" I demand your head!" raged Lan, his blade slashing in the air, scattering red droplets of blood before him.

" Really, you are the one who should apologize," said Waldron, his voice level. " You kill my best generals, come raging through like a berserk pard, and now you demand the- gods- alone- know- what."

As he spoke, Waldron reached beside him and lifted a small wooden case. One side hinged upward. Waldron lifted the door to expose a desiccated skull inside.

" Good- bye," said Waldron, smiling wickedly. He thumped the back of the box.

Lan watched in frozen awe as the skull impossibly opened empty eyes. In the hollows, dull red coals began to smoulder, then burn, and finally take on a fire that dazzled him, that set his magic- sensing ability screaming. He instinctively rolled to one side to escape the incandescent path of that gaze.

The table behind him vanished with a dull whoof! Lan Martak kept rolling as Waldron followed him around the room. The twin beams from the skull' s eyesockets removed object after object from the throne room. It became immediately apparent to Lan that simply hiding behind some massive piece of furniture wouldn' t save his hide.

In mute fascination, he watched, helpless, as Waldron swung the box around and lifted it to bring the dual beams of ruby destruction in line with the floor in front of him. The floor simply vanished. As Waldron raised the box to point directly at Lan, Inyx moved. Her dagger cartwheeled through the air and thudded into the meaty portion of Waldron' s upper left arm.

The box containing the skull fell to the floor, the lid snapping shut as it hit. The double beams of death winked out of existence.

Cold rage clouded Waldron' s face as he clumsily pulled his sword from its sheath. Blood ran in a steady torrent down his left arm, then slowed, and finally coagulated.

" If the sorcerer' s skull isn' t enough to dispatch you, then by all the gods, my sword will prove more than adequate. Die, dog meat, die!"

Waldron' s lunge missed Lan by a wide margin.

The would- be Saviour of the grey, dismal world silently sidestepped Lan' s steely reply and settled into an en- garde position, obviously composing himself after the initial wild rush. All the years of training stood Lan Martak in good stead. He did not wildly attack.

Faint magical emanations came from Waldron' s sword. His blade carried a spell locked to its metal. Magic seemed a rare commodity outside of Lan' s world, but none had used it as well as Waldron. The Kinetic Sphere, the deadly skull in the box, now this unknown sword and its mysterious qualities.

" I see you realize the nature of the blade you face." Waldron executed a stylish lunge that took Lan by surprise. He parried thin air and felt the razored edge slice his arm. Yet his parry had been directed in line at the precise point needed for riposte. Again and again he missed his parry by a hair' s- breadth.

" Surrender and I will allow you and those two passage along the Road. Refuse and I' ll cut your manhood off!"

" The word of one such as you is worthless," flared Lan. He settled down to an increasingly defensive fight as he tried to understand the nature of the weapon he faced. Slowly, as new and deeper wounds opened on his torso and arms, he came to the conclusion that the blade emitted a distortion field around itself, causing him to subtly misjudge the true position of the sword. A few parries confirmed this, but his magical training was insufficient to allow him to conjure a counter- spell, even if he hadn' t been actively fighting for his life.

He glanced around to see how Inyx and Krek fared. They were locked in battle in the far corner of the room, fending off a half- dozen grey- clad soldiers. The battle between him and Waldron was a solitary one; he knew he could expect no help from Velika, who sat on the throne, her eyes wide and a lily- soft hand clutched at her throat.

Lan kept hoping that the wound in Waldron' s left arm would impede him. It didn' t. The flow of blood had stopped totally now. It hurt, of that Lan Martak had no doubt, but Waldron was a skilled swordsman and no doubt pushed such minor annoyances from his mind until afterward.

But the very use of a spell sword meant that Waldron depended more heavily on trick than skill. Gambling on his own skill, Lan closed his eyes and " felt" the steel blades as they slashed at one another. Depending on feel rather than sight allowed him to react by instinct, using a quick disengage, a beat, and a powerful follow- through.

Lan' s blade pressed firmly into Waldron' s throat. Waldron attempted to bring his dagger into play, but the wounded left arm hindered him. Lan' s leg snaked out around Waldron' s, and a quick kick landed the man on his back. The spell sword fell from his grip. Lan kept his point at Waldron' s throat as he picked up the other' s magical blade.

" It pleases me to kill you with your own sword." He pulled back for the stroke, only to have Velika hang on his arm and prevent him from a clean kill.

" Stop, Lan, don' t do this! He' s a great man. He isn' t the tyrant you believe him to be."

" He' s tried to kill me at every turn. And look how he' s ensorcelled you. For that alone I' ll kill him!"

" I love him, I truly do!" Velika cast a tearful glance down at Waldron, then pulled with greater urgency on Lan' s sword arm. " I beg you to spare him." Tears flowed freely. Lan pulled away from her, the sight of those tears making him uneasy. Velika was obviously torn between them, the freebooter and the warlord, and had made her choice, no matter how painful it had been for her. Or Lan.

Lan' s sword rose. He felt the acid tingle of her tears as they dropped onto his hand. He actually cringed away, his resolve to kill Waldron gone.

" Spare him," came Inyx' s advice. " He does seem to have the best for his own people at heart, even if his methods are extreme."

Inyx came and stood beside Lan, her sword dripping the blood of the fallen grey- clad soldiers.

" Even after he enslaved you, you beg for his life?" Lan asked, astonished.

" Would you have done so differently in his place?"

" Of course!"

" Remember the grinding poverty on his home world. And there are no cenotaphs off. He needed the Kinetic Sphere."

" I, too, vote to spare his life. Without his knowledge of the operation of the Kinetic Sphere," said Krek, " we might never ascertain the proper ways of activating it." Krek' s advice was sound.

" Your life," said Lan Martak, " is still in my hands. Tell us how to use the Kinetic Sphere, or I will kill you."

" No," said Waldron adamantly. " That is the sole possession of any value on my bleak world. There is no other way off that grey, spinning ball of sludge. I hold a heritage that must be preserved, even if it means my death."

" Then die!"

" Lan, please! I' ll tell you how to operate it." Velika' s frenzied tone convinced Lan that the woman knew and wasn' t merely using this as a ploy to add a few extra seconds to Waldron' s life. " I' ll show you all you need to know!"

" Velika, you can' t!"

" Waldron, I must. If it means your life, I will do anything!"

Lan laughed harshly. " Your spell binding her to you is fading, Waldron. Velika returns to her old self. She' d do anything to help me- and prevent me from further bloodying my hands."

Inyx snorted disdainfully, and Krek said, " I will bind him, friend Lan Martak." A gurgling noise followed by a hiss, and sticky strand after strand of silken web stuff cocooned Waldron. The more he struggled, the more he entangled himself.

" You can' t take the Sphere. You can' t!" he yelled, furious at Velika. " I love you, but if I were free, I' d gladly strangle you to prevent this theft. My world needs it! Millions will starve without it!"