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

  Lan felt Ria’s hot breath gusting across his chest. Her cheek pressed to his sweaty flesh in a way that now revolted him. Her fingers roved his body, teasing and toying with him in ways designed to arouse. Lan Martak experienced only disgust with what he had become — again.

  Once before, when he’d come into a cask of jewels, wealth had altered his view of the world, changed his personality, made him into something he wasn’t. He had almost lost his — and Inyx’s — life because of the foolishness rising from inside due to the riches. This time he became no less the fool, but in a different way. He possessed no wealth but he controlled it. All he had to do was ask and he received. Hardly having two coins to clink together, Lan Martak still commanded a mansion, a beautiful, wanton, willing serving girl, the finest of clothing and food, anything he desired.

  Again wealth had trapped him.

  Lan’s only consolation lay in the fact that this time it was not mere wealth that drew him. As fine as the bed — and bedding — had been that first night, he would have moved on to seek out Inyx and to actively oppose Claybore if the magics around him hadn’t gently coerced him to stay. Nothing blatant had shoved him down next to Ria; the pressures were soft, easy, barely noticeable.

  Lan’s magic sensing ability almost screamed at him now. He had noticed a honing of his skills in this regard and, while he could sense the spells, he lacked the acumen to do anything about them.

  Puzzled, he glanced about the bedroom. Only Ria beside him, sleeping, caused the least disturbance. Lan disengaged himself from the woman’s arms and sat up, drawn to the doorway by the intensity of the magic. In the arched doorway he felt the titanic flow around him. The diamonds embedded in the walls glowed with inner light. Lan pressed his hands to them. The diamonds were neither cold nor hard.

  His hands fastened to the pulsating gems, Lan entered the river of magic and went with it. He initiated nothing; the magic pulled him along. He tried to move away, to fight, and found himself unable to change his course. Relaxing, he dived headfirst and went with the tides of magic around him. Carried up and away from his mansion, he floated toward Nashira’s palace. The magics emanating from her audience chamber radiated like a yellow beacon in the night. He followed them down, down, down into the chamber itself.

  “More wine,” cried Nashira, presiding over the orgy. “Let us drink while our hero relieves himself!”

  Lan turned to see the giant screen on the far wall. Ria’s sleeping face almost filled it. Nashira and the others thought he had left the red-haired woman’s side to answer a call to nature; they didn’t know he — his spirit — viewed their activities.

  “Come, come, Clete,” chided Nashira from her throne, “not so clumsy with Aludra. Don’t you remember how our hero did it? There, yes, shift your hips over. That’s the position. Now pleasure her!”

  Aludra groaned. Clete thrust. The watching crowd burst into a frenzy of erotic activity. It became apparent to Lan what happened. These nobles of Melitarsus were so jaded that they required voyeurism to consummate their own sexual needs. He had been nothing more than a trained dog performing for their pleasure.

  Nashira clapped her hands. Her son Kyle led out a creature hardly larger than a dog but with a single blunted horn on its nose. The boy forced the animal to kneel while his mother hiked her skirts. She lowered herself onto the horn, a look of supreme excitement on her face.

  “Now, Kyle, loose the beast now!”

  The animal bucked and twisted under her. The Suzerain of Melitarsus kept her hips firmly pressed downward onto the horn. Lan felt his stomach beginning to chum in disgust. Whether it was at the woman’s behavior or the expression of stark arousal on young Kyle’s face, he didn’t know. Nothing about Melitarsus was as it seemed. This decadent city and its ruler had used him — and he had allowed it.

  The spells, at first, hadn’t been strong enough to keep him. The lure of beautiful women and an easy life had almost been enough.

  “What’s keeping him?” demanded Nashira. “Ria must get him into action again. I need to watch them!”

  Lan jerked his hands off the diamonds. He felt as if the skin ripped free, leaving raw wounds, but when he looked only normally callused flesh remained. The wounds were psychic. He turned back to the stirring Ria. Nashira had issued some unspoken command to the serving girl, rousing her, demanding further sex play for the Suzerain’s amusement.

  “Lan, my love, come back to bed. Join me and I shall show you the wonders of the four thousand and fourth position.” Her arms reached out for him, inviting milky-skinned arms meant to hold a man close. He fought the attraction as he knelt beside her.

  “I want more than that, Ria. We have been too gentle. I demand more from you.”

  Her eyes shot open.

  “What do you mean, my master?”

  “You take me for granted. I must punish you for that.”

  “Master!”

  He jerked her hand away from his groin and pulled her erect. With a smooth motion, he spun her around and bound her hands with the red silk sash from her dressing gown.

  “Kneel!” he commanded.

  “Yes, master. Wh-what are you going to do to me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he lied, gathering his clothing and weapons. “I don’t think I want you to see, though, when I do decide.” He blindfolded the redhead and pulled her along behind him.

  “Where are we going, master? We shouldn’t leave this room.”

  That told Lan much. This must be the only room Nashira had rigged with the magical seeing eyes. He’d have to provide Nashira and the others watching some alibi for his movement, or magical spells he couldn’t counter would force him back.

  “I want to see how you perform with animals. We’re going to the stables.”

  “Animals, master?” Ria shivered. “But why do you keep me tied like this?”

  “I enjoy it. Now be silent or I shall gag you, too.” He pulled the bound, naked woman from the room and guided her through the silent corridors of the mansion. He hoped his hints as to what he intended would keep Nashira busy with her unicorn and the others similarly engaged long enough.

  On the way to the stables, he stopped by Krek’s quarters. The spider hung upside down in the middle of the room, eyes open, tears dripping from the comers.

  “Don’t say a word, Krek,” warned Lan. “Just come with me.”

  The spider obeyed. He performed a quick twist in midair, landed on all eight legs, and trotted after Lan and Ria to the stables.

  “Is someone with us, master?”

  “Quiet, wench. I’m going to bind you to a post so you won’t flinch.”

  “Flinch? You’re not going to whip me, are you, master?” She either played the game well or actually wanted him to abuse her. She was going to be terribly disappointed, if the latter, or furious that she’d failed in her playacting, if the former. Lan bent her over a railing and tied her legs wide apart. With her hands still bound behind her back, she remained doubled up over the wooden rail.

  “Where’s the horse whip?” Lan asked. Krek’s eyes widened, but the spider said nothing. Lan didn’t seek out any whip. He got the tack needed for riding. He began saddling a strong mare.

  “You’re not going to whip me, are you master?” Ria’s question came more as a demand.

  “No, I decided against that,” Lan said. “I’m going to allow the horse to have his will.” He didn’t even bother checking to see if any of the horses were stallions. It didn’t matter. He’d already saddled and was ready to ride.

  “No, please don’t!” came the words, but the tone indicated excitement.

  “You’re too eager,” snapped Lan. “I am going to let you think about what I’m going to do to you. For an hour I’m going to leave you blindfolded and tied like that. If you so much as move in that time, you’ll live to regret it.”

  “Master!”

  Lan Martak motioned for his spider companion to leave. Leading the horse outside, Lan closed the stable door be
hind them. He vaulted into the saddle and indicated that they should flee at top speed. Only when they were a full mile from the opulent mansion did Lan rein in and allow Krek to speak.

  “You know everything, then, friend Lan Martak,” said the spider.

  “I’ve found out much in the past few hours. The grey-clad soldiers are flooding into Melitarsus.”

  “Not that, about Nashira, about her magics.”

  “I’ve discovered some of that, too, but I think I’ve only touched the surface. I’ve been unable to speak to her of Claybore and the greys. Some compulsion has prevented me — and it isn’t Claybore’s doing. Not this time. Nashira wants nothing to disturb her fantasy world.” Lan paused, then shook his head sadly before continuing. “My reluctance to leave Melitarsus comes as much from Nashira’s magic as it does from inner weakness.”

  “Yes, you must fight your longing for creature comfort. That is a true and deep flaw in your character.”

  “Thanks,” Lan said dryly. “But I didn’t see you making any attempt to leave. Did you like your web so much? The bugs they fed you?”

  The entire body shivered and shook until Lan thought Krek might come apart.

  “Oh, woe unto me, Lan Martak!” wailed the spider. “She put a geas on me so that I could not speak of it, not to anyone, even you. Even now, away from the nexus of her power, I find it difficult to tell of my bloody hours in the arena.”

  “What?” Lan was startled. Krek often seemed cowardly, but that was only his way. To be in an arena boggled the mind.

  “The spell forced me to fight. I’ve killed hundreds in the past week, and all for her pleasure.”

  “Nashira’s pleasures aren’t those of other humans,” Lan said grimly. He’d discovered that firsthand this evening. “Let’s not talk about it. I only bought us an hour or so with Ria. When I don’t show up to continue the performance, she’ll know something’s wrong. I think Nashira and her nobles are occupied enough to let us get out of the city. But we must hurry. Her powers seem limited to the confines of the city. Escape Melitarsus and we should be free of her spells.”

  “I quite agree, friend Lan Martak.”

  They hadn’t traveled a quarter-mile when the grey-clad soldiers ambushed them.

  *

  The first warning Lan had was a man dropping from an overhanging branch and landing on the horse behind him. Strong hands grabbed his tunic and jerked to one side. Lan and the soldier fell heavily.

  Lan recovered, rolled, kicked out, and entangled the man’s feet. This gave Lan enough time to draw his sword.

  “Rogue!” cried the soldier he faced. “You violate our curfew. For that you will die!”

  Lan took that in, deciding the grey soldiers didn’t recognize him. Claybore had to have put out a call — and a reward — for his capture of death. As long as the grey he faced didn’t know his identity, he had a chance.

  The chance faded instantly as a light shone into Lan’s face. Another of the soldiers held a lantern high over his head to illuminate the battle scene.

  “What! Why, you’re —” The soldier got no further with the identification. A long sword drove directly through his throat. A bloody gurgling noise sounded a fraction of a second before blood geysered forth from severed arteries.

  “Kill him. He’s slain Willim! Kill the bastard!”

  The other soldiers ringed Lan. He circled, thrusting tentatively to keep them at bay. They were well trained and made no mistakes. He faced a solid wall of deadly steel. He was in a difficult situation, but it could have been worse; none of the soldiers carried firearms from his home world. If they had, he’d be cooling meat in seconds.

  “Willim stumbled onto my blade,” he said, more to keep them off balance than to convince. “It was an honest mistake.”

  The one in front lunged, the tip of the blade snaking past Lan’s guard to pink his wrist. Another thrust and hot pain blasted into his side. Still another slashed, opening a cut just above his riding boot. If they continued in this calculated fashion, he’d be cut to bloody ribbons in a few seconds.

  “Hold, wait,” came the command from the grey-clad holding the lantern. “This is the one Commander k’Adesina wishes. Look closely. Willim recognized him. That’s why he killed him!”

  “A prize catch. We’ll five well off the reward for this one.”

  Lan parried and thrust. He missed. While off balance, two others added their cuts to his body.

  “Krek!” Lan cried. “Help me!”

  “Listen to him. You’d think he had an army with him.”

  “There’s supposed to be another, a woman,” said the commander. “Do you think …” His words died when Krek appeared. The spider hadn’t been able to maintain the pace set by Lan’s stolen horse. He’d finally caught up.

  The momentary panic shown by the soldiers allowed Lan to put three of them out of action. The others spun to the attack.

  And Krek simply stood.

  “Krek, help me. I can’t fight them all by myself. There’s too many of them.” Lan fended off a vicious attack, riposted, then used his knife to skewer an unwary grey-clad. Still, even reducing their ranks by four, they outnumbered and outpowered him.

  “Oh, woe, I have killed so many. I have failed. I have taken lives for no reason.”

  “Krek, they’ll kill me!” screamed Lan. “Are you going to help me or not?”

  Seeing that the spider simply stood and didn’t move to attack, the grey-clad soldiers concentrated on Lan. He succeeded in getting the tree trunk to his back, but this didn’t slacken the attack from the five soldiers confronting him. His arms grew tired from parrying their strong attacks. His body grew increasingly bloody from the shallow cuts they inflicted. None was serious by itself, but the large number of scratches bled profusely. Without a miracle, he’d weaken and die.

  “Krek, it wasn’t your fault. She made you fight. She put you under a spell. It was Nashira’s fault!”

  He turned a lunge directly for his midsection, riposted, and buried his sword halfway into the soldier’s belly. This proved Lan’s undoing. His blade hit bone and twisted from his grip. He’d killed one attacker; he stood armed only with a knife against four others.

  “Do you think so?” came Krek’s whining voice.

  “Yes, dammit, yes, it was Nashira’s fault. She forced you!”

  “Hmmm,” mused the spider.

  Lan Martak closed his eyes and waited for cold steel to rip through his torso, to spill real blood onto the dry earth. A scurrying noise sounded, confusing his mental image of the grey-clad soldiers’ progress. When no killing blow landed, he opened his eyes. All four of the greys lay on the ground, arms severed, bodies cut in half, one decapitated. The commander’s lantern stood to one side, casting a yellow glow on the grisly scene.

  “That did feel different,” commented Krek. “I killed for a reason, my reason.”

  “You killed to save me. There wasn’t any pleasure in it.”

  “Oh, but there was. I enjoyed it. But I did it on my own, not because Nashira held me in her sway.”

  “Great. Let’s get out of here. We’ve still got to get outside the walls before she learns we’ve gone. I don’t know what spells she has at her command. Or what her son can do.”

  “Kyle?” asked Krek in his mild voice. “A most strange hatchling. Old beyond his years.”

  Lan grunted as he climbed once again into his saddle. If they had to fight another pitched battle, he didn’t think he’d survive. As he rode, he tried to bind the worst of his cuts. None proved serious, but all were paining him greatly by the time they reached the great wall enclosing Melitarsus.

  “This is a good spot,” said Krek. “We can scale it here.” A long strand of his sticky web-stuff shot upward and caught on an outjutting at the top of the wall. He began walking up the sheer rock front as easily as if he crossed a room.

  “Krek, what about me?”

  “Oh, I shall send down a strand for you once I reach the top.”

  �
��I need the horse. We’ll never be able to get far enough away if I have to walk.”

  “You humans,” sighed the spider. “If you had a proper number of legs, your travelling would be ever so much more pleasant and rapid.”

  “You go on up. Wait for me on the other side of the wall. I’ll find a postern gate and get out that way.” Lan waited until Krek reached the top of the wall, then spurred his horse on, going south toward a spot he remembered from his first day in Melitarsus. Once he sighted a flyer silently soaring through the night. The soft whistle of wind as it caressed the long, thin wings caused Lan to stop and wait. The white scarf worn by the pilot lashed back in the breeze, caught silver moonbeams. The flyer sailed on, oblivious to what happened a hundred feet below. Lan let out a sigh of relief and hurried on. He had to find the way out before the flyer or one of the guards spotted him or Krek. Less than ten minutes’ riding brought him to a small, locked gate.

  He dropped off and applied his knife point to the lock. The stubborn metal grated and ground and refused to open.

  “What are you doing?” came the rough question. Guiltily, Lan spun to face one of the wall guards.

  “Heard something on the other side. Wanted to see what happened there.”

  “This gate’s always locked. Nothing but ’hoppers on the other side.” The guard’s eyes narrowed as he studied Lan. The adventurer’s bloody clothing, the obvious signs of a recent fight, the knife working on the inner mechanism of the lock, all eventually penetrated the dull guard’s mind.

  “You’re trying to escape!” he cried.

  Lan Martak was in no condition to fight. He flicked his wrist and sent his knife cartwheeling toward the man. The knicked blade caught the guard in the upper arm. He howled in pain. Then came silence, after Lan’s meaty fist knocked the man out. Using his knife again to cut up the guard’s uniform, Lan took the strips and securely bound him. He was sick of killing, of bloodshed. Melitarsus thrived on it; its ruler required gore on a daily basis. He refused to further feed Nashira’s sick needs. After all, this man only did his duty.