" You must have helped. I couldn' t fight off Claybore by myself."
" You know of him?"
" Of course. And you know I do. We: in that dreamworld, the three of us fought. Right after we' d joined forces at the base of the mountain."
" I never defended you. You did it by yourself, unconsciously perhaps, but by yourself. I' d never aid another. Too risky."
" I held off Claybore by myself." Lan actually impressed himself with the idea. He remembered all too well the decapitated sorcerer' s power.
" What do you know of him? How do you come to battle him?"
" Not so loud. I' m afraid Ehznoll thinks Claybore is some sort of new god to worship. Ehznoll saw one of the visions sent and thinks it some divine revelation."
" Over the rim with Ehznoll," snapped Abasi- Abi. He leaned forward, hands on knees. " What of Claybore?"
Lan quickly outlined his battles with the decapitated sorcerer, his vow to stop him and his grey- clad soldiers, and ended with his dedication to joining again with Inyx.
" I feel responsible for her plight," he explained. " Many times, she could have gone on her way and been safe. She chose to fight alongside me; I owe her for that, if nothing else. She' s lost between worlds, and it' s my fault."
" You know that, too," said Abasi- Abi, rubbing his temples. " You know much for someone who professes to know so little. Your skills are being brought out with every new contact with Claybore. His attacks are a catalyst for your power. Never have I heard of such a thing, but such natural talent must exist. You are it."
" So you see why I want to stop Claybore. What' s your interest in him?"
The old sorcerer leaned back, arms crossing over his thin chest. A sly look came to his eye.
" The same as you. To keep him from spreading to all worlds along the Cenotaph Road."
" There' s more," accused Lan. " And I don' t need magic to tell me that."
" Very well. I shall tell you, for what good it' ll do you. Our battles date back a long, long time. Claybore and I are ancient enemies, from two continually warring worlds along the Road. I won' t pretend that my motives are as altruistic as yours in this matter. He has wronged me many times, and I him. But when I discovered he spread his influence along the Road, I knew I had to stop him."
" Why?"
" There are many magical artifacts along the Cenotaph Road. Claybore was denied them once, by a mage vastly more powerful than either he or I combined. He would regain them."
" You want them for yourself, is that it?"
Lan wondered what the Kinetic Sphere meant to Abasi- Abi. It certainly proved potent in untrained hands; what might it do with proper magical training?
The harsh laugh greeting him surprised Lan.
" Hardly. I want to destroy them, if I can. Only Claybore can use the artifacts. I would deny them to him permanently. This will prove a feat beyond even the original divestiture."
" Why is that?"
" You wouldn' t understand."
Lan felt irrational anger at this. He was being treated like a small child told he wouldn' t understand- until he grew up. He deserved better. After all, hadn' t he successfully withstood Claybore' s most vicious attacks?
" Try and make me understand."
" Very well. A magical relic once belonging to Claybore rests atop this mountain."
" I know," said Lan. " When we were in the world between worlds, I almost got it away from him."
" You failed? You had the chance and you failed?"
Lan felt the rising forces of magic around him, radiating outward like ripples from a rock tossed into a still pond.
" Calm down," he said. " I failed once. I won' t fail again."
" Claybore makes better progress to the summit than we do. He will arrive long before we can," Abasi- Abi said angrily. " And this race is unnecessary. If you' d only stopped him when you had the chance!"
" I' m not so sure we aren' t ahead of him," contradicted Lan. " And arguing about my failure between worlds won' t change the past."
" It can."
" Not now," said Lan, wondering if the sorcerer meant what he' d said in a literal sense. To change history:
He shrugged it off. He had to sleep. The day had worn him down, and the magics had left him as weary in mind as the climb had in body. He made a quick circuit about the encampment, saw that Ehznoll and his pilgrims had snuggled down under their pathetic tents to keep the evil sky from stealing their souls, then curled up near a fire and drifted off to sleep.
No illusory nightmares disturbed his sleep.
Lan Martak tossed and turned, then half- woke. He rubbed sleep from his eyes with an icy hand and wondered what troubled him. Claybore' s nightmares were strangely absent. He sat up and glanced around. Nothing. He lay back and soon drifted again to sleep, the uneasiness gnawing at the fringes of his consciousness like a cat worrying a mouse.
The moaning of rock moving sounded over the faint wail of the wind. Huge dark shapes moved with barely perceptible progress toward the camp. Heat radiated from each sleeping human, heat attracting the creatures. They rolled closer, ponderous and stony. Tiny rocks circled one tent holding a pilgrim. The stones crowded closer. The man inside cursed as a flailing elbow smashed into rock.
Larger stones rolled up. A boulder joined them. The man' s curses were replaced by a high- pitched scream as the rocks, in a concerted effort, all rolled over him, crushing life from his struggling body.
His death screams were caught on the wind and smothered. Even those sleeping a few feet away didn' t hear.
The smaller stones ground themselves down into the bloody pulp remaining, while the larger rocks moved on- to another victim.
And another and another and still another.
The sentient rocks circled Lan Martak, waiting for their larger companions to come.
The human slept on, dream- free but restless.
CHAPTER TWELVE
No nightmares. Sleep, calm, restful sleep. Nothing more. Lan Martak awakened again, uneasy. The sensation of imminent doom hung over him and made the man sit up. When Claybore attacked through the dreams, he had something to fight. Now only a nebulous feeling of danger nudged at his mind.
That made him more anxious than outright attack.
He peered out and saw nothing but rocks and the cold, black, firelit sky. The stars overhead had multiplied in crazy profusion until the gleaming blanket covered a thick belt from horizon to horizon. Rather than hide from such beauty, as Ehznoll and his followers did, Lan Martak revelled in it. He took a deep breath, sucked in thin, frigid air. The shock to his lungs brought him completely awake. He sighed at the feeling returning to his body. He needed rest after his battles, and here he unconsciously did all he could to awaken his slumbering muscles.
He took another deep breath, this time scenting the miasma of life. He frowned. Life at this elevation, both animal and vegetable, proved sparse. The scent of animals came even more strongly when he turned and faced the outer rim of the broad ledge on which he and the others had pitched camp.
" Who' s there?" he said softly, seeing a small movement. The shadows hid further movement, but his ears caught the scrape of rock on rock.
Before he could say another word, rocks pelted his face and arms. Startled, he fell back- and felt the boulder convulse. His shock at this unexpected yielding saved his life. Lan flinched, as if burned by torches. The rock rolled forward, crushing his blanket. His jerky motion allowed him to spin onto his feet. More pebbles streaked for his face and hands.
" Awake!" he shouted. " Everyone awake. We' re being attacked."
The boulder rolling ponderously toward him blocked his view of the other humans. Lan' s mind refused to believe what he saw; someone must be behind the rock, pushing it, using it as a shield. Instinct made him lash out with his knife- at the rock.