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

  “I’m fine, thanks,” he protested, but the caravan master’s wife’s attentions weren’t totally unwanted. Since he had saved her during the battle against the locusts, both she and her husband Huw had been solicitous of his health. Overly solicitous, Inyx might say.

  Inyx.

  The name burned bright in Lan’s mind. Mentally he pictured the woman. Dark-haired, not beautiful but far from plain, she possessed a mental quickness and a physical prowess that were rare. She’d lost a husband and taken to walking the Cenotaph Road long before Lan Martak had discovered that route. Inyx battled and won, never compromising. She was her own woman, outspoken and direct.

  Love? Lan didn’t know if he loved her or not, but he felt more for her than simple comradeship.

  Inyx would scoff at Oliana’s attentions. If she’d been here.

  “It’s been almost a week. I’ve healed enough to be able to walk.” Lan glanced outside the wagon bed and saw Krek lumbering along at an easy gait. The horses that hadn’t been killed by the grasshoppers had been injured; they couldn’t pull the wagons fast enough to make Krek do more than amble along. And the Maxwell’s demon-powered wagons had fared even worse. Not a one of the mechanicals survived. Lan remembered the shrieks of joy as Huw had released the magically trapped demons into the world. They rocketed upward until vanishing in a low-hanging cloud layer.

  It had rained continuously for the next three days.

  “Without medicines or the proper spells, infection might set in.”

  “It hasn’t yet,” Lan gently pointed out.

  “Don’t go bothering the lad, Oliana,” came Huw n’Hes’s voice from the front of the wagon. “He needs sleep as much as anything else.”

  “I’ve gotten enough sleep this past week, thank you,” replied Lan in exasperation. Being the conquering hero and the savior of the wagon caravan had its drawbacks. “Do you mind if I join you, Huw?”

  “Come ahead, lad.”

  Lan moved forward, acutely aware of Oliana’s hot hand on his arm and hotter eyes, and sat beside Huw. The caravan master drove a rig now rather than riding ahead, because of the heavy toll taken by the insects. Not many humans had survived.

  “Beautiful country,” said Lan, his eyes drinking in the fresh green glory of the wooded landscape. “Reminds me of home.”

  “You walk the Cenotaph Road?” It came as a question, but Lan sensed more of a statement in it.

  “I do. My friend Krek and I became separated from a companion. We’re looking for her. Is there any chance she might be in the city ahead, Melitarsus, I think you called it?” The name rolled off his tongue like a honey lozenge, rich and exotic. He felt his heart beat faster. Lan had wanted excitement, new worlds, and he now got it.

  “Possible. It’s the center for trade in this part of the continent. Oliana and I, we bring up barley and oats and gurna corn from the southlands. Melitarsus is a governmental seat, and its people can’t be bothered with doing useful chores like growing food.”

  “You sound bitter about that.”

  “I make a good living out of supplying them what they don’t have, but the taxes! A tax to get in, a tax to sell, a tax to leave. They’ve taxed everything but the taxes themselves.”

  “That’s the function of any government. That’s how they provide services, like these roads.”

  “These are toll roads. Privately owned. The Suzerain of Melitarsus uses the taxes for —”

  “Now, Huw,” came Oliana’s sharp voice. “You mustn’t discuss politics like that. Lan doesn’t want to hear your opinions.”

  Lan did, but saw that nothing more was to be gained from pursuing the issue. Huw’s conversation turned to his home in Lummin, overlooking Strange Point and the easternmost jut of the Sea of Wistry. The tone the man used told Lan that he preferred that part of the world to overcrowded, metropolitan Melitarsus.

  Lan Martak’s excitement mounted even more when he first sighted the gold-tipped spires rising at the comers of the walled city-state. Reflections from silver-capped sentries on the walls and the dark stream of wagons, both horse-drawn and magical, entering the gate opening at one side thrilled him. Above the ramparts circled long-winged aircraft, gliding on thermals, soaring, cruising, dipping downward to the earth. One of the flyers came so close to them that Lan caught a good look of his youthful face. The wind whipped sandy hair back from a wind-reddened face and tugged at a long white scarf around his neck. Then the flyer swooped, caught an updraft, and returned to his vigil above the city’s walls.

  Civilization again.

  He’d been out on the road eating dust and drinking the odors of the animals too long. After all he’d been through, he longed for nothing less than a long, hot soak in a tub of scented water.

  “Friend Lan Martak,” came Krek’s querulous voice. “Is this the place you want to be? Surely, you can choose better.”

  “Quiet, Krek. Melitarsus looks like my kind of place.”

  The spider only clacked his mandibles together in a deprecating fashion that Lan had learned to ignore. He was too happy at returning to civilization.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I’ll pay the entry fees for you and your friend,” offered Huw. “And if you want to journey back to Lummin with Oliana and me, we’d consider it a rare privilege.”

  Lan heard the sincerity in the man’s voice, but he saw more than friendship in Oliana’s eyes. Such an arrangement could mean only trouble to him. The feeling of obligation wore off quickly, especially if Huw caught sight of Oliana’s real interest in Lan.

  “You’re too kind to a stranger, Huw, but we must press on. We’ve got to find our companion.”

  “She must be very … special,” said Oliana. She blinked slowly, her long dark lashes hiding her eyes in a sleepy-sexy manner. The careful circuit her tongue made around her ruby lips convinced Lan that he and Krek must be on their way soon — very soon.

  “She is. I owe her much.”

  “Friend Lan Martak,” called Krek. “Come look. They sell the bugs openly. Oh, this is such a fine place. I am glad I insisted we come.” The giant spider had discovered a booth near the gateway leading into Melitarsus selling roasted insects. None was smaller than Lan’s forearm, and many dwarfed even the giant grasshopper creatures they’d fought on the road. The spider bounced from one side to the other and, had he the capacity, would have drooled over the selection.

  “I’d best take care of Krek,” said Lan hurriedly. He shook Huw’s hand and nodded to Oliana, not trusting the woman to any other platonic gesture.

  “That you’d better. He’s gathering quite a crowd.”

  Lan saw the caravan master spoke the truth. The owner of the concession stand cowered back against the stone wall of the city, his tiny charcoal burner untended. A large worm roasting over the coals no longer turned and began to burn.

  “Here, allow me,” said Lan, elbowing his way through the noisy crowd to aid the concessionaire. He began turning the worm to ensure an even cooking.

  “He … he’s with you?” asked the man, not taking his eyes off Krek.

  “Yes. How much for the worm turning?” Lan indicated the one already spitted.

  “Take it. Free. Just … move along. Please!”

  “Free?” piped up Krek in a childlike voice. “My, my, this is a hospitable place. Thank you, friend.” A dual clicking of his mandibles caused the worm to vanish. Lan replaced the skewer and slipped the booth owner a small gold piece. The denomination and mintage were of another world, but the metal retained its value across worlds.

  As Lan and Krek worked their way from the booth, the spider commented, “I should have charged him for my services. His business has trebled since all saw the high quality of his new patron.”

  Lan Martak glanced over his shoulder and saw it was true. People thronged to the vendor begging for his wares. Lan shuddered at the thought of all the grubs being toasted and sold. He preferred his food less crunchy.

  “Let’s find a stable and arrange for a horse.
That mountain is far enough away so that I don’t want to walk to it.”

  “You need new boots, too, friend Lan Martak,” observed the spider. “Those are doomed to an early demise.”

  The tattered fragments of leather remaining in Lan’s boots convinced him that, while haste was necessary to find Inyx, he had to refit himself before any serious travelling. A horse, food, new clothes — boots! — and a sharpening of his sword and knife headed the list of items required. And he hadn’t forgotten his vow to take a long, hot soak to ease the muscle strain he still suffered. In the past few weeks he had been through a lifetime of danger. His body required some attention now or it would fail him at a critical time in the future. Lan knew with innate certainty that finding Inyx would be a difficult task.

  And combatting Claybore presented an even more difficult duty.

  He tensed as he thought of the sorcerer, that eyeless skull, and even felt the tides of magic rippling around him in the city. Lan shook off the feeling of … compulsion. Few knew he had entered Melitarsus, and even fewer cared who he was. What magics he sensed were those already existing and weren’t directed against him personally.

  “This is a nice place. Streets swept, sanitation advanced, even a few of those things. I suspect Huw will purchase several to replace those he lost.” Lan pointed to a chuffing, clanking, smoking wagon powered by steam. A Maxwell’s demon sat trapped in the boiler, selecting hot molecules and keeping them while discarding the colder ones. “Those were becoming common on my world before I walked the Road. At least a dozen of them around town.” When Krek only sniffed in disdain, he dropped the subject. He didn’t bother telling the spider how he’d stolen one of the vehicles, promising the demon its freedom in exchange for a little distance between him and the law.

  “I see fewer of the vendors selling succulent morsels,” complained Krek. “I fear I might vanish unless I dine more frequently.” Since he’d met the spider, Lan had noted a fullness developing around Krek’s middle. He believed it came from overeating, but he said nothing. What thoughts went on inside that alien brain he had never figured out. Krek was a friend; Lan left it at that.

  “There’s a modest enough caravansary that will be adequate for my needs. I’m sure they can cater some bugs for you.” Lan went into the inn, fascinated by the size of the place. While it didn’t expand much on the ground, it rose to a dizzying height of four stories. Ordinary buildings weren’t constructed like that on his home world. Only important edifices, like government buildings, or emperors’ palaces, rose above the second story.

  “Good day, gentle one,” greeted the man behind a highly polished wooden bar. He leaned forward slightly, putting his weight on the bar. “Travelling from a distance?”

  “Quite a distance.”

  “To?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lan’s suspicions flared. What did it matter to this oily clerk where he traveled?

  “I require it for the register.” He pointed to a small book open in front of him. “The Suzerain requires it.” He gave an eloquent shrug that indicated he was but a poor simple servant obeying the capricious whims of a bureaucrat. Lan made him out to be another bureaucrat reveling in paperwork.

  “I don’t know the name of the place.”

  “But you do know which direction you’re travelling?”

  “Toward the mountain,” cut in Krek. “The big one. The one that is of a decent size on this otherwise flat world.”

  “The big one?” the clerk asked, puzzled. Then he brightened. “Mount Tartanius? You are pilgrims making the journey, then!”

  “Yes,” said Lan, not caring what journey the man referred to. All he wanted was a hot tub and time to rest in a soft bed.

  “Affix your chop here,” the clerk said, indicating a small portion of the page yet unfilled with his fussy writing. Lan obeyed, then hesitated. The clerk smiled and said, “That’s all right. I’ll enter the notation for your friend.”

  “He, uh, doesn’t need a room,” said Lan. “In the stables will be fine.”

  “A room,” said the clerk firmly. “We wouldn’t want to disturb the horses, would we?”

  “No, we would not,” agreed Krek.

  The clerk beamed. Lan sighed. Being back in civilization had some compensations, but it also had drawbacks. He’d have to pay for two rooms to keep the spider from frightening the animals.

  *

  Lan Martak had just finished his second long bath of the day and felt almost human again when a hard knock came at his door.

  “Who is it?” he called.

  “Envoy from the Suzerain of Melitarsus,” came the surprising answer.

  “One minute,” he said, getting into his trousers. He didn’t bother with the ragged tunic or his ripped boots. If the envoy from the Suzerain of Melitarsus didn’t like the way he dressed, that was just too bad. He had no reason to be rousted out like this. He hadn’t even been in town long enough to violate any laws.

  “Good day, gentle one,” said the envoy, bowing in a courtly fashion.

  “What do you want?”

  “The Suzerain herself desires an audience with you.”

  “You mean she wants me to show up for an audience.” The difference wasn’t subtle. The envoy ordered him to the palace, or wherever the Suzerain kept her court.

  “Not at all. Suzerain Nashira wishes to speak with you and your companion. At your convenience.”

  “You mean if I don’t accompany you, I won’t be forced along?” The shocked expression on the man’s face told Lan much. This was a request, not an order. “Why does the ruler of Melitarsus want to see me?”

  The envoy cleared his throat and nervously averted his eyes. Lan knew then what the answer would be.

  “The, uh, spider. It … he … his like has never before been seen in Melitarsus. Smaller varieties, of course, abound, but none so large. The Suzerain wishes to observe him more closely.”

  “He’s not a zoo beast,” snapped Lan. Then, softening his tone, he said, “Krek’s an intelligent being.”

  “Such is the appeal for Her Highness. She has heard reports of the encounter with the grub merchant.”

  “Any time I want, we can see the Suzerain Nashira?” asked Lan suspiciously.

  “Not just any time, but certainly at your convenience, and if Her Highness is not caught by the press of official duties. She is a very busy woman.”

  “When would she like us to be there?”

  “This evening?” the man suggested. “For a semi-formal dinner?”

  “It’d have to be less formal than that. My clothes are a bit the worse for wear and tear.”

  “The Suzerain understands. Clothing suitable for the occasion will be sent. The third hour after sunset?”

  “Fine,” said Lan, puzzled. As he shut the door, he said to himself, “This is a more civilized city than I thought. Not only do I get a free meal, I get some clothes — and all for parading Krek around. Not bad, not bad at all!”

  *

  The tunic fit perfectly, but the gold threads cut into his flesh and the diamond bits woven into the fabric sent cold shivers throughout his body. Still and all, Lan Martak felt well taken care of. The envoy had chosen the clothing for him, and, while it didn’t suit him as to taste, Lan had allowed the man to foist it off on him. This was the Suzerain’s party.

  Krek bounced from one side to the other in a nervous motion that soon got on Lan’s nerves.

  “Calm down, will you? They’re not going to eat us for supper. The Suzerain herself invited us. She wants to meet you.”

  “Meet me? Me, a poor spider from the depths of the Egrii Mountains? On this world, there are not even any Egrii Mountains.”

  “You said you were a Webmaster. Doesn’t that make you some sort of nobility?”

  “Nobility?” shrilled the spider. “Far from it. I ran from my lovely Klawn after our mating. I forfeited my claim to any nobility with that cowardly act. I should have allowed her to devour me, to cocoon me for our hatchlings’ firs
t meal. What right have I to meet with nobility? My offspring may starve because of my failings.”

  Lan sighed and ignored the piteous whinings. He stared in frank admiration at the room in which they waited. The walls were frescoed by an artist of great talent. Every character seemed alive, eyes burning with emotion, their motion merely checked, the scenes intellectually involving and thrilling to study. On the floor lay a rug of a strong, fine weave that crushed delicately as Lan paced over it. As he walked, a tiny fragrance of pines rose to tease his nostrils. Gentle music reached his ears, music caused by his light steps on the rug; the combinations of feel, scent, and hearing beguiled him with the ingenuity. The furniture was on the sparse side and appeared too fragile for any significant weight; Lan decided against sitting in the antiques. The carved wood door had been polished to a luster approaching a mirror’s, and the door lever might have been wrought from the finest of gold leaf. Lan couldn’t wait to see the rest of the Suzerain’s palace.

  “This way, gentle ones,” came the almost-whispered words of the chamberlain. He bowed as Lan and Krek passed him.

  Lan hesitated as he passed. His arm had bumped into the chamberlain’s. Cold metal instead of flesh ran under the lush velvet tunic. Seeing his reaction, the chamberlain smiled and said, “I am a mechanical. The human servants are reserved for more … personal duties.”

  “Totally mechanical?” asked Lan, frowning. The man — the mechanical — reached up and caught a comer of his face. He stripped back enough of the false flesh to reveal metallic bone.

  “Totally mechanical,” confirmed the chamberlain. “While it limits many things, it does relieve humans of tedious duties.”

  “I can imagine,” said Lan, glancing back at the chamberlain. A slight clanking sound was the only indication that the servant wasn’t completely human.

  “By the Great Web,” muttered Krek. “To spin a web here! It would be an act of daring and skill second to none.”

  The hall’s vastness awed Lan. A four-story hotel had seemed extravagant use of time and material; it would fit into the chamber with space to spare on all sides. The vaulted ceiling of the hall vanished into the distance. He fancied tiny clouds formed their own weather patterns in the immense distance where the groined arch met. Pillars of alabaster supported the roof, and an opalescent material formed the floor. The entire audience chamber told of immense power and wealth — and, thought Lan, a rare quantity among rulers, great taste.