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?”
