Cenotaph Road

" Don' t worry. We' re all free citizens now," Lan told her. " They won' t attack simply out of spite." Lan felt Velika move beside him and a flutter of worry tugged at his mind. How much of what he said was bravado intended to impress the blond woman and how much was common sense? Inyx spoke from experience- experience he, too, shared. The grey- clad soldiers displayed nothing but a viciousness that was inexplicable. He knew from his brief but bloody encounters with themdamn Kyn- alLyk- Surepta!- they were treacherous.

" At least let me have the dagger so uselessly dangling from your belt," demanded Inyx. " With that, they' ll never be able to take me alive again."

" Again? How did they happen to catch you before?" he asked the young woman. He saw her stiffen and her features harden.

" They ambushed a merchant' s caravan, killing all save that craven who just fled and me. An arrow grazed my skull and knocked me unconscious; otherwise I' d have fought to the death. When I regained my senses, I had already been chained like some zoo beast. Never have I been so humiliated!"

Lan shook his head in wonder. He believed this proud woman fought with the best. Still, he vastly preferred the blonde so desperately needing his guidance and protection. Inyx obviously desired nothing but to be left alone. But how could he shirk his duties and cast Velika out into such a cruel world?

He couldn' t. Not after he had taken it upon himself to free her from slavery. That line of thinking made him wonder exactly what real good he' d done any of them. The man, now fled, had a slave' s mentality. He would cower and refuse to fight no matter what honor dictated. Sooner or later, he would again feel the chains of slavery that matched his behavior. And Inyx would never suffer such a fate. Too proud, too stubborn, she might wear a slave' s chains only until she escaped or died. Lan couldn' t see her accepting any other option. Lan had to admire her more than either of the others, but still he felt flattered at Velika' s need for him.

" Oh, master," cried Velika. " You are too kind!" The tears rolled down her full cheeks, leaving salty tracks behind. He reached out and touched the tear on her left cheek. For an instant, he recoiled, as if bitten by an insect. The fluid stung his finger and caused a sensation similar to needles being thrust into his flesh to race up his arm.

" You' re so lovely," he said, in a voice that sounded as if someone else spoke. He touched the other tear and experienced the same sensations, though less intense. Lan felt momentary confusion and reeled. Velika supported him.

" Master, are you well?"

" He' ll be better under cover of those trees," said Inyx, pointing.

" He' s in no condition." More tears welled in Velika' s eyes before starting their liquid tumble over her cheeks. Lan felt an overpowering urge to hold her. He bent and kissed her. Tears lightly caressed his parted lips, sent animal surges throughout his loins. Again the vertigo assailed him.

" How do they power those balloons?" he asked, craning his neck to peer upward at the globe. This brief question allowed him to hide the unexplained confusion inside him. The three grey soldiers in the gondola waved their arms frantically as if signalling. " Do they use a demon spell to manufacture the hot air?"

" Of course not. Too wasteful," came Inyx' s tart reply. " The burning gas is manufactured on the bleak world. But enough of that. Let' s go before they drop their flame nets on us."

Lan twisted to get a better view of the colorful balloon. He might have heard the crunch of boot heels in the dirt. He heard nothing else, unconsciousness claiming him before he struck the ground.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lan Martak might have had a worse hangover at some time in the past. The pain intensified to the point, however, where any mental feat, such as remembering when this might have been, drowned out the purpose. He groaned and found that even this hurt. Everything hurt. Terribly. He rolled onto his back and stared into the patches of blue sky. For long minutes, he wondered if his eyes were focusing properly. The billowing clouds formed mind- confusing patterns in their mad haste to coalesce into a raging storm.

The first heavy droplets spattered coldly into his face. He groaned again, this time feeling better for the movement. Lan managed to sit up and waited for the whirling world to calm. When he had regained some semblance of control, he saw he was naked. Whoever had robbed him had been extraordinarily thorough in not leaving him even one thread. Gone were his jewels and fine sword and cape and even his newly liberated slaves.

" Velika!" he cried out, immediately regretting it. Pain shot through his ribs and around the purple and green bruise blossoming there in the general shape of a boot sole. " All the gods take them!" he raged impotently, knowing the grey- clad soldiers had again entered his life. He banged his fist against the ground, as much railing against his own stupidity as anything else.

After a time, his anger at the soldiers changed into something colder, something more controlled. He felt himself returning to his old self, the man who knew intimately the ways of the forest, who prided himself on the things he did well and never pretended to be something he wasn' t. Lan sat down in the mud and ruefully shook his head. He knew quite well now what a complete fool he' d been. The money had given him a false sense of security; the only real security lay in what he was, not what he fantasized being. His dreams of riches had come true, and they had almost ruined him.

If he wanted to fight the greys, he' d have to do it with the weapons he was most accustomed to using. And most of all, he' d have to rely on his wits, something he' d failed to do since delivering Krek to his web and mate.

The rain became bolder as the clouds formed into the proper configurations. The lead- heavy drops pelted him unmercifully now, stinging coldly, savagely, against his bare hide. He made a vain attempt to reconstruct the site of his defeat, but the rain rapidly turned it into muddy soup. Lan hardly needed the evidence of the ground to relive the events. Inyx had warned him, and he had ignored her sage advice. While he had stared at the pretty hot- air balloon, those soldiers inside had signalled to others on the ground. He had felt so confused after kissing Velika that he had failed to hear others sneak up on him. The rest was obvious.

Lan sheepishly smiled to himself. It could have been worse. Only some quirk of fate had allowed him to survive the attack. The lesson had been a hard one, but one that was burned indelibly into his brain. The liquor and women and sudden wealth had changed him, and not for the better.

Turning his bare feet toward the beckoning green overhang of the trees, he slipped and stumbled in the glass- slick mud. Soon covered with brown slime, he succeeded in reaching the shelter promised by the forest. For a few minutes, he stood naked to wash off the mud. He soon found himself singing loudly and off- key. He lived. What more did he need? He walked the Road like Inyx and, like her, he took care of himself. After a fashion.

Sitting under the protection of the thickly woven leaves, he started making a simple loincloth. It didn' t provide the warmth needed, but it was a start. As his nimble fingers traced familiar patterns, he heard a piteous whirling noise. He stopped work on his project and concentrated. Not quite human, the keening noise raced up and down the scale, passing the upper limits of his hearing, only to return again, almost a child' s cry.

Curious, Lan investigated. This time history aided him. A dark lump appearing to be a rock with ropy tendrils extending to either side pulsated near a tree bole.