Once, when len- Larrotti lay beside her, sated, she had whispered, " Why do you use me? Why me?"
" Reality is hard enough to change," he muttered, more asleep than awake. " You require very little altering in illusion. You are so close to perfection, only small magics give them what they want."
She watched heavy eyelids lower. Reinhardt. Inyx had reached out to caress. Her fingers found flabby throat, squeezed down on multiple chins. Reinhardt. She killed her own husband. The woman hesitated, then her resolve hardened. But it came too late. A convulsive jerk had allowed the man to break her grip and rise. She sat in bed, staring in dumb horror at her hands, as if they had betrayed her.
Luister len- Larrotti left, only to admit a steady string of patrons, all of whom looked exactly like lost Reinhardt. The magics strengthened against her, and she never again had the opportunity to kill her tormentor.
Inyx sat and watched, sometimes wondering what those outside saw, other times not caring. For all the traffic, not once did a grey- clad soldier stop and gawk. Their rules must prohibit use of Fine Rooms, she guessed. Whether that was a mercy or not, she couldn' t say. It might be better having them discover her and then execute her rather than continue providing cheap sexual thrills for len- Larrotti and his customers.
Inyx sat and concentrated, forcing her will down, ever down inside her. The point where she concentrated burned with fiery need. She fanned the flames, nurtured them, let them rise only to deny them. Not enough. She had triumphed over worse. Reinhardt was dead. Luister lenLarrotti imprisoned her. She hated Luister len- Larrotti. Reinhardt had died. Her husband no longer existed, except in her own mind. Inyx worked, moulded, changed, savored, hoarded.
Another man entered the room. Inyx continued to concentrate. She felt len- Larrotti' s magics flowing like warm water in a stream, filling the room, threatening to drown her. The woman didn' t resist; she went with the flow, moved with it, then began angling to one side. She saw Reinhardt waiting for her by the bed; superimposed over his muscular body she saw a middle- aged, paunchy man. Inyx resisted more. The illusion of Reinhardt wavered.
" I' ve always wanted to make love to a jungle goddess," the man said. " On your hands and knees. Go sniffing for jungle spoor. Let me stalk you through the jungle."
Inyx did as she was told. Like an animal, she raced around the room, the man joyously pursuing. The illusion faded. As the man caught her, she turned and delivered one silent, swift blow to his neck. He made a small choking noise, then sank onto the bed.
" Oh, Reinhardt," she cooed, in case her captor watched or listened, " you are as much a man as ever. No, more than ever!"
She searched her victim, finding nothing. Cursing softly at this failure, she pulled out a piece of steel supporting the mattress. Using this, she forced the door lock. Inyx felt the flood of magic around her abate slightly. However len- Larrotti focused his spells, that room was the center. The further away from it she got, the less she' d feel the pull.
Stumbling, crying in frustration, knowing the truth and perversely wanting Reinhardt all the more, she reached the door leading to Lossal Boulevard. Trembling hands undid the first bolt. Inyx worked frantically to open the second.
" My dearest Inyx, you aren' t leaving me, are you? How could you, after all these years apart? I need you so much."
She looked back over her shoulder. Reinhardt stood there. The look of hurt and betrayal on his face caused her to break down and sob uncontrollably. With her failure to escape came a tiny morsel of success: she again had Reinhardt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
" The grey- clads do not follow us. How odd," said Krek. The spider bounced up and down, craning his almost nonexistent neck back in the direction they' d, come. " It has been a goodly four days since I so soundly ran them off. They normally show more persistence. My scare job must have been better than I thought."
With typical arachnid perversity, Krek had neglected to mention Lan' s role in routing the soldiers. But the man didn' t care. Not being disturbed by Claybore' s men, for whatever reason, suited him fine. If Krek wanted to take all the credit for that, let him. And Lan didn' t know for sure but that the spider was right. The soldiers had bolted when they' d seen how ferocious an opponent Krek could be.
He touched the cylinder he' d recovered from the slain captain. It aimed easily, just like pointing a wand. The tiny button on the side triggered the death beam. Lan had tried it out on a lightning- blasted tree. A new bolt of fire had reduced the charred tree to smouldering embers. Obviously a more potent weapon than his sword- and fasteracting than his relatively weak fire spells. Lan still felt uneasy with the weapon.
A sword rested solidly in the hand. It swung easily and cut true. And spells conjured up provided a sense of control he didn' t get from the death tube.
" Any indication of how much farther it is to Dicca?" he asked the spider.
Krek stopped, dug talons into the dry earth, and stood shivering. Lan waited while his friend " listened" by sensing faint vibrations in the ground. Krek finally straightened and shook his head.
" Nothing. But then, we see very little ground traffic. Aerial forms of travel abound." Even as he spoke, a V- shaped flight of howlers rocketed across the sky. Crossing from horizon to horizon took only seconds.
" Most of those things," Lan said with distaste, indicating the howlers, " are too small for more than two people. They must have larger versions or the roads would be packed with travellers. The more advanced a world, the more it requires communication of both goods and ideas."
" How profound," said Krek. Lan Martak glanced sharply at him, wondering if the spider intended that as sarcasm. He couldn' t tell. " Inyx travelling in one of the fluttercraft puts her days ahead of us."
" We' re making good time. Did you detect any others along this road?"
" Something massive rumbles in this direction."
" Might be a troop carrier. Let' s get off the road and wait for a while."
" Nonsense, friend Lan Martak," Krek said tartly. " We need to press on. No handful of soldiers can drive us off this fine road."
" You want to face a hundred soldiers capable of setting your legs on fire and never getting within a hundred feet of you?" He tapped the death tube hanging at his belt.
" Well," vacillated the spider, " perhaps it is time to enjoy an afternoon' s relaxation."
" It' s only about ten in the morning," pointed out Lan, smiling.
" So we are doing it early." The spider hopped to the side of the road and soon found an area where he crouched down and blended into the landscape. From twenty feet away he looked like nothing more than a brown rock with a few wiry roots prying their way up and under. Lan took a post closer to the road. Again he admired Krek' s talents for sensing vibration. Living on a web and depending on the proper interpretation of the slightest of twitches had its advantages. A heavy truck rolled along the road.
" No soldiers," he said to Krek. " Looks like produce for the city markets."
The truck rumbled on by. Lan exchanged a quick glance with Krek, then ran after the vehicle. An agile leap brought him into the back to lie amid stacks of fragrant vegetables. He wiped off a long, green stalk of crisp celery and began to eat. The truck lurched sideways, then regained its course. Lan glanced up. The heavy canvas stretched over metal support rods sagged ominously. He smiled to himself. Krek had decided to enjoy the air outside and crouched on the roof.
In a short while, the gentle rolling motion of the truck put Lan to sleep.
" You, what are you doing back there?" demanded the driver. Lan opened one bleary eye and stared at the man. Behind him stretched loading bays, many filled with trucks similar to this one.