“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
