forward.
“We celebrate this night,” he said. “We want you to be our honored guests, don’t you know.”
“Thanks, Nowless. We accept,” Ducasien said before Lan could answer.
Lan nodded assent. He jerked away when Kiska tried to lock her arm through his. In silence more fitting to the defeated than the victors, they trudged back into the rocky hills and Nowless’s camp to begin the celebration.
“You’re so good to me, Lan,” cooed Kiska. She spoke the words the instant she knew Inyx was within earshot. From the disheveled brown hair and the flushed expression on the woman’s face, Inyx had no trouble guessing what Kiska and Lan had been doing.
She repressed a shudder thinking of that woman in Lan’s arms.
“Nowless is ready to begin the feast,” said Inyx, ignoring Kiska the best she could.
“We’ll be there shortly,” answered Lan, lacing up the front of his tunic. Kiska laughed delightedly at the hurt she gave both Lan and Inyx. The young mage went over in his head all the spells and counters he had learned. For the millionth time he went over them and found nothing to release him from Claybore’s geas. The pure torture was knowing he was under the spell and unable to do anything but abide by it.
He fastened his sword-belt around his waist and left Kiska where they had been given bedrolls and a small tent. Lan started toward the fire and the celebrants, then paused. The feast would continue for some time with or without him. He climbed up onto the rocks and found a tiny upjut on which to stand and survey the land.
“A good world,” he said softly. “Inyx has done well in choosing it. That spot yonder would make a good farm. Plenty of water from the river, but with little chance of being flooded out should it overflow its banks. And the village-Marktown-is close by. A good market for crops.”
He pictured himself in the fields, tending the crops, weeding, joyously performing the backbreaking labor. It was a life for which he had been destined until he had fled his home world by walking the Cenotaph Road. Since then Lan’s life had been out of control-out of his control. He was nothing more than a pawn in a celestial game, being moved from one conflict to another. Lan didn’t even know for certain who the players were, but he had strong suspicions.
“Resident of the Pit, you have not done well by me. Not at all.”
“No, the fallen god hasn’t,” came the words from behind him. Lan had already felt the magical stirrings of a shift from one world to another. His own ward spells were firmly in place. The dancing light mote strained to launch itself against Claybore, but Lan held it in check.
“What do you want?” Lan asked. “You have not joined me to share the serenity of this moment.”
Claybore laughed. “What you call serenity I find boring. There are none to pay homage to me here. The wind? Why not summon an obedient air elemental? The night? Look into the depths of eternity and find diversion there. I need stimulation, not serenity.”
“You want only worshippers.”
“Is that so wrong? I deserve it. Of all those along the Road, I am the strongest. It is my destiny to rule.”
“I’ll stop you.”
“Is it truly your destiny to attempt it? Or, as you intimated, are you only doing another’s insane bidding? Martak, I have no great love for you…”
Lan snorted.
“…but I will make you an offer unlike any I have granted any other. I will give you half of everything.”
“What? Half of the universe?” Lan didn’t know whether to laugh or spit.
“Yes,” Claybore said earnestly. “I have come to the conclusion that being a god will be like ash on the tongue without strife. If there is none to oppose me, what more intense boredom can there be?”
“I already oppose you.”
“But not of your own free will. The Resident of the Pit fills your head with his obsolete teachings. Together we can destroy the Resident and work for our own ends.”
“That’s what he wants. Why give the Resident surcease?” Lan wondered at this strange offer, then pieces fell together.
“You still fear the Resident of the Pit, but you cannot destroy a god. With my help, you can? Yes,” said Lan, understanding bursting upon him now. “With my help you can finally destroy the Resident.”
“And gain half the universe for yourself. I need the opposition to make life interesting.”
Lan said nothing. There had to be more. Claybore did not make this offer lightly-or honestly.
“It cuts the other way, also,” said Claybore. “You are immortal. Without an adversary you will find life impossibly dull. You need me as much as I need you.”
“You are evil.”
“So you think. From my point of view, you are demented. I offer stability to the worlds along the Road. My rule might not be pleasant, but it will be firm. The petty humans will have a society that fills their need for security. There will be no sudden, unsettling shifts of policy. Even as they hate me, they will cherish what I bring them.”
“You bring them slavery.”
“I bring them security.”
Lan wondered if Claybore truly believed this. Perhaps so. It mattered little. He knew the horrors the disembodied mage would wreak. He and Claybore stood at opposite poles.
But what would Lan do when he triumphed over Claybore and relegated the sorcerer to insignificance? As much as he hated Claybore and all the sorcerer stood for, he had to admit the mage was right. An important element of his life would be gone. No Claybore, no struggle. With the powers at his command, Lan Martak could send worlds spinning from their orbits. He could destroy worlds-and create new ones. No task, major or minor, was beyond his grasp. Where would be the challenge without Claybore?
“You begin to understand,” said Claybore. “I offer you half the universe not out of altruism but out of self- interest. I need strong opposition, just as you do.”
“I will not help you kill the Resident of the Pit.”
“But Lan,” pleaded Kiska k’Adesina, scrabbling up the rocks to stand beside him, “think of it! The power! You must accept. You have to. I would be a queen of a million worlds. Give me my heart’s desire. Accept Claybore’s offer.”
Lan swallowed hard. He knew what Kiska’s only desire was. She wanted revenge on him for what he had done to her. Accepting Claybore’s offer only magnified the chances for Kiska to strike.
But…
Lan Martak weakened. He saw the truth in Claybore’s words. Without evil there can be no good. To live forever had seemed an awesome attainment once. Now Lan realized how dulling it might become. Who had he met along the Road able to stimulate him as Claybore did, to bring out the finest qualities? He needed a foil of his own caliber as much as the sorcerer needed him.
Eternity was a long, long time. There had to be something diverting. He began to comprehend why the Resident wanted only death.
“No, Lan,” came a soft whisper. “Do not listen.”
The Resident of the Pit spoke to him.
“How do I know you won’t use me to kill the Resident, then double-cross me?” Lan asked.
“You don’t.” Lan realized this might be one of the few times he received an honest answer from Claybore. “But isn’t that what we speak of now? The challenge? The striving?”
“Lan,” whispered the Resident of the Pit, “there is more than ruling. You will become like Claybore if you try to force your will on so many worlds. There are other answers. Seek them. Seek them.” The Resident’s power faded but the memory lingered. Lan swelled with the power radiated from that god-entity’s light touch on his mind.
“No,” Lan said.
“You are hasty. There is so much I can show you,” said Claybore.
Lan stiffened as the night became darker. In the distance he saw a shimmering curtain that parted to reveal a shaft of the purest obsidian black. Radiating spikes crowned it and they began to rotate slowly. The material of the slick-sided tower sucked light and heat away from Lan. He felt himself drawn to the column, drawn and repelled at the same time. All he knew, all he wanted to know, was locked up within that column.
“The Pillar of Night,” Claybore said softly. “It is your fate because you have so foolishly denied me.”
