The Sorcerer's Skull (Cenotaph Road Series Book 2) Read online

  “A little more, just a little more,” he said to himself. He dropped down to a spot level with the sorcerer. “Wake up, Abasi-Abi. Damn you, I need help. Help me by helping yourself.”

  The mage’s head rocked slightly, then rose. Blood obscured most of the man’s face. One eye had been matted shut, leaving the other to peer out of the ghastly mask with insane animation.

  “I can help,” the mage said. “Free me, and I can help.”

  Lan looked at the twin spires of rock thrusting upward, at the sorcerer’s arm wedged between them. With a single bold step, he twisted and changed positions. One leg remained firm against the mountain. The other found a foothold on the nearest rocky spire. Leaning forward at the waist, Lan grabbed the mage’s sleeve. The heavy cloth ripped under his tugging.

  “It’s going to hurt when I pull you free. I might hurt you even worse after you’re free.”

  “Stop prattling. Do it!” The old man’s querulous words were also reassuring. He knew what lay ahead and didn’t flinch from it. Neither did Lan.

  The sorcerer screamed in abject pain as Lan jerked hard, pulling the arm free. Gobbets of flesh remained behind on the rough stone, but Abasi-Abi had been freed. Lan took as much of the dead weight on his legs and hips as possible. He swung from the waist and tossed the mage against the face of Mount Tartanius. Weak fingers scrabbled for a hold on the rock. One arm hung useless. But the old man tried and succeeded.

  His first words were about what Lan expected.

  “You caused this, you, you insufferable meddler!”

  “How’d I cause the ledge to fall off?”

  “Those spells. You kept me away from Claybore. He cast a single spell and caused the ledge to fall, and you clouded everything so much I couldn’t stop him.”

  “You’re putting a lot onto Claybore. You admitted his powers were weak. How could he chisel off all that rock?”

  “It was already weakened. It’s not a difficult spell, just an obvious one — if you hadn’t given him cover to hide behind.”

  “Let’s worry about all that later, when we’re safe. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re still thirty feet away from safety.” Lan pointed upward across the rock. As exhausted as he felt, it might as well have been thirty million miles.

  “Claybore! He tries again!”

  Lan Martak felt rumblings deep within Mount Tartanius. As the quaking increased, he was treated to a shower of rock from above. Even worse, the tiny ledges he clung to for dear life began to break. He’d rescued Abasi-Abi; the respite seemed temporary.

  Both of them now were threatened with death. The rock under Lan’s left foot broke free. He clung desperately, waiting for the other foothold to crack, too.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Both of his feet dangled above infinity. Lan Martak refused to look down. If he did, he knew vertigo would seize him and spin his head beyond recovery. He looked up, at his hands, at the fingers slowly slipping away from the hard face of the cliff. He concentrated on the fire-making spell. It had worked against the walls of the ice crevasse; it might work here.

  It didn’t.

  The man’s concentration faded as pain washed through his body. His fingers began to jerk and twitch with muscle spasms reaching all the way into his forearms. His elbows felt as if someone had taken hammers to them. Worst of all, his breathing mask had been pulled away. He gasped for air and found none. The exalted, stately elevation of Mount Tartanius now robbed him of his life by slow measures.

  Claybore would win. He’d never again see Inyx, never rescue her from the whiteness between worlds. She was doomed to wander as Zarella wandered. Claybore would win, he’d spread his insidious influence across every world along the Cenotaph Road. Those thoughts jumbled and repeated constantly in his head.

  Lan’s fingers hardened into steel spikes as determination gave him the strength he needed to hang on.

  He almost slipped when a heavy weight descended around his neck. Abasi-Abi had fallen free and now clung in desperation.

  “Y-you’re choking me,” gasped out Lan. “I … I can’t breathe!”

  “Now you can,” came the quick words. And Lan found that he could. The sorcerer had expanded whatever spell enabling him to breathe without the mask to cover Lan, also.

  “Get us out of this,” begged Lan. His feet swung free. No foothold could be found. “Use your magic. Do something! I can’t hang on like this forever.”

  “There’s no magic to fly.”

  “I’ve seen the flyers in Melitarsus. What do you mean there’s no magic?”

  “No magic I know. Damn Claybore!”

  “Yes, damn him. Now help me!” The sorcerer said nothing, but Lan Martak felt tingles pass along his arms, spreading from his shoulders and expanding downward through his body. His once-leaden legs came alive. He kicked; his foot dug into solid rock. He kicked with the other foot. A new foothold.

  Strength pouring through him, he began to climb.

  He felt the sorcerer still clinging around his neck, but the burden no longer hindered him. He had the strength of ten men, a hundred. He climbed with almost arrogant ease. He experienced in that moment the freedom Krek must feel swinging in the center of his web.

  And as quickly as the newfound strength had entered his body, it began to fade. Fully a score of feet remained between him and safety above on a new ledge.

  “What’s wrong?” he cried.

  “My power, it’s being interfered with. Claybore’s countering my spell.” Abasi-Abi’s voice sounded eons older. When Lan felt the arms circling his neck begin to slip, he knew that the sorcerer had reached the limits of his endurance.

  They were still more than fifteen feet from safety.

  Panic seized him, only to be replaced with a coldness and a calm he’d experienced before. His mind turned over the sensations he’d felt when Abasi-Abi’s spell had begun. The effects had been similar to the healing spells he knew; similar, but not identical. Working this over and over in his mind, he began itemizing the small differences, incorporating them, experimenting, altering slightly the spells he already knew until the strength again flowed through him.

  He climbed briskly, no longer tired. Lan tried to expand his spell to include Abasi-Abi but felt his control slip. He decided the sorcerer was best served by reaching the ledge above as quickly as possible. When he twisted over, he heaved and Abasi-Abi gratefully collapsed onto the firmness of solid rock.

  “You know that spell, also,” the mage said. “Arid Claybore could not block you. You fight him and win. You counter his best spells. Who are you? I should have detected you sooner.”

  Lan Martak’s entire body went numb with shock.

  He felt frostbite on his nose and fingers and toes. He gasped for air that never reached his lungs. His head spun wildly, causing him to cling to the rock for support. He passed out.

  The last sight he had was Abasi-Abi sitting beside him, shaking his head, looking disgusted.

  *

  “ … and I solemnly tell you he knows little magic,” came Krek’s voice. Lan Martak shook his head and felt as if everything inside had come loose. He groaned and tried to push himself erect. Krek said, “I believe his current condition proves my point.”

  “Impossible.” Abasi-Abi’s voice cut through Lan’s mind like a razor. “He uses spells too proficiently. He lies back, waiting for the proper moment. He pretends to be an ignorant lout. No clod-buster bests Claybore as he’s done.”

  “Will you please shut up?” Lan moaned. “I hurt. All over.”

  “An effect of the spells he’s been using,” said Abasi-Abi, a smugness to him that irritated Lan. He knew that the spider wouldn’t tolerate being proved wrong, either. He let Krek answer. The effort for him was too much.

  “He heals. Witness my leg.” Krek wiggled his damaged leg, showing the returning mobility. “And he uses that horrid flame spell of his to make campfires. He knows nothing else.” The spider paused, then added melodramatically, “Sometimes I believe tha
t last statement of mind is the literal truth.”

  “He combines spells in ways only a mage can. But it matters little if his powers are a hundred times greater if we fail to reach the summit before Claybore.” Abasi-Abi hunkered down and pulled his robe in around his body.

  “How many of us are left?” asked Lan. He looked around and saw Krek, the sorcerer, Ehznoll, and one other.

  “Just this small band,” said Krek. “The rest, alas, are gone.” He rose up on all eight legs and peered over the rim downward to the earth, as if trying to figure out the paths already taken by those lost.

  “The good earth has reclaimed them, one and all,” said Ehznoll.

  “They’re dead, is what you’re trying to say.” Lan closed his eyes and tried to remember the spell he’d used on the face of the cliff to restore the strength to his limbs. The use of power took too much from him physically. He might be a superman for a few moments, but he’d quickly burn out his entire body if he tried to maintain that pace. He’d come perilously close to doing so already.

  But how? He failed to understand what had happened. When he’d started up the mountain, his magical abilities had been minimal, yet he’d single-handedly fought off Claybore. The bending of those deadly ruby beams had been his doing, he was now sure. But how? He’d mended Krek’s crushed leg. Those were spells he’d known most of his adult life, but Abasi-Abi claimed the combination to be difficult, the weaving of three at once an ability of a master sorcerer. But how? He had no formal training. And had his increasing abilities really come on the mountain — or before? Krek had been beguiled by Nashira; Lan had been able to slip her seductive spells much more easily. The only explanation lay in the brief time spent between worlds, in the white fog. He’d felt a shifting of his senses. Had it also heightened his magical skill?

  Lan Martak felt no different, except for being bone-weary. But he had to admit his facility with the spells he did know had improved greatly. He didn’t know whether to be thankful for that or not. He apparently held Claybore at bay; he also drew Claybore’s attentions because of his enhanced skill.

  “Abasi-Abi and Morto will stay here,” Krek said, “while I explore upward. Friend Lan Martak, are you and Ehznoll up to examining a more inward route? This ledge provides a space much too small for you humans. I find it cozy, but from past experience, you will no doubt say it is cramped.”

  “It is.”

  “See?” the spider said haughtily. “I go. Meet back here in one hour.”

  Krek flashed out with his web and vanished upward. Lan swallowed hard, thinking of the long drop under the spider’s legs.

  He glanced over at Abasi-Abi and Morto, the only survivor of the sorcerer’s original group of assistants. Morto fixed a small dinner for the mage.

  “Well, Ehznoll, are you up to exploring?” he asked. “We can eat some of our rations as we climb.”

  “The climb is easy because the earth now aids us. We are the true believers, the ones most beloved of the good dirt.” Ehznoll piously crossed wrists over his breast.

  “Stuff it,” said Lan in a tired voice. “I just want to be done with this.”

  He chewed on jerked meat, drank melted snow, and climbed. The effort proved less strenuous than Lan would have thought. Krek had left the two humans an easy path to reconnoiter. The slight upward grade soon turned into a level expanse that opened into a chasm in the side of Mount Tartanius. A small, barren valley with high, rocky walls meandered back into, the mountain.

  “Easy climbing,” said Lan, “if the valley goes anywhere we want to go.”

  “The good earth provides,” intoned Ehznoll.

  “It provides more than dirt, I see,” said Lan, pointing. “Those look like some of Krek’s arachnid kinfolk. Their webs are strung all over the valley.”

  Feathery arrays of spider silk fluttered in the gusty winds blowing through the canyon. Spiders much smaller than Krek — but still larger than human size — darted along their aerial walkways. Lan noticed a small cluster of them dangling more than fifty feet over his head, waiting, watching, no doubt wondering at the rare human incursion into their mountain fastness.

  “They’re probably as intelligent as Krek,” he said. “Hola! Greetings, friend spiders.” Lan waved his hand to draw their attention. A thin strand of silk drifted down on the wind and lightly brushed his wrist. It clung. He wiped it off with some difficulty.

  “Martak, they are not of the earth. These creatures … they are of the sky. They are evil. Like your unholy friend, they are evil!” Ehznoll began backing away.

  “Nonsense. They’re smaller than Krek, but no less intelligent. Look. They’ve formed a greeting party. Maybe it’s their Webmaster come to welcome us.”

  Lan Martak stepped forward — and a dozen strands of silk dropped down on him. He stood absolutely still, wondering about the protocol of meeting their Webmaster. When new strands came floating down, he began to get mad.

  “Look, I’m not going to hurt you.” He tensed his muscles and broke through the silken threads. “I mean no harm. We just want a path upward to the summit.”

  More web-stuff fell.

  “Stop it! Ehznoll, I …” Lan turned and saw what had happened to the pilgrim. He had been unable to break the strands cascading over him. He lay trussed up in a small cocoon, futilely struggling against his silk bonds. One strand of sticky web had closed his lips. A dozen spiders, all human-sized, worked busily around the fallen man.

  “Stop that! He’s not food!” cried Lan. Unbidden, the pyromancy spell came to his lips. Blue sparks erupted from his fingertips. The nearest spider ignited in a fiery ball of shrieking fury. “Wait! I didn’t mean to do that,” he pleaded.

  More strands fell, tangling his feet. Lan fell face forward. He twisted and began working his knife from its sheath. Overhead fifty or more of the spiders worked their spinnerets. A net of silk dropped, imprisoning him. He cut, sawed, slashed. For every silk thread he severed, two more fell. In less than a minute, he lay as immobile as Ehznoll. Only good luck had prevented one of the sticky strands from closing his mouth.

  The spiders chittered to themselves. He felt their hard claws prodding him, turning him over, more silk swirling about his body. He cried out as he surged aloft, head down. The spiders worked diligently for another fifteen minutes. When they’d finished, he hung upside down twenty feet over the rocky terrain.

  Wind coming from the canyon blew his cocoon so that he turned slowly, treated to a full upside-down three-hundred-sixty-degree view. A dozen feet away hung Ehznoll, similarly imprisoned.

  Struggle as he might, Lan Martak didn’t budge the silk strands around him. He wondered when the hatchlings would come and feast.

  *

  “Krrrrrrek!” he bellowed. The action caused him to bob in a sickening up-and-down motion. He turned in the wind and only occasionally saw the form of the giant spider below. “Get us ouuuuut!”

  Krek ignored him. The spider trotted over to the left side of the canyon, paused a moment, then walked up the rock as if it had steps cut into it. His feet found purchase where no human’s could, and he used tiny lengths of his own web to dangle in places where even he found no footing. Lan slowly turned and saw the giant spider gingerly walk out onto a web. A dozen of the smaller arachnids gathered about.

  Much of what Krek said was swallowed by the wind, but Lan heard enough.

  “ … no harm. They are silly-looking, but harmless.”

  “Food. Hatchlings need them as food.”

  “Your hatchlings are better served with more standard fare. Humans provide too much protein for such spindly offspring.”

  “Don’t insult them, Krek. Don’t!” Lan called. The giant spider ignored him.

  “Grubs. Those are most tasty.”

  “We have them. We keep them.” The spider in the center of the group bounced up and down, sending vibrations throughout the web.

  “Do not get agitated,” soothed Krek. “I have no desire to take them from you.”

&nb
sp; “Take us from them, you silly spider. Get us out of here!”

  “They provide too much protein for your young. You wish strong, lithe hatchlings, not big, grossly overweight ones.”

  “No good for hatchlings?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Lan Martak breathed a sigh of relief. The tone of the small spider indicated he’d come to believe Krek.

  “Then we eat. Adults need protein. We eat. You join us.”

  “Krrrrrek!”

  “These little fellows have a single-minded determination I find most stimulating after so much human company. They seem intent on devouring you, friend Lan Martak.”

  “Don’t let them!”

  “Why the concern? All life survives by one form feeding on another. From the most minute protozoan to the largest squid, this is the way of the universe.”

  “I don’t want to be any damned spider’s supper!”

  “That is very unsporting of you. They did capture you fairly.”

  “To the Lower Places with fair. Get us down!” Lan felt the commotion on the web rather than seeing it. He looked downward — overhead for him — and saw a rusty-furred animal skulking into the valley. The frenzy displayed by the tiny spiders was out of proportion for the meek, unannounced entrance of a single doglike creature.

  “What’s happening, Krek? Tell me. I can’t see.”

  “The canine has severely agitated them. They have even left you and Ehznoll alone.”

  “Then get us down, dammit. Now!”

  “Such impatience. I am curious about the dog. Have you lost all desire to learn from the world around you?”

  “I’ll learn right side up.”

  “You humans depend too much on orientation to the ground. A good spider knows where his web is, what crawls over it, nothing more.”

  “We’re not spiders. Or spider food.”

  Krek’s mandibles made a clacking noise. Lan fell ten feet before the giant spider snagged the cocoon silk and held him. A tiny hissing and Lan felt the silk rotting away. He finally broke free of the remaining strands on his own, flipped, and landed feet first on the rocky ground. Never had solid rock felt better. Ehznoll followed soon after, failing to perform the midair somersault. Lan helped him to his feet.