for power-and have succeeded.” Brinke stared at Lan, worry etched onto her fine face. “Physical power means little. He must seek other items, other powers, on those worlds.”
Lan rubbed his tongue against dry lips. The metallic tang of that tongue reminded him of the energy and driving spells locked in each of Claybore’s parts.
“He must have been prodigiously powerful when he met Terrill,” Lan said. Fear began gnawing away at his confidence. He had been so certain that he and only he could defeat Claybore. Now he doubted himself. Had he the training, the power? What of experience? Claybore had tens of thousands of years of cunning to draw upon. Lan had succeeded this far only because the sorcerer had still been disassembled and strewn along the Road.
No longer was that an advantage. Lan tried to be realistic about Claybore’s enhanced abilities-he assumed the sorcerer had regained the Kinetic Sphere. Lan had hardly known what he did when he ripped it from Claybore’s chest. Even less did he know where he cast it. There had been no planning such as that Terrill employed when originally scattering Claybore’s parts.
“The Pillar,” said Lan. “The secret is there. If I only had some inkling as to what it was.”
“No, Lan my darling,” said Kiska, grabbing his arm and tugging hard. “You cannot return there. The spell holds Claybore’s soul. He will become invincible if you meddle.”
The woman’s words started a different chain of thought. Lan said, “You argue for Claybore. He doesn’t want me going to the Pillar because of what I might find.”
“I have only your welfare at heart, Lan,” Kiska said.
Brinke laughed derisively but Lan almost believed. He loved her, even as he saw the lies she told him. The geas chewed away at him and made him less than a man. He feared now, as much for Kiska’s safety as his own. This robbed him of decisiveness.
Hands shaking and face pale with strain, he said, “I go back to the Pillar of Night. I must, if I am to discover the truth.” He expected the Resident of the Pit to quietly concur. No phantom voice sounded within his head. He had made the decision. Now he had to act upon it.
“I’ll go with you, Lan,” said Brinke. “We… we make a good team.” She flushed and smiled almost shyly.
“Bitch,” snarled Kiska. “You lead him astray. Claybore will strip the flesh from his bones and fry him throughout all eternity for this. I love him!”
Lan prevented Brinke from using her silver dagger on Kiska. The blonde relented and said, “We must hurry, Lan. Claybore uses his time well. We know that from our inability to use the scrying spell. Before he is ready to attack, you must launch yours.”
Lan nodded. He thought about the long journey using the demon-powered flyer. That had hidden any slight uses of magic he had performed, but the luxuries of time and seclusion were no longer his.
“We go. Now.”
His dancing light mote swung in crazy orbits about his head. With a few simple spells, he elongated the dot of light until it once more encapsulated him and Brinke.
“Lan, you can’t leave me!” pleaded Kiska, trapped outside the sphere of magic. “I need you!”
“She is a dagger at your throat, Lan. Leave her,” urged Brinke.
“I…” Lan made an impatient gesture and breached the bubble so that Kiska could join them. She shot Brinke a look of pure venom as she rubbed seductively against Lan. The mage tried to ignore her and failed.
Magical bubble again intact, he used his transport spell to whisk them half a world away to the edge of the forest.
The bubble popped audibly and sent the trio tumbling to the ground.
“We are on the wrong side,” said Brinke. “The Pillar is on the far side.” She canted her head upward, trying to catch sight of the towering column of black.
“There is something about the forest that prevents you from seeing the Pillar,” said Lan. “A few miles away, out on the plains, it is visible, immense, awesome. Move closer to the periphery of the forest and it vanishes.”
“We walk?” asked Kiska. “I do not like this. Let’s return to her castle, Lan. You can prepare for any battle there.”
Lan did not answer. Swallowing the words of agreement, he walked briskly into the dead forest. Again he was struck by the deathly silence, the lack of bugs, the sterile odor, the sight of stalking plants and trees intent on encircling and killing.
The journey was rapid and without mishap. Before, Lan had hesitated to use his spells for fear of alerting Claybore. Now he felt time more precious than secrecy. The climactic battle neared with appalling rapidity, and Lan had to be armed with all the knowledge possible concerning the Pillar.
“You’ve returned, young man. How good of you to come see me,” said the white-haired mage emerging from a clump of bushes. “But you were naughty. You ran off before we had our celebration. Rook hunted high and low for you and-but you have friends. How nice. You brought them for our party. Welcome,” sad Terrill.
“His eyes,” whispered Brinke. “Look at them.”
“Life burns but no intelligence shines with it,” agreed Lan. “This might be Claybore’s ultimate torture.”
“Keep this fool away from me,” said Kiska.
“Terrill,” said Lan, putting an arm around the ancient mage’s shoulder and leading him away. “A word with you.”
The man smiled at being taken into Lan’s confidence.
“We are here in all secrecy-to visit the Pillar of Night. Can you aid us on this mission? Claybore must never know.”
“Claybore?” he asked, voice quavering. “He sees all that happens within this forest. I invited him to one of our celebrations, but he never came. Rook felt very bad. So did Mela and Pekulline. They sulked for days.”
“The Pillar,” Lan pressed. “I would see it again. How do I get close?”
“He failed with it, Claybore did,” said Terrill. “He only pinioned and did not skewer. Join us for our banquet this evening? We have many fine courses prepared.” Terrill clutched another dirty tuber in his hands. Lan knew what the entree would be and sadly shook his head.
“No? Perhaps again, some other time.” Terrill left without another word.
Lan rejoined Brinke and Kiska. The women were ready to come to blows when he stepped between them.
“Whatever the Pillar is, Terrill does not think it is Claybore’s supreme achievement. Claybore failed with it.”
“You would believe a demented old man?” Kiska crossed her arms and glared at both Lan and Brinke.
“We must hurry, Lan. I sense movement nearby.” The lovely blonde gestured toward trees already sneaking up on them.
“Claybore must not stop me now. I must get closer to the Pillar.” They started off at a trot, Kiska complaining with every step and Brinke struggling to keep up. When the magical pressures again shoved against Lan, he stopped.
“The Pillar of Night,” he said.
“I see it. Through the trees. Just a bit,” said Brinke, almost in awe. “It feels so… cold.”
Lan closed his eyes and allowed his inner sense to guide him. The force against him mounted but he countered it. Closer he went to the intense black shaft. But he felt himself weakening. The powers locked within this tower of light-sucking darkness far transcended his own. He could not even conceive of the spell, the energy, the ability required to conjure such a permanent, potent monument.
A permanent, potent tombstone.
“I will aid you, Lan Martak,” came a soft voice.
“Resident!”
“Closer. Come closer. I will it.”
Lan took one hesitant step after another. The line of trees marking the ring of forest passed behind him. Only level, gravelly plain stretched up to the Pillar of Night. A hundred yards. Less. Fifty. He felt himself melting inside, merging with the Resident of the Pit. Twenty. Heat. He ignored it. Ten. Polar cold so intense his eyebrows froze. Five.
He reached out and placed his trembling hand against the Pillar of Night.
And Lan Martak knew. He knew the plight of the Resident of the Pit. He knew the mistakes Claybore had made fashioning the Pillar. Worst of all, he knew that, by himself, he would never be able to counter the spell holding the
