Robert Vardeman - Pillar of Night

“We have little time. Bickering among ourselves will only lead us to defeat.”

“She will stab you in the back at the first opportunity,” said Brinke, pointing to Kiska. The brown-haired commandant of Claybore’s troops smiled wickedly.

“I know,” Lan said weakly.

“We still have time, Lan my darling,” Kiska said, rising to her feet. She stroked along his cheek and kissed him. She clung to him and prevented him from getting away. He lacked the resolve to make her stop, even though he knew both Inyx and Brinke were seething.

“Put her into the chamber with the demon,” suggested Krek. “Let them give one another heartburn.”

“No way, you oversized ceiling crawler,” protested the demon. “It’s too damn small in here. First you want me to fly right on up to that awful black rotating pillar and risk my scaly limbs. Now you want to squeeze a truly dreadful lumpy human in here with me. You’re a cruel one, fuzz-legs.”

“Thank you,” said Krek. “I had not expected such a fine compliment from one of your inferior mental status.”

“Inferior!” raged the demon. It scrabbled against the metal plates until a loud ringing echoed through the forest. The spells binding it to the flyer were too great. After a few minutes of frenzied activity, the demon subsided into a sulky silence.

“We must hurry,” said Lan, not using the Voice now. He already felt drained and the real struggle had yet to begin. Just trying to hold together this disparate band taxed him to the utmost.

The flow of emotion became too confusing for him to consider. Ducasien loved Inyx, who obviously cared for him-but little more. Brinke had true affection for Lan, but the sorcerer tried to hold back because the geas forced him to unwanted behavior toward Kiska. Kiska hated them all, but experienced some of the geas toward Lan so that she would only wait for the worst possible instants before trying to assassinate him.

Lan’s head threatened to split like a frozen spring melon.

“Yes, let us leave this posturing device,” said Krek. The spider thwacked! the side of the flyer before joining Lan.

“Krek, you, Inyx and Ducasien will have to fend off any physical attacks. Brinke and I will concentrate on the sorcerous ones-and they are going to be desperate ones.”

“Will Claybore throw everything against us before we get to the Pillar of Night?” asked Inyx. “Or will he let the forest wear us down before attacking?”

“This is a mistake,” cried Kiska. “Lan works to release Claybore’s soul. It’s trapped by the Pillar!”

Lan cut off the protests from Brinke even as they formed on the woman’s lips. “I know,” the man said. “She lies. I have felt the Resident of the Pit within.”

“It’s a trap,” insisted Kiska. “Claybore is gulling you into believing you aid the Resident.”

Lan started walking, trying not to listen to the bickering that flowed around him. By the time the first wave of mutilated forest-dwellers swung down on them, the petty arguments had ceased.

“Aloft!” cried Ducasien. “In the trees!”

His sword whispered free of its engraved leather sheath and skewered an armless woman as she slithered down a vine, using only legs and incredibly powerful teeth for support. Inyx quickly responded and drove off another seeking their blood-or was it another pair? The two men were joined at the side, sharing two heads, and the proper number of limbs for a single human.

“How revolting,” said Inyx. “Killing them makes me feel dirty.”

“They will kill us if we don’t,” pointed out Ducasien. He bound a wound on his arm himself as they hurried on. “Vicious fighters.”

“Demented fighters,” said Lan. “Claybore has driven them all quite mad.”

“He experimented horribly upon them,” said Brinke, shivering delicately. “And… Lan! Do you sense it?”

Lan kept walking but summoned up the light mote familiar he had cultivated into his major offensive and defensive weapon. The mote whirled forth, spun through the forest in a crazy orbit and returned seconds later. On the rippling surface of the point of light Lan read the spells forming around them.

He began counters immediately.

“The ground!” shouted Kiska. “Run!”

“Stand,” said Lan. “It is illusion.”

The yawning chasm split open the soft earth, sucking in trees and scores of the screeching remnants of Claybore’s experiments. The pit looked endless-and it widened, moving toward the small group with a dizzying speed.

“Run. It’ll swallow us all. Run,” urged Kiska.

Lan lifted the light mote and brought it hurling downward at his feet. The bright pinpoint burned through the ground at the vee front of the pit. The hole vanished.

“Illusion,” insisted Lan.

“Lan,” Brinke said, clinging to his arm. “Something moves against us.”

“The trees. They are Claybore’s creatures. I hold them at bay.”

“No, you’re failing. They’re coming for us. The trees will destroy us.” Kiska bolted and tried to run. Lan felled her with a simple spell, then ran to her side.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned-and hating himself for it. This woman was a cold-blooded killer and had proven it on a dozen worlds.

“No,” she sobbed. “Turn back. Now, Lan, for me.”

His vision blurred and his mouth turned dry. Only Inyx’s hand on his shoulder kept him from passing out.

“We must continue,” the dark-haired woman said in a soft voice. Electricity flowed through her light touch on his shoulder, and they both trembled as the rapport that had once been theirs built anew. More than words, they shared emotions, inchoate thoughts, the most subtle of communications.

Kiska saw the sharing between them and moved to kill Lan. Inyx swung her fist and clipped the other woman on the point of the chin even as Lan acted to stop her.

Kiska lay unconscious on the ground. Lan apologized to Inyx.

“Lan, please,” Inyx said. “I… we.” She took a deep breath. “I understand the power of this compulsion now that we can again see into one another’s souls.”

“You see why I went astray?” he asked.

Inyx nodded.

“I thought I didn’t need you. I was wrong. I need you in all ways.”

“Will you two please explain this mating ritual to me?” piped up Krek. “I have tried in vain to understand it. You, friend Inyx, must knock down the scrawny one so that friend Lan Martak can…”

“Never mind, Krek.”

“But I do wish to explain this to my hatchlings. They must deal with you ridiculous humans.” The spider canted his head to one side. “I rather wish to understand it myself and I am failing.”

“Let’s march,” said Ducasien. His gruff tones told how little he liked seeing Inyx with Lan. “We can leave her.” He indicated Kiska with the tip of his sword.

“She comes along,” said Lan before he could stop himself.

“Bring her,” Inyx said. “It’s all right, Ducasien. I begin to understand the magics involved.”

Ducasien hoisted Kiska over his shoulder, muttering about clean steel and fair fights.

“The magics still surround us,” said Brinke. “They overwhelm me. I can’t fight them.”

Krek stopped and faced the white-haired man in a small clearing. “Do let us by,” said the spider, “or I shall be forced to eat you.”

Terrill waved his hand. Krek collapsed against a tree, which immediately began dropping leaves and sinuous vines down around his stilled body.

“You can’t stop us,” said Lan. “Have you remembered or does Claybore only use you?”

“My friends are all so peeved that their rest is disturbed,” said Terrill. The madness burned in his eyes, brighter than Lan had seen it before. “They want you to leave. Go now and don’t bother us further. We are preparing for a party. Oh, yes, a fine party. None of you is invited.”