Pillar of Night

His mind turned over and over the spell required to crack the planet open to its center.

It wasn’t that difficult. Not for him. Not for a god.

Lan dropped the seeds to the table and straightened. He was not a god. He would not be a god, no matter how much the Resident of the Pit pushed him in that direction.

“It might be true,” he said, “about the Resident being imprisoned in the Pillar of Night.” Brinke noted his sudden change of topic. She made a great show of carefully slicing a freshly baked loaf of bread, her eyes avoiding his. “The Resident has aided me on occasion and I never decided why.”

“He wants to be released?”

“He wants to die,” Lan said. After meeting Terrill and seeing the mage’s pathetic existence, he sympathized with the Resident, if the god were trapped within the Pillar.

Lan looked over his shoulder and asked, “I wonder what’s keeping Kiska? She should have been here by now.”

“Let her be,” the blonde said. But Lan couldn’t. He left to find Kiska.

Brinke chewed slowly at the slab of bread she’d cut. A presence in the room made her turn.

“Claybore!”

Standing by the door was the mage, his metal legs gleaming and one arm held in a sling. A ragged incision ran around the shoulder, showing where someone had tried to stitch the arm back and had failed.

“I need to know what Martak discovered at the Pillar of Night. Tell me!”

Brinke experienced waves of heat assaulting her. Sweat beaded on her brow, but she did not speak. The geas Claybore had laid upon her was truly gone.

“So he removed it,” said Claybore. “Little matter. While I hate losing such a valued source of information, you are certainly the least of my informants.”

“Liar. You had great need for me or you wouldn’t have kept me as you did.”

“Your beauty is great,” Claybore said, “but do not substitute it for common sense. Why would I need you at all?”

“To use against Lan. You fear him. He controls powers great enough to destroy you.”

“I am immortal,” scoffed Claybore. “Since my geas has been lifted, I must apply a different spell. Time presses in on me. I must learn what Martak knows of the Pillar of Night. Tell me!”

Brinke let out a tiny gasp and rose from her chair. She staggered and fell heavily against the table, barely supporting herself. From all sides the very air crushed in upon her, draining her of strength, forcing her to speak.

“Tell me what I wish and you can be free of this torture.”

“You’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“I’ll find out, whether you are alive or dead. My power goes beyond the grave, my lovely Brinke. Tell me!”

“I refuse.” She tried to scream as pain wracked her body. Brinke knew the sorcerer ripped off her arms and legs and pulled her head from her neck. Stark agony unlike anything she had ever experienced dazzled her senses and made her more and more compliant to Claybore’s wishes. But she fought. From deep within herself she found reserves of strength and she fought.

“It will only take a bit more and you will die. Can such paltry information be worth this to you? Or do you enjoy pain?”

Claybore sent needles of anguish jabbing into her most private recesses. Brinke resisted, even though she weakened visibly. And then the pain evaporated.

“Martak!” shrieked the dismembered sorcerer.

“You forced only a spell of compulsion on her. I planted a few ward spells to aid her. She is no match for you. Shall we see who is the stronger, you or me?”

The spell Lan cast was both potent and subtle. He saw the way Claybore wore the sling to support the damaged arm. Like a buzz saw, Lan sent a plane of pure energy down against the shoulder joint. Claybore’s arm fell away. Whatever misfortune had caused the arm to require support now aided Lan’s attempt to dismember Claybore again.

Only the cloth sling supported the arm; Lan’s spell had rived it cleanly.

Claybore tried to destroy Brinke, but Lan anticipated-and he had learned. Claybore’s spell lacked full power. If the mage succeeded in killing Brinke, he would leave himself open to Lan’s counterattack. Already Claybore’s other arm twitched and jerked with a life of its own as it tried to slip from the shoulder joint.

Claybore had the same choice he had given Lan earlier. He might slay Brinke, but he would lose at least his arms and possibly more.

“Your fate will be excruciating, Martak,” raged Claybore. The sorcerer vanished from the chamber.

Lan’s eyebrows rose. He analyzed the spell Claybore had used-it was identical to the one he had pioneered for movement between worlds without the use of a cenotaph.

“He’s stolen it from me,” Lan said aloud. He didn’t know if he ought to be pleased at the theft or not. Claybore’s comings and goings had been limited when Lan ripped out the Kinetic Sphere and cast it at random along the Road. Now that Claybore employed the same movement spell he did, Lan no longer had the advantage of mobility over his foe.

“You saved me,” sobbed out Brinke. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He felt the wetness of her tears dampening his tunic. “I told him nothing. I resisted.”

“I know,” said Lan, renewed by the feel of Brinke’s sleek body in his arms. “Your powers may be untutored, but they are greater than either of us thought. You did not give in to him and Claybore used potent spells against you.”

“Your ward spells helped.”

Lan laughed. “There were no ward spells. Oh, I used them when initially finding the geas within your mind, but I didn’t want to impose my spells on you. You were free of them-and you kept Claybore away through your own efforts.”

Brinke said nothing, a shy smile crossing her lips. The smile vanished when Kiska came barreling into the room.

“So here you are. Why is it I always find the pair of you together?” Her tone was intended to cut deeply. And it did. Lan had to bite back an apology.

“It is nothing,” he said. “We were merely discussing how best to defeat Claybore.”

“If you want to defeat him,” said Kiska in a confidential tone, “you’ll forget all about this Pillar of Night.”

“What?” This took Lan unexpectedly.

“The Pillar of Night. You mentioned it many times. Remember, my darling? Or has this… lovely woman addled your senses?”

“I remember. What do you mean, I should avoid it?”

“The fine lady doesn’t know this,” said Kiska, “but the Pillar is still another of Claybore’s pieces.”

Brinke laughed at this. “No one is so well endowed.”

“Slut,” snapped Kiska. “In the strictest sense, it is not a part of his body. Rather, it is more. Far more.”

“He has his arms back,” said Lan. He had to silently congratulate himself on the devastation he had wrought on Claybore’s limbs. “His heart has been sent skittering along the Road to who knows where. I still possess his tongue and the facial skin has been destroyed. We know torso and skull are still joined and the legs are gone. What’s left?”

Kiska looked from one to the other, a serious expression settling over her. “His very soul, that’s what.”

“Claybore has no soul,” scoffed Brinke.

“That is true-now. But Terrill wrenched it free from him and imprisoned it inside the Pillar of Night. If you unbalance the delicate spells surrounding the Pillar, Claybore will regain a vital portion of his whole. It might even be the most significant portion.”

“She lies, Lan,” Brinke said with some asperity. “She only seeks to have you divert your energies elsewhere and allow Claybore to do his evil deeds unopposed.”

“How would the blonde bitch know anything? Claybore uses her. In all ways.” The sneer twisting Kiska’s lips cut deeply into Lan. He was torn between the two women. He believed Brinke’s story of the Pillar of Night rather than Kiska’s. It explained all the details and contradicted none of the facts.