Lan could hardly believe that the creature still lived. One torn eyelid waggled up and down to reveal a glassy, bloodshot eye. The other eyelid opened to reveal a gaping cavity where the eyeball had been plucked out.
“Who are you?” asked Lan, kneeling beside the creature. “Let me tell your people where you died.”
The raucous laughter welling up from the creature’s throat chilled Lan. He stepped away, then used his sword to put the thing out of its misery. The wound started under one ear and deeply cut to the other. Lan Martak felt unclean even seeing such a parody of humanity.
“You have this much more to answer for, Claybore,” he said. “This foul work has your imprint on it. I know that.”
“Oh, yes, of course, of course it is his handiwork. Who else strays into these woods, eh, tell me that, tell me that?”
Lan spun, dropping into an en garde stance at the words. A man with arms three times normal size hung from a tree. He had no legs. Swinging back and forth, the man built momentum and reached for another tree limb and moved closer to Lan.
“Who are you? Who by the lowest of the Lower Places was he?” Lan indicated the pitiful creature sprawled on the ground, still feebly twitching as if life refused to flee even after having heart pierced and throat slit.
“We’re all having fun, ever so much fun, yes, fun, fun, fun!”
The half-man whirled and capered about, swinging skillfully from limb to limb and then dropping to the forest floor. He stared up at Lan.
“You’re not one of us. You’re an interloper. I know all of us. And you’re not. One of us. No, no you’re not.”
Lan swallowed hard and gripped his sword even tighter. He had seen madness in his day. This was a classic case and he had to deal with it. Had the loss of his legs driven the man insane?
Lan Martak doubted it. Claybore’s magical experimentations were more likely to blame.
“Did Claybore try to use your legs for his own?” Lan asked.
“What? Oh, yes, yes! He had to fight me for them. But it wasn’t much of a fight. No, not at all. I lost.” A huge, salty tear formed at the corner of the man’s round, dark eye and dribbled unashamedly down his cheek.
“Get revenge on Claybore,” said Lan. “Show me the way to the Pillar of Night. I would examine it closely. You’ve seen it, I know. It’s near, only a few minutes away. I sense it. But something prevents me from seeing it directly.”
“The forest, that’s what. The trees block your view.” Another big tear rolled down the man’s cheek and then anger clouded the once handsome face. “Revenge. I want to get even for what he did to me. Kill you. You’re like him. Kill you!”
Lan watched as the legless man rocked forward and pulled his body along on those impossibly powerful arms. The biceps were almost the size of Lan’s waist. The strength locked up in that half body presented too great a threat to take lightly.
“I oppose Claybore. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Kill!” screamed the man.
Lan gasped in pain as one huge, powerful hand circled his ankle and clamped down. He felt the bones grating against one another. He swung his sword and severed the hand; it continued to cling to his leg. Gorge rising, Lan stumbled back, swinging wildly. The man came on, pulling himself on the spurting stump of his left wrist and his right hand. Sickened beyond compare, Lan lunged and drove the blade directly into the man’s throat.
The right hand grabbed the steel blade and broke it, as if it were nothing more than a splinter.
“Kill you,” came the words. A tide of crimson followed. The man fell forward, eyes sightlessly staring. Lan held the broken sword in his hand, shocked at how close he had come to dying.
He turned and became violently sick to his stomach. When the nausea passed he followed his sensing toward the Pillar. Scouting had been a good idea. He hadn’t realized Claybore kept his experimental failures in the forest surrounding the base. Lan Martak wasn’t sure he wanted to know any more if he had to kill cripples.
“It only gets worse,” came quiet words from the shadows at the base of a large boled tree.
“How would you know?” demanded Lan.
“I’ve been here for so long, so very, very long.” An older man with snowy white hair stepped into sight. He smiled weakly and said, “It has been such a long time since I saw another mage in this damnable forest. I have forgotten so much, but the sight of you brings much of it back.”
“You’re a mage?” asked Lan.
“Oh, yes, I am. I used to be quite a good one, I might add.” The man smiled benignly. “You might have heard of me. My name’s Terrill and I was responsible for dismembering Claybore.”
Lan could only stare openmouthed.
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.”
