" My father wasn' t of this world, but he is now permanently in it. May his dust and that of the world merge," said Morto.
Lan Martak looked curiously at the man.
" You' re not of this planet? You' ve walked the Road?"
" We' ve followed Claybore for a dozen years, ever since he regained the Kinetic Sphere. We' re from a world hundreds separated from this one."
" Did you use one of the one- way gates to arrive here?" Morto nodded assent. " But how did you plan to get away, to follow Claybore, if you failed to regain the Sphere?"
" My father opened a cenotaph on the last world we visited. The powers weren' t quite right to open it in both directions. The one way- gate closed behind us. Others may follow, but we can' t retrace our steps."
" Clumsy of him, if I do say so," said Krek.
" Your father knew the spells to create a cenotaph?" pressed Lan.
" Of course. Abasi- Abi was one of the greatest mages since Terrill himself. It was his misfortune to be second best to Claybore. Mages possess immense egos. It is required to perform their feats; being second best added fuel to the flames of his feeling of inferiority. Even the day' s preparation while you tried to enter the stone hut failed my father. The climb up Mount Tartanius had taken too much from him physically to allow total psychic strength. He was old, older than any of us can imagine. He belonged to a different world."
" It must be in the book. Morto, is the secret of creating a cenotaph in your father' s spell book? Can I open up the Cenotaph Road for us?"
A shrug, a pause, and finally, " I don' t know."
Lan Martak spent the next four days studying Abasi- Abi' s notebook. The details it revealed confirmed much of what he' d guessed. Waldron of the bleak world had been a mere dupe in Claybore' s larger plan. No mention at all of the grey king appeared in AbasiAbi' s diaries: only an unrelenting search for Claybore, continual battle with the grey- clad soldiers loyal to Claybore, worry that the renegade sorcerer might prove too powerful to vanquish.
One spell in the grimoire sent Lan' s heart racing. He composed himself, allowed the immense tides of magic flowing between worlds to suffuse his body, then cast himself outward. Like the therra on his home world, his spirit left his body and he roamed. Hours passed as he searched, disembodied, for Inyx. The world altered around his roving spirit, changed to a featureless plain, finally became the impenetrable white fog he' d experienced before.
" Inyx!" he called. No answer. " Inyx, I need to reach you. I need you."
" Lan?" A voice, hesitant, distant.
" Inyx! Are you all right?"
" I: feeclass="underline" so: light. No: body. I: remain in: this place: too long."
The voice faded. Lan never caught sight of the woman but heard the fear in her words. He' d been told that to remain too long in the white fogginess robbed a mortal of body and left behind only tortured spirit. It was true, and Inyx knew it.
He had to rescue her and didn' t know how.
His spirit returned to his body. The weakness hitting him made him gasp and collapse. For two days Morto and Krek tended him. The excursion had been costly for him, both in energy and morale.
" I don' t see how we can do it. Not on the top of this thricedamned mountain."
" Friend Lan Martak, there must be a way. Abasi- Abi hinted as much."
" Hints, Krek, don' t mean a thing. The man was dying. He was as much a fanatic as Ehznoll. Ehznoll worshipped the earth, Abasi- Abi fought his personal deviclass="underline" Claybore."
" Inyx remains in limbo."
" Dammit, I know." Spots of red flushed Lan' s cheeks. He paced constantly, Abasi- Abi' s spell book open in one hand. " I' ve gone over the contact spells again and again. They don' t work for me. I don' t have the experience, the control, the knowledge."
" While I am no mage, reading through this one indicates a path to follow." Krek' s claw tapped the book, opened on the stone altar in the hut.
" That' s a spell for creating a cenotaph. Yes, maybe the creation would bring Inyx out of the fog, but I can' t do it."
" Why not?"
" I lack the most essential ingredient: a dead hero."
" There is one."
" Abasi- Abi won' t work. We' ve buried him already. The grave must be freshly consecrated with those spells- and the hero' s body must be irretrievably lost."
" Such as lost, meaning not recoverable?"
Sometimes the spider could be so dense Lan wanted to scream.
" Yes, lost. Like: oh, no. Of course."
" Like Ehznoll," they chorused.
" How could I have overlooked it, Krek? He died saving us- the world- from Claybore. When he hit the ground below, nothing but pink splotches would have been left, and those would be smeared halfway down the mountain. We can consecrate a cenotaph to Ehznoll!"
" Obvious."
Lan spent another half- hour chiding himself for not seeing the obvious, then took another hour worrying about the qualities of Ehznoll' s heroism. He finally decided heroism, no matter how motivated, provided the psychic energy required for establishing the Cenotaph Road. The gateway between worlds could be opened, no matter what he' d thought of Ehznoll while he lived.
Lan Martak pored over the spells while Krek and Morto hollowed out the altar inside the hut. A special crypt had to be formed, one large enough to hold a human- or spider. But for all his bulk, Krek managed to compact himself down into large human size.
As the spider and human finished their chore, Lan said, " The preliminary spells are ready. I: I' ve improvised." He looked from Krek to Morto, to see if they approved.
" Improvised in what way?" asked Morto.
" I' ve sent a seeking spell into the whiteness and tried to couple it with the opening of the cenotaph. In this way, as the Cenotaph Road opens, Inyx will be pulled along and deposited on the proper world- the world onto which the cenotaph joins this one. We follow and join her."
" Which world?" the man asked.
" Which? Well, I can' t say. Is there a way of telling beforehand?"
" There is. My father often cast scrying spells for days, hunting for the exact world he desired most."
" I can' t do that. It: it wasn' t in his book." Lan again felt his inadequacy as a mage. All through his preparations he' d sensed his control teetering, almost being lost. The energies he moulded were immense and immensely beyond his comprehension. Still, necessity forced him into the role of sorcerer.
" Are we going to the world Claybore shifted to?" asked Krek.
" I don' t know. There' s so much about this I just don' t know."
" Fear naught, friend Lan Martak. You have done well, I am sure. Though, I do remember the time when you: " The spider' s voice trailed off in memory of some gaffe on Lan' s part.
" The spells. Now." Lan Martak closed his eyes and felt the rush of power surround him. As if he stood on a beach and the ocean waves lapped around his ankles, the power mounted. Up to his knees. Control. He fought to prevent a runaway of the energies he commanded. To his waist. A flicker. The gateway almost opened. He sculpted the almost palpable waves around him. The Cenotaph Road beckoned. The warm, engulfing waves rose higher, ever higher. To his neck. Over his head. A moment of panic. Control. He regained control. Another flicker, followed by an intensely brilliant flash.
The Cenotaph Road opened.
The waves receded from around him. Lan didn' t simply let loose. He maintained control as long as possible, nurturing the energy, stroking it as if it were a thing alive, coaxing the most possible from it. The cenotaph had been opened to another world, but an important element still remained.
Inyx.
" Come closer. Come to me. Follow the light from the Cenotaph Road," he called into the whiteness.
" Lan, so near. I' m coming. Wait for me. Wait!"
" Inyx!"
He blinked and stared into the yawning crypt carved into the stone altar. A misty form appeared, shimmered, started to vanish. He reached out and manipulated the energies and prevented Inyx' s departure. The form coalesced into a woman. She lay in the crypt, confusion on her face. She turned, tried to sit up. The narrow confines prevented her from doing more than straightening her long legs.