously. If they' re only another group of earth lovers, Ehznoll will be happy.
For my part, I' m not so sure if I can handle more than a handful of them at a time."
Ehznoll, Melira, and the other four performed their noonday prayer service, kneeling and rubbing what little dirt they found over one another. Lan wondered if he ever wanted to meet others of this sect, especially now. He had no clear feeling for Ehznoll' s position in the earth church. If Ehznoll proved to be an important figure venerated by others, his estimation of Claybore' s godhood boded ill. On the other hand, Lan might approve of a divergent sect challenging Ehznoll' s devout belief in the new god.
" Let' s catch up with them as soon as we can."
" By nightfall," Krek assured him.
Hard walking over loose stone brought them ever closer to the other group throughout the afternoon. Lan knew the others had sighted them. From their attitude, it mattered little whether Lan, Krek, Ehznoll, and the others overtook them or not. They kept moving at their slow, deliberate pace, neither stopping nor speeding up. Just as the sun set in the west, casting bloody light over a small mesa, the two groups met for the first time.
" Greetings," called Lan to the old man who appeared to be in charge. " We' re pilgrims. Scaling Mount Tartanius."
" Good thing you don' t think you' re swimming a damn ocean, then," the old man said sarcastically. One clear eye surveyed Lan critically. " They look like pilgrims. You don' t."
" Oh, but I am. We climb Mount Tartanius to worship the earth' s attempt to gut the sky."
" Earth worshippers, eh?"
" Yes."
" And the arachnid?" the old man asked. Lan scowled slightly. Krek had remained back, out of sight, as they closed with this group. Creatures of his size only brought unwanted and unwarranted response. If the scorpion proved any indication, arachnids might be very unpopular in this locale. Even worse, he felt as if gossamer wings brushed his mind: magic use.
Lan looked at the old man more carefully. No doubt remained in his mind that the man questioning him created the spells he sensed. Tiny twitches of the lips betrayed continual mutterings. The old man used a scrying spell to find Krek.
" Krek stays out of sight- to avoid unwanted fright on the part of less enlightened men."
The old man smiled, yellowed teeth showing between his chapped lips. A scraggly white beard had frosted from his breath and the cold, and the few wisps of hair on the top of his head lay in a tangled mat. Deep furrows ran over the face, indicating more years than Lan cared to guess at. The rest of the man' s body was hidden by thick, anklelength brown and green robes and heavy mittens.
" You know."
" Isn' t it obvious?" said Lan, more boldly now. " You' re having no trouble breathing. You don' t wear any sort of apparatus or spelldriven mask. I' m young, in trim, and I still gasp. You unerringly located Krek. Need I go on? You are a sorcerer."
" I make a pilgrimage. To the summit."
" For what purpose?"
" Don' t question me, youngling," the man snapped. His brief good mood evaporated as quickly as fog in the hot morning sun. " My business is my own."
" I' m sure," said Lan. " At least allow me to introduce the others in my party." He went around the small circle, starting with Ehznoll and finishing with Krek, now come from behind a large rock. " And you are?" Lan probed, fishing for an answer.
" I told you. A pilgrim."
" Then you are as we," said Ehznoll, his eyes glowing. " We can combine forces, share services. My friends and I were readying evening prayers. Come, join us in praying to the generous earth."
" Fall off the mountain," the old man said bitterly. " I need none of you. Be on your way. Leave me alone."
" We camp here for the night," said Lan. " If you don' t like it, then you can leave. But we stay here." The firmness in the young adventurer' s voice caused the old man to stop and glare.
" I am Abasi- Abi."
" Well, Abasi- Abi, welcome. If you and your party wish to share our meager rations: " Lan left the invitation dangling. Abasi- Abi spun and stalked off, his stride springy for one so old.
" You humans fluctuate in mood so," commented Krek. " Some are overly friendly. Take Melira, for instance. She certainly desires an opportunity to engage you in your curious mating rituals. This AbasiAbi, on the other side of the web, is quite surly."
" And I suppose spiders don' t have such wide variations in attitude."
" No. Either we view one another as food, or not. Mostly we exist high in our webs, swinging, swaying, revelling in the ways of nature. Interaction is held to a minimum. For which I am glad. If we arachnids ever came into closer contact, why, we might begin acting like you humans."
" A tragedy," Lan said sarcastically.
" Yes," agreed Krek. Again, sarcasm had been wasted.
Lan Martak turned away from Abasi- Abi, saying to Krek, " Let' s prepare some food while Ehznoll and his disciples toss dirt on one another. I' m hungry."
He' d taken only a few steps when he staggered, fell to his knees, and held his head in cupped hands. If a berserk woodsman had taken an ax to his head, the pain wouldn' t have been much different. His eyes closed, the pain building in a sawtoothed wave that threatened to drive him crazy, Lan " saw" Claybore.
The fleshless skull floated a few inches in front of him, the ruby beams from the eyesockets lashing out in a slow motion that allowed him ample time to feel fear surge inside. The ends of the ruby lances came closer, closer, ever closer. He tried to dodge. He was frozen to the spot. Lan knew that if those beams touched him, he died. Helplessly, he watched the inexorable advance of death.
A new element entered the nightmare vision. A presence, a force, came from behind him, welled up from within. The ruby gaze from Claybore' s skull still inched forward, but the beams bent, curved away, and passed harmlessly to either side of Lan' s body. The sorcerer' s skull turned in midair, jaws clacking ominously.