The Sorcerer_s Skull

CHAPTER TEN

" Look out!"

Lan Martak ducked, bent forward, and felt heavy rock cascade onto the pack he carried. His legs buckled and he teetered on the ledge, his fingers beginning to slip from the tenuous hold on loose stone. A strong hand pushed him back against the sheer rock face of the cliff.

" Thanks, Ehznoll," he said, his breath coming in short, quick pants in spite of the magical breathing device he wore. " I' d' ve tumbled over the edge."

" No, you wouldn' t," the pilgrim said firmly. " The good earth does not want you. Not yet. You have to fulfill your mission first."

Lan glanced down. The ledge they traversed was hardly wider than his boots; the drop beyond that six- inch width looked like miles. The valley so far below glowed a living green, distance fogging it over with a soft purple. He closed his eyes and turned to face the cliff. The journey was easier when he looked inward.

" What mission?" he asked the fanatical pilgrim. " Getting off this ledge alive?"

" Meeting once again with the new god."

" Claybore."

" Claybore," the man affirmed. " You must be privileged beyond most mortals to have met him."

" What if I told you he wasn' t a god, but a devil? A demon sent to confound you and steer you away from righteousness?"

Ehznoll laughed.

" I' ve seen visions of Claybore. The good earth has spoken to me. He is a new god, and no blasphemy you utter changes that. Or do you only test me? Yes, that' s it. You think to test my faith. No, fellow pilgrim, my faith is unshakable."

Lan swallowed hard as he inched across the ledge and found an open area in the side of the mountain. Mount Tartanius abounded with such refuges, for which he was dutifully thankful. He worried over Ehznoll' s single- minded belief that the vision he' d seen constituted godhood for the decapitated sorcerer. No amount of argument convinced Ehznoll that Claybore had tried to kill them. The man' s entire life had been geared to religious beliefs; when his first " vision" came, he misinterpreted it totally.

Lan had seen Claybore. The magics used by the sorcerer projected images, nightmares, that could be seen as clearly as Nashira' s magic eyes had watched Lan back in Melitarsus. Lan recognized the visions for what they were. Ehznoll, in his haste to believe, erred. Mistaking evil for good had been done before Ehznoll. It would be done again by a myriad others, after this lapse of skepticism proved his undoing.

" Hello, friend Lan Martak," came Krek' s voice. The spider walked down the side of a rock and crouched beside him. " Enjoy your jaunt along the mountain face?"

" Loved it," Lan lied. The arachnid cantered off to let the humans make their own way. Lan didn' t doubt Krek' s abilities could take him to the summit in only a few days. Only friendship and the need for companionship kept the spider from racing ahead.

" These smaller lumps give way to real hills farther in."

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.

As suddenly as the force had paralyzed him, it vanished. Lan groaned and fell face down onto the hard rock. He was aware of Krek standing over him, guarding him, trying to figure out what new malady assailed his fragile human friend.

Lan pushed his way up to hands and knees. He felt as if his innards had turned to molasses. Shaking in reaction, he turned over painfully and sat upright.

" Friend Lan Martak, are you all right?"

" No," he said. " Yes. I don' t know."

" Magic?"

" You sensed it, then." Lan knew that the spider' s ability to sense the cenotaphs was more acute than any magical gift he possessed; that sensing of cenotaphs had to be only the edge of a more developed magical talent.

" I did. The sensation was not unlike walls closing in all around. I felt as if I might be crushed. No specific threat posed itself, yet I tensed in fear. Never have I felt so weak, so miserable, not even when forced to slay in the arenas of the Suzerain of Melitarsus. How is it I left my web in the Egrii Mountains? How, how, how? Oh, woe!"

" Krek, calm down. Everything' s all right now. The spells have passed. I wonder if I don' t owe our new friend a little thanks for saving me from Claybore." He looked across the rocky flat to AbasiAbi' s camp. The self- proclaimed sorcerer hunched over near a fire, head down, appearing little more than a grey lump in the evening shadows. The sun set rapidly and the blood- red cast turned to thick blackness.

" The winds of magic blow strongly about this peak," said Krek.

" I couldn' t agree more," said Lan, finally getting a measure of strength back. " And I fear this is only the opening round of a more deadly battle."

He and the spider joined Ehznoll in a meager, tasteless dinner.

" Mount Tartanius is not easily scaled," said Lan. " Look at that traverse. It requires the entire party to be roped together. If one slips, then the others on either side can prevent tragedy. Even then, it' ll take hours to cross."

Abasi- Abi frowned. His eyes darted across the indicated area of mountain, then downward to the slope where they currently rested. He worked it out in his own mind whether or not Lan' s approach merited more than sarcastic dismissal.

" We can make it without such precautions."

" Try it and your guides will be dead. Are they so inexperienced?"

" Are you so knowledgeable?" shot back the sorcerer. Lan felt a sharp pain in his chest, along with the bright glow of magic. As the man spoke, he uttered spells. His anger had overflowed and allowed a spell to be directed against Lan. Lan began muttering counter spells of his own. The pain slowly went away. The sorcerer' s eyes widened slightly in disbelief, but he made no comment about the protective spells.

" Yes," Lan said firmly. " I' ve spent much time on my home world climbing mountains. In the el- Liot Mountains I' ve scaled all but the highest."

" Were any like this peak?"

" I' ve never seen a mountain this large," admitted Lan. " But the techniques used for smaller expeditions are the same. Separately, neither of our parties will reach the summit. Together, we stand a chance. A slim one, considering the dangers, but a chance."

" What do you know of the dangers?" Abasi- Abi paced to and fro, hands locked behind his back, head down.

" Dangers?" called out Ehznoll. " There are none. The sweet earth prevents harm from coming to us. And our new god is atop the mountain, waiting for us."

Lan glanced from the pilgrim to Abasi- Abi. The sorcerer didn' t inquire as to the identity of this " new god." Either he cared little about the earth religion or he knew that Ehznoll spoke of Claybore. Lan Martak couldn' t decide which it was. The potent magics being tossed back and forth had continued throughout the night. He knew he sensed only the fringes of that magic; a duel of titanic proportions built.

" Is your reason for scaling the peak worth the risk?" asked Lan of the sorcerer.

" We all ascend for valid reasons."

Lan didn' t press the issue. Abasi- Abi was hardly a likeable man, and his occasional fits of ire might prove deadly. Lan rubbed the spot on his chest where the magical bolt had hit. While the skin remained unblemished, the innards felt as if he' d been burned. If his own reasons for climbing Mount Tartanius hadn' t been so overwhelming, Lan knew he' d turn around and leave this very instant. He climbed with a religious fanatic and a sorcerer whose anger might kill; he climbed to a summit impossibly high and fought Claybore along the way.

Lan Martak shook his head. Life wasn' t easy. Certainly not as easy as dying.

" An ice field," he called back to Ehznoll, roped just behind him. " I think it' s safe." Lan used the tip of his sword to test the frozen terrain. This miniature glacier had rushed out of a high canyon in the side of Mount Tartanius, then had been covered with a thin, bright glaze of half- frozen snow. The surface crunched under his boots as he tested each step.

" Push on, you fool. We are exposed here. The wind comes off the mountain." Abasi- Abi' s snarling voice reached him and made him mad. All day long they' d climbed difficult slopes. Simply because this ice flow appeared level and safe didn' t make it either. Just as Lan started to tell the complaining sorcerer this, he stepped down into: nothing.

" Aieee!"

He fell only five feet before the rope jerked him to a halt. But the precipitous fall had caused Ehznoll to lose his balance. Lan felt himself slipping lower and lower. The pilgrim appeared at the lip of the crevice, then came tumbling over, too.

" Ehznoll, are the others holding us?" he called up.

The man above him struggled for a grip on the slick, cold surface. Only after finding a tiny ledge did he answer.

" I think so. We saw you go. I didn' t have time to brace myself, but Abasi- Abi did. I think."

Lan hung like a clock pendulum, swinging back and forth in midair. Below he saw only cold and dark. On either side gleamed blue- white ice impossible to grip. He sheathed his sword and took out his dagger. Chipping away at the ice as hard as he could produced no results. The ice turned the steel point and prevented him from fashioning crude foot and hand holds. He resheathed his knife and looked above him. By this time he thought the others in the party should have begun hoisting him and Ehznoll up.

They hadn' t.

The icy cold wind gusting up from the bottom of the deep crevasse felt like the very breath of demons.

" What' s wrong up there?" he called. " Why aren' t they helping us?"

" I can' t see." The pilgrim closed his eyes, crossed his wrists over his chest, and began muttering invocations to the earth. Lan didn' t see how that was going to help any. He held down a moment of panic. He needed a set of rungs in the ice if he wanted to get out of here. He had to help himself. He had to do it right the first time; the cold sapped his strength more and more.

If his knife hardly scratched the ice, his bare fingers would be even less effective. Using his sword was out of the question. In the narrow confines he couldn' t get a proper swing. Besides, if his knife failed, there was little reason to think his sword would do better.

He shivered, wishing for a fire.

Fire.

Fire at his fingertips.

Lan Martak had never used his minor magics for anything significant before. He decided there was no time like the present to try. Holding his right hand against the cold wall of ice, he concentrated on the pyromancy spell. Flickers of spark jumped from thumb to index finger. The spell became more vibrant, living in his brain, growing, spreading to engulf his senses. Lan felt a power burst forth inside him unlike anything he' d ever before experienced.

A continuous blast of heat poured from between his fingers. The ice began melting. Lan whooped with joy and guided his miniature blowtorch inward, melting out a foothold, a handhold, another foothold. Able to stand in the melted indentations, he worked higher, the flames cutting into the ice at the top limits of his reach.

What seemed hours later, he began climbing. The pressure around his waist and upper arms from hanging by the rope vanished, and relief came so swiftly he cried out in pain. Blood returned to longforgotten arteries. Clumsy, he almost slipped. He tried to again perform the pyromancy spell, but the toll on his body was too great. Exhausted in mind and body, he could only cling to the ice walls.

" What' s happening?" demanded Ehznoll. The man turned and looked down. " Oh. I thought you' d fallen. Your weight seemed to vanish from the rope."

" What progress on top? Why aren' t they helping us?"

" I don' t even hear them, but the tension remains on the rope."

" Can you climb up now that my weight' s off you?"

" I: I' ll try, the good earth willing."

" Do it!"

Ehznoll kicked toes into the ice and crusted snow, found footing, and began to creep upward. Lan helped as much as he could by continuing to melt handholds for himself and keeping the weight of his body off Ehznoll' s waist and back, but the more he worked, the more tired he became. All too soon, the fire at his fingertips flickered out and refused to return.

" I' m almost at the top. But there' s nothing to hang on to!"

" Call out. Get someone to give you a hand."

" Th- there' s no one up here."

" Damn," Lan muttered under his breath. Cold white plumes gusted out and fogged the air between his face and the ice wall he clung to so precariously. He felt alone in this frozen world, abandoned. And from the sound of Ehznoll' s voice, he did, too. His beloved earth god had betrayed him.

" A rock!" Triumph rang in Ehznoll' s voice. " I' ve got a rock. The good earth rescues me!"

" Hurry. I can' t hold on much longer." Lan Martak' s fingers and toes tingled with frostbite, even after their daring flirtation with fire. His back ached from the unnatural, cramped position, and the constant fear of falling even deeper into the bowels of the miniglacier gnawed at his courage.

A sudden yank pulled him off his carefully formed handholds. He cried out in fear, then felt the rope around him jerk again. Higher and higher he moved, every tug bringing him a few inches closer to the elusive slit above. Iron- grey sky appeared, then white snow banks, then the lofty crag of Mount Tartanius itself. He fell forward, panting, his fingers clawing at the frozen plain. Never had ice felt better.

" Where are the others?" he demanded.

Sitting up, he saw that Abasi- Abi had cut the rope just behind Ehznoll when the pair had fallen into the crevasse. Some magical holding spell had pinioned the rope to the ground. This was all the mage had done. He and the others had then left.

" I' ll kill him, I swear I' ll kill him!" Lan' s hand went to his sword, but reaction made him shake too much to even make the dramatic gesture of drawing and brandishing it.

" Why?" asked Ehznoll. " We are safe."

" He left us to die."

" We didn' t. The good earth saw our need and rescued us."

" If you hadn' t reached that rock, we' d have frozen in the crevice. There isn' t anything else around strong enough to hold your weight."

" The good earth provided."

" Abasi- Abi should have saved us. That' s why we were tied together."

" Friend Lan Martak," came Krek' s greeting. He turned and saw the giant spider trotting across the ice field. The eight legs and wide stance provided enough traction and safety that the arachnid had no problem stepping over the occasional crevasses he encountered. " You are safe. I ranged ahead, scouting your path. Abasi- Abi caught up and told of your plight. I came as quickly as I could, though I see now the effort was wasted. You are safe."

" I' ll kill him," said Lan. " He left us."

" Do not blame him, friend Lan Martak." The spider edged around, large dish- sized brown eyes staring at Ehznoll. " He encountered a small band of grey- clad soldiers. They engaged him."

" And?"

" And he caused them to: vanish."

" Did you see any of this?"

" No, but he told me about when he caught up with me on the upper slopes. I inquired. He said there was no woman among their number. I do not believe it is the same party we left cocooned in the foothills."

Lan sat in the snow, wondering if the sorcerer had lied to Krek. The spider could be very innocent when it came to human duplicity, yet the story had a ring of truth to it. They hadn' t been harassed by the grey- clads since the foothills. It seemed unlikely that the band led by Kiska k' Adesina was the only one- and time enough had passed for her and the other three to get free of Krek' s silken bindings- if not to follow, then to warn other squads.

" If he defeated them, why didn' t he help us afterward?" demanded Lan.

The spider shrugged, shaking all over.

" The man is disagreeable," said Ehznoll. " I find it difficult to believe he is a true believer in the earth."

" How far upslope is he?"

" Less," Krek said, " than an hour' s walk."

" Yours or mine?"

" Mine."

" That makes Abasi- Abi more than three hours away. Let' s camp here for the night, then catch up with him as quickly as we can tomorrow. Krek, will you stay with us? I don' t want to split forces again."

" There is little else to amuse me," the giant spider declared, squatting down and pulling in long legs.

The dying embers of the campfire cast a dull orange pallor over Ehznoll' s face. Lan studied the man, wondering what drove him.

Ehznoll glanced up and seemed to understand.

" I' m a minor noble," he said without preamble. " Born in Melitarsus, grew up there in the court of the Suzerain." Lan listened more attentively now. " The city was different, in the old days. Look, do you know what this signifies?" Ehznoll reached under his robe and pulled forth a battered, dirty grey scarf. For a long moment, Lan studied it, wondering why he should know.

It came to him in a rush.

" The flyers wear white scarves. You were one of the air glider corps?"

" That I was," confirmed the pilgrim, sadly shaking his head. " I sinned constantly. I forsook the sweet earth for the sky. The freedom I felt was illusory. To soar, to catch the thermals and rival the sun itself, those were my sins."

" The glider pilots do necessary work for Melitarsus. While I was there, they scouted for grasshopper incursions into the city."

" They do that still? Good," he said, " because it is their only worthwhile function. On the ground, the nobles treat the pilots with respect, with awe, with more. The glider corps is always invited to Nashua' s parties."

Ehznoll stared into the fire, his eyes no longer fanatical. He was a man remembering. Not all the memories were fond ones.

" I discovered the endless orgies weren' t for me. The more I extended myself trying to tell the others of the errors of their ways, the more they laughed at me. Flying became more than a job for me; it became an obsession. Only in the air could I be free of Nashira and the witch spells she uses."

" What spells?" asked Lan, trying to sound casual.

" Compulsions. She is a wizard." He laughed at his slight pun. " She is extraordinarily adept at making others do as she bids. Nothing overt. Nashira is always subtle."

Lan had learned that the hard way.

" And her unholy tastes," said Ehznoll, the light of a fanatic returning slowly to his eyes. " Her son! Kyle is a monster! He: he does things so unspeakable even I, a holy man, dare not dwell on the description lest I be subverted."

" Is a child so evil?"

" Worse. Nashira is subtle. Kyle' s raw wizardry shakes the foundations of Melitarsus itself. One day, when he deposes his mother, then will be carnage."

" What of the grey soldiers? Why doesn' t Nashira fear them?"

" She sees no threat at all to her power. She is a supreme egotist. Nothing that will disturb her can be uttered within her hearing; that is her greatest spell and that will be her downfall. Pleasure," growled the pilgrim, " is all she lives for.

" I found the true faith one summer. A pilgrim on her way to Mount Tartanius stopped in Melitarsus for the night. We: we shared cultures and I found hers better. I became a disciple of the good earth."

" Just like that?"

" She was very persuasive. And the night was long."

The embers died down, only small hissings sounding when an occasional snowflake touched their still- glowing hearts. Ribbons of white smoke curled upward, to be caught and dazzled by the eddies of wind whirling around the edge of the mountain.

" I left it all behind. The court of the Suzerain, lovely Melitarsus, the soft living, everything. Even the flyers." Ehznoll touched the ragged scarf, his fingers almost caressing its silken length.

" You miss it?"

" Never!" Emotion flared in the pilgrim' s face. He crammed the scarf back into the neckline of his robe and rubbed his hands on the grimy sides as if absolving himself of some guilt. His eyes blazed more brightly than the fire ever had. Religious fervor swept through him, renewed, renewing itself, feeding on itself until it boiled forth. " I found all that lacking in Melitarsus society. Inner peace came to me."

" What of the pilgrim who converted you?" asked Lan, curious.

Ehznoll didn' t hear him. The pilgrim had become lost in his own religious rapture.

" The good earth provides for all. We rise from its dusty depths, only to return. It is what we do between rising and returning that matters. We do not worship the soil enough, nourish it, nurture it. We should. We must!"

He continued on. Lan realized that Ehznoll maintained a normal appearance as long as his religion wasn' t discussed. Touch that subject and he became an orator, a proselytizer, a fanatic unable to reason beyond the dogma he' d been taught. Seeing that the mysteries of Melitarsus weren' t to be solved for him, Lan pulled up his cape and leaned back against the warm bulk of Krek' s abdomen. He positioned the magical breathing mask so that the eyeholes were properly placed.

He stared into the dying glow of the fire- there was no more wood to be found- and felt his eyelids sinking. Sleep came.

Sleep, but not peace.

The scene blurred, turned, twisted around him. He finally recognized it. Waldron' s audience chamber. Before the would- be ruler stood a man and a woman: Lyk Surepta and Kiska k' Adesina.

" A new world. Commander k' Adesina," said Waldron, " take a regiment into this world for me, make it mine- ours!"

Waldron' s human figure faded, a death' s head superimposed. Twin shafts of ruby light blazed forth. Lan cowered from Claybore, turned to Surepta and k' Adesina for aid against this inhuman enemy. They laughed, Kiska departing after blowing a kiss to her lover and husband. Surepta bowed to the fleshless skull, then reached out.

The dream flowed like water in a stream, rippling, changing, finally clearing.

Surepta raped Inyx.

" I' ll kill you!" raged Lan Martak. He tried to stop his enemy, but legs felt leaden and arms refused to lift. Surepta laughed, taunted him, dared him to act.

Twin shafts of ruby light bathed Lan. He screamed in agony. The nightmare scene flashed by, his sword spitting Surepta but the man refusing to die. Kiska waving a mailed fist at him. Waldron pointing. And above all the combatants floated Claybore' s skull, oyster- white and mocking, the eye sockets leaking their deadly red glow.

" Escape?" came Claybore' s mocking tones. " You cannot escape. You will die, toad. No one opposes me, no one! You will die!"

" No, no, no!”

Lan awoke, drenched in a cold sweat. On either side of his body rested Krek' s legs. The spider stirred, head lifting and one eye studying his friend.

" Are you dying?" he asked in concern. " You fragile humans die at the oddest times."

" I- nothing."

" You also have the oddest ' nothings' I have ever experienced."

" Just a nightmare. I: I dreamed of Claybore and Surepta and Kiska."

" And Inyx?"

" I couldn' t help her, Krek, no matter how much I tried, I couldn' t help her."

" Claybore works his magics directly in your brain. If you turn back now, he wins easily, unopposed. It is all so apparent. Good night, friend Lan Martak."

The spider' s eyes closed and in seconds the creature slept again. Lan wished he could find rest that easily. He feared staying awake; he feared going back to sleep even more. The visions haunting him had been too real to bear.

He stared, unseeing, until the greyness that marked dawn turned into bright yellows and oranges. A new day started, a new day filled with inimical magic and physical danger.