World of Mazes

Lan felt the magics begin their work. The man sank slowly through the top, seemed to fall into an infinite well. Diminishing in size until he appeared little more than six inches tall, the guard clung frantically to his death tube. When he smashed into the floor inside the maze, Lan began to understand the spells used. He might not counter them, but he knew how the Lord of the Twistings accomplished them.

" Yes," said the Lord, watching Lan rather than the man in the maze. " An interesting experiment, this one. Look, witness, learn!"

Inside the maze the guard fired his death tube in vain. The energies began to wane. Soon the cylinder hung useless in the guard' s hand. Then began the real torment. At every turn, the man screamed in silent agony. His flesh began boiling and blistering. His eyes exploded as if someone had stepped on them. He bent and twisted as bones broke. Lan felt his gorge rising as he saw the anguish the man underwent.

" Stop it," he said in a low voice. " Why are you doing this to him? He didn' t do a thing to you."

" Don' t you like it?" The Lord pouted. " And I worked so hard, I really did work hard, on this. Why, I' ve got the only plans for releasing someone from this maze. Do you want to know a secret?" The Lord bent closer in a conspiratorial fashion. " He' ll live forever. Yes, he' ll live forever unless I say the right words."

" Like that?" Lan fought to keep from vomiting. The man inside the maze underwent continual tortures no human should ever face.

" Like that. Forever. Only I can release him- in a very special way."

" Do it. Do it, damn you, do it!" Lan shouted.

" Beg some more. I like it. I really do like it."

Krek roared and surged to his full height. Mighty legs driving, he sent mechanicals and human guards scattering like so many toy soldiers. His serrated mandibles clacked ferociously as he attacked the side of the maze. But even his razor- sharp mandibles failed to scratch the surface of the maze.

" Oh, this is so much fun!" chortled the Lord. " So much fun. I do enjoy you both so. In fact, I enjoy you both so much, I' ll give you one wish."

" Release the guard," said Lan without hesitation.

" Done." The Lord of the Twistings closed his eyes, murmured a soft chant, then gazed into the maze. Lan recoiled when he saw twin beams of ruby light blaze forth from the man' s eyes. Claybore wasn' t the only one controlling that spell, it was now obvious. The dual beacons of death slid past the barrier, into the maze, and washed across the man' s minuscule form. He stiffened, tossed fleshless hands into the air, then sifted down into a pile of black ash.

" He' s free."

" I meant for you to release him."

" Oh, you don' t understand. There is no escaping this maze. Once inside, there' s no way out. Unless you have the plans." The Lord of the Twistings sniggered as if he' d told the most bawdy joke ever. He clutched the small blue book containing the plans to his chest as he rolled over and over on the floor.

" Is death so funny?" grumbled Krek.

" No, but you two are. You could have asked for your own freedom. Now you must stand trial. Yes, that' s it. You must stand trial!"

" Lord, this is a farce. Do away with them now," snapped Silvain. " Allow me to handle this."

" You would deprive me of my fun? Never!" The Lord kicked out and sprang to his feet, his hands never touching the floor. In spite of himself, Lan marvelled at the man' s agility. Still, what else did the Lord of the Twistings have to do day in and day out but practice his gymnastic tumbling?

" Lord," began Silvain.

" Silence! To the audience chamber. We shall hold the trial immediately."

Krek and Lan Martak stood off to one side, out of the way. The Lord of the Twistings dominated the proceedings, standing dressed in his regal uniform of state. He paced on an elevated stage where every angle was covered by one of the cameras.

" Record it all, yes, record, record, record!" the Lord said to his mechanicals. " If this proves as interesting as I think, it shall be used in the campaign. The electorate will love it. Yes, they' ll simply lap it up."

" Silvain," called out Lan. The commandant turned a sour expression toward him. " What' s going on?"

" He plays still another of his games," came the sullen answer. Alberto Silvain barely held his temper in check. " It matters little. You will be dead. The only question is when."

" On stage. All the jurors on stage." The Lord clapped his hands. For a moment, Lan didn' t understand. The creatures parading onto the stage weren' t human- or at least most of them weren' t. The mechanicals were decked out in black ribbons tied securely around their throats. The two humans had on little more. There was a third type that Lan identified- a combination of mechanical and human. One had a human torso with mechanical arms and legs, while another had the reverse. Somehow, seeing a metallic body with human arms unnerved Lan.

" Similar to the mechanical contrivance Claybore used to transport his skull from place to place," observed Krek.

Lan glanced at his friend. The spider sat unconcernedly amid the tangle of his eight legs. His head bobbed slightly from side to side, but other than this he displayed no outward emotion.

" They' re going to order us killed," he told Krek. " Doesn' t that worry you?"

" You are learning spells from the grimoire," answered the spider. " You will think of some way of disabling the mechanicals. We can deal with Silvain' s troops easily enough then."

" I' m pleased with your confidence in me." Lan frowned and began sorting through the spells he knew, trying to decide which was the most effective. But the harder he thought, the more difficult it became. The bizarre congregation on stage stood to one side, making shuffling motions and slapping one another on the back. The metallic clangs as one mech slapped another rang throughout the room and robbed Lan of the needed quiet to formulate his spells. He had no doubt that a master mage worked well in any environment.

He was far from being a journeyman, much less a master.

" Know all here that the Lord of the Twistings calls for justice!"

" Who cares about justice?" muttered Silvain. " I wanted an execution."

" The crime I spoke of earlier continues to run rampant. To show my desire for justice, I have assembled this panel of jurors to find the defendants guilty of their crimes."

" What crimes?" shouted Lan. " We' ve done nothing but oppose Claybore and his attempts to subjugate your world."

The Lord went on as if he hadn' t heard the outbreak. Lan had to admit that it might have been possible. The man worked himself up into a frenzy. When on stage, in front of the cameras recording this for the voters, the Lord became a different person. He had energy, verve, a drive that vanished when he was left to his own devices. Nothing of his sadism showed now. He was the consummate actor playing a lead role.

" Bring the prisoners forward so that all can look upon them and know their villainy."

Mechanicals prodded the pair on stage;

" How say the jury in this matter?" cried the Lord. " Are they guilty as charged?"

One of the hybrids moved forward. His mechanical arm toyed with the black ribbon around his throat as if this might become a noose at any moment.

" Guilty, Lord. Guilty on all charges."

The Lord of the Twistings turned and stared directly into the camera. His face became a stern father- figure mask. He shook his head sadly, as if what he had to do caused him great anguish.

" Guilty. I must sentence them to the maximum penalty allowed."

Lan started to protest, but Krek brushed a furred leg against his arm, silencing him. The man knew that speaking now solved nothing. This hadn' t been a trial in any sense. It was a public spectacle, nothing more. To speak up only gave the Lord further exposure.