Pillar of Night

CHAPTER TEN

Lan Martak stood and stared and then tried to compose himself. He hardly believed the white-haired man, and yet a ring of truth came through that pushed away any doubts he might have.

“If you are the Terrill who destroyed Claybore, why do you stay here?” Lan indicated the odd forest. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rising at the lack of sound in the woods. No insects chirped or flew. The wind refused to blow through the living, moving leaves and walking plants. Even the odors struck Lan as peculiar. None of the death-turning-to-life smells rose from the floor of the forest. It had an antiseptic odor to it, as if nothing decayed.

“I am bound. Claybore defeated me, even as I bested him.” The man sat down on a small rock and cupped his chin in gnarled hands. “Those were days of worth. Now?” He looked around, his washed-out eyes betraying no emotion at all.

“Are you under a geas?” Lan asked eagerly. Terrill was the greatest mage who ever conjured. If anyone could remove the geas Lan suffered, it had to be Terrill. And in return Lan might be able to free the master from his bondage.

“What?” Terrill said, distractedly. “No, no geas. I stay because I have no other place to go.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You haven’t seen it, then, have you? No? Come along.” Terrill motioned for Lan to follow. The younger mage sucked in his breath when he felt the force of the Pillar of Night growing. They walked directly to it.

“There.”

Lan peered through the canopy of leaves and spotted the bulk of the magical column. He tried to move closer and found his feet would not obey.

“This is as close as any can get,” said Terrill. “That is Claybore’s power.”

“Help me fight him. We need you. He has almost put himself back together.”

“I did tear him asunder, didn’t I?” asked Terrill. “I had forgotten that. There are so many other things to occupy me now. Important things.”

“More important than stopping Claybore?” Lan’s mind reeled with the concept of any danger being greater.

“Oh, yes, definitely, definitely. Come and I’ll show you. Don’t be afraid. They won’t hurt you.”

Terrill led him to a small clearing. “This is my home. Mine and my friends.”

Lan stopped at the edge of the clearing and stared. Crude dolls constructed of leaves and twigs, held together with sap and dried mud, stood in neat rows. Terrill went to one and gently stroked over hair made from dead vines.

“She is my favorite, above all others, my most cherished. We have important discussions and, well, you’re a young man. You can guess what else we might do. She’s quite good.”

Lan sampled the clearing for magics and found nothing but the overwhelming presence of the Pillar of Night. These stick and leaf dolls were not animated; they were exactly as they appeared.

“This is Rook, a doughty warrior and defender of my empire while I explore afield.” Terrill picked up a figurine with a caked mud head and brought it over to Lan. “Don’t be afraid. Even though he looks fierce, Rook is quite gentle with people he knows.”

An arm fell off. Terrill hastily glued it back on, spitting on dirt to soften it to sticky mud.

“Did Claybore do this?”

“What? On, no, not possible. Rook was injured in battle with a sixty-foot-long dragon. Killed it, he did. Fantastic battle. No, Claybore doesn’t dare approach any of us. Rook can protect us. And if he can’t, there are others.” Terrill’s voice dropped to a confidential whisper. “We are able to repel any invaders to our forest.”

“The others I met in the forest,” Lan asked. “What of them?”

“Other humans? All mages. All left here by Claybore. Ugly people. Rook keeps them away, don’t you, Rook?” Terrill shook the doll so that it bobbed up and down in assent.

Lan turned cold inside. This haunted forest held the husks of sorcerers who had opposed Claybore. Something about the Pillar of Night held them within the forest, and Claybore’s tender mercies had driven them insane before even coming here. Many Claybore had experimented on to find substitutes for his lost limbs and all he had tortured to insanity. What had he done to Terrill, his most successful adversary? Lan didn’t want to know.

“Tell me of the Pillar,” Lan asked.

“Nothing to tell. Claybore’s supreme magic, and it failed. Oh, yes, it failed him at the last moment. Didn’t drive home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you stay for our feast? Rook has slain a fire elemental and three demons and my paramour is especially amorous tonight.” Terrill gave Lan a lewd wink. “She has many ladies in waiting who would enjoy your company.”

Lan looked at the stick figurines and shuddered. Terrill’s power had fled with his sanity.

“How long have you been here?” Lan asked.

“Forever. Ten thousand years. Maybe more, maybe less. Who can say?”

“You are immortal?”

“That power remains,” Terrill said wistfully. “But do come and sit down. Our feast is just beginning.” Terrill started digging with his fingers in the soft dirt and produced a tuber. “More sumptuous than anything a king might dine upon!”

Lan waited until Terrill presented this fine viand to his champion, Rook. Then Lan slipped into the forest, repressing the urge to run until his feet wore down to his ankles. Out of sight of the demented sorcerer, Lan shook and felt hot tears of rage and frustration trickling down his cheeks. His hands clenched tightly and he wished for nothing more than the chance to slay Claybore.

He went to the edge of the forest again and peered at the blackness of the Pillar of Night. Gently, he sailed his light mote out to explore its vastness. The magical column tried to suck in his familiar, but Lan’s power was great enough to prevent it; he knew that he would follow the dancing mote in if it were to succumb to the immense negative forces of the Pillar.

Lan Martak tried minor spells and scouted the base, never actually getting close enough to touch it physically. Tired and disheartened, he turned away and went back through the forest. He passed near Terrill’s clearing. The once-great mage and his entourage were enjoying a millennia-long celebration.

“So this is what it means to live forever,” Lan said. As silent as a shadow he moved on through the forest, stalked by trees and wounded by spined plants.

He did not rest until he came to the far edge of the forest, where he found his demon-powered flyer. The demon trapped within cursed volubly at his sorry fate.

Lan forced such exertion on the demon that, by the time they returned to Brinke’s castle, the demon was too exhausted to do more than wheeze.

“You are certain it was Terrill?” the Lady Brinke asked. “I had never envisioned him in such straits. He was always bigger than life, a giant of magics. Long before I heard of Claybore I had heard the tales of Terrill’s fine deeds, his philanthropy and kindness.”

“Once, he might have been. Of all the humans I saw in Claybore’s forest, Terill is the only one who retained all his bodily parts. Claybore either didn’t or couldn’t experiment on Terrill.”

The tall blonde pulled a scarlet robe more tightly around her svelte body. “The power of the forest binds them, just as we are bound to Claybore.”

“Terrill did say one thing which puzzles me. He…” Lan snapped his mouth closed when Kiska k’Adesina blasted into the room. She shook with fury.

“How dare you leave me like this?” she screamed. “For almost three weeks you left me. And she treated me like a prisoner. I won’t stand for it. You love me, Lan, you know you do.” Kiska went on, in a softer, more seductive voice. “Why punish me like this?”

Lan wanted to burn her to a cinder with a single quick spell. “I love you,” he choked out. “I had to go and…”

“Lan,” broke in Brinke. “We can discuss this later.” Her almost colorless grey eyes warned him not to reveal too much to Kiska.

“Yes, later,” agreed Kiska. “Lan and I need time to ourselves. For a proper welcoming home.”

“No,” Lan said weakly. But he allowed Kiska to lead him from the chamber and to their sleeping quarters. The more he fought the geas, the more certainly he fell under its power. He apologized to Kiska for leaving her and only through a phenomenal power of will kept from telling her where he had gone.

After they had made love, Lan lay staring at the stone wall. He thought of Terrill and the curse of immortality. The mage had attained such power that he could never die. But the quality of how he spent eternity mattered, Lan saw. Insane.

He left Kiska in the bed and softly padded across the cold floor to find his clothing. He knew a fate worse than Terrill’s: to be forced to spend all of time loving a woman he hated. Lan glanced at the sleeping Kiska k’Adesina and wished he had the skill to slip free of Claybore’s geas. Otherwise he and Kiska might be together for a long, long time.

Brinke stared through the empty archway at the end of her chamber. From deep within she felt stirrings of magic. The woman coaxed them and guided the forces outward. Untutored though she was, Brinke managed to form a scrying spell of some power.

The Pillar of Night rose, sleek and black and devouring all light. She flinched at its sight and wondered why she had never sensed this potent structure’s existence on her world before. Lan Martak’s presence lent her courage. With him alongside, she dared to explore, to even think of defeating Claybore.

Her handling of the scrying spell became increasingly inadequate. The view wavered and finally fell apart in a chaos of colors. Brinke released the spell and sank forward, weakened by her effort.

“You do improve, though, dear Brinke,” came a voice from behind her carved chair. The woman jerked around, startled.

“Claybore!”

“Always before you denied the Pillar’s existence, as I intended. It amuses me to see you have overcome that portion of my geas. But I must save that for another visit. I’ve come to visit and to find what our mutual friend is up to.”

The woman rose, her hand seeking out a silver dagger from its sheath under her scarlet robe. The slim blade flicked out and rammed straight for its target in Claybore’s slightly protuberant belly. The sharp tip stopped a fraction of an inch away. Strain as she would, Brinke couldn’t finish the thrust.

“Must it always be this way?” Claybore asked peevishly. “I do wish you’d learn not to oppose me.”

“What do you mean, ‘always this way’?”

Claybore chuckled, his bone skull giving no indication of where the sound came from. Ruby whirlwinds spun in the dark eye sockets. Twin beams lashed out and pinioned Brinke. She stiffened, her eyes losing focus and her lovely face turning slack.

“Martak went to the Pillar of Night,” said Claybore. “What did he learn there?”

“He has not said,” Brinke reported.

“Does he suspect you?”

“No.”

“Good. I loathe giving up one of my most useful spies. He has sensed the geas I have placed upon you?”

“Yes.”

“But he hasn’t learned it is a spell of control, that I only activate it to force you to speak of my enemies’ plans?”

“No.”

Claybore’s mechanical legs carried him around. One hand lifted and stroked over Brinke’s cheek. The woman did not respond.

“Soon enough all my parts will be in their proper place. Martak will be dead-or worse. I think he will make a fine companion for Terrill in my little forest preserve, don’t you?” Claybore didn’t expect an answer. “When I am again whole, you and I will spend much time together. Would you like that?”

“No!”

“You will like it,” he said flatly. “The geas will insure that. What else have you learned of Martak’s excursion?”

“Nothing.”

“Very well. Learn what you can. And, as always, you will not remember talking to me or seeing me. My presence here will be permanently forgotten.” Claybore manipulated the spell binding the woman, made certain forgetfulness was visited upon her, then left.

Brinke sagged, the silver dagger dropping from her hand. She stared at it, not remembering how it had come to hand or why she would have wanted to draw it. The headache building behind her eyes was worse than ever. Sprites kicked and tore at the backs of her eyeballs until she moaned aloud.

Brinke vowed to see the chirurgeon about a potion to alleviate it. The headaches were becoming more frequent.

She picked up her dagger and left the chamber, curiously drained of vitality.

Twin morning stars vied for supremacy in the east. Only faint pink fingers of dawn threatened them and set them adrift in a sky of grey. Lan Martak leaned over the castle battlements and watched as the pinks turned to light yellows and the sun poked a bright rim above the horizon. Chill breezes blew off the grain fields surrounding Brinke’s castle and contrasted vividly with the sterility of Claybore’s forest circling the Pillar of Night. Idly running his fingernails along rough stone, he traced out a map of all he saw before him-and placed the dark Pillar at the very edge.

Soft shuffling sounds brought him around.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Brinke. “I often come up here to see the new day being born.”

“I couldn’t stand being with Kiska an instant longer,” Lan said, knowing it was a lie even as he spoke the words. The geas forced him to seek out Claybore’s commander, to want to be with her. Only an extreme effort of will allowed him to part from her. To be with her again had been one of the strongest needs driving him back from the Pillar.

“You look distracted,” Brinke said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Lan started to speak, then stopped. Something felt wrong, different. And it was with Brinke.

“What have you been doing?” he asked.

“I? Nothing. Well, I did attempt a scrying of the Pillar.”

“There is more.”

Brinke shook her head. She glanced away from Lan to the sunrise, then back. “This time of day is always a comfort. Quiet, serene, it makes me believe better times are possible for all of us.”

“Claybore,” Lan said, more to himself than to Brinke.

“Do not ruin the mood,” she gently chided. “Just enjoy the glory of a day filled with bright promise.”

“Claybore has done something to you. There is a residue lingering around you that carries his imprint. I know it well. I’ve fought it long enough.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Panic flared and died in the woman’s eyes. This convinced Lan he had not been mistaken.

“You mentioned a geas upon you,” Lan said. “I have never really felt it-not before this. What makes you think Claybore has done anything to you?”

“Why, I… I don’t know. I can’t say, but I know it is true.”

Lan snorted in contempt. “Claybore plays with you. He has laid a compulsion of some sort on you and lets you know it, just as he does with me.”

“But I feel no presence, as you do, Lan.”

“I sense it.” Lan closed his eyes and began to expand the light mote to a hollow sphere enclosing both him and Brinke. Lan had never attempted this before; he wanted to shield his activities from Claybore’s prying eyes. Any blatant use of truly powerful magics would draw the sorcerer. Lan still needed to hide his actions until he had worked through the reason behind the Pillar of Night.

“What are you doing?” cried Brinke. The blonde tried to force her way through the shimmery curtain of light encapsulating them.

“Seeking out the root of your geas. If Claybore left you the knowledge that he had placed it upon you, there’s a chance I can trace back along that path and find the exact spell.”

“No, Lan, I’m not under any spell. Not now. No, oh, no!”

The tall woman slumped. Lan caught her and eased her to the stone battlements. The knowledge of the spell being placed flitted lightly across the surface of her being. Lan grabbed it forcefully and pulled. What he saw magically as a tiny thread ran down into the woman’s very soul. He followed, probing carefully, placing ward spells at every stage to prevent Claybore from taking him by surprise.

The magical surgery resulted in excising a tiny, glowing knot from deep within Brinke’s being. Lan plucked it forth and crushed it as he would a tick.

Lan released the shell around them. The entire countering had taken less than a minute.

“He visited me often!” gasped Brinke. “I remember now. He got information from me, then ordered me to forget. And I did. I was a traitor. I betrayed those best able to oppose Claybore and never knew it until this moment. And my sister. I betrayed her to him!” Brinke turned and stared into the sun. One slender foot went up to the crenelation. She hoisted herself up and looked out into the distance.

Lan didn’t understand what she did until it was almost too late to act. He surged forward and grabbed a double handful of the thick robe just as Brinke jumped. The heavy fabric ripped but held well enough for him to pull her back to the battlements.

“Why did you do that?” He probed her for some lingering effect of the spell. Claybore was wily enough to plant a second compulsion spell to make her kill herself if found out.

“I betrayed my friends and family. I would have betrayed you, but I knew nothing of your trip.”

“You didn’t do this,” Lan said quickly, trying to convince the woman. “Claybore is a mage of vast power. Your magics cannot stand against his. Don’t surrender to him by killing yourself. Fight him! If you truly hate what he’s made you do, fight him with all your strength. Don’t give in to him.”

Brinke swallowed hard and pulled free. Lan watched for a telltale sign that she might try suicide gain. The blonde leaned forward on the rough-hewn stone and bowed her head.

“You are right. But I feel so… used!”

“He is expert at manipulating people, with or without spells,” said Lan. “Look how he uses me as a pawn. Kiska provides control over me, both day and night. Leaving her is a major act of courage on my part.”

“But you do it.”

“I must, but each time is more difficult. Claybore is evil and brings stark horror wherever he goes.” Lan thought of the forest again with its mutilated, insane inhabitants. Terrill, of all those poor wights, caused Lan to mourn the most. Terrill’s fate would be his, if he failed.

Lan would not fail.

“The geas,” said Brinke. “Do you think I might be able to help you break it? As you broke mine?”

“You have the power, but it is undisciplined,” said Lan, considering it. “What have I to lose?”

“I might do something wrong and injure you.”

Insanity. Living for all eternity a madman like Terrill. Lan forced the thoughts from his mind. Also pushed aside was the paranoid idea that Claybore engineered all this, that he wanted Brinke to attempt the spells and drive Lan crazy.

“Do it,” he said. He let the light mote spread out and surround them once more to insure a modicum of privacy from Claybore’s prying. Then Lan relaxed the impenetrable barriers within him that he had maintained for so long.

Feathery touches across the surface of his mind told him Brinke sought the geas. He stared off into the sunrise, the light hurting his eyes as he looked directly into the white-hot sun.

He winced, then pulled away, only to relax and allow Brinke another try. And another and still another. Finally the woman shook her head, blonde hair spilling forward and into her eyes. She pushed it back with a gesture showing her frustration.

“Lan, I’m sorry. I cannot do it. The geas is there. I see it magically. But I cannot alter it. The spells Claybore used are too strong.”

“Too subtle,” Lan corrected. “He has insinuated them into my mind and I can do nothing about it. Only my ability prevented him from planting a self-destructive compulsion.”

“I tried, Lan,” repeated Brinke. “I’m so sorry. I’m freed and you aren’t.”

Lan Martak knew she was not the only one who felt sorry.