“Very good. But you can do better.”

  Lan pulled out the death tube and fired past Krek’s bulk. The lightning blast singed the spider’s legs—but the effect on the Lord was startling. Rage contorted his face. He clenched his hands into tight fists and screamed.

  “A barrier,” said Krek. “He has constructed one of the magical barriers between us.”

  Lan felt the barrier being erected but had been powerless to stop it. The Lord had somehow sensed the impending danger—or had the spell ready in case Krek got too close. However it had happened, the transparent wall had saved the Lord from fiery death.

  The Lord of the Twistings vanished from sight, as if he had been an illusion. With him went the barrier.

  “The walls are not as substantial as they seem,” commented Krek. “We are not too near our entry point into the Twistings. Perhaps there are more ways in and out of the maze.”

  “Let’s get to the room as fast as we can. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

  “That explains your cavalier use of that fire-thrower. You almost set my legs on fire.” The spider shuddered. “I urge you to be more careful in the future.”

  “I will. Now, hurry.”

  Krek lumbered along in the opposite direction, taking turns and finding corridors where Lan didn’t think any were possible. When he had decided to tell Krek they walked in circles, they entered the small room that had been their first sight in the Twistings.

  “Peculiar,” observed Krek. “Note the way these pots burn for no reason.” Black kettles filled with flowers of sulfur dangled over small fires. The released odor gave the room a hint of hell.

  “He’s a showman. He knows how to stage and upstage. The sulfur keeps everyone off their guard until his spells turn them around. By the time the magic wears off, the people have wandered blindly into the maze and are irretrievably lost.”

  “I found my way back easily enough.”

  “Maybe he’s never tackled anyone of your… size,” Lan finished lamely.

  “True. I am somewhat larger than most on this world. You humans are not very big. Which can be a good thing. There are so many of you, as is. The crowding conditions would be brutal if all of you were my size.” The spider shuddered, adding, “What an ugly thought.”

  Lan stopped listening to his friend and went to examine the inner workings of the vault door. His fingers pressed into the cold silver metal. Due to his weakness, Lan had difficulty turning his magics inward, to the mechanism operating the toggles. His magical senses reached out, lightly touched, failed to find.

  He sank to his knees, head resting against the door.

  “Can’t do it,” he said, almost crying. “There’s something inside. A spell, a magic. But I can’t get a feel for it. If only I could manipulate it, the door would open.”

  “It is not purely mechanical?” asked Krek. The spider walked forward and spread four powerful legs out, engulfing the door. Talons dug into the rim of the door. He pushed. Lan watched as tendons stood out when the spider’s muscles contracted with gargantuan effort. A faint metal tearing noise came, but no movement of the vault door. Krek worked harder, then relaxed.

  “It is beyond me, totally beyond the limits of my feeble strength. Oh, I’ve grown too weak being away from my dear Egrii Mountains. Why did I ever leave, why do I torture myself by roaming? Dear little Klawn, my hatchlings, I left them all, and for what? This!”

  “There, there, Krek. We both tried and couldn’t move this metallic mountain.”

  “Try your flame spell. Melt it down!”

  “Wouldn’t work. I can barely walk. That requires intense concentration. I need to rest, to regain my strength. Maybe then we can get out. But I wonder…”

  Lan Martak had felt enervated during the confrontation with the Lord of the Twistings in the corridor, but the nearer they came to the vault room, the weaker he seemed. It was as if some power drained him mentally and physically. He struggled to sit up and work his powers to detect any use of magic. That had been his first and most potent ability: sensing magic. Nothing impinged on his mind.

  That didn’t mean spells weren’t in use around him, though. He had found subtle magics, clever spells, ones so sublime his untrained skills failed to detect them. Such might be the case now.

  “Lan Martak, sounds of battle come from down the corridor.”

  He strained and heard human voices.

  “We can’t get out this way, not right now. Don’t let the Twistings confuse you, Krek. Remember how to get back here, and let’s go see if we can help.”

  “Help?” the spider said, gusting a baleful sigh. “A shopworn human and a lonely spider far from mountainous home and loving family? How can we help anyone when we fail so completely to help ourselves? Oh, very well. Let us be off.”

  Lan managed to walk unassisted. He noted that strength returned as he put more and more distance between himself and the vault room. The man filed this information away for future investigation. He’d missed the use of a spell against him, of that he was sure. By the time they reached a juncture in the interminable corridors, he felt strong enough to use the knife.

  Which was a good thing. A waddling blue glob engaged Krek, and three wraiths silently glided up to attack Lan’s left flank. He struck out with his fist and sent one wraith fluttering back. He lunged with his knife and skewered the second. Red blood cascaded down a purple front. The third wraith threw him entirely off balance; Lan kicked at it, and his foot sailed through its insubstantial form—illusion.

  The blue monster rolled over in the corridor and waddled off in the opposite direction, Krek chasing. Lan tried to stop his friend. Splitting forces wasn’t smart. But he had his hands full with the three wraiths, two real, one illusion. What made his effort even harder was the way the illusory creature kept changing color. Purple and purple attacked. He stabbed and a new fountain of blood squirted forth. The other wasn’t there, except in his mind.

  The battle shifted in his favor. One wraith finally lay dead, the other severely wounded. The illusion hovered nearby, then winked out of existence.

  “Lan Martak, come quickly!” rang out Krek’s agitated request. “We are needed!”

  The man followed Krek’s pathway through the maze easily. The spider had severely wounded the blue glob. Droplets of thick, ichorous blood marked the corridors taken. He exploded into a hall where three humans and a part-human and part-mech hybrid fought against one of the blue monsters. Even as he watched, one of the men slipped; the powerful jaws opened and closed on an arm.

  “Aieee!” screeched Krek, leaping over the battling humans. Lan followed, keeping the humans from attacking Krek.

  “He fights like a thousand men,” marvelled one.

  “That he does,” said Lan. “Follow him. We can finish off the blue thing and let him rest.”

  “Who are you?” demanded one of the women. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You are not of the nest.”

  “No, I guess not. My friend and I have just been cast into the maze.”

  “The Lord exiles more and more,” said another woman sadly. “I wish I could leave.”

  “We know where the entry point to the Twistings is,” said Lan. “When we rest up a bit, we can all go and tackle it. We can get out of this damnable maze and stop the Lord.”

  “You are freshly arrived,” said the hybrid. A mechanical arm scratched a battered, scraggly-bearded human face. “Doesn’t he sound a lot like her?”

  “He does, at that,” answered one of the women.

  “Her? Who do you mean?”

  “Our leader. She has come info the Twistings, found our nest, and even battled Knoton to a truce. For the first time in any of our memories, we fight only the maze creatures instead of each other.”

  “Yes,” piped up another. “With the mechanicals on our side—or not opposing us—we hope to live much longer.”

  “Some leader,” Lan said admiringly.

  “That she is. Inyx is quite a woman.”

  “Inyx!” he cried. “Inyx is your leader? Take me to her at once. Now!”

  “Well…”

  “At once! Krek, we’ve found Inyx.”

  The spider sauntered up, blood dripping from his furry legs.

  “Good. I tire of this slaughter. Those blue balls begin to annoy me, and intelligent conversation with Inyx again would do much to lift my sagging spirits.”

  The small band of humans, hybrid, and spider hastened off in search of the nest—and Inyx.

  At last, Lan Martak had found her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Inyx!” he exclaimed. “We’ve found you at last.”

  Inyx looked up, perplexed. The voice sounded familiar, but who could it be down here in the Twistings?

  She looked up, blinked as if her eyes deceived her, then said, “Lan? It’s really you! Oh, Lan!”

  They rushed forward and flung eager arms around one another. They clung to each other for long minutes; then both began to babble at the same time.

  “How’d you get—”

  “Why didn’t you—”

  “Are you really the leader—”

  “Silence!” bellowed Krek. The echoes deafened all in the nest. Absolute quiet fell as Krek carefully folded his legs and sat down in the center of the room. All eyes followed his every movement. When he had reached a comfortable position, he said, “Now you may continue. But please do not carry on like that. Speak in complete sentences. I try to tell my hatchlings communication is important. Granted, the hatchlings are more intelligent than humans, but—”

  “Krek!” Inyx threw her arms around his nearest leg and squeezed, pressing her face against the coppery fur.

  “You are getting my leg wet,” he said, but the complaint carried no sting. In a lower voice, he added, “I am glad to see you also, Inyx. You have no idea how dull it has been travelling with him.”

  Lan shook his head in wonderment. Dull? Of all the words to describe their travels, dull was far down on his list.

  “Tell us how you came to be the leader of this… army.” Lan looked around at the dozens of dirty faces, the demented smiles, the vacant stares.

  Inyx took a deep breath and began her story, finishing with “… and Knoton and I fought it out to a tie. We’ve got an uneasy alliance now. He doesn’t trust humans, and I don’t trust him. But for the first time in anyone’s memory the mechanicals aren’t systematically killing the humans and hybrids.”

  “That’s progress,” said Lan. “Maybe we can muster enough support to attack in force through the entry point. Krek remembers the way back. The disorientation we felt on entering the Twistings didn’t affect him. I don’t think the Lord was expecting such a different set of senses.”

  “We can’t leave, not yet,” she said. “Did you notice any spell holding you within the maze?”

  “I felt weaker at the vault door,” he admitted.

  “A part of Claybore’s body is within the maze.”

  “We know. We overheard Claybore and Alberto Silvain talking about it.”

  “Silvain,” she hissed. With effort, Inyx pushed him from her mind and continued. “My scouts have found a guarded room. That is very unusual in this place.”

  “The entire Twistings is a prison,” mused Lan. “So, with Knoton’s help, we get into this guarded room, destroy whatever part of Claybore we find, then leave.”

  “Can you destroy anything of Claybore’s?” she asked. “I had the impression he was invulnerable.”

  He quickly explained all he and Krek had learned about how a far greater mage named Terrill had dismembered the sorcerer and spread his parts along the Cenotaph Road.

  “Claybore can’t be destroyed, but his powers are vastly weaker than when his body is reassembled.”

  “Weaker,” she muttered in disbelief. “Can you destroy whatever it is of Claybore’s?” she repeated. “You don’t have the magical skills of this Terrill.”

  “He is growing more and more adept,” spoke up Krek. “Lan Martak is not master mage, but his abilities far exceed those of when you were last in our company.”

  “With a few of the spells in this,” Lan said, pulling out and tapping his leather-bound grimoire, “I can destroy—I think. If not, then neutralizing might be the next best thing. It’s not going to be easy, and I need to rest up.” He winced as Inyx’s hand rested on his injured shoulder. “But we can come through it.”

  Their eyes locked and unspoken communication flowed.

  They’d triumph because they were together. At last.

  “I drove them out,” said Inyx, “when I found out they actually were cannibals. I wasn’t going to let them live off the others. They really worried me the way they skulked around.”

  “You couldn’t sleep too soundly yourself,” said Lan. “If I’d known that they were stalking around in the maze, I’m not sure I could have slept at all.”

  “You’ve not been sleeping too well, anyway,” the woman pointed out. “Are your nightmares getting worse? Last night you screamed aloud, and never woke up.”

  Lan tried to calm his heart as it raced away. Last night’s dreams had been the worst yet. He didn’t know if the Lord triggered the dreams or if it indicated some change within himself. He’d started receiving them when he and Claybore had faced one another on the way to the summit of Mount Tartanius. The sorcerer had sent the frightening, evil visions in hopes of scaring Lan away. If anything, however, the dreams then helped strengthen his growing powers.

  Now he felt only debilitated by the dreams. He couldn’t fight. His dream-self tried forming spells, fighting back, evading. Nothing worked. The maze worked its insidious power on him and left him as weak as a newborn kitten.

  “Fredek once said that only those used to magic were affected inside the Twistings. Maybe he was right.”

  “Fredek?”

  “He’s dead. Knoton killed him.” From the tone of her voice Lan knew that this Fredek had meant something to her. Irrational jealousy flared, then went away, dying down into something more manageable.

  “I’ve thought of you often,” he said softly.

  “And I of you, Lan. In the whiteness between worlds I had little else to do but think. One place was the same as another. And in here…” She held out her hands palms up and looked around. There wasn’t all that much to do or see.

  He started to ask about Fredek, then stopped. It wasn’t any of his business. Krek lumbered into the nest and relieved him of the burden of finding some other, safer topic.

  “Friend Inyx, Lan Martak, good news. I have worked my way through to the guarded room. It is not difficult to reach, but it is protected in ways that perplex me.”

  “Simple frontal assault won’t work, is that what you’re saying, old spider?”

  “Just that. In addition to the more obvious ploys, like falling weights, razor-edged flooring panels, and the maze creatures, the Lord of the Twistings has added many traps similar to those we crossed on our way into his palace.”

  “What kind of traps?” asked Inyx.

  “I don’t know how he rigs them,” admitted Lan. “Most magic spells require considerable energy to form and maintain. Over a span of hours or weeks, perhaps even years, the binding spells fade and become inoperative. The Lord has contrived spells that are mechanically activated. I assume they’d last as long as the mechanical triggering device did.”

  “They produce partial paralysis or intense pain,” said Inyx, remembering her bout in one of the Lord’s other mazes.

  “How’d you know?” asked Lan.

  “I owe the Lord much. When we get out of the Twistings, he shall be repaid in full for all he’s done to me—and the others.”

  Lan looked at her and tried to penetrate the depths of her anger. He felt cold inside when he realized exactly how intense her feelings were concerning the Lord. Here was something else he didn’t care to explore any further.

  “I think the Lord watches me more carefully than you,” said Lan, “because I know some magic. What this Fredek said holds true, at least in my case. Why don’t you and Krek go ahead and scout around this room while I bring up the rear?”

  “Good,” said Inyx. She and Krek left, Lan following at a respectable distance. He felt the flow of magic whirling about him. Whether or not the Lord actually watched—and Lan thought he did—the magics at work meant he’d have to be constantly alert. His few spells seemed pitiful in comparison to those a full-fledged mage commanded, but they were all he had. They’d have to serve him well.

  An hour hiking through the maze got Lan totally turned around and lost. He felt the subtle tuggings of spells at every junction. Once, he attempted to alter the magic and found he didn’t have nearly enough power. A basic part of the Twistings was contained in those mysterious guard-spells, he thought. Pass through an intersection, be just a bit more turned around by the spell. They operated directly on the brain and caused disorientation.

  Krek didn’t appear to be the least affected. His nervous system, his brain, body, everything, worked differently from a human’s. Lan found himself wondering how these spells affected the mechanicals. They, too, experienced the twisting effect coming into the maze. He’d spoken with several of the hybrids while he convalesced, and they’d told similar stories.

  “Here, friend Inyx,” came the spider’s voice. Lan stopped fifty feet away to avoid attracting magics until Inyx had personally examined the room containing a body part of Claybore’s.

  “Lan, come ahead. We need something more than eyes now,” echoed her voice. He hastened to join them.

  The room lacked a door, but Lan “felt” the intense magics sparking to and fro in place of a solid barrier. Strewn out at random along the corridor in either direction he “saw” the dull glowing pates where the Lord’s traps waited for the unwary.

  “I wonder how many times one of those traps can be triggered,” he thought aloud.

  “Shall I test it and see?” asked Krek.

  “No, let’s wait a few minutes. I doubt we’re going to be allowed to examine the room without picking up some company.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when one of the globular blue maze creatures waddled into view, mouth opening and closing with loud clacking sounds. It walked over several of the traps without ill effect.

 

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