“That is so,” she said.

Lan looked at the woman and grew increasingly uncomfortable. He was powerfully attracted to her. While his dalliances with Kiska were not of his choosing, those with Brinke definitely were. And he felt increasingly guilty about them. Kiska winked lewdly and looked the other way, but he knew she had spoken of them to Inyx. And it was Inyx that bothered Lan the most. He had no pretensions of fidelity, either on his or on Inyx’s part, but involvement with Brinke put him at a disadvantage.

He still loved Inyx and anything used to push her farther away tore at his guts.

“Claybore,” the blonde went on, “controls this world with an iron grip. Few of us have successfully fought him. My family was halved during the first real uprising. We were halved again in number over subsequent skirmishes and only I remain to carry the fight to the mage.” Bitterness tinted her words as Brinke remembered the horrors of conflict that she had witnessed.

It was always this way, Lan knew.

“You have managed to keep Claybore at bay,” said Lan. “You must have powers you don’t realize.”

“I have no idea why Claybore hasn’t destroyed me as he did the others. Impalement. Beheading. Quartering. He magically tossed my sister high into the air and fed her to an air elemental. She lived for five days before she died.” In a voice almost too soft for Lan to hear, Brinke added, “It rained her blood for over an hour.”

“There has been overmuch of Claybore’s brutality. I have a plan that might work, but I cannot allow Kiska to accompany me. She would report directly to Claybore when she learned what I intend to do.”

“She can be kept in a cell for a few days, I think,” said Brinke. “With enough blanketing spells around her she won’t be able to contact Claybore.”

“That’s my only hope,” said Lan.

Brinke’s eyes locked with his again and Lan felt his heart stirring, going out to this lovely, brave woman.

“I am depending on you to hold her,” he said.

“Count on me. You must steel yourself to be without her, and that might be worst of all. What is your plan?”

“Not much of one,” Lan admitted. He began pacing, unconsciously locking his hands behind his back as he had seen Ducasien do. “The Pillar of Night is the key. I know it. But my ignorance about what it actually is holds me back. Scouting the Pillar is all I can do. With subtle enough magics, I might be able to creep close enough to examine it without Claybore discovering.”

“A double,” Brinke said suddenly. “We can arrange for a double. Oh, not anyone who can perform the arcane spells you command, but a physical double to walk the battlements and be seen from a distance. I am sure Claybore has spies watching the castle. If we can dupe them for only a few days, that will give you time to reconnoiter.”

Lan had little faith in such a deception. Claybore’s magics were such that the slightest of spells would reveal the double. But Lan had nothing to lose by trying.

“Do you have someone in mind? I can spin a few spells about him that might confuse any seeing him.”

“With a suit of your clothes and some expert makeup,” said Brinke, “this will work. I know it!”

They discussed the potential for danger to the double for some time. Then their words turned more intimate and Lan forgot his reservations about becoming involved further with this gorgeous, beguiling woman.

He left just before dawn the next day.

Lan sensed the power emanating from the Pillar of Night as if it were a column of intense flame. Even from a hundred miles away, he knew the precise location and homed in toward it. The man longed to use some small spell to propel himself across the distance in the blink of an eye, but he knew this would prove fatal. Stealth was his ally. He had no idea if his double parading around Brinke’s castle had fooled anyone or not, but Lan had to believe it had.

He had spent more than ten days in the demon-powered flyer, listening to the hissing of the creature in the back compartment. The demon’s continual complaints wore on him; when he didn’t effectively silence the demon, the vituperation became worse.

“What a cruel master you are,” shrieked the demon through a tiny port just behind Lan’s head. “Lady Brinke never flies more than an hour at a time. You tire me.”

“You can’t tire,” said Lan, tired. “Would you have me send you back to the Lower Places?”

“See?” cried the demon. “Threats! You abuse me, then you threaten me when I speak of it. How awful you are!”

“Keep the rotors turning,” ordered Lan, seeing that the demon was slacking off again.

“I… I can’t. Something drains my strength.”

Lan started to argue, then felt the waves striking him. Power diminished and he wanted to fall asleep. Only through will power did he keep going.

The Pillar of Night rose up from the plain, a black digit defying him.

“The spikes atop the Pillar,” he muttered. Tiny discharges leaped from one to the other. With every spark came new weakness. The closer he flew to the Pillar, the less able he would be.

“I hurt!” complained the demon. “My fingers are blistered and my muscles are over-tired. And I… I feel trapped. I must escape this steel prison!” Loud ringings came from the chamber as the demon began scratching at the plates in a vain effort to escape. The binding spells were too adroit.

“Be calm,” Lan said. “There’s nothing we can do about it. That column frightens me as much as it does you.”

“Impossible! I piss on myself in fear! Gladly will I piss on you!”

Lan stared at the Pillar, then pushed down on the flyer’s controls and landed at the edge of a forest ringing the base of the magical construct.

“You will stay here,” Lan said. “No other can command you.”

“You will die in that forest,” said the demon. “I’ll be lost in this iron pot forever. You can’t do this. Oh, you cruel, cruel monster!”

Lan pulled what supplies he had left from the flyer and hoisted them to a pack on his back. The forest disquieted him. Lan tingled as magics began growing. The tree limbs whipped and swung for his face, thorny vines raking his flesh and drawing bloody streaks. The temptation to use his light mote familiar to clear a path dogged his steps, but he fought it down. These were not natural woods; they were Claybore’s creation. Any spell used within the perimeters of the woods would alert the sorcerer instantly.

Lan wanted to examine the Pillar of Night carefully before betraying his presence.

But the forest became denser and the plants more aggressive. When Lan camped for the night in a tiny clearing, he built a larger than normal fire to keep the creeping plant life at bay. Even this had little effect; he noticed the trees themselves beginning to circle him, their roots painfully pulling out of the soil, only to burrow back in a spot just a few inches closer.

“There’s nothing to fear,” he said aloud. The words seemed to hold back the encroaching plants, with their gently waving spined pads and powerfully coiling and uncoiling shoots. Lan put another small log onto the fire; the dancing light both attracted and pushed the plants back. He guessed the warmth and need for photosynthesis drew the trees and smaller plants, but the fear of being burned held them at bay.

“Fear?” he wondered aloud, sitting up and hugging his knees in to his chest. Sleep refused to come. “Do they fear? Do they love? Or are their movements instinctual and only in response to a stimulus?”

He dozed off, only to be awakened by a cold, slippery vine stroking over the back of his neck. Lan came awake instantly, a spell forming on his lips. He caught himself and drew forth his dagger, slashing frantically when the vine began tightening around his left arm. The severed vine pulled back and Lan imagined he heard a piteous howling of pain.