Lan swallowed hard. He knew what Kiska’s only desire was. She wanted revenge on him for what he had done to her. Accepting Claybore’s offer only magnified the chances for Kiska to strike.

But…

Lan Martak weakened. He saw the truth in Claybore’s words. Without evil there can be no good. To live forever had seemed an awesome attainment once. Now Lan realized how dulling it might become. Who had he met along the Road able to stimulate him as Claybore did, to bring out the finest qualities? He needed a foil of his own caliber as much as the sorcerer needed him.

Eternity was a long, long time. There had to be something diverting. He began to comprehend why the Resident wanted only death.

“No, Lan,” came a soft whisper. “Do not listen.”

The Resident of the Pit spoke to him.

“How do I know you won’t use me to kill the Resident, then double-cross me?” Lan asked.

“You don’t.” Lan realized this might be one of the few times he received an honest answer from Claybore. “But isn’t that what we speak of now? The challenge? The striving?”

“Lan,” whispered the Resident of the Pit, “there is more than ruling. You will become like Claybore if you try to force your will on so many worlds. There are other answers. Seek them. Seek them.” The Resident’s power faded but the memory lingered. Lan swelled with the power radiated from that god-entity’s light touch on his mind.

“No,” Lan said.

“You are hasty. There is so much I can show you,” said Claybore.

Lan stiffened as the night became darker. In the distance he saw a shimmering curtain that parted to reveal a shaft of the purest obsidian black. Radiating spikes crowned it and they began to rotate slowly. The material of the slick-sided tower sucked light and heat away from Lan. He felt himself drawn to the column, drawn and repelled at the same time. All he knew, all he wanted to know, was locked up within that column.

“The Pillar of Night,” Claybore said softly. “It is your fate because you have so foolishly denied me.”

Lan Martak continued to stare at the vision of the Pillar of Night until Kiska tugged at his arm and pulled him angrily toward the feast. He followed her as if he were in a deep trance.

The Pillar of Night! His destiny-and the universe’s.

“It holds the key to Claybore’s defeat,” said Lan Martak. “I know it. If I can find out the secret hidden by the Pillar of Night I know I can defeat him.”

Inyx stared at Lan from across the campfire. Ducasien’s arm rested around her shoulders, and the man’s steely stare speared into Lan’s very soul. The mage continued with his pleas. He had to make them understand the importance of what he had been shown.

“It is Claybore’s weapon, but it can be turned against him. I feel it.”

“Then why mention it in her presence?” Ducasien glared at Kiska k’Adesina, who sat licking thick grease off her fingers before picking up still another roast haunch. She loudly cracked open a bone and sucked noisily at the marrow, appearing unconcerned that she was the topic of conversation.

“I need your help,” said Lan, almost stuttering. He couldn’t find the words to make them understand what strain he endured because of Kiska. Inyx knew Claybore had laid the geas on him but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. They weren’t sorcerers.

“Claybore has shown you this Pillar,” said Inyx. “If it can be used against him, why show it to you at all?”

“Every time I have seen it, there has been an unsettling power flow from it,” explained Lan. “Claybore uses this to unbalance me, to counter my spells. It… it’s like a riposte. You wait for your opponent to attack, then you parry and lunge.”

“The mere sight of this black rock puts you off balance so much?” asked Ducasien. The man’s tone told all. He thought Lan lied for his own purposes.

“It’s a magical construct, not a real rock. It sucks up light. And the spikes atop it must signify something I have yet to learn.”

“Let her tell you. She’s Claybore’s commander in chief now.”

Kiska smiled and finished off a second piece of the roast meat. She tossed the gnawed bones over her shoulder and into the dark. Lan winced when she did this; it was poor camp sanitation. But what did Kiska care? She wouldn’t be long on this world, because she knew Lan had to pursue Claybore, wherever the dismembered mage went.

“At least, when she’s with me, she commands nothing. Claybore’s robbed of her services in that respect.”

Ducasien whispered something to Inyx. The dark-haired woman shook her head, then gave in.

“Good night, Lan,” Inyx said. “I don’t think there’s any reason to continue this conversation further.”

“You won’t help me?” he asked, stricken.

“You don’t need us. You made that clear many times over. Your magics are beyond our ken. Let me stay where my weapon-the sword-is adequate.”

“The grey-clad soldiers are just pawns. Claybore is the hand moving them, the brain guiding their motion.”

“Eliminate enough pawns, Martak,” said Ducasien, “and the hand has nothing left to move.”

Inyx and Ducasien left the circle of light cast by the campfire. Lan listened as their boots disturbed tiny pebbles. He heard the sliding of cloth against tent and then soft, intimate sounds that turned him cold inside.

“Let’s leave this dreary world, darling Lan,” said Kiska. “I tire of those fools.”

Lan Martak jerked away from her and stood, his lips already forming the spells to move him-them-back to the world where the Pillar of Night rose like an inky cloud to blot out the very sun. He and Kiska popped! away from this world and the victory over the grey-clads and Ducasien and… Inyx.

“She spies on us. I am sure of it,” said Brinke. “Claybore must know our every word.”

Lan had to agree. He and Kiska had returned to this world a week ago and Claybore had thwarted his every scheme, countered his spells with a sureness that came from knowledge.

“Is he able to see into the future?” asked Brinke. “It hardly seems possible. This Julinne’s talent is unique in my experience.”

“You must be right when you said that Claybore had a source of information within our ranks,” said Lan. “But how is it accomplished? I have watched Kiska carefully and have failed to see how she contacts him. The most delicate of ward spells is bypassed. He is cunning, that Claybore.”

All of Lan’s efforts to engage Claybore in direct battle again had failed. Lan took this to mean that the other sorcerer knew he was the weaker; Lan once saw an arm fall from Claybore’s shoulder, only to have the mage reattach it with hasty binding spells. And of the Kinetic Sphere-Claybore’s heart-there was no sign. Lan had successfully ripped it from the mage’s chest and randomly cast it along the Road. It might take Claybore years to regain it, or centuries, if Lan were lucky.

Until that time, Claybore’s powers were diminished. Not much, but perhaps enough. If only Lan could pin Claybore to one spot and make him fight!

“There is so little I can do,” said Brinke. The regal, tall blonde folded her hands in her lap and slumped. “My own spells are undeveloped. Until Claybore came, there was scant reason to nurture them. Now it is too late to learn what is needed.”

“But Claybore’s been here on this world for centuries,” said Lan. He frowned. “I don’t understand. You make it sound as if he’d only recently come.”

“I have never seen this Pillar of Night you speak of. Indeed, I had no idea this world was even visited by travelers along the Road until a few years ago. Claybore and a few of his officers arrived.”

“They organized local companies of the greys, then spread their influence,” Lan said. “That’s the usual pattern. But what was unusual was that Claybore did not leave once his power had been established.”