Iron Tongue

CHAPTER TEN

" You cannot win. You will die." The words reverberated through Lan Martak' s skull to the point of pain. He blinked back tears of searing acid and stared straight into Claybore' s ruby- glowing eye holes. In past encounters, he had somehow managed to avert those deadly beams, forcing them away harmlessly. As curious as anything, he sought their deadly virulence and faced them fully.

And absorbed their death. And returned it tenfold to Claybore.

The dismembered mage twitched as the reflected beams struck his fleshless skull. The magics intensified. Spells became more complex, more intricate, more life- threatening. The land about the duellocked pair quaked under the intensity of their battle. Lan Martak took all Claybore had to offer and gave it back with a power and an expertise he had never before possessed.

" The youngling has learned much, I see," came Claybore' s words, words not formed by flesh- and- blood lips. They echoed through Lan' s entire body; he had learned. In some fashion those words were weapons. Instinctively, he robbed them of their edge.

" I have. Give up your quest, Claybore. Retire to a world. Stop enslaving those you encounter along the Road."

" You have learned much magic but nothing of my nature. I will never stop until I am again whole. Terrill robbed me of my arms and legs, my flesh, my every organ." The torso, supported on magically powered mechanical legs, twisted about, allowing Claybore to break eye contact with his adversary. " I am the aggrieved. I seek only that which was- is!- mine."

Lan felt no need to debate the point. Claybore' s goal might have been acceptable. What intelligent being could exist as a mere skull in a box? Only his motives and methods were questionable. The young sorcerer began weaving new and more deadly spells, ones he barely understood, ones so potent none dare commit them to paper for the incautious to find. From somewhere beyond reality came the dancing mote that now gave information. Reading the surface of that twinkling speck allowed him to probe Claybore' s weaknesses.

And the dismembered mage had weaknesses. Lan' s surprise at learning this almost caused him to drop his guard. Claybore had seemed so powerful before, so dominant in all situations. Now, in a confrontation, his power seemed almost pathetically small.

Lan Martak reconsidered. It wasn' t Claybore' s power diminishing, it was his own prowess increasing. He had come a vast distance in ability from sensing magics and being able to work petty fire spells.

His ebon dragons sucked life out of the grey- clad soldiers, but did nothing against Claybore. Vultures with wings of fire formed above Wurnna, spat out their cries of rage, and launched themselves in fury at the renegade sorcerer. Only last- minute shiftings of his defenses allowed Claybore to disperse them and their beaks of the coldest steel.

" Materializations? Where did you find that conjuration?"

Lan had no answer.

" The mages in that pitiful little city cannot help you. You are alone, worm. Grovel before my might!"

The attack Claybore launched forced Lan to his knees. Needles of burning agony drove into his body from every direction. No nerve, no muscle escaped the mind- stunning misery. Focusing on the mote within allowed Lan to fight the pain scourging his body; he did not stop the anguish, but could ignore it. The surface of the luminous mote rippled and boiled, turning into itself and revealing texture and substance he' d never before noticed. And feeding its pseudo- life came power from the very bedrock of Wurnna.

In the distance, he heard hushed tones muttering, " He uses the power stone."

The power stone. The rock mined in the valley of spiders. It did more than provide heatless light. It fed his magics, gave them scope and range unlike anything he had imagined before.

Slowly, muscles protesting, Lan struggled to his feet. He countered every thrust Claybore made. The pain faded until only its haunting memory lingered. But Lan couldn' t renew his attack.

He and Claybore were deadlocked.

Then a new element entered the conflict. Quiet, subtle, Iron Tongue began speaking.

" You are a mighty sorcerer, Claybore. One of the best. But even you can show mercy. Now. You show the spirit of brotherhood so well known among all mages."

Lan realized the words meant nothing. Carried along with their seductive cadence came a magic that was irresistible. His battle with Claybore had weakened the mage adequately for Iron Tongue' s sorcerous suasions to work. A hesitation came to Claybore' s attacks. They lessened, even as Lan weakened under the onslaught.

" I will allow you to consider surrender, worm," came the mage' s words.

" Surrender is not the answer," Iron Tongue insinuated softly. The words carried no volume, no command, but the effect became increasingly dramatic.

" We: we will meet again. I will triumph!" In the distance Lan saw the fleshless jaw clacking. Mechanical arms and legs waved about, then carried Claybore away, as if into a dense fog. Soon only a dull glow from the heart- sphere locked into the armless and legless torso remained; then it, too, vanished.

Lan sank forward, hands resting on the cool stone battlement in front of him. Sweat poured in vast rivers across his face, into his eyes, under his arms and even down his legs. He controlled the trembling.

" You saved me," he told Iron Tongue. " Your magic worked on him. He gave up when he might have conquered."

" You held him," Iron Tongue said, his words oddly accented. " Such power as he commanded this day all of Wurnna could not turn away. You did it with no help. You will stay and aid us in our continued fight." The words softened, became lilting and seductive. " Wurnna has much to offer. We are friends. We can give you all you need. You are one of us. And there is Rugga, lovely, loving Rugga."

Lan Martak recognized the spell being woven about him by Iron Tongue' s words, but lacked the strength to fight it. Or did he? Even after the life- and- death struggle with Claybore, he felt more vibrantly alive than ever before. The young mage straightened and allowed his thoughts to lightly brush the surface of the brilliant mote dancing so deep inside him.

" Do not attempt to ensorcel me, Iron Tongue. Your chants are potent, but the wrong way of winning my further assistance." Lan bent and helped Rugga to her feet. The woman' s face was as white as flour and she had a wild, half- crazed expression. She had touched magics far beyond her abilities. Lan sent his mote dancing through her mind, burning and probing, touching and healing. In minutes, she shook as if she had a palsy, then collapsed.

" Get her to her chambers. She will sleep off this ordeal."

The expression on Iron Tongue' s at this feat of healing assured Lan that, even in a city of sorcerers, his powers had grown drastically and far outstripped the others- with the possible exception of Iron Tongue himself.

" Fully a thousand greys were destroyed by the dark dragons," came the report. Lan swallowed and found his mouth dry. He had slaughtered a thousand men and women with a single spell- and it had required no more effort than lifting a spoon to his mouth.

He pushed his still- filled plate away. He had eaten voraciously, but the death toll took the edge off his hunger more than the food had. The young mage did not enjoy the power growing within him, yet he had to learn to control it and use it against Claybore. Things had been so much simpler when he had hunted the forests, loved Zarella, and had never heard of Claybore or his grey- clad legions.

" Why me?" he wondered aloud.

" Lan? You said something?" Rugga sat beside him, her warm thigh pressed intimately against his under the table. Her hands had strayed many times during the meal, but he had tried to ignore the urgings.

Lan had become cautious of the woman' s attentions. Ever since entering Wurnna, he more clearly noticed motives in others. Hers hinged on more than simple lust for him. He shook his head. It took no mage to understand what Rugga wanted. The power struggle between her and Iron Tongue for control of the city was a thing of the pastbecause of Iron Tongue' s histrionic abilities. Any new element entering the game gave Rugga another chance at seizing power.

Power. It always revolved around control over others.

And Lan Martak was learning to play for his own ends.

" Such a lovely necklace," he said softly. Even softer he added, " And such a lovely neck."

" Only the neck?" she teased.

" And the face. And the regions: lower." He allowed his eyes to drink appreciatively of the woman' s lean beauty. As he did so, Lan realized that some portion of that beauty was magically enhanced. Rugga cast minor spells to soften her somewhat masculine angularity and enhance what was already present. At some other time in his life, Lan would not have minded, if he had even noticed. Now it angered him. Rather than assume she did it for his enjoyment, he decided she wanted to bind him through her body.

" All yours, my Lan. Let us go."

" Not yet," he said, glancing down the table at Iron Tongue. The mage sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark and clouded with suspicion. Lan had to defuse that suspicion enough to make use of it without fanning it into outright opposition.

" These dinners always become so insufferably stuffy. He never allows anything interesting. Like I offer."

" Rugga, my lovely, in a moment. First, tell me of that necklace. It appeals to me." The sensations racing up his arm as probing fingers lifted the baubles from silken skin seemed so tantalizingly familiar, yet he failed to put a name to them. Iron Tongue supplied it for him.

" Those are polished power stone. They are used for decoration as well as utility. After it is taken from the ground, I energize it with spells known only to the ruler." Lan knew Iron Tongue idly boasted; the spells to activate the stone seemed quite simple to him, now. But Lan knew that Iron Tongue talked for a reason other than conveying information.

The words boomed forth, resonantly touching the deepest parts of Lan' s being. He wondered if Iron Tongue did it on purpose, whether he controlled the magical organ in his mouth fully. If Iron Tongue allowed anger to intrude, he might prove a more dangerous opponent than even Claybore. Lan couldn' t forget the way Iron Tongue had persuaded Claybore to break off the attack when the other mage had had victory within his grasp. The tongue was a potent weapon, indeed, and one which would make Claybore invincible if he recovered it.

" How did you come to discover the stone?"

" We of Wurnna have always known of it. The mines close at hand petered out."

" And required you to begin mining in the valley of the spiders," Lan finished.

" Just so. By the time we began mining there, we were dependent on the stone to energize our entire civilization. A few of my magical spells is all it takes to provide limitless power from the rock."

" It multiplies your magics?" Lan frowned. He felt it did more than this, but couldn' t say exactly what else.

" Somewhat. My particular use- and it differs for every mage- is to add to my personal force." Iron Tongue held up an arm entirely braceleted in the power stone. The jewelry rippled and danced with coruscating, many- faceted gems. " I draw on their power. With Rugga, she uses them to enhance her beauty." The words carried an insult. When Rugga stiffened, Lan reached under the table and seized a wrist, holding her down, soothing her with his presence. She subsided; Iron Tongue obviously counted this a minor victory in their power struggles.

" I feel more when near the gems," said Lan.

" Each mage draws slightly different powers from them. This is another reason we use slaves to mine the ore."

They didn' t trust any single sorcerer to be near such a vast vein of the power stone. Wurnna lived in turmoil, both internally and externally, Lan surmised.

" Can' t you come to some accord with Bron and the spiders? You don' t need to enslave when you can get them to aid you in return for the objects that only you of Wurnna can offer."

" Why barter when we can take?" snapped Iron Tongue. " They have no sorcerers in their rank. Inferior. They are our inferiors. And the spiders are mere animals."

" Intelligent animals."

" You speak well of them, Lan," said Rugga. " Have you forgotten they tried to feed you to their odious hatchlings?"

Lan said nothing about one of his friends being an arachnid. Nor did he mention Inyx or her trip to Bron. Instead, he replied, " Claybore divides you. You fight Bron and they fight back. You battle the spiders and they eat your slaves. It wouldn' t surprise me if Bron and the spiders were also at war. And you all fight Claybore." He shook his head sadly. It was no wonder that Claybore and his legions had conquered most of this world so easily. The spiders posed no threat to the marauding sorcerer; Claybore had claimed that Bron had fallen; only the organ resting in Iron Tongue' s mouth remained for Claybore' s victory on this planet to be complete.

" We could have eliminated the others long ago. It amuses me to allow them to remain." Iron Tongue sounded diffident, but Lan read the real reason behind the claims. Wurnna depended on Bron for workers and the city' s rulers maintained the spiders' threat as a method of control. Without some menace, Iron Tongue might not remain at the forefront of the city, even with his potent abilities.

Lan changed the course of the conversation abruptly, asking, " How did you come by Claybore' s tongue?"

Iron Tongue stiffened.

" He' s had it for over a decade. His father died and willed it to him. It is the symbol of power for our city- state." Rugga sounded bitter as she told this to Lan. The young mage didn' t have to be told she' d have willingly cut out her own tongue for a chance at the power that the organ afforded her ruler.

" The origin of the tongue is lost in myth," said Iron Tongue. " One of my forefathers forged it magically and has handed it down through the generations."

" It belonged to Claybore," Lan said, more to test reaction than to inform. Rugga looked at him curiously, as if he had struck his head and wasn' t quite sane. She believed in the mythic origins cited by Iron Tongue. But Iron Tongue' s face clouded over with anger; he knew that Lan spoke the truth.

Without a word, Iron Tongue rose and stalked from the room. Other mages hovering around the perimeter of the room talked among themselves in hushed tones, occasionally pointing and sending small, harmless questing spells in his direction. Lan let out a pent- up lungful of air and shoved himself back in his chair. The legs scraped on the power- stone flooring in the room.

" Rugga, my lovely," he said, " show me how the power stone renews strength after strenuous activity."

She smiled wickedly and rose, holding out her hand for him to take. They left, aware of the stares of those in the room. Lan knew he played a dangerous game aligning himself with Rugga, but internal policy in Wurnna interested him far less than triumphing over Claybore. Only by incurring Iron Tongue' s anger did he see a way of winning the worlds- spanning struggle with the dismembered sorcerer.

But Rugga showed him that certain of those steps could be enjoyable. Very enjoyable.