able to determine the nature of the space, the young champion also discovered the location of the next accessible step beyond the obvious, that which came next in order. He no longer needed to use single steps in order to progress upward; the Demiurge had depicted the means of bypassing the line of deadly traps mentally, and Gord had managed to grasp the idea shown. They had come but one-quarter of the route so far.
Reaching and grasping with his mind, Gord created a series of clean, small steps, a stairway within a stairway. He envisioned himself as a parent, his comrades as children. Mentally Gord swept up the three in his huge, fatherly arms, clasped them to his bosom, and bounded up the light, fair flight of steps he held firmly depicted in his brain.
Then he had to stop and rest. Carrying the three limp forms was heavy work. He thought about it, wished for it, and there suddenly appeared before him a landing, a platform with a long, padded bench. He placed the forms down carefully there, Curley first, then Gellor, and lastly the slumbering Chert. Even the latter was no larger than a big lad of six years. Seeing that the three were safe and resting quietly, Gord took a place at the end of the long seat and stretched his legs out. The muscles ached from the strain. It felt good to work the knots from his muscles, to let his arms hang limp so blood could course freely through veins and arteries, taking away lactic acid, bringing oxygen and nutrients. It required but a moment for sleep to overcome him.
Sometime later he was awakened by a tugging on the hem of his leather jerkin. 'Will you wake up?' Gord opened his eyes and saw the barbarian standing there on the alabaster floor of the landing. Chert's voice was a reedy piping, not the familiar rumbling tone that Gord had grown so used to.
'I'm awake, I'm awake,' he snapped back rather grumpily. Chert clapped his hands to his ears.
'Not so loud!' he called, looking up.
Gord shook his head; then it came to him. The hillman had not shrunk — Gord had become gigantic. His voice was now that of a monstrous giant. 'Sorry, Chert.' he said as softly as he could. Gord peered around and spotted the druid and Gellor standing a short distance away, appearing to be torn between laughter and admiration.
'There's no doubt that you've grown.' Gellor said. The question is why?'
'To be able to cart you three useless heroes up the stairs,' Gord responded with a bit of irritation affecting his tone.
'Where did those steps come from?' Curley Green-leaf asked with a puzzled frown. Those aren't natural, if that term can be used to describe anything in the universe created by Gravestone.'
'No, of course they aren't from the demonurgist,' Gord explained. 'I got a message from Basiliv, a warning, but it was interrupted, and — never mind. I'll tell you the whole lengthy tale later. Right now we have to go on. Suffice to say I made myself large to tote you three up the stairway. I thought these steps into existence in order to avoid the pitfalls waiting on the staircase which Gravestone would have us use.'
That made the troubador smile. 'So you managed to find a means to outfox the demonurgist? You've slipped us around his death maze?'
'I think so, Gellor, but it is difficult, even though the distance seems short and the climb minimal.'
'How far?' Chert's question cut to the heart of the matter.
'I think,' Gord replied slowly, 'that there are about half of the step-dimension-traps left. We came through about two dozen, and I have already carried you past as many more. We should be able to make the rest of the journey quickly — now that you can clamber upward without need of my lugging along sleeping babes.'
'Clamber is aptly put,' the druid observed, eyeing the stairs. 'Those are high!'
'But climb you must, no matter how strenuous it may be. Time is on the side of Gravestone, I fear. And what of Timmil? Allton?' Gord paused to let that sink in; then he arose and put his mind to the task. 'I must concentrate on the actuality of these steps. It becomes more and more difficult as I ascend. If you must, ask for assistance, but I'd prefer it if you'd manage yourselves.'
'Of course, giant-sized master of all,' Chert said crossly. 'We'll not disturb you.' It was evident that he was quite unaccustomed to having his old companion be so much larger than he. Bad enough that Gord was the champion, but to be twice as tall, too, was almost more than the hillman could bear. That made the others laugh and broke the near-desperate gloom that had been hovering over their heads.
'Think to the time of your childhood,' Greenleaf admonished.
'Barbarians have no houses, let alone stairs,' the bard chided. 'Think of them as hills, instead,' he suggested. Gellor and the druid then were treated to the sight of Chert making a rude sign and stumping off to the task of climbing. Thus the four resumed their interrupted Journey.
Time had no meaning in this no-place within noplace. Gord had mentally wrenched a portion of the demonurgist's quasi-universe from the control of its maker. Using the infusion of power granted to him, the young champion of the Balance had welded that force to the energy used by Gravestone to make the deadly planes between the real spheres to the multi-verse. Using his own force was tiring enough, but to manipulate the evil energies that the priest-wizard marshaled in the making of his personal demesne and the multitude of death traps therein was so strenuous as to bring constant fatigue and near collapse to Gord. Somehow he managed. The four struggled up the tall steps. The change was gradual, but Gellor, Chert, and Greenleaf grew taller with each upward plane. They also grew more tired.
'This is not at all like climbing up normal steps,' the barbarian said with consternation. His size relative to Gord was now back to normal. He towered over the dark-haired young man, head and shoulders, and his body was that of a Hercules. He was pulling, though, and Gord was not.
When Gord allowed another rest. Gellor asked, 'How are we being drained so? Aren't we slipping past the demonurgist's traps?'
'Slipping? No, not hardly. I am struggling to keep this way open, using my force to bend his, as a bar pries and levers a greater weight. We must move on soon.'
'Why are we tiring so?'
'That, good druid, is because I am using your strengths as well as my own to manage this all.'
Whether or not there was protest from his comrades about to be voiced at that revelation. Gord would never know. They were all about to speak when the pale stone of the staircase, the bench, and the walls that seemed to support all began to turn dull yellow and crack. The demonurgist is trying to wrest his energy back!' With that shout of warning, the champion leaped to his feet and sought to re-form the alabaster stair by concentration. His three friends stood close at hand, likewise concentrating on the reality Gord desired. The stone went to dull brown and began to crumble away despite this.
As the stuff fell away beneath their feet, Chert lunged sideways. He had spotted a new plane there, a place of possible refuge from endless plummeting, if not safety from danger of other sort. 'Grab Curley!' he roared to Gellor as Chert himself clamped his hand around the bard's left arm and pulled him toward the opening that led off into somewhere.
Gellor managed to snag the druid's short cloak, so Greenleaf too was pulled off toward the refuge. There was a rumbling crash, and the whole of the alabaster stairway fell. Its now blackish walls cracked and slipped down, slowly at first but then quickly dropping off into a nothingness that seemed to terminate on broken rocks a mile below. Gord was plunging downward with the discolored stuff of the stairway.
'Save him!' the hillman shouted desperately.
'I can't!' the druid screamed. He thought desperately, and Gellor was tugging out something from his girdle to likewise attempt some rescue, when the opening snapped shut. Chert, Greenleaf, and the one-eyed troubador were simply standing on a strangely illuminated platform. It was a place of uncertain substance and indeterminable distances.
'What happened?' Chert managed to ask.
'We escaped. Gord didn't,' Gellor told him flatly.
The druid broke into the conversation with a bitter tone. 'We were already at the top when we rested. Look!'
There, in the distance, they saw Timmil and Allton in combat with a pair of terrible demons, while the hated Gravestone reclined in comfort on a divan, enjoying the battle in ease and comfort.
'Rot that stork-legged bastard's eyes!' Chert had Brool ready and was striding toward the demonurgist as he spoke. 'He'll find out how true men avenge their friends!'
'No, Chert, wait! We must help Allton and Timmil first, then deal with that spider.'
The barbarian half turned. 'Somebody's got to keep the bugger occupied, and I'll vote for me.' He glared at the druid as if daring Greenleaf to dispute his words.
