[Cenotaph Road 02] - The Sorserer's Skull Page 19

  The beams bent and passed harmlessly to either side of his body.

  “No!” screamed the skull. The inside of Lan’s own head felt as if it would split like a rotted melon from the force of that denial. He leaned forward, his fingers slick with sweat and shaking with fear, to pluck the skull from the mechanical shoulders.

  “Stop. Don’t! You don’t know what you’re risking.”

  Lan said nothing as he held Claybore’s fleshless skull high, intending to hurl it against the stone wall.

  “We can be allies. Share with me the rule of all the worlds along the Cenotaph Road.”

  “I know what you are, Claybore,” he said from between clenched teeth. Lan knew if he ever relaxed, his teeth would chatter with fear. He had to strike now, while the balance of power rested with him and not the ancient sorcerer.

  “Inyx! You want to rescue the woman. She dies slowly between worlds. Only I can save her.”

  “You lie.” But Lan hesitated. He knew the deal Claybore tried to make. In return for not smashing the skull into a million fragments, the mage would rescue Inyx. Lan didn’t know if he personally knew enough of the workings of the Kinetic Sphere to rescue the woman in time or not. Claybore did; Claybore could. But the treacherous sorcerer would turn on him if he weakened. No deal was sacred. Honor meant nothing to the decapitated being. If he had the chance to renege and kill both Lan Martak and Inyx, he would take it.

  But what if Lan Martak didn’t know enough? To strand Inyx between worlds meant more than physical death, it meant an eternity of longing for real death.

  He couldn’t condemn her to that, if Claybore spoke the truth about being the only one who could rescue her. The skull grew warmer to his touch. The sorcerer shifted more and more of his power against Lan, but the man tapped unconscious reserves that kept the deadly ruby columns bent away from his body, kept the spells of compulsion weak.

  Lan Martak had a decision to make. Believe Claybore and rescue Inyx. This led to treachery. Claybore would undoubtedly end up with the Sphere and be free to continue his conquest of a myriad worlds. Nothing guaranteed the sorcerer wouldn’t turn on both of them after plucking her from the foggy interworld whiteness, either. But to smash the skull into dust meant no help whatsoever from the mage who had contrived the Kinetic Sphere.

  “Freedom, I’ll give you both your freedom. And… and you can rule with me. There’re plenty of worlds. Millions! Take all you want. I’ll give them to you.” The skull grew hot to the touch. The very smell of heated bone nauseated the man.

  Lan decided.

  Even if it meant damning Inyx to an eternity of soulless limbo, he had to stop Claybore. This might be his only chance. His arm cocked back for the pitch against the wall.

  He found himself upended and dumped onto his back by the still struggling mechanical. The metallic being sat up, one long arm batting the cranium out of his grip. Lan jerked around to see Claybore’s skull arch upward, then fall toward the opened box on the altar. As it vanished from sight within, a tiny puff of grey powder rose.

  Demoniacal laughter reverberated around the stone chamber.

  “You fool, you inutterable fool!” came a shocked exclamation from the doorway. “How could you have done that?”

  Lan wrestled with the mechanical, but he recognized Abasi-Abi’s voice.

  “If you’d helped us…” he began.

  Abasi-Abi waved a hand. Lan felt the robot-creature stiffen as if a knife had been rammed into its back. It melted, the metal of its skeleton turning to butter. It puddled in front of him, sizzling against the softness of the floor covering, causing a metallic stench to rise up. Lan stood there stupidly, hardly believing such a thing could happen. One moment the mechanical had been substantial. The next, it dissolved into smoking liquid.

  Abasi-Abi stalked into the room. Morto stood just outside the door, his face pinched and white.

  “Look, look at what you’ve done!” Abasi-Abi pointed. Lan gasped when he saw the dust within the wooden box on the altar restlessly shifting about, forming patterns, turning more substantial. In less than a heartbeat, the grey dust had formed a torso. The Kinetic Sphere beat like an obscene heart in the chest cavity of the armless and legless body. A thin neck reached up to join with the fleshless skull he’d accidentally tossed into the box.

  Lan swore that the bony skull smiled. In victory.

  “I don’t understand. The Sphere—”

  “The damn Kinetic Sphere means nothing, or very little. It’s his body I’ve tried to keep him from,” snapped Abasi-Abi. “With the body regained, Claybore’s power triples. More!”

  Lan recoiled when the body began thrashing about inside the box—coffin.

  “Your spells are potent, Lan Martak,” came Claybore’s voice, “but Abasi-Abi is correct. You are a fool. Now that I’ve regained my body, none can stop me!”

  Abasi-Abi thrust out his hands. Sheets of coruscating energy blasted forth. Lan averted his eyes, shielding his face from the heat. Squinting, he saw the ghastly skull and limbless torso sit up inside the box.

  Whatever power Claybore had lacked before, he now had. Lan felt the magic flowing about him and recognized little of it. Back on his home world he’d been taught minor spells for immobilizing game, for healing, for starting fires. He’d witnessed others. Once, he’d seen a man “reduced” for a crime, turned into a sizzling blob of grease. That spell had seemed potent to him.

  These sorcerers battled with magics beyond his comprehension. And he’d inadvertently given Claybore back immense power.

  “The eyes!” he cried. “Claybore’s eye sockets!”

  The mage’s deep-sunken pits began to glow a dark red. Lan thrust himself in front of Abasi-Abi just as twin beacons of death shot forth. Whatever inbred spell he used so unknowingly, it still worked. The death gaze passed harmlessly to either side, leaving Abasi-Abi and himself unscathed.

  “I shall rend you into atoms, Claybore!” screamed Abasi-Abi. “Terrill scattered your parts along the Cenotaph Road to stop you. I shall destroy you!”

  Ghastly laughter greeted the sorcerer’s words. The Kinetic Sphere pulsated more powerfully in the chest cavity, turning from pink to a royal purple. The pseudo-heart altered visibly, its texture turning from flesh to velvet to a mistiness that confused Lan’s eyes. All the while, Claybore’s power mounted. Lan felt the tide of battle slowly shifting. Abasi-Abi had the initial advantage. He slowly lost it to the dismembered sorcerer.

  “Remember me, Abasi-Abi,” gloated Claybore. “Remember me when you reach the Lower Places of Hell!”

  Lan felt as if a furnace door had been opened. Heat issued forth, driving him to his knees. He fought in ways he didn’t understand. He felt tiny burnings throughout his brain, racing along his spine, turning him into one giant, raw nerve ending. Physical combat wasn’t possible. He joined with Abasi-Abi to fight with magics.

  And they slowly lost.

  It was as if they were being forced back inch by inch. As they weakened, Claybore’s power grew.

  “I… I can’t go on much longer,” muttered Abasi-Abi. “I feel myself slipping, slipping away. I did not prepare adequately. I’m too old, too feeble for this. I—”

  “No!” shouted Lan, shaking the sorcerer. “You’re the only one with the knowledge to stop him now.”

  “I can’t.”

  Mocking laughter. Lan saw the obscene skull nodding atop the armless torso. The Kinetic Sphere had vanished totally into the chest. A pearl-grey light surrounded the stone altar, light signalling the end of the battle.

  Claybore had won.

  “Die, mortals,” said Claybore. “Die knowing I shall rule a million worlds!”

  “No,” came a small voice from the side. “He steals the heart of the earth. Desecration! Noooo!” Ehznoll rose, obviously in pain. His eyes were wide and an expression of religious fervor crossed his face. He seemed to glow more brightly than the altar. “You are a false god. You are sent by the sky to destroy the sweet earth. You cannot steal
the heart. It must be returned!”

  Ehznoll rushed to the altar and flung his arms around the wooden box containing Claybore’s skull and torso. He lifted it and turned for the door leading to the precipice.

  “Stop!” Claybore’s voice carried total command. The full power of his sorcerous skill drove the order directly into Ehznoll’s already numbed brain.

  But life remained in Abasi-Abi. A little, enough. He sent spell after intricate, deadly spell at Claybore. Ehznoll stumbled once, then, as the pressure of battle turned back to Abasi-Abi, ran for the verge of Mount Tartanius.

  Claybore couldn’t fight both Abasi-Abi and Ehznoll. The sorcerer could slay one or the other, but not both simultaneously. Ehznoll never broke stride when he came to the side of the mountain. He kept running, appearing to rush out another ten feet before gravity seized him and his ghastly burden.

  Abasi-Abi collapsed just as Ehznoll and Claybore vanished under the rim of the mountain. Lan shook himself and reeled to the edge. He heard a faint voice drifting up to him.

  “The heart will be returned!”

  Ehznoll.

  He heard nothing of Claybore but saw a brilliant flash before the box had travelled half the distance to the ground. As soon as the glare died, Lan slumped. All magics vanished.

  The Kinetic Sphere. Claybore’s spells. Abasi-Abi’s counterspells. The wards atop Mount Tartanius. Everything. He was stranded on a world without cenotaphs. And Inyx was doomed to roam forever through the white fog between worlds.

  He’d failed. He’d failed in every way.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Time passed, and Lan Martak didn’t notice. Like a man drugged, he sat and stared over the rim of Mount Tartanius down into the mists below where so much of his life had just vanished. The Kinetic Sphere was lost to him for all time. Inyx was similarly lost. Trapped between worlds, the woman was destined to roam deserted and alone forever. And, while this was a pleasant enough world, Lan had tasted the thrill of walking the Cenotaph Road, of finding and exploring new worlds. For most of his life he’d been trapped on a single world; following the advice of an ancient being, the Resident of the Pit, he’d taken a first hesitant step along the Road. He’d lost a love, killed an enemy, and found friends beyond compare in Krek and Inyx.

  And they’d used the Kinetic Sphere to explore. Now that Claybore had regained his magical gateway, nothing prevented him from marching on defenseless, unsuspecting worlds and conquering them. His grey-clad soldiers would pour forth through the gate opened by the Kinetic Sphere and bring ruin and slavery to untold cultures.

  Lan Martak stared down the side of Mount Tartanius, wondering if he should follow the valiant Ehznoll’s path. One step, nothing, falling, death.

  A light touch startled him.

  “No, friend Lan Martak,” came Krek’s soft words. “That is Ehznoll’s way, not yours. He died for his belief, for the betrayal of his faith. You must live for yours.”

  “Everything’s gone. There’s no way off this world.

  You said so yourself. Unless…” Hope leaped in his breast.

  “No,” said the arachnid, “I have discovered no other cenotaph off this world. With the Kinetic Sphere gone, the ‘vision’ is clearer. There are no cenotaphs on this planet opening to other worlds, though I see countless ones opening onto it. These one-way gates no doubt account for the acceptance of travellers in Melitarsus. Many have entered this world only to find ho way off.”

  Lan slumped again.

  “Ehznoll’s way may have been easier, but you’re right. It’s not my way.” Looking up at the spider, he asked, “How’s Abasi-Abi? The battle may have severely injured him.”

  “Worse. His son Morto tends him, as is proper.”

  “Maybe my healing spells can do something for him. They seem to have put your leg aright.”

  “It remains stiff. But then, with my weakness and cowardice, what difference does it make? I am a craven, abandoning my dear, sweet little Klawn and our hatchlings. Ah,” lamented Krek, “never to see one’s very own hatchlings again. A real pity, but a fate tailor-made for one as miserable as I.”

  Lan let the spider continue on with his self-pity. Krek had to feel as bad about losing the Kinetic Sphere as he did.

  Inside the stone building, Morto knelt beside his father. The sorcerer had aged incredibly. Hair totally white, face lined as if some farmer had plowed it, transparent skin pulled across his hands as taut as a drumhead, he had come as close to death as possible without crossing the line.

  “Here he is,” said Morto quietly. To Lan, “He wishes to speak. But hurry. He is almost gone.”

  Lan cradled the old sorcerer’s head.

  “You battled well,” he said. “I am sorry to have distracted you. And I put Claybore’s head with the body. I didn’t know. I thought all he wanted was the Sphere.”

  “You didn’t know,” absolved Abasi-Abi. “But for that ignorance you must now be punished.” Lan tensed. “I am dying. You must carry on my fight against the evil Claybore promises. Morto will give you my grimoire. You have the native skill my son lacks in magic. You will learn all the spells you can to stop Claybore.”

  “He used the Kinetic Sphere to shift worlds,” Lan said glumly. “I saw the flash as he opened the gateway. Do you think he’ll be back to slay the rest of us?”

  “No, because he thinks I am dead and you helpless. He thinks there is no way off this world.”

  “There’s a way? Tell me!”

  “First, I must tell you of Terrill.” Abasi-Abi’s voice barely reached Lan now. The man bent down so the dying whispers sounded directly in his ear. “He was a mighty sorcerer, the mightiest and now long dead. But he saw the evil Claybore brought. Only Terrill possessed the skill to stop Claybore—not kill him, no one can do that, but stop him.”

  “Is Terrill the one who dismembered Claybore and scattered the pieces along the Cenotaph Road?”

  “Yes.”

  “Claybore cannot be killed, but he can be stopped? He needs his full body for full power?”

  “Yes,” whispered Abasi-Abi. “Only the skull is potent, and with the body it is even more potent, but even this combination can be defeated. The danger lies in allowing Claybore to find the arms, legs, feet, hands. Once they are joined, no mage lives on any of the worlds able to withstand Claybore’s might.”

  “You’ll live, Abasi-Abi. I’ll start my healing spells. They aren’t much, but—”

  “No!” Bony fingers clawed at Lan’s arm.

  “I’ll have you back on your feet again. Soon. I promise.”

  “Lan,” said Morto in a peculiarly flat voice. “He’s dead. He fought death, tried to deny it. No one can do that, even one as powerful as my father.”

  Lan Martak placed the lifeless body gently on the soft floor.

  “He didn’t tell me how to get off this world. He wanted to tell me about Terrill and Claybore, but he never said anything about leaving here.”

  “Here is his grimoire. He wanted you to have it.” Morto passed over a small volume bound in leather and brass. Lan took it as if it would bite.

  “It’s yours. You’re his son.”

  “I cannot use it. I have no talent at all for magic, much to his disgust.” Emotion returned to Morto’s voice and color rose in his blanched cheeks. “He was a harsh master and an unloving father.” Tears choked him now. “But still I loved him and believed in what he had to do.”

  Together the three of them, two humans and one arachnid, buried the sorcerer. The glassy plain of Mount Tartanius’s mesa proved hard to dig in, but the combined assault of Lan’s sword and Krek’s talons, with Morto’s blind determination, finally cut the grave.

  “I don’t know what words to say,” said Lan after they’d finished covering over the body. “I wish now that Ehznoll were here.”

  “My father wasn’t of this world, but he is now permanently in it. May his dust and that of the world merge,” said Morto.

  Lan Martak looked curiously at the man.r />
  “You’re not of this planet? You’ve walked the Road?”

  “We’ve followed Claybore for a dozen years, ever since he regained the Kinetic Sphere. We’re from a world hundreds separated from this one.”

  “Did you use one of the one-way gates to arrive here?” Morto nodded assent. “But how did you plan to get away, to follow Claybore, if you failed to regain the Sphere?”

  “My father opened a cenotaph on the last world we visited. The powers weren’t quite right to open it in both directions. The one way-gate closed behind us. Others may follow, but we can’t retrace our steps.”

  “Clumsy of him, if I do say so,” said Krek.

  “Your father knew the spells to create a cenotaph?” pressed Lan.

  “Of course. Abasi-Abi was one of the greatest mages since Terrill himself. It was his misfortune to be second best to Claybore. Mages possess immense egos. It is required to perform their feats; being second best added fuel to the flames of his feeling of inferiority. Even the day’s preparation while you tried to enter the stone hut failed my father. The climb up Mount Tartanius had taken too much from him physically to allow total psychic strength. He was old, older than any of us can imagine. He belonged to a different world.”

  “It must be in the book. Morto, is the secret of creating a cenotaph in your father’s spell book? Can I open up the Cenotaph Road for us?”

  A shrug, a pause, and finally, “I don’t know.”

  Lan Martak spent the next four days studying Abasi-Abi’s notebook. The details it revealed confirmed much of what he’d guessed. Waldron of the bleak world had been a mere dupe in Claybore’s larger plan. No mention at all of the grey king appeared in Abasi-Abi’s diaries: only an unrelenting search for Claybore, continual battle with the grey-clad soldiers loyal to Claybore, worry that the renegade sorcerer might prove too powerful to vanquish.

  One spell in the grimoire sent Lan’s heart racing. He composed himself, allowed the immense tides of magic flowing between worlds to suffuse his body, then cast himself outward. Like the therra on his home world, his spirit left his body and he roamed. Hours passed as he searched, disembodied, for Inyx. The world altered around his roving spirit, changed to a featureless plain, finally became the impenetrable white fog he’d experienced before.