Fire and Fog

A warrior dressed in flame strode out. No human this, he towered a hundred feet above the walls of the fortress city of Wurnna. Immense hands clutched a ponderous sword that no score of men might lift. Muscles rippling and sending out dancing tongues of fire, the giant swung the weapon.

Lan Martak knew the defense of the city rested with him and him alone. He tried to ward off the blow, but the magical sword grated and screeched and cut through the stony battlement, sending vast clouds of dust into the air. Wherever the sword touched stone, it turned molten and burned with insane intensity. None of the mages of Wurnna approached closer than a bowshot; none could endure the searing flame.

The giant bellowed out his hatred for all within the city and took a mighty overhead swing. The blade sundered the wall with a deafening crash and sent molten droplets flying in deadly streams.

" Lan," cried his companion Inyx, " there is no stopping it. The spells aren' t even slowing the monster." Lan reached out and gripped her hand, more for his own solace than to reassure her.

The young mage studied, probed, lightly tested Claybore' s monster for some clue on how to defeat it. The disembodied sorcerer' s attack was diabolically cunning. Lan, Inyx, and their spider friend Krek had chased the dismembered Claybore across the worlds along the Cenotaph Road, preventing him from regaining bodily parts severed and strewn eons ago by an even greater mage. But even with only head and torso intact, Claybore proved an adversary more than Lan' s match.

Lan Martak began to worry that he would lose the battle for Wurnna, and with it what Claybore sought so diligently: the tongue resting within the Wurnnan ruler' s mouth.

Lan clapped his hands and sent his familiar, a dancing mote of light, straight down into the ground at the giant' s feet. The mote spun in ever- widening circles, boring, chewing up the very earth. Lan probed downward into the ground, summoning darkness to counter the flame. The pit widened and the burning giant was forced to retreat out of sword- range of the city.

" Lan," said Inyx, tugging at his sleeve. " The giant. There' s something about him that' s familiar."

" I know. It' s Alberto Silvain, Claybore' s commander in chief."

Inyx recoiled in shock, thinking Lan' s exertions had somehow caused his mind to snap. Then she looked more carefully at the giant' s features. Bloated, vastly out of proportion, hidden by curtains of fire, but still she saw the resemblance.

" It is Silvain," she said, awe tingeing her voice. Her hatred for the man and the way he had raped her caused Inyx to begin to tremble. She wanted Silvain to die- by her own hand.

The pit grew, Lan' s powerful mote of light digging until the cavity stretched from one side of the canyon to the other, preventing the giant from crossing to again menace the city.

" Prepare to launch a bolt of pure energy directly at the giant' s feet," Lan ordered the few remaining mages huddling nearby. Sorcerers tended to be arrogant. But the spirit of the Wurnna mages had been broken long ago, first by their own ruler Iron Tongue and now by Claybore' s incessant attacks, which none dared meet head- on. All Lan hoped for was some small additional backing. The brunt of this battle was his and his alone.

He turned and looked at the ruler of Wurnna, the man whom Claybore sought above all others on this world. Residing in his mouth was Claybore' s magical tongue, a tongue whose slightest use commanded legions.

" Iron Tongue," whispered Inyx, " tell the giant to stand still. Don' t let him move. You did it before. Do it again." She was heartened to see the demented ruler puff up and look out onto the battlefield. His understanding of reality had fled, but some tasks still pleasured him.

" Die!" cried Iron Tongue. The word exploded from his mouth, backed by the full power of the organ. Lan stumbled and had to support himself under the onslaught of that command. Iron Tongue might be insane, but the power of his magical tongue remained.

The effect on the giant convinced Lan that the battle might yet be theirs. He hadn' t counted on the potent effects of the tongue Claybore so ardently sought to recover. The giant that was Alberto Silvain stumbled and lurched as if drunk on some heady wine. While still countering the force of Iron Tongue' s command, the giant was vulnerable.

Lan Martak took full advantage to send the deadly bolt of energy the others had forged directly into Silvain' s chest. The bolt appeared to be the largest lightning strike seen by humanity; to Lan it was a spear with a razor- sharp point driving straight for Silvain' s heart. Not content with this, Lan diverted a bit of his power to further widen the vast cavity in the ground.

When the spear struck dead- center in his chest, Silvain let out a roar rivaling an erupting volcano. And, as from a volcano, torrents of hot lava rushed outward. This lava was the giant' s lifeblood. Largerthan- life hands clutching vainly at the magical bolt piercing his flesh, Silvain sank to his knees.

" Martak," boomed the single name from his lips. It combined admiration, accusation, and condemnation all in that instant.

Lan widened the hole until the dirt began crumbling under Silvain' s knees. The giant fought to stay upright on his knees, to avoid falling into the limitless pit in front of him.

" Martak," Silvain repeated, then convulsively heaved the immense sword at Wurnna' s battlements. Lan took the opportunity to enlarge the bottomless hole a few inches further. The flaming giant fell forward into it, twisting and struggling, then grew smaller and smaller, cooler and smaller, finally vanishing from sight.

Lan let out a gasp of relief that was replaced by stark terror when he blinked and saw the thrown sword inexorably moving toward him. The weapon moved as if dipped in honey, but it moved.

Spells bounced off it. The dancing light mote couldn' t touch it. Nothing deflected it.

" Out of the way," Lan commanded, knowing this might be Wurnna' s doom. Claybore had counted on his attacking the wrong place. He had sacrificed his commander in chief in order to deliver this weapon. Silvain was a pawn now discarded; the sword carried magics Lan couldn' t even guess at.

" I shall stop it," declared Iron Tongue. The ruler stood proudly on the battlement, chest bared as if daring Claybore to make the attempt. The sword moved smoothly, slowly, an unstoppable evil force.

Iron Tongue sucked in a lungful of air, then wove the command for the sword to vanish. It never wavered in its painstakingly slow journey toward Iron Tongue and the city of mages.

" Stop, I say. I command you. I am Iron Tongue. You can' t ignore my command. Stop, stop!"

The huge sword point pierced Iron Tongue' s chest. Like a branding iron through snow it came on, his flesh not even retarding the magical weapon' s progress. Iron Tongue twitched and weakly fought, a new command on his lips. Mouth falling open in death, the sorcerer' s tongue dangled out obscenely.

" It' s aimed for me," Lan said, pushing Inyx away. " Go join the others. I don' t want you close by."

" No, Lan, we' re in this together."

He didn' t argue. With a wave of his hand he conjured a shock wave that lifted her from her feet and tossed her off the battlements. She landed below in a pile of rubble. He couldn' t even take the time to see if the fall had injured her. Even if it had, the fall was less likely to kill than the magical device he now faced.

The sword passed entirely through Iron Tongue, finally allowing the dead mage to slump to the stone walkway. As if guided by an unseen hand, the point turned and directed itself for Lan' s midsection. Spell after spell he tried, all futilely. His mind worked at top speed, trying to understand what Claybore had done. Then he had it. The spells fell into their proper place; his hands moved in the proper orbits; the chants sounded right.