Fire and Fog

He cast the feebly kicking form into the pit.

From far off something stirred. Darkness took shape and flowed, billowed, became a thing living as it sucked the vitality from the tiny blood offering.

" You seek?" came a deeply resonant voice.

" You know I do," snapped Claybore. His fear knew no bounds at what lay within, but his anger at the pettiness overrode it.

" You have not changed in the millennia I have known you, Claybore," said the Resident of the Pit.

" I' ve seen your shrines on a thousand worlds, Resident. I have spat on every one of them."

" Really, Claybore? Since Terrill sundered your parts, that must have required great magics on your part." A rumbling chuckle boomed from the depths.

" Terrill is no more. And you are trapped within. How does it feel to be a god and to lack power? Not to have worshippers believe in you? You scorn me but I live, I move freely. You are trapped, Resident of the Pit."

" Scorn? Yes, I feel that and more," admitted the Resident. " But trapped? Hardly. I am a god and I am everywhere. On this world and on every other one in the universe."

" Are you on this world?" cried Claybore. His hands wove quickly in front of him. Above the pit appeared the same vision Lan Martak had seen. The ebony spire rose high above the plains on a world; sharp spikes radiated from the top of the pillar.

" The Pillar of Night," sighed the Resident of the Pit. " You know I am there, more than any other place."

" You know who put you there!"

" Your triumph will be short- lived, Claybore."

" Short- lived?" Again Claybore laughed aloud, as much to release fear as in true mirth. " You have been trapped for ten thousand years. You call that short?"

Almost imperceptibly came the answer, " Yes."

Claybore did not hear. He drew himself up to full height and bellowed forth his triumph at what he had done to his enemy. The Resident of the Pit had aided Terrill in his dismembering magics, but it had cost Terrill more than his life and had allowed Claybore the chance to imprison a god. A god!

" You think to repeat your trick, using Lan Martak as your catspaw this time," said Claybore. " It won' t work. He is a weak vessel for your magics and lacks the ability Terrill had. You cannot pour in power without rupturing him. Martak will fail, Resident, and you will remain imprisoned for another ten thousand years."

" Lan Martak has stood against you thus far," said the Resident of the Pit.

" He cannot be victorious when I have regained my legs. Even with only my arms in place, I feel the power in me. I feel it!" Claybore glowed all over in the reddish hue emanating from the eye sockets in his skull.

" A petty trick hardly worthy of even an apprentice mage. Such tricks do not impress me," said the Resident.

" Yes," sneered Claybore. " I keep forgetting. You are a god."

Again, a whisper, " Yes."

" My reign will span a million worlds- more! Power undreamed of will be mine. My legions already conquer most worlds along the Road. In time, they will all bow to me.

" What then, Claybore? Have you thought of the consequences of winning? After you rule all worlds, what possible new goal can there be? What of the boredom then, not being able to achieve anything else in all the universe?"

Claybore fell silent at this. Never had he considered the question. His fight for dominance had been too long, too bitter, too demanding to think of the future. For an immortal, being bored posed major problems.

" It will take many millennia before that happens. By then, I may have a new adversary."

" You would create one to crush?" asked the imprisoned god.

" Perhaps. If it pleased me. Until then, I will cherish the power I wield. All will bend their knee to me. Never since the creation of the universe will so many cry allegiance to one being."

" You would be a god, also?"

" I am one, fool. I am not trapped in a pathetic hole in the ground. I am immortal. No matter what forces you bring to bear- what powers you give Martak- I cannot be slain. Terrill discovered that to his regret. He no longer exists as a human; I lived and will live forever!"

" Your words take on shrillness, Claybore. Do you truly believe that?"

" It is the truth. Admit it is the truth!"

" Is this a question you ask of me?"

Claybore laughed at the Resident of the Pit.

" I forgot. You' ve been reduced to little more than a wishing well, haven' t you? You must answer whatever questions are posed to you. Imprisonment has its penalties, doesn' t it, Resident?"

" Yes."

" Very well. Is it not the truth that I will live forever?"

Stirrings in the blackness in the pit showed the turmoil felt by the god trapped within.

" You will live forever," came the slow words.

Claybore laughed and laughed and laughed.

" Tell me one further thing. Will I triumph over Lan Martak and go on to rule all the worlds along the Cenotaph Road?"

" Lan Martak will know infinite sorrow because of your doings, Claybore," came the baleful words. " I feel my vitality slipping away. The life- offering you made was insufficient to maintain me on this world for long."

" Go on, then. Slip off to your real prison. And know who has done this to you. It is I, Claybore!"

The shadows twisting in the pit stilled and only clammy, dead air remained in the chamber. Claybore laughed harshly one last time, spun on his mechanical legs, and stalked away. The Resident of the Pit had told him he would be victorious. His spells imprisoning a god- a god!forced the Resident to always tell the truth when asked a question.

Claybore thrilled in the knowledge of invincibility. Even his bitterest enemy had admitted it!

" With a single twist I can break your neck," Lan Martak told the captive woman. Kiska k' Adesina struggled in his grip, but failed to find a weakness. The man' s magic may have been drained for the moment, but his physical strength surpassed her own. She stopped fighting and hung limp in his stranglehold.

" What are you going to do with me?" she demanded.

" I ought to go ahead and snap your neck." Lan thought furiously about what he would do with the woman. She was an enemy sworn to killing him in the most foul way possible.

Turning her loose was ridiculous, yet he couldn' t bring himself to slay her in cold blood.

But wasn' t that exactly what Kiska would do to him, given the chance?

He shoved her onto hands and knees and picked up her rapier. Holding it lightly between thumb and forefinger, he moved the point around in tight circles. One single lunge would end a life- of a foe.

Something moved within him that prevented the lunge and thrust. To kill her in this fashion would mean he was no better than she. He fought for freedom from Claybore' s tyranny; to kill Kiska k' Adesina in this fashion was to give in to the very principles he hated most.

" Go on, coward," she taunted. " End my life. Unless your manhood has withered and died."

" There' s a better way," Lan said.

" What?"

" I don' t know," he admitted, " but killing you isn' t it."

" Your black- haired slut would not hesitate."

Lan had to agree. Inyx' s sword would have leaped from its sheath in a smooth silver arc and made a deadly connection with Kiska' s throat. In such matters Inyx was much more like the spider Krek.

" Release her," came the cold words from off to his right. Lan spun, sword at ready. Lirory Tefize stood in the corridor, hands hidden inside his tunic. The gnome' s face pulled into a grimace of distaste that caused Lan to pause for just a moment.

" Where' s Claybore?" he asked.

" Release k' Adesina," repeated Tefize. " Do so and I will spare your miserable life."

Lan knew better than to believe a mage, much less Claybore' s captive one. Wasn' t this gnome the one responsible for giving back Claybore' s arms?