" Why do you tell me this?" Swirls of black moved through equally black space. Only the adept saw such arcane movement. Claybore saw and clacked his jaws together in delight.
" He robbed me of my flesh. Never again will I be able to look as others do. He has stolen my tongue and misuses its power. But I have rejoined arms and torso and head and heart. Before I take possession of my legs and discard these pathetic mechanical limbs, I wanted you to congratulate me."
No response.
" Come, come, Resident. Give me your blessing. I might even free you from the Pillar." Claybore only baited the captive god. Nothing in the universe would persuade him to free the Resident of the Pit from such carefully wrought imprisonment.
" Throughout the eons, you have not changed, Claybore," came the measured words. " Martak will triumph and become more than you ever dreamed. I see the future and it is his."
" You won' t share that future," snarled Claybore.
" I will not share his future," agreed the Resident.
" Watch your pet crushed under foot," said Claybore, his mood lightening again as victory became a heady possibility. " We will do battle. His most impressive spells will fail. I will be victorious. Wait and see."
The Resident of the Pit did not deign to answer.
Claybore pulled his legs over the rim of the pit and laughed once more. His shadow hound shied away at the sound, fearing new punishments. Claybore motioned for the beast to follow. He wended his way back through the excavation and upward to where Lan Martak toiled to find a clue on how to use the pair of legs to his best advantage.
Claybore would not allow the young mage the opportunity to discover that.
" I know where the legs are," Lan Martak said. " I can see them as plainly as if they were in this very room. But how do I use them? What gain did Lirory see from obtaining them?"
" Don' t fret," said Kiska k' Adesina, her hand stroking over his light- brown hair. " You are a master now. The way will open to you when you least expect it."
Lan turned and looked at the woman. Manic intensity burned within her, no matter how placid her words. He sensed the magics boiling around them and the subtler undercurrents that bound them together. But try as he might, he found no way of separating their destinies, nor did he have an inkling as to why he protected her as he did. He had to believe it was instinct on his part, a hunch that Kiska would be useful in the battle against Claybore.
But this hardly seemed right. Lan shrugged off the worrisome thoughts.
Claybore knew how difficult it was for Lan to slay wantonly. Even Kiska' s husband had not been a careless or thoughtless death at his hand. Surepta had murdered Lan' s lover, raped and murdered his halfsister, and had driven him from his home world in disgrace. In spite of all that, the death throes Surepta made as Lan had run him through with a sword had not been satisfactory. No amount of suffering had balanced the cosmic scales for what he had done.
Lan had been warned by the Resident of the Pit that revenge would turn to ash in his mouth. It had. There had been no thrill of victory over Surepta, no feeling of justice being served. The death had been just that- a death both necessary and sickening to him.
" You cannot defeat a mage who has such experience, Lan," the woman told him. " Don' t try. Give it up."
He wanted to strike out, to silence her. But there was no way. To use the Voice only hardened the ties between them. A sudden use of magic- another fire elemental- might kill Kiska, but he couldn' t do that. Not now. The spell died on his lips before being half- formed.
" I will not allow him those legs," he said firmly.
" He can' t get to them. Lirory hid them well."
" I can see them," Lan said tiredly. This wore him down- dealing with Kiska. That was another aspect of the spell. Simply dismissing her as annoying, much like a mosquito buzzing about his head, proved as difficult as killing her. " I am sure Claybore is able to, also. After all, they were once a part of him. The bond between leg and body would be strongest for him."
" You are tired. Rest. Relax."
Lan turned from Lirory' s grimoires and sat in the slag rock throne. Energies welled up and bolstered his flagging power. He closed his eyes and wondered if the use of a sudden enough spell wouldn' t kill Kiska and free him.
He tried and failed.
Lan ignored Kiska' s constant negative comments and cast forth his senses throughout all of Yerrary, seeking, probing, examining. With ease he found the chamber cradling the legs. They radiated a glow he thought should be obvious to anyone, then realized he looked not with his eyes but with other magical senses.
Lan rubbed his temples and felt as if he' d burst into tears at any moment. How far he had come. Gone were the simple days of roving through the woods near his home, finding game, living free. Gone, all gone, and in their place came new powers and even weightier burdens and wearisome responsibilities.
" Lan?" came a familiar voice. He opened his eyes and saw Inyx. For reasons he couldn' t fathom, the sight of Ducasien standing so close beside her sent him into a rage.
" What is it?" he yelled.
" We came to see if you needed anything," the woman said, her words turning chilly. " I see you are well enough served."
" I am."
Ducasien started to speak. Lan glared at him and the man fell silent, the words jumbled in his throat. This brought a slight sneer to the mage' s lips. This was the way to deal with subordinates- do not allow them to speak unless addressed directly.
Power flared within and he liked it.
" Krek says you' ll need help when you meet Claybore." The ravenhaired woman tossed her head and brushed away strands of the lustrous hair. She had bathed, eaten, and rested. In other times Lan would have found her heartrendingly beautiful. Now she was little more than an annoyance, an interruption- another of his servants.
" The spider is too prissy for his own good," said Lan. " What does he know of the battles to come? They will be ones of magic. There won' t be need for insects."
" Insects?" Inyx' s eyebrows shot up. She was too shocked to be angry at the man' s words. " Is that all he is to you? A bug?"
" You know what I meant. What will happen will be between mages. Claybore and myself. We will fight and I will win."
The throne on which he sat glowed a deeper- hued red and power suffused his body until he felt invincible. How had he ever thought Claybore his equal? Lan Martak was better, unconquerable!
" Sorry I even mentioned it," Inyx said bitterly. She motioned to Ducasien to accompany her. The man' s hand rested on his throat as he tried to speak. Lan' s laughter followed them from the room. Yes, this definitely was the way to handle servants.
" You have learned much, Martak," came the formless words inside his head. Lan' s attention snapped to the chamber holding the legs, then slowly circuited the vast interior to the mountain kingdom. He found Claybore some distance away, but that meant nothing. Their magics penetrated rock as well as space and time. Whether they were in the same room or worlds apart, this battle would continue until one of them was defeated.
" You will not recover your legs, Claybore."
" What makes you think I want them, worm?" The sorcerer vented a harsh laugh.
" You want them," said Lan. Already he mounted his ward spells, formed his attacks. The throne energized him and gave a support. Although it looked nothing like the power stone he wore around his neck, the material of the throne served the same purpose. From somewhere on this world it focused the flows needed to transcend mere human capacity.
" Of course I do. I lied to see how you would respond. What good will they do you, Martak? Let me take them. Perhaps we can come to an accommodation in this."