Lan Martak. Ducasien.

“Lan,” she said, “I’ve made my decision. I can’t continue with you. Ducasien and I are going to stay here. There’s so much to be done. The people are good but unorganized. If they are ever to be able to fight off another wave of the grey soldiers, there has to be a strong army.”

“You and Ducasien will rule here, then?”

“Not rule,” she said, loathing the idea of having life and death over others, “but advise. We are needed. I am needed.”

“But…”

Inyx cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Kiska has told me much that you’d probably not care to have related. Does the name Brinke mean anything to you?”

Lan frowned. Inyx saw anger building within him, but it wasn’t directed at her. If Claybore’s geas had not been so damnably strong, Lan Martak would have reduced Kiska to a smoldering pile of lard. Instead, he shook impotently, unable to act against her.

“It’s true, then,” said Inyx. Infinite tiredness washed over her like the ocean’s pounding surf. “That was no spell of Claybore’s doing, I’m sure.”

“What would you have me do? You deserted me. You went off with him.”

“I deserted you?” Inyx’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise. Then she laughed. “We have nothing more to say to one another, Lan. Whatever understanding there was between us has fled.”

“Inyx…”

She pushed past him and returned to stand beside Ducasien, hand on his arm.

“Lan, oh, Lan,” called out Kiska. “Are we leaving soon? These are such dreary people. So inhospitable.”

“Be quiet,” he said, but there was no fire in his voice. Kiska laughed at him.

Nowless and Julinne stood to one side, confused. They whispered between themselves, obviously debating the motives of these people who had saved them from the grey-clads. Finally, Nowless shrugged and stepped forward.

“We celebrate this night,” he said. “We want you to be our honored guests, don’t you know.”

“Thanks, Nowless. We accept,” Ducasien said before Lan could answer.

Lan nodded assent. He jerked away when Kiska tried to lock her arm through his. In silence more fitting to the defeated than the victors, they trudged back into the rocky hills and Nowless’s camp to begin the celebration.

“You’re so good to me, Lan,” cooed Kiska. She spoke the words the instant she knew Inyx was within earshot. From the disheveled brown hair and the flushed expression on the woman’s face, Inyx had no trouble guessing what Kiska and Lan had been doing.

She repressed a shudder thinking of that woman in Lan’s arms.

“Nowless is ready to begin the feast,” said Inyx, ignoring Kiska the best she could.

“We’ll be there shortly,” answered Lan, lacing up the front of his tunic. Kiska laughed delightedly at the hurt she gave both Lan and Inyx. The young mage went over in his head all the spells and counters he had learned. For the millionth time he went over them and found nothing to release him from Claybore’s geas. The pure torture was knowing he was under the spell and unable to do anything but abide by it.

He fastened his sword-belt around his waist and left Kiska where they had been given bedrolls and a small tent. Lan started toward the fire and the celebrants, then paused. The feast would continue for some time with or without him. He climbed up onto the rocks and found a tiny upjut on which to stand and survey the land.

“A good world,” he said softly. “Inyx has done well in choosing it. That spot yonder would make a good farm. Plenty of water from the river, but with little chance of being flooded out should it overflow its banks. And the village-Marktown-is close by. A good market for crops.”

He pictured himself in the fields, tending the crops, weeding, joyously performing the backbreaking labor. It was a life for which he had been destined until he had fled his home world by walking the Cenotaph Road. Since then Lan’s life had been out of control-out of his control. He was nothing more than a pawn in a celestial game, being moved from one conflict to another. Lan didn’t even know for certain who the players were, but he had strong suspicions.

“Resident of the Pit, you have not done well by me. Not at all.”

“No, the fallen god hasn’t,” came the words from behind him. Lan had already felt the magical stirrings of a shift from one world to another. His own ward spells were firmly in place. The dancing light mote strained to launch itself against Claybore, but Lan held it in check.

“What do you want?” Lan asked. “You have not joined me to share the serenity of this moment.”

Claybore laughed. “What you call serenity I find boring. There are none to pay homage to me here. The wind? Why not summon an obedient air elemental? The night? Look into the depths of eternity and find diversion there. I need stimulation, not serenity.”

“You want only worshippers.”

“Is that so wrong? I deserve it. Of all those along the Road, I am the strongest. It is my destiny to rule.”

“I’ll stop you.”

“Is it truly your destiny to attempt it? Or, as you intimated, are you only doing another’s insane bidding? Martak, I have no great love for you…”

Lan snorted.

“…but I will make you an offer unlike any I have granted any other. I will give you half of everything.”

“What? Half of the universe?” Lan didn’t know whether to laugh or spit.

“Yes,” Claybore said earnestly. “I have come to the conclusion that being a god will be like ash on the tongue without strife. If there is none to oppose me, what more intense boredom can there be?”

“I already oppose you.”

“But not of your own free will. The Resident of the Pit fills your head with his obsolete teachings. Together we can destroy the Resident and work for our own ends.”

“That’s what he wants. Why give the Resident surcease?” Lan wondered at this strange offer, then pieces fell together.

“You still fear the Resident of the Pit, but you cannot destroy a god. With my help, you can? Yes,” said Lan, understanding bursting upon him now. “With my help you can finally destroy the Resident.”

“And gain half the universe for yourself. I need the opposition to make life interesting.”

Lan said nothing. There had to be more. Claybore did not make this offer lightly-or honestly.

“It cuts the other way, also,” said Claybore. “You are immortal. Without an adversary you will find life impossibly dull. You need me as much as I need you.”

“You are evil.”

“So you think. From my point of view, you are demented. I offer stability to the worlds along the Road. My rule might not be pleasant, but it will be firm. The petty humans will have a society that fills their need for security. There will be no sudden, unsettling shifts of policy. Even as they hate me, they will cherish what I bring them.”

“You bring them slavery.”

“I bring them security.”

Lan wondered if Claybore truly believed this. Perhaps so. It mattered little. He knew the horrors the disembodied mage would wreak. He and Claybore stood at opposite poles.

But what would Lan do when he triumphed over Claybore and relegated the sorcerer to insignificance? As much as he hated Claybore and all the sorcerer stood for, he had to admit the mage was right. An important element of his life would be gone. No Claybore, no struggle. With the powers at his command, Lan Martak could send worlds spinning from their orbits. He could destroy worlds-and create new ones. No task, major or minor, was beyond his grasp. Where would be the challenge without Claybore?

“You begin to understand,” said Claybore. “I offer you half the universe not out of altruism but out of self-interest. I need strong opposition, just as you do.”

“I will not help you kill the Resident of the Pit.”

“But Lan,” pleaded Kiska k’Adesina, scrabbling up the rocks to stand beside him, “think of it! The power! You must accept. You have to. I would be a queen of a million worlds. Give me my heart’s desire. Accept Claybore’s offer.”