[Cenotaph Road 02] - The Sorserer's Skull Page 7

  Lan dragged the bound, unconscious guard out of sight. As he did so, he felt a thick ring of keys. Taking them, he tried one after another until one unlocked the gate.

  Krek waited on the other side, docilely munching on one of the large ’hoppers.

  “Old spider, old friend, let’s get away from this place before they think of new ways of holding us. The combination of sorcerer and flyer would be more than I could handle in my condition.”

  “I quite agree,” said the spider. “And, friend Lan Martak, the veriest traces of Nashira’s geas still remain on me. Watch me carefully in case it pulls me back to Melitarsus.”

  “The further we get from the city, the less hold the spell will have.” Even as he spoke, Lan muttered counters he had learned on a world far away—his home.

  Like chains breaking, the last vestiges of Nashira’s binding spells fell away. Lan sucked in a deep, clean breath of air. It smelled of freedom. They hastened toward the distant crag of Mount Tartanius—and Claybore.

  CHAPTER SIX

  They rode hard all the first day, then had to stop to forage. Lan wished they’d had time to prepare more carefully for the road, but quickness in escaping Melitarsus had outweighed other concerns. He even chided himself for not stealing one of the Maxwell’s demon-powered vehicles. While the demons were cantankerous, the speed they generated far exceeded that of a horse.

  A vague fluttering of magic behind them provided the only indication that Nashira tried to stop them; by the time Lan sensed the spell, they had travelled well beyond its effective range. Still, Krek fed well on the grasshoppers and Lan had little trouble trapping an occasional rabbit. The ’hoppers had pretty well stripped the countryside bare of foliage to rob Lan of any greens in his diet, but this seemed a small price to pay to be free of Nashira.

  “Friend Lan Martak,” said Krek, slowly munching a ’hopper carcass, “I see a cloud of dust in the distance.”

  Lan spun and squinted. Riders. From Melitarsus.

  “Damn, I didn’t think they would follow. Nashira must value us more than I thought.”

  The spider shook like a leaf in a high wind at the thought of returning to the arena. He discarded his bug meal and rose up on all eight of his coppery-furred legs.

  “They will not take me back. I can reach the Sulliman Range before they catch up, I can elude them forever. No human can catch me in mountains.”

  The mountains loomed purple and huge in the distance. Lan wondered how many more days travel lay before them. If they stayed on the road, their pursuers would overtake them before too long. He had no stomach for fighting off another armed band—if he were even able to do so. His cuts had begun healing, and he often helped the process along with a few healing chants he’d learned. In a way, this didn’t work to his advantage. His wounds healed, but the use of even so minor a magic spell tired him greatly. He had no formal training in the arcane arts.

  “If we head off parallel to the mountains, we might confuse them for a while,” he told his large companion. “We can buy enough time to figure out some way around them.”

  “If we run away from the mountains, it only compounds our dilemma. Do we not need to make the utmost of haste to reach them? If so, then why dally?” The spider bobbed up and down, his eyes fixed on the distant dust cloud.

  “We can’t outrun them.”

  “I can.”

  “Then go on, dammit,” snapped Lan, irritated. “Go on and leave me to fight them all by myself.”

  “Very well,” said the spider complacently. Sarcasm was lost on Krek.

  “Wait, wait,” protested Lan. Without the spider’s aid, he had no chance of ever again finding Inyx or combatting Claybore, much less tending to more immediate needs like fighting off their pursuers. “Maybe we can compromise on this.”

  “Why? You already told me to go on.”

  “Let’s do it fast, then. I don’t want to be caught in the open by those soldiers.”

  Lan saddled his horse and trotted alongside Krek, all the while turning over various schemes in his mind. A pitched battle was out of the question. He wasn’t up for it physically. Whether or not Nashira sent along enough magics to subdue him was also a problem to be contended with. She’d shown herself expert in coercive spells; if she turned Krek against him, for instance, all was lost.

  Yet Lan didn’t think that to be any real worry. From what he’d seen of Nashira, she might be peeved for a time at his departure, then would go on to other things. Melitarsus was a decadent city. Decadent people had little time for long-standing grudges. Living for the day was too important, unless the momentary flash of hatred brought some new fire to their lives.

  Lan Martak shrugged it off. He couldn’t plan when he knew too little. The terrain changed gradually from the meadows and plains to more rocky expanses. Soon enough, huge boulders bulged from the ground and the soil turned thin and barely able to support life. With the decrease in vegetation came a slackening of the grasshoppers. They remained where the foraging was the best; the rocky foothills of the Sulliman Range wasn’t to their liking.

  “Let’s rest for a while,” said Lan. “This old nag is getting tired.” And so was he, though he didn’t like to admit it to the seemingly tireless spider. Krek couldn’t keep up with a gallop, but his stamina far outpaced the mare’s over longer distances at slower speeds. Lan dismounted and led the horse to a small pond of water fed by an artesian spring. After allowing the horse to drink for a minute, he pulled the animal away and tethered her nearby. Then he sated his own thirst.

  “Come look, friend Lan Martak,” called the spider. Krek had jumped from the floor of the gulch in which they travelled to the top of a large rock with one easy jump. His taloned feet clacked against the rough brown rock, but other than this there hadn’t been any indication of strain on his part.

  Lan wasn’t so lucky. He struggled up the curve of the rock, fighting against treacherously loose gravel and leaving enough skin behind to start a new body. When he reached the summit the sight chilled him to the core of his being.

  “Those aren’t Nashira’s men,” he said in a low, choked voice.

  “They do seem to be Claybore’s grey-clad soldiers,” agreed Krek.

  Their pursuers weren’t likely to drag them back to Melitarsus for further display. The greys would kill them on the spot.

  “How do you think they found our trail?”

  The spider twitched in wordless reply.

  Lan thought hard. While he hadn’t made it any secret that they travelled for Mount Tartanius, only Nashira had been told that outright. Others of her court might have overheard, or she might have mentioned it to them, but what did it matter how the grey-clad soldiers had found out? That they were only a day’s ride behind was all that counted.

  “This might be coincidence,” said Lan, after considering various possibilities. “If Mount Tartanius is Claybore’s base on this world, they might only be returning.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Not for an instant,” Lan admitted grimly. The sorcerer wasn’t stupid, by any means. He’d realize that Lan and Inyx had become separated and, if they wanted to rejoin forces, would have to rally at some point. The cenotaph atop Mount Tartanius surfaced as the most likely spot, for a number of reasons. If they wanted off the world, they had to use that cenotaph. Lan hadn’t found any other. Not knowing the world, the cenotaph provided the only unique spot that would attract attention. Hence, Claybore had to have reasoned that Lan, Krek, and Inyx headed for the summit of the mountain.

  “We can’t let them report back, Krek, We’ve got to stop them.”

  As he stared at the clump of grey dots moving along the road, he wondered how they’d do that. All he had was a sword, a nicked knife, sore muscles, and an oversized spider prone to fits of depression.

  Their future didn’t look bright.

  “We go away from the mountains,” protested Krek. “How can we ever scale the loftiest of those peaks without first approaching them?
”

  “Krek,” said Lan patiently, “we’ve got to get rid of the greys on our trail. If we don’t, they’ll soon enough overtake us.”

  “We can drive them off,” said the spider.

  “That’s not good enough. If even one escapes, he’ll report back to Claybore. That’ll bring an entire regiment out. Claybore has more men than we can kill. We have to buy time.”

  “To scale Mount Tartanius?”

  “Yes,” Lan said, his patience beginning to wear thin. “So we’ll stop the grey-clads following us now and hope that Claybore won’t require them to report back regularly.”

  “I am not a simpleton,” sniffed the spider. “You do not have to speak to me as if I were a child.”

  “Can you sling a web across this gulley?”

  Krek eyed the distance critically, then bobbed his head in assent.

  “Then do it!” Lan felt like screaming. The pressure of being pursued wore him down, and the giant arachnid’s sense of values drove him to the brink of insanity.

  “You need not be so gruff about it.”

  A hissing noise filled the air, and a long, sticky strand of web-stuff dangled from one side of the ravine to the other. In the sunlight, gleaming rainbows danced off the strand. If Lan calculated properly, the sun would be setting when the greys rode down this ravine. They wouldn’t see the strand until it hit them at shoulder level.

  He hoped.

  Lan fixed a small dinner, ate in silence, worried. Krek hovered nearby, his movements jerky and nervous. Neither of them waited particularly well. Lan was on the point of commenting about that when the first distant sounds of hooves on rock reached him.

  “They’re coming.”

  “Six of them,” said the spider, his claws shoved down hard onto the rock. He sensed the vibrations made by the horses and interpreted it with great accuracy. “They arrive in a few minutes. Are you ready, friend Lan Martak? I have no stomach for more wanton killing.”

  “Your strand’s still up?”

  “Of course,” the spider said disdainfully. “My hunting webs always stay up until my prey is trapped. You are a fine one to criticize my expertise. Who was it who—”

  “Quiet!”

  The horses galloped forward. Lan stood, slipping both sword and knife from their sheaths. He stood in the center of a sandy pit, waiting, ready. His hands shook slightly when he saw the dark figures outlined against the setting sun. Everything rested on the attacking soldiers’ not seeing Krek’s web.

  The commander of the patrol waved a free hand. They galloped forth, screaming, cheering, proclaiming their victory. Lan listened to their cries and shuddered. Claybore had promised vast rewards for his capture. That made him feel warm inside, knowing that he posed such a threat to the powerful mage. It also chilled him. These soldiers wouldn’t retreat now that they’d found him.

  “Surrender, dog!” cried the nearest.

  Lan stood and said nothing.

  The front three came thundering between the rocks. For a split second, nothing happened. Then the three dangled in midair, their horses continuing on without them. The men fought desperately to escape the sticky strand of hunting web. The more they struggled, the more entangled they became.

  Those three wouldn’t contribute to the fight; the remaining three avoided the web, ducking beneath and racing past.

  “Here goes nothing,” said Lan, bracing himself. He slashed out, not even attempting for chivalry. His life depended on this contest. His sword caught the lead rider’s horse squarely in the chest. The horse let out a wet cough, then somersaulted, taking the soldier with it. Rider and horse were out of action, but Lan lost his sword, which remained buried to the hilt in the animal’s chest. He faced two mounted and armed greys with only a knife.

  “Surrender, fool, or we’ll spit you like a pig,” barked the one nearest.

  “Is talk all you have to offer?” said Lan. He took a desperate chance. His knife spun through the air. For a heart-stopping instant, Lan thought the knife had missed its tiny target. The man sat upright in his saddle, then slumped. The blade had flown true and buried point first in his right eye. An impossible throw, but luck finally turned in Lan’s favor.

  “That leaves us,” he said to the remaining grey. He’d never figured out the ranking system the soldiers used. This one had four red stripes and a star on the left sleeve—and a glinting saber in the right hand. The setting sun caught the cutting edge of the sword and turned it blood-red, an omen Lan Martak didn’t care for.

  The soldier attacked without voicing any warning. There was hardly any need. They both knew that one of them would die.

  Lan ducked at the last moment, the saber cutting through the air above his head. He launched himself upward, groping for the grey. Fingers slipped off cloth, and he landed on the horse’s haunches. Only an agile twist carried him away before the animal’s hind legs kicked out.

  The soldier spun and came at him again.

  “Krek, do something!” he shouted to his companion. The spider cowered at the perimeter of the sandy pit, hunkered down into a brown lump indistinguishable from any of the other rocks in the twilight.

  “I cannot, friend Lan Martak. I quiver at the memory of the torment I have caused.”

  “Nashira forced you, Krek. It wasn’t your fault,” argued Lan. The next attack caught him flatfooted. Heavy steel blade slapped alongside his head. Dazed, he dropped to his knees, neck exposed. As the grey came back for the killing blow, the spider rose up to full height. The horse shied, bucked, tossed its rider. Blowing foam, the animal charged back down the ravine in the direction it had come.

  “I can do no more,” came the baleful words.

  Lan’s fingers tightened on a fallen sword. He didn’t know who it had belonged to, nor did it matter. It hefted poorly, out of balance, and it didn’t matter. He had a fighting chance again. Still shaky, he got to his feet and faced the remaining soldier.

  Lan Martak had no chance to come en garde. He blocked a clumsy saber slash, turned, and found himself wrestling on the ground.

  “I will never surrender!” cried the soldier in a high voice. Lan saw that the officer he fought was a woman. For an instant, he slackened his attack. She twisted like a tiger, drove her knee upward into his belly, then punched for his throat.

  He caught a slender wrist and forced it behind her back. Holding her in an armlock, he finally caught his breath.

  “Stop it or I’ll break your arm off and beat you to death with it,” he warned.

  Her struggles lessened, but the tenseness remained.

  “Kill me, if you will, but there are others. Many others. You will die, lover of animals.”

  Lan frowned. Her intensity spoke of personal hatred. He’d seen soldiers doing their duty and nothing more, soldiers devoted to their leaders, soldiers passionately involved in their assignments, but none had ever carried the personal hatred this woman did.

  “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “Pig!”

  “It seems she is lacking in knowledge of anatomy,” commented Krek. “She has mistaken you for one of your porcine cousins.” The spider lurched over and stood before the woman. “You see, dear lady, this fellow is possessed of only two legs, not unlike yourself. He—”

  “Krek,” snapped Lan, impatient. “She knows biology. That was intended as an insult. I’m trying to find out why.”

  “Oh.” The spider sank to the ground and watched the imponderable humans go about their odd mating rituals.

  “I could die happily knowing I’d sent you to the Lower Places, Lan Martak.”

  “You know my name. That’s not surprising since Claybore has put out a sizable reward for me. I overheard you mention it just before your squad attacked.”

  “I’d skewer you for free!”

  “So,” Lan went on, never lessening his hold on the woman’s arm, “you know me personally. The reward doesn’t matter. Yet I’ve never seen you before in my life. Why do you hate me so?”

  “
You killed Lyk Surepta.”

  Lan Martak relaxed his grip in shock at the words. The soldier spun, kicked him, and went for his throat. It took another full minute of struggling to again bring her under control.

  “What was Surepta to you?” Lan’s voice hardened at the memory of the grief that man had caused him. Run him out of his home, killed both lover and half-sister, tried to rape Inyx—the indictment against Surepta was impressive. Lan felt no regret at having killed the man.

  “My husband!” The woman tried to spit in Lan’s face. He held her shoulders pinned to the ground with his knees. With one hand he turned her jaw enough so that she could neither bite nor spit. “I’ll avenge his foul murder!”

  “I had no idea Surepta was married. From his raping, he didn’t act like it.”

  “Lies!”

  “Did he meet you in Waldron’s service?”

  “Yes.”

  Lan mentally filled in the story. He’d certainly never get it from this unwilling woman. Surepta had been given a generalship in Waldron’s army of conquest—in reality, Claybore’s army—and had met this spitfire. They’d married, and Lan had killed Surepta for all his crimes. Waldron or someone close to him had told her who was responsible. She now took it on herself to personally vindicate her husband’s death.

  Lan knew it would do no good trying to dissuade her. Her mind had become fixed on revenge. It’d do even less good to tell her he’d gotten no particular thrill out of Surepta’s death. He’d killed and hadn’t enjoyed the vengeance.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kiska k’Adesina. I want you to know the name of your killer, pig!”

  “She still has you confused with the cloven-hoofed—”

  “Shut up, Krek.” Lan peered down at the woman. Somehow, he couldn’t believe Surepta had married her. It mattered little. Kiska k’Adesina was driven by revenge, whatever the cause. She had mouse-brown hair, now dirtied and matted, brown eyes that might be lovely if the hatred ever died in them, a thin-lipped mouth, delicate bones and a slightly curving nose, a long, slender neck and a svelte build that might be seductive if she wore other than the grey uniform. He remembered the half-seen grey commander in Melitarsus, outside the inn. He’d wondered briefly then; now he knew. He held Claybore’s commander in his arms. “The spider is hardly an expert. His wife’s trying to eat him,” Lan said, trying to soften the mood. His brief overture to her didn’t work.