For a moment, his bulk plugged the stream. He sputtered as the dammed water rose above his head. Jerking about, skinning his shoulders, he forced his way through and into a small pool behind the hole. Released water roared around him, then returned to a quieter flow.
The man stared back through the small hole; a huge brown eye glared back.
" Aieee!" he started, then calmed. The following spider was too large to fit through the hole, even if the water threat was to be endured. But Lan realized his escape was going to be of short duration. He knew Krek could work up and down mountains with little effort. Scaling the cliffs overlooking the valley would be simplicity itself for these spiders. In no time they' d be above him again.
Lan Martak splashed loudly through the pool, up onto a sandy embankment and then ran as though all the demons of the Lower Places nipped at his heels. He lost track of the turnings made by the stream, but the journey was continually uphill. When the stream vanished totally, the young mage stopped to study it. An artesian spring thrust upward from the rock and fed the tiny river.
Glancing around, he saw he had emerged from the valley and stood on a rocky ridge. To his right stretched the distance- hazy green of the valley of spiders. Ahead lay even more treacherous mountain terrain. To the left- and far, far down- raged a river.
" It' s either ahead or back," he said to himself. Ahead didn' t promise anything but sore feet and hard work. He turned to head back in the direction where he and Krek had originally entered the mountainous region and gasped.
Not one, but fully a hundred spiders advanced on him.
Again he fought to restrain himself. A fire spell would fry them in their tracks. But there might be another way out. There had to be. Wanton killing accomplished nothing.
The river so far below beckoned. A pathway down the rock face might exist. He ran to the edge and stared down into a five- hundredfoot drop. The sheer granite face put the lie to any such escape existing. Climbing down would require mountaineering gear- and time he didn' t have.
" I hope the river' s deep," he said, taking a breath. The spiders advanced, mandibles slashing at the air. Lan Martak took two running steps and leaped out into space. And fell and fell and fell.
CHAPTER FIVE
Metallic clanking and the subliminal hum of magics filled the air. Alberto Silvain pushed back from the table and stood at attention as Claybore entered the room.
" Master!" the man cried, bringing his clenched fist to his heart in salute.
Claybore did not answer- at least with human lips. The words swelled and flowed, filling Silvain' s ears and mind, but no physical sound came from the fleshless skull poised atop the armless torso. This grisly pairing was supported by a mechanical body of steel wire and wheels, long metal shins and arms, and a magic spell that caused it to glow a pale blue as it moved.
Empty eye sockets in the skull boiled with darkness, then flared forth brilliant crimson beams. Silvain stood absolutely still as the twin beams blasted through the space on either side of his arms. He felt the heat, the stinging, searing destructiveness so near and did not flinch. To have done so would have meant death.
The mechanical turned about, and the death beams vanished. Silvain slumped slightly. Claybore was angry with him for the debacle in the Twistings, but not so wroth that he would kill.
The mech struck a pose, spindly arms on nonexistent hips. The torso appeared human enough, but a pearly light shone forth from the region of the heart. Silvain knew no heart beat within the breast; the Kinetic Sphere pulsed there. That globe allowed Claybore to slip from world to world without using the cenotaphs. In conquest of that particular organ, he had thought himself ultimately triumphant, but that fool Martak and the others had proven otherwise.
" You failed," came the words ringing inside Silvain' s head.
" I offer no excuse."
" Good. None is expected- or accepted."
" I will not fail again."
" Failure a second time means death. I have been lenient with you because of past victories. Silvain, I cannot tolerate another failure. I must triumph on this world."
" While I have been here only a short time, I have examined the assembled documents. Conquest goes well."
" Fool!" raged Claybore, the swirlings of ruby light forming in the eye sockets of his skull once more. " Who cares for mere territory? I fight a battle spanning entire worlds! I must find those parts of me Terrill scattered along the Road. That is my goal, not some mudball spinning stupidly through space."
" I err."
" Where is k' Adesina?"
" Here, Lord."
Alberto Silvain turned to see a small, almost fragile woman enter the room. She held herself proudly erect, her brown hair cut short to form a skullcap. What she lacked in stature she more than made up for in intensity. Silvain blinked as he looked at her. More than ambition drove her- but what could that something else be?
" You two have much in common," said Claybore. " You have both failed me."
" The spider' s webbing prevented me from slaying Lan Martak for you, Lord. It will not happen-"
" Silence!" roared Claybore. " Excuses. You both make the same excuses and the same promises. ' It won' t happen again,' " he mocked. " No, it won' t. You will succeed this time. Both of you."
Silvain frowned, wondering what this k' Adesina woman had done. It would take a while to build a new intelligence network among the greyclad soldiers populating this world, but it would be worth the effort. He needed information if he wanted to serve Claybore. Data on this woman ranked highly on his list of items to learn. She carried rank equal to his own.
" Report, Kiska," the mage commanded. The mechanical clanked as it shifted position. Silvain felt uneasiness at the movement; the skull' s eye sockets stared blankly at him.
The woman cleared her throat and began. " Since coming to this world through the cenotaph atop Mount Tartanius, I have organized four major offensives."
" Get on with it," snapped Claybore. " I need to know the precise problems we face as of this instant."
" Very well, Lord. Subjugation is complete except for three areas." Silvain perked up, listening intently. The woman' s voice took on added timbre. She became totally enmeshed in the telling.
" The valley of spiders, Bron, and Wurnna," supplied Claybore. " The spiders are insignificant. They have nothing that interests me. Is what I seek in Bron or Wurnna?"
" The city- state of Bron is under siege. While our troops have suffered unexplained losses recently, the city itself is permanently sealed by spells. No one enters or leaves."
" But I still feel my tongue!"
" Yes, Lord," the woman went on, excitement entering her voice. " Your tongue is in Wurnna."
" Damn!"
" The sorcerers of that city easily counter our mages' best spells. They repulse our most fervent attacks. It is my belief that their leader, known as Iron Tongue, either has in his immediate possession, or knows the whereabouts of, your tongue."
" With a name like that, he must employ the tongue on a regular basis," supplied Silvain. He drummed nervous fingers on the tabletop in front of him. " Is it possible he carries the tongue inside his mouth- in place of his own natural tongue?"
" It is possible," said Claybore.
" Directing further efforts toward Bron seems wasteful. I suggest all attention be focused on Wurnna and the sorcerers within it. For that, Lord, we need your aid."
" It shall be available. But I would like the two of you to work out a strategy for physical conquest. At the precise moment I launch my sorcerous assault, I want all within Wurnna to fear for their mortal bodies. Have such a plan prepared for my examination no later than midnight."