" Bigger than life," muttered Lan Martak. " This is similar to the projection device used by the Suzerain back in Melitarsus."
" Larger," said Krek. " And the Lord of the Twistings is not as personable."
" Personable," snorted Lan. " That woman tried to imprison us. Even if it was a prison of gold and fineries."
" Note how he controls the crowd with his voice. Seldom have I seen a more consummate politician," said Krek. " This is a touch of magic. Perhaps not in the sense you mean when you chant spells, but it is magic, nonetheless."
Lan had to agree. The Lord built the crowd' s emotions to a fever pitch, then stopped just short of inciting them to riot. Then he began again, teasing and tormenting them, moving them along in the direction he desired. The poor campaigner who had been on the platform under the giant screen when the Lord of the Twistings appeared had become a nonentity. No one noticed him now, even with his colorful illusions cavorting about, performing increasingly obscene acts. Lan turned back to the Lord' s immense face when the other office- seeker stopped his erotic images and left the platform in disgust.
" Crime is vicious," the Lord said, as if he stated a newly found truth of the universe. " Only punishment befitting the crime will stop the rampaging rise of offenses against the public."
The crowd screamed. The picture altered from the Lord' s face to a long hallway with a huge vault door at the end. The people around Lan and Krek fell strangely silent at the sight. The silence spread until Lan heard only his own heart beating. Over fifty thousand people stood without making a single sound.
" The Twistings," explained the Lord. " This is my weapon against crime. Cast the criminal in!"
The crowd sucked in and held its collective breath in anticipation. Lan' s eyes widened in recognition when he saw whom the mechanicals shoved forward.
" Inyx!"
" Be silent, friend Lan Martak. If you let on you know her, they will rip you to bloody pieces."
He didn' t need Krek to tell him that. He raged at the sight of the mechanicals shoving Inyx past the vault door, then closing it. The last view he had of her was standing in a bare room, a perplexed expression on her face. The scene changed to the exterior of the vault door, cunningly painted with a smiling portrait of the Lord on it.
In everything, the Lord advertised himself.
" Such will be the fate of all criminals. The Twistings!" came the disembodied voice.
" The Twistings! The Twistings! The Twistings!" The throng screamed until Lan' s ears revolted and refused to listen.
He grabbed one of Krek' s back legs and pulled the spider from the plaza. They sought out a back alley and slumped against the cool walls of the buildings. Only when a ringing note in his ears came did Lan speak. His voice sounded hollow, distant. He was still partially deaf from the intense noise of the crowd' s cheers.
" What do we do now?" asked Krek.
" Go after her."
" These Twistings that so fascinate the crowd do not appear to be easily visited," the spider pointed out. " Such a venture on our part might be dangerous or even suicidal."
Lan knew his friend was right. What did he owe Inyx? He turned that question over and over in his mind. He had gotten her into this fix, at least indirectly. Without his interference with Claybore she would have never become lost in the whiteness between worlds. Still, he had rescued her from that fate. Whatever drove her into Dicca and the Twistings wasn' t morally his burden.
Yet he felt it was.
Did he love Inyx? Lan Martak had no easy answer for that one. They had fought side by side. Did this shared blood constitute love? He doubted it. Rather he felt an admiration for her, a loyalty to her. She was definitely a friend.
Maybe more. Maybe.
Lan looked up at the silent bulk of the spider. He had fought and killed for Krek. Krek had done likewise for him. Yet as close as they were, something was lacking in their friendship. He guessed it was Inyx. When the three were together, they functioned as a whole, a unit, something transcending individuals.
Did he love Inyx? Yes. But mixed in with that love were other emotions no less powerful.
" We can' t leave her," he said. The decision made, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. They might march into the Twistings, into death, but the attempt to rescue Inyx had to be made.
" So we retrieve her," said Krek.
They started for the palace of the Lord of the Twistings.
" No wall," said Krek. " I have not been able to spin a worthwhile web since we came to this miserable world. I had hoped to be able to dangle freely, swinging to and fro, from the tallest spire of a castle. But this, this is pathetic!"
Lan worried, but for different reasons. Any ruler accumulated enemies, those who had been turned down for jobs, those defeated, those ruined, even the insane. From what he had seen of the Lord of the Twistings, the man probably required constant bodyguards. The position was coveted by many; assassination had to play a major role in this world' s politics. It did everywhere else.
" There aren' t any guards to be seen, either," Lan pointed out. " It can' t be this easy. We don' t just walk in."
" He might prefer an open- door policy when dealing with his adoring populace."
" He might prefer being buggered by a dwarf," snapped Lan. " There are guards around. There must be."
" What of magical wards?"
" Nothing. I don' t even feel the generation of any illusions."
" I see none," said the spider. " There is one sure way of finding if our senses lie."
" Krek, no!" he called, but the spider began walking across the grassy lawn toward the palace. His rolling gait didn' t vary as he approached the nearest building.
Lan swallowed hard and followed. Halfway across the lawn, he felt his body from the waist down go numb, as if his spine had been snapped. Falling forward, he began dragging himself with his hands. He wanted to call out to Krek but refrained. A momentary burst of magic had told him ward spells did exist; he was too unsophisticated to detect them until it was too late.
To his surprise, the paralysis vanished within a few feet. Lan crouched, running his hands over his legs, enjoying the tingle as his fingernails cut into flesh. He turned and studied the terrain he' d just walked. By deep concentration he " saw" a spot on the lawn. Unlike a perpetual guard spell, this was somehow triggered mechanically. His weight had set off a debilitating spell. How the Lord mixed physical with psychic Lan had no way of knowing.
Turning his tuned sense forward, he " saw" several other patches dimly glowing. Avoiding those brought him to Krek' s side.
“ There were traps in the grass,” he said.
" Oh? I found none."
" There are benefits to being eight- legged- and long- legged, at that. Any of the traps you might have triggered sent a column of energy directly upward. Your body stays well away from where your feet are placed."
" Keeping all my feet beneath my body as you humans do is obviously impractical."
Lan began a retort, then froze. He heard a name mentioned that sent a thrill of discovery throughout his body.
Claybore!
He motioned to Krek. They picked their way closer to the building, then edged along the wall. Lan " saw" several more of the traps and indicated Krek should pass them by also. With contemptuous ease, Krek stepped over the magically glowing spots.
" But Claybore," came the protest from inside a palace room, " he did it on purpose. I had no chance to oppose his action, not in front of half the city."
" Silvain, you disappoint me," came Claybore' s familiar voice. Lan peered in. The soldier he' d seen escorting Inyx from Luister lenLarrotti' s Fine Rooms hunched over a box. Wavering inside the box was a blue wraith- Claybore' s skull.
" Do you wish me to lead a force into the Twistings?"
" No! Not yet. That part of me residing with this upstart' s maze is important, but not vital."