Since his magical powers grew, Lan Martak found his temper increasingly short- fused.
" Krek, eat them. All four."
" Lan!" protested Inyx. He gripped her arm to silence her outburst.
The four gnomes exchanged worried looks- or what Lan thought were worried looks.
The leader barked out, " Get back to work. We have to finish before nightfall."
When one of the others saw Krek advancing and looked up at the eight- foot- tall, eight- legged horror, he swung his shovel as hard as he could. The blade smashed into the back of his leader' s head. The gnome crashed face down into the grave he was digging, never uttering a sound.
" I' m leader now," spoke up the one who had so creatively used his shovel. " Let' s negotiate this."
" Now we' re getting somewhere," said Lan. " Come, sit beside us so we can talk." He didn' t want to tower over the gnome. Such difference in position lent an air of uneasiness to the one being looked down upon, or so Lan had found in his experience. The gnome plopped down and crossed his arms, looking expectantly at Lan to begin.
" We are travelers along the Cenotaph Road," he began.
" Yes, yes," said the gnome impatiently. " That much is obvious. Who else but traveler or a Heresler would be out in the graveyard? Certainly not the Tefize or the Kaan or the Willikens, damn them all. So. You have to be walking the Road."
Lan frowned. While many peoples along the Road knew of the existence of other worlds, few took it so casually.
" Why don' t you walk the Road yourself and get away from all this?" Lan gestured to encompass the downpour of acidic rain. Every drop touched off a tiny explosion now, leaving behind a pocked and flaming crater. To be caught unprotected on that plain meant certain death, and even under his magical umbrella, he sensed a new danger. The air filled with noxious gases released by the flaming rocks.
" This is home. Why wander?" asked the gnome, obviously puzzled at the question. Lan didn' t pursue the matter further. Perdition to one was paradise to another.
" My name is Lan Martak, this is Inyx, and the big one is Krek."
" Krek- k' with- kritklik," spoke up Krek, " but the human palate does not seem adequate for the task of pronouncing a real name."
The gnome made a noise like he spat, then said, " I see why they call you Krek. I am Broit Heresler, head of the Heresler clan."
" Head?" asked Inyx in surprise. She glanced over at the gnome struggling to sit up in the grave. He rubbed the back of his head where Broit had smashed him with the shovel.
" Oh, damn," said Broit, springing to his feet. He scooped up his shovel and again smashed the fallen gnome in the back of the head. He added one last whack to make sure of the job, tossed down the shovel, and returned to sit by Lan.
" Promotion is swift on this planet," muttered Lan.
" He was a tyrant, anyway," said Broit Heresler. " And he did absolutely nothing to fend off the Tefize. They are walking all over us. Imagine. They denigrate the position of us gravediggers in polite society."
" What function do the Tefize play?"
" They don' t do anything but cart around food and shit and stuff like that. Imagine. They never even leave the confines of the Home and they have the nerve to say we' re deadbeats."
" Anyone leaving the safety of, uh, the Home to come out here is hardly that," agreed Lan.
" I like you," said Broit. " You' re quick on the uptake."
" Thank you. Tell me about the Tefize. How long has your clan and theirs been at odds?"
Broit looked at the young mage and shook his head. He made an ugly face and then spat onto the ground. Where the gobbet hit, a thin column of steam rose. Lan wondered if the acid rain caused the fire or whether it merely acted as a catalyst and any moisture would suffice to produce the blazes.
" Generations. Longer. It' s always that way. The doers pitted against the takers. Bodies' d build up sky high if it wasn' t for us. Who else is there to carry out the dead and put them in the ground where they belong?"
" Keeps you busy," said Inyx.
" Damn right it does. The Hereslers perform vital service."
" When did the tide begin to go against you?" asked Lan.
" What makes you think it has been?" demanded Broit. " I never said anything about anything going wrongo. Not in the least."
" A guess."
" Maybe a month, maybe two. If you ask me- and you can now, since I' m clan chieftain- it' s that mage the Tefize recruited. He' s been making mischief all over the place." Broit spat once more.
" The disembodied mage?" asked Lan, trying to sound as casual as possible. He felt electricity surging throughout his body. Most of all, his tongue tingled with the need to demand of this gnome the truth. Such a use of magic would certainly bring unwanted attention from Claybore; Lan fought down the urge.
" He' s the one. Another walker along the Road. Damn fool doesn' t have any legs. Uses a mechanical gadget to get about on. No arms, either, but it doesn' t seem to bother him a whole lot. He' s around, but he' s not the one causing all the fuss."
" The woman with him is probably the one, right?" asked Inyx.
" You folks know where all the bodies are hidden, that' s for sure," said Broit. " Kiska k' Adesina, they call her. What a bitch. Always getting into trouble and making a mess. She' s increased the Heresler work load tenfold since she showed up." Broit rubbed over his bent back to show how much gravedigging had increased since Claybore' s new commandant had arrived.
" Are there many of the grey- clad soldiers about?"
" Who? No soldiers, not since we killed off the last of the Larsh clan some sixty years ago. Buried every last one of them, we did. Some were still alive when we did, too. Served ' em right."
" What would happen if the Tefize are victorious in this civil war you' re waging?" asked Lan.
Broit Heresler shrugged.
" Would they wipe out all of the Hereslers?"
" Sure would. In a snap." Broit wound up, harumphed, and spat a good ten feet, watching the spittle attract acid droplets as it flew. By the time it hit the ground, it virtually exploded like a small artillery shell.
" You don' t seem overly concerned with this," said Inyx. " Wouldn' t you like a bit of help to prevent being killed?"
" Wouldn' t turn it down," said the gnome. " Wouldn' t want to accept it, either. Big load to carry when you start taking favors from people. Look at what' ll happen to the Tefize. This Claybore will take them for a bunch, count on it."
" If you are no longer around, what matters it to you?" asked Krek.
" Everyone' s got to go sometime. Nobody knows that better' n a gravedigger, righto?"
" I suppose so," said Lan.
" Got to finish up," said Broit, peering out from under the magical umbrella at the overcast sky. " If we don' t, we' re going to get caught in the fog. Wouldn' t want to be cut off from Yerrary, no way."
" Yerrary?" asked Lan. " Is that the mountain I saw?"
" More' n any mountain you ever saw. That' s Home."
" But the mountain' s name is Yerrary?"
" Well," said the gnome, obviously thinking hard on the subject, " it is and it isn' t. Yerrary' s the name of our major deity, not that anybody worships her any more. But we still use the name for Home. Seemed right at the time. Now, who cares? We' re all dead sooner or later."
" That we are," said Inyx.
" You two get digging. And cover him up. I don' t want him coming around again. Hate to bend the shovel more' n I have already." Broit sat and supervised while the other two gnomes diligently worked in the acid rain to dig three more graves and to cover over the one in which their onetime leader lay.
Lan almost protested, then stopped himself. Different cultures, different customs. Broit appeared to be an amiable enough sort, whereas his predecessor hadn' t been. They' d need all the aid they could get to fight off Claybore and Kiska k' Adesina. Alliance with the Heresler clan might not be enough, but it gave them a starting point.