The sword struck.
Lan screamed, his concentration gone as excruciating pain lashed his senses. He jerked away as it pinked just under his eye and felt the sword dig deeper into his flesh, his bone. He grabbed at the sword blade with his hands, knowing even as he did so that no physical force would move the magical object from its course. The sword point dug deeper into cheek, burrowing into the jawbone, driving for the back of his head where the magical point might sever the spinal column.
Lan couldn' t stop the deadly advance; the joined forces of the remaining mages of Wurnna did. Rugga, senior of those sorcerers surviving, built on what Lan had started, forging a parrying force that turned the blade at the last possible instant.
" Destroy it!" shrieked Rugga. " Destroy Claybore' s evil sword!"
Her anger and hatred flowered and added supplemental power to the spell she had guided. Although weakened, the sorcerers found enough strength to shatter the blade. As it had sailed, so did it explode. Ruptured pieces turned slow cartwheels, barely moving, still deadly. Only when the last had embedded themselves harmlessly in stone or deep in the earth did Rugga and Inyx rush forward to tend to Lan.
" Oh, no, by all the Fates, no," Inyx said over and over. She stood in shock at the sight. The lower right portion of Lan' s jaw had been sheared away, leaving his mouth a bloody ruin. Thick spurts of his life juices blossomed and washed down neck and chest.
" Claybore' s revenge must be sweet," said Rugga, the bitterness there for all to hear. " He' s cut out the tongue of his most powerful adversary. Lan Martak will never again utter a spell."
" Do something," pleaded Inyx. " He' s dying." The woman' s crude and usually effective first aid hadn' t staunched the geysering flow of blood from Lan' s jaw, where arteries had been clipped by the sword. He no longer made bubbling noises of pain. His body refused to believe such agony was possible and rejected any further misery, in preparation for death.
But Inyx felt it fully for him. He' d been a handsome man, young, vital, quick of wit and quicker with his friendship and love. Now he lay with the lower right half of his jaw cut away. His tongue had vanished along with bone and teeth and palate, making only deepthroated sounds possible now.
" He is dying," came the mocking words. " I can save him. Give me the tongue and I will save your lover." The image of Claybore' s skull and torso floated a few feet away. Inyx knew this was only illusion, that the sorcerer remained safely hidden away where none might physically reach him.
The offer tempted her sorely. Lan' s life for the worthless tongue in a dead mage' s mouth. Then she heard soft rustlings of silk. She turned and saw the giant spider Krek mounting the perpendicular stone wall as if it had stairs cut into it. The soft sounds came from the coppery- bristled fur on his legs brushing as he walked.
" Friend Inyx," the spider said, " I feel as you do for our fallen friend, but what was his mission?"
" To stop Claybore," she said, her voice choked. Then, firmer with resolve, she glared at Claybore' s fleshless skull and defiantly said, " Burn in all the Lower Places. You won' t get the tongue!"
" He is dying. I can save him."
" He dies thwarting you. What more can any warrior ask? He died honorably, nobly, for a cause that means something."
" It means nothing!" roared the skull. " Nothing, do you hear!"
A wicked smile crossed Inyx' s lips.
" You won' t get the tongue. He stopped you. Dar- elLan- Martak stopped Silvain and now he' s stopped you."
Claybore' s response chilled her. She' d hoped for a moment of rage from the sorcerer. It didn' t come. He laughed without humor.
" The tongue will be mine. You can' t stop me now. Those few pitiful mages cannot conjure a fraction as well as I do. Silvain died for me. Do you think there are others any less willing? Are you ready to face still another giant?"
" While it might be true that your conjuration powers exceed those shown by the Wurnna sorcerers," said Krek, " it is within their power to destroy the tongue before you can recover it. You shall lose its use, even if you do conquer this entire world. Of what use is such a pyrrhic victory?"
Again Claybore surprised them with his reaction.
He laughed louder, harder than ever before.
" The tongue is important, but I have won. Oh, yes, worms, I have won. He is dead." Ruby beams flashed from empty sockets to lightly brush across Lan' s body. The man twitched, but could not cry out in pain. " More important, my agents on other worlds have been active. While you tried your pitiful efforts against me on this world, they have been successful elsewhere. Soon enough, arms and legs will be mine."
" You won' t have a tongue!" taunted Inyx, but deep inside she felt sickness mounting. Their triumph seemed pathetic in the face of Claybore' s victory. Destroying the tongue did not prevent him from becoming more powerful through the regaining of other bodily parts.
" I come for my tongue." The image vanished.
For long minutes none moved; then Rugga motioned for the other mages to join her.
" He must be healed," she said, indicating Lan' s limp form. " Bringing the dead back to life is beyond our power, but saving a life might not be."
The mages chanted, hummed, made magical signs in the air that burned with fiery intensity and left the odor of brimstone, but Lan got no better. Inyx thought the slow consumption by death had been halted; but they did him no favors preserving him at this level. He had been a vital man, a vibrant one, full of life. To leave him like this was a travesty. Better she drive a dagger through his noble heart.
" Stay your hand, friend Inyx," said the spider. " There is one course of action you have not taken."
" What? What is it?" she demanded, eyes wide and imploring.
" I do not know if it will work, but it seems most logical. You see, there is a symmetry to the universe that we arachnids often ponder. Perhaps it comes from our love of geometrically symmetrical webs. We spin and weave and-"
" Krek!"
" Oh, yes. I shall try it and see." The spider lumbered over to Iron Tongue' s body and used his front legs to roll the corpse onto its back. The dead mage' s head lolled grotesquely to one side, the tongue so eagerly sought by Claybore thrusting from between bloated lips. Krek used his front talons to separate the lips and open the mouth. Bending down until the serrated tips of his mandibles were deep inside, he snipped.
The spider jumped back, a shrill screech piercing the air. The contact with the magical tongue had caused blue sparks to erupt forth, burning both dead lips and living spider. But Krek held the organ between his powerful mandibles. Spinning in place, he pushed through the mages and placed the tongue into the sundered oral cavity of his friend.
" It is yours by right," Krek said softly. " Yours is the destiny we must all follow and aid. Use the magic to heal yourself. Do it, friend Lan Martak. We need you!"
A tear formed at the corner of his saucer- sized eye. Inyx gently wiped it away as she hugged one of his thick middle legs and watched.
For minutes nothing happened; then Rugga jerked back, a look of surprise on her face.
" Our magics are blocked. We can no longer aid him. He: he is healing himself."
Inyx dared to hope then. More minutes passed and a startling transformation began. What had been bone once in Lan' s face became bone again. Whitely exposed, it gleamed in the pale light of the setting sun. Then it was no longer visible. Skin flowed and covered it, recreating Lan' s normal visage. But the young mage lay as still as death.
" Help him now," urged Inyx. " Give him your strength."
" He blocks us. All of us together cannot pierce the cloak he pulls about himself."
Then came the faint and eerie chants from Lan' s newly grown lips. The spell mounted in power, built and soared to the skies. It was a spell of power and hope and success.