" How does he do that?"
Rugga stared at the man in disbelief.
" He is Iron Tongue. When he speaks, all others obey." A sly smile crept over her thin, lightly rouged lips. " But you will learn more about this soon. Now be quiet. We approach the fringes of Claybore' s troop encampment."
They walked in silence for ten minutes, signs of soldiers all around. Rugga held up a finger to caution Lan to even greater care, but he did not need the warning. He saw the camp stretching around the bend in the rocky canyon. Fully a thousand soldiers plugged the escape from Wurnna.
Rugga walked onward confidently, not even glancing toward the soldiers marching their posts. Lan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Whatever spell Rugga cast caused the sentries to turn and glance in the opposite direction whenever the pair passed nearby. Rounding the canyon elbow, Lan caught sight of Wurnna in the distance. The entire city glowed a dull blue.
" Yes," said Rugga in hushed tones. " Claybore' s magic. The soldiers remain hidden but the magic is impervious to Iron Tongue' s persuasiveness. However, Claybore' s mages cannot get close enough to apply the spells fully."
" A standoff?"
" One that Iron Tongue permits to exist."
" Why? Why doesn' t he do something? Why send out hunting parties for food, when they could act as guerrilla bands? Why:"
" Iron Tongue' s motives are his own. He turns this siege into a reason for his continued power. If anything, his authority has grown since Claybore' s coming."
" They work together?"
A harsh, curt laugh was his answer. Lan Martak considered the woman' s words. He knew nothing of Wurnna and Iron Tongue, but he did know something of human nature. Iron Tongue had built himself into supreme authority through the use of the tongue and now maintained his position because of the dangers posed by Claybore' s army. No one lightly relinquished such power; as long as the threat persisted, Iron Tongue' s position was secure. It was a dangerous balancing act, magic against magic, lives hanging in the balance, but one probably worth it when considered from the ruler' s standpoint.
" The challenge," Rugga said. Lan felt intense heat beneath his feet. Rugga' s hands moved swiftly and she muttered the counterspell. The rocks cooled suddenly and she motioned him toward a solid stone wall. " Our entrance."
Lan hesitated, then felt the stone changing. Once it had been solid. Now it turned into mist. He walked forward through the stone. Even as he passed, the wall stiffened into impervious rock once again.
" An effective spell, but one which must drive your architects to desperation."
" True, they don' t get to use their decorative skills on the external walls, but they are given free rein inside Wurnna. Witness!"
Lan stopped and drank in the beauty of this sequestered city. Towers of feathery grace soared upward, impossibly fragile. Crystals of phosphorescent green and red and orange embedded in the streets glowed with enough intensity to permit travel at night. Everywhere he looked he saw delicate beauty.
" The architects outdo themselves," he admitted. But Lan also noted the populace. Amidst such splendor none smiled. No one joked along the gorgeous thoroughfares. Children shuffled along, heads down, as if being punished for some crime. Adults moved with suspicious glances at all around.
" The people do not appreciate all Iron Tongue has done for them," Rugga said, her words tinged with sarcasm.
" Is he so powerful?"
" Come. I shall take you to him and allow you to see for yourself." Rugga smiled, as if at some small joke she did not choose to share. " You will understand. Oh, yes, dear Lan, you will soon understand."
They walked swiftly, Lan setting the pace. He felt the chill of fear knifing through the people. The beauty became that of a tomb imprisoning spirit and the obvious wealth, a thing to be despised.
" Here. Iron Tongue." Rugga pointed at a simple building a hundred paces distant. " I must leave you now. He will see you."
" You' re not coming with me?" Lan felt a sudden surge of irrational panic.
" He doesn' t desire my presence now any more than he has in the past. I go to my quarters. After he finishes with you, come by. Anyone can direct you." The long, slender fingers brushed his cheek. Again he felt the heat of her light touch. A smile curled her lips, but it wasn' t a pleasant one. Rugga silently turned and strode off, head high, shoulders back, feathers and bangles whipped backward by the force of her departure. Lan had the feeling she had just left him with his executioner.
Magic permeated the atmosphere, just as fog dampens the skin and sometimes condenses to run in tiny rivulets. Lan Martak walked slowly toward the simple arched doorway; as he walked, the pressure of varying spells worked against him. He cast some aside. Others he recognized and neutralized. He had a native ability to sense magic, but only recently had found power to cast his own spells.
He entered the building and found cool darkness. Light vanished totally in front of him and only a dim outline of the archway was cast. He closed his eyes and trusted other senses. Tiny rustlings of silk and silver came from his left. He moved in that direction. Tiny hints of perfume dilated his nostrils, even as someone coughed genteelly. Lan imagined the cough captured by a lacy handkerchief.
" Iron Tongue?" he asked, stopping when he felt a presence nearby. " I come to enlist your aid against Claybore."
" Lan Martak," came the deeply resonant voice. " I am happy to see you. You bring joy to this house. My city welcomes you as a potent enemy of my enemy."
Lan opened his eyes. Lights had blossomed and shone down on the man seated upon an ornately carved wooden throne. Tucked into one of the man' s sleeves was a handkerchief identical to the one Lan had imagined- or had it been more than imagination in this magic- infested place?
" I fight Claybore across many worlds."
" And with great success," Iron Tongue broke in. Lan felt prickles of magic tugging at the fringes of his mind, elusive and distant, but potent nevertheless. " I choose to sit and allow him to batter himself against Wurnna' s defenses. He cannot enter. The mages of Wurnna are allied against him."
The words carried no real meaning. The undercurrents soothed Lan, fed his ego, made him believe only Iron Tongue could aid him in his battle with Claybore. The man moved closer and watched as Iron Tongue stiffened defensively. Lips parted slightly allowed a ray of light to shine against a dark round tongue in his mouth.
Iron. And magically endowed.
Lan began weaving counterspells both against what he felt and what he suspected. Iron Tongue talked more earnestly; pressures mounted. The battle of wizards turned out to be at an almost subconscious level, but all too real for Lan.
One misstep and he fell under this man' s verbal domination.
" Rugga says you escaped from the valley of spiders. A feat of courage second to none in the annals of Wurnna." Again meaningless words but carrying a shock- charge of magic intended to reduce Lan' s will and subjugate him.
" What is it you mine in their valley?" Lan asked. His question carried an attack of his own, weaving in and out of Iron Tongue' s own offensive thrusts.
" The power stone, of course. We use it to give life to Wurnna. The streets glow from it. The towers soar because of it. The very defenses that hold Claybore at bay depend on it."
Lan began hardening his own attack. He delighted in the play of magics and the feeling that he held his own with such a potent mage. It was this confidence that emboldened him to risk more daring spells, ones he had only considered and never given life to.
" The power stone is mined by slaves captured from Bron," Iron Tongue went on. Sweat beaded his forehead now. " Workers, rather. Willing workers."