“How melodramatic an entrance,” said the dismembered sorcerer. “And the capable Commander k’Adesina is with you,” continued Claybore, as if Lan had not even spoken. “How are you, my dear?”

Lan’s entire body began glowing green as he mustered his sorcerous powers. Claybore laughed and said, “This is the moment. I have the edge now, Martak. Before, you eluded me. Not now. You will cease to exist now!”

The wall of spells erected by the two lifted all the others and carelessly tossed them away. Inyx landed heavily, bruising her shoulder. Ducasien fell into a tree some yards distant. The others of their attack force hobbled and dragged themselves away.

Even Kiska k’Adesina had been discarded by the casual blast of magics.

Inyx got to her feet and drew her dagger. The brief excursion through the air had cost her the sword. Eyes narrowed, she stalked Kiska.

“Lan might not be able to deal with you, but I can!” Inyx drove the sharp point of the dagger down squarely for Kiska’s back, but the woman managed to sidestep the blow. They locked together and wrestled to the ground.

“He loves me,” taunted Kiska. “You have lost him forever.”

“Claybore’s spell forces him to love you,” Inyx spat out. She tried to bury her teeth in Kiska’s neck and failed. They rolled over, with Kiska coming out on top, knees pinning Inyx’s shoulders to the ground. Inyx winced in pain from her injury.

“Oh? And why does Lan sleep with the Lady Brinke? Is this more of Claybore’s magic?”

“Who?”

Kiska made a small gesture. A picture took form just in front of Inyx’s eyes. She saw a lovely, tall blonde woman slowly slipping out of a purple robe to stand naked before Lan Martak. A smile crossed Lan’s lips as he began pulling free the laces on his tunic.

“No! It’s a lie.” Even as she spoke, Inyx knew what she witnessed was a true rendering of a scene that had happened.

“More?” Kiska laughed as the scene played faster than normal, complete to its finish in less than a minute. “There were other times. He has abandoned you, slut. He has left you to die on this backwater world. And die you will!”

Inyx’s mind raced. How had this scene been reconstructed? Magically. Did Kiska control any spells? No. Who did? Claybore!

“You try to weaken my will,” Inyx said. She twisted against her bad shoulder, then rocked in the other direction, unseating Kiska. They rolled over and over, struggling for dominance.

Both were sent tumbling once more by a wave of heat from where the real battle took place. Lan and Claybore were locked in a furious fight so intense it crossed worlds and returned to boil the very ground beneath their feet. Neither mage noticed. Both vied for supremacy by using every magical trick at their command.

Inyx saw Lan being forced back, yielding, slowly being crushed by the imponderable weight of magics on him.

“Fight, Lan!” she cried. “Stop him!”

She had no idea if her words cheered the mage or if he reached down and found some inner resource that he’d missed. His defense strengthened. He forced Claybore back. Inyx saw the disembodied sorcerer begin to waver. His arms flopped loosely now, as if they would spring from his torso. Even his bone-white skull began cracking.

“He’s losing,” she whispered in awe. For the first time since she and Lan had walked the Road together, she had the hope that Claybore would be decisively defeated.

Even Kiska k’Adesina watched, her face ashen with the realization that her master might lose.

As suddenly as the shift in power came, another replaced it. Inyx gasped and struggled for breath. Invisible fingers closed about her windpipe.

“She dies, Martak,” bragged Claybore. “I will kill the slut.”

Inyx fell to hands and knees, panting harshly when the invisible fingers left her throat. Lan had broken Claybore’s spell. She looked up in silent thanks. But the gratitude turned to anger when she realized that Claybore had only used her as a diversion for his real attack.

Kiska stood upright, caught between transparent planes crushing the life from her body. She visibly flattened as Claybore applied more and more magical pressure. Her face contorted with the pain of being smashed to bloody pulp. Her brown eyes looked beseechingly at Lan Martak. The young mage paled when he saw the woman’s predicament.

“I… I can’t fight him and save her. Not at the same time,” moaned out Lan Martak.

“Kill Claybore!” shrieked Inyx. “Stop him and you’ll stop his spells.”

“She dies,” cut in Claybore. “I will kill her before you can penetrate my barrier.”

Lan fought to drive his light mote through Claybore’s protective spells. He failed. And every moment he dallied, more and more life fled from Kiska’s body.

“Don’t save her, Lan. Kill Claybore!” Inyx’s words fell on deaf ears.

Lan Martak turned his full power to saving Kiska.

Claybore broke free. “I almost had you, Martak,” said the sorcerer. “I thought this would be the final battle. I erred. But next time. Then I will be ready for you. Then you die!”

Claybore wavered and popped! away, transport spells stolen from Lan carrying him from the world.

“I had him. He… he was weakening,” said Lan in a shaky voice. “He would have succumbed. Not even Terrill could best Claybore, and I had him. I had him!”

“You unutterable fool,” snapped Inyx. “You let him go. And for what? Her?”

Kiska k’Adesina sneered at Lan’s weakness. But the power of Claybore’s infernal geas grew with every use of magic. Lan Martak had no choice but to protect the woman he loved-and hated.

“You fool,” repeated Inyx.

All Lan could do was agree. He held out his opened arms, beckoning to Kiska.

Claybore limped along, his mechanical right leg refusing to function properly. He stopped and stared into the cog-wheeled device and saw that one of the magical pinpoints of energy had been extinguished. From deep within his skull’s empty eye sockets came a tentative pink glow that firmed into a rod of the purest ruby light. It lashed forth to the offending spot on his leg. The metal turned viscid and flowed; Claybore’s death beams winked out before the metal deformed.

“There,” he said. “Repaired. But damn that Martak. I should have my own legs instead of these pathetic creations.”

“Master, we failed,” came a weak voice. Claybore swiveled about to face Patriccan. The journeyman mage clung to a tree trunk a few feet away. All blood had rushed from his face, leaving him with a pasty complexion. His eyes looked like two dark holes burned into a linen sheet. In spite of the apparent weakness, the mage had a feverish air about him, one approaching desperation.

“Failed?” roared Claybore. “How dare you say we failed?”

“Master, we did not destroy Martak. Or the others.”

“Forget the others. They are nothings. They are ciphers in this equation. Martak is all.” Claybore calmed. “While it is true we did not triumph totally, still we did not lose all, either.”

Patriccan’s appearance belied that boast.

“Martak’s strength surprised me, but I was not unprepared to deal with it. There is dissension in our enemy’s ranks now. And I still have my most potent weapon aimed at his heart.” Claybore chuckled at the pun. “Kiska will sow the seeds of discord and, when the time is ripe, she will destroy Martak.”

“We should have defeated him,” said Patriccan, sliding down the tree to sit between two large roots. “I lost all power when he sent the air elemental for me.”

“You are a weakling,” Claybore said without apparent malice.

“Is it enough having them fighting among themselves?” asked the lesser sorcerer.

Claybore did not respond for some time. Finally came the single word, “Yes.”

Patriccan was hardly satisfied with his defeat. Martak had been so strong!