World of Mazes

CHAPTER TEN

Inyx screamed in abject agony. Every nerve in her body exploded in a pyrotechnic display of pain. She writhed about, kicking, moaning, sobbing. When she thought there wouldn' t be any way to survive another instant of the excruciating pain, it mounted and a fresh wave of torture wracked her. She didn' t know how long she was lost in that wasteland of pain. A second. A day. Her guess was eternity.

When the woman began to recover, she found that her limbs hadn' t been broken into a million pieces, that her intestines hadn' t been pulled out and strung around the room, that she was completely intact. Inyx sat and checked herself carefully. Not even a scratch.

" Ho, good lady," came the now- familiar mocking, shrill voice of the Lord of the Twistings. " Wasn' t that just about the most delightful experience?"

" What happened?" she asked. Her body had been freed of pain; her brain remained clouded with the memory.

" You found the way out of my favorite maze. Oh, it was exciting. Seldom have I experienced such enthusiasm for a subject. You are the first to discover the secret of that maze."

" I am, eh?" She fought to control the mad rush of her pulse, the hammer of blood in her temples.

" It' s not finished. Yes, that' s my little secret. I haven' t had time to construct more than one level of the maze. Getting up and out of that plane allows you to leave."

" The pain," she mumbled.

" A small indication of the barrier spell, nothing more."

Nothing more? Inyx rolled to hands and knees and paused there for a moment, regaining her composure. It proved difficult in this animallike position. Her tattered clothing fell off her, leaving her more naked than clothed.

" You are also the first to figure out so quickly how I compact so much into the tiny space available. Why, the former Lord of the Twistings still hasn' t figured it out, and he' s a sorcerer!"

The Lord giggled and started turning handsprings. On the last one, his hand slipped on the marble floor, sending him crashing into an ornately carved oak table. He picked himself up, laughing boisterously. To all outward appearances, the Lord of the Twistings was a buffoon, a complete and total fool. Inyx knew better. However he acted, a shrewd and capable mind backed his actions.

She had no doubt that the Lord was completely insane. That didn' t prevent him from being brilliant. If anything, it made him even more dangerous.

" Come, look at my other mazes. See this one. I' m just now building it."

Inyx cautiously followed. The Lord ignored her hesitation and raced forward, cavorting and pointing out the more gruesome particulars of his already- built mazes.

" This is a special favorite," he boasted. " Only one percent of all those put in ever live. And they aren' t worth much after a few days. It gets so tiring trying to find those who can survive my intricately constructed mazes."

Inyx felt her stomach churn at the sight of tiny people struggling along inside the maze. They had teamed up to fend off the maze creatures the Lord of the Twistings sent after them.

" This was the first maze in which I exclusively used the nervedeadening trap. I' ve since learned to direct it toward particular parts of the body. Like so."

The lead figure in the maze, hardly more than six inches tall, suddenly vented forth a shriek of miniature anguish and clutched at its thigh. Inyx couldn' t tell if the victim was male or female. It didn' t matter. What counted was the Lord' s outrageous sadism.

" The people of Dicca elected you to do this to them?" Inyx asked. " Why don' t they take you out, strip the flesh from your living body, and let the crows peck away at you?"

" That' s interesting, but uninspired," he said in an offhand manner. " How about flaying off the skin, dipping in salt and acid, then letting the crows loose? Or perhaps cut worms. Yes, that' s much more interesting. Cut worms."

" If any of the others is elected, would they change all this?" she asked, motioning to the playroom.

" Oh, certainly they would, certainly they would. Take Jonrod the Flash, for instance. He' d never play with miniature mazes. He' d do away with all these in a flash- and reserve a place in the Twistings for his enemies."

Inyx felt sick to her stomach.

" Then there' s that silly slut Clarita Zannermast. She' d ruin everything I' ve worked so hard to build here." The Lord started to pout at the thought of anyone else being elected. " The ignorant slut. Why, she' s told me- confidentially, of course- that she' d make all this public. Imagine sharing these fine excursions into the human condition with the masses. Really! She' d share this, make it all open to the gawking, unappreciative electorate."

" A fine group runs for Lord," said Inyx in a low, cold voice that might have been nerve- deadened by one of the maze traps.

" The finest. Absolutely the finest Dicca has to offer. That' s why I must be especially tactful this year to retain my position. Why, any one of them might unthrone me."

" That will not happen, Lord," came Alberto Silvain' s smooth voice. Inyx glanced at him. His dark face still shone with perspiration, and a pinched quality about his lips told of the strain he was under. Otherwise, he was his urbane self.

" No, no, it won' t, will it, my good sir? Not with your Claybore aiding me. Not with all those fine grey- clad soldiers rushing about, making certain my opponents don' t get too many votes. That just wouldn' t do, now would it? And who knows, Claybore might even get what he wants. Wouldn' t that be nice?"

" Claybore has only your well- being in mind," said Silvain.

" He' s lying," blurted Inyx. " They want what you have."

" Of course they do," said the Lord, laughing so hard he approached the brink of total hysteria. " And they won' t get it away from me. Not now, not ever."

Inyx studied Silvain. Determination slowly replaced fear. The Lord of the Twistings had better watch his step around this man. Nobody had such perfect control that one like Alberto Silvain couldn' t bring the entire house tumbling down.

" Come, oh yes, come, my good friends. It is about time for the noonday election speech. This one is special, ever so special. You' ll both just simply love it to death."

Silvain gripped Inyx just above the elbow with a strength not easily broken. He took no chances with her this time. She went along as docile as a lamb. She needed to regain her strength.

Then she' d strike out again.

" This studio is unique to the Lord," said Silvain in a low voice. " It is his greatest weapon in the fight to get reelected."

Inyx stared in wonder at the mechanicals bustling about the large room. The apparatus they dutifully tended meant nothing to her. One mechanical, the one in charge of the others, pointed. A large hanging on the far wall shimmered and became transparent- or so Inyx thought at first.

" It' s a window!" she exclaimed. " On the city. I can see people moving. But:"

" It' s not merely a window. The ' other side' of that device is miles away, near the center of Dicca. The Lord watches the crowd, waits for the proper moment."

Inyx stared in fascination. Silvain spoke the truth. This wasn' t a window in any sense she knew. The people were too large to be distant, yet she had the feeling this picture came from far away. The mechanicals quietly discussed it among themselves, then the scene shifted with dizzying speed. A man harangued a crowd, whipping them into a frenzy with his rhetoric and his illusions.

A hush fell.

" They' ve seen the screen begin to glow," said Silvain. " Above the platform. They know that when it turns white, that means the Lord of the Twistings speaks."

Inyx saw the Lord strut in. He had changed from his fool' s costume to one more befitting royalty. Vivid purple velvet had been lined with delicate furs of white and gold. A blazing silver emblem woven into the fabric over his chest proclaimed his rank, as if it weren' t obvious from his haughty bearing.

He clapped his hands and sent mechanicals scurrying like robotic mice. They turned and bowed when all was in order.

The screen Inyx watched carried a replication of the Lord fifty times larger than life. She guessed the impact on the crowd. Such magics were more potent than any mere illusion.

" People of Dicca, people of the world. The election is soon upon us." He paused for dramatic effect. Inyx found herself breathing faster, caught up in the rhythm of the way he spoke. This man was no fool. He controlled the crowd as easily as he did the miniaturized victims trapped in his diabolical death mazes.

" Many running for this exalted office promise much. They will deliver little. They speak of you in abstract terms. Remember what I have given you. Remember it well!"

Cascades of coin fell from the sky- faery gold. Inyx reached for a piece and it dissolved at her fingertips. She looked at the screen; the crowd enjoyed this teasing approach. They had forgotten totally about the other man on the platform under the screen.

" Illusions. They are not enough. Illusions and reality. These I offer freely. And what is reality? Reality is peace of mind. Reality is a safe feeling, knowing that we are safe in our homes, on our streets, in our most private places.

" Crime has risen." He paused to let the words sink in. " I am not unaware of this sad development in my beloved Dicca. As part of my campaign, I not only offer you coins," and again they fell from the skies, " I also offer the most startling reality. I offer an end to the criminal element. None dares the Lord of the Twistings' wrath: if the penalty is banishment."

" Banishment!" came the cry from the assembled throng. " Give them to the Twistings!"

" Yes," thundered the Lord' s amplified voice. His fifty- timeslifesize image leaned forward, a stern look crossing his patrician face. " The Twistings!"

The crowd went berserk. They crowed and cheered, they slapped one another on the backs, they rioted. Inyx hardly believed that one wordTwistings- inspired such joy.

" Why are they cheering him?" she asked Silvain. The man' s face had clouded over with anger. He held back only through duty.

" He' s toying with me," said Silvain in an ugly tone. " I shall not tolerate this! I shall never-"

His words were drowned out as the Lord of the Twistings continued his televised harangue.

" I have such a criminal with me. Her master has chosen to die rather than be banished."

" Banishment!" shrieked the crowd.

The Lord smirked, then gestured. Mechanicals pushed Alberto Silvain aside and gripped Inyx by the arms. They propelled her to a point five feet behind and to one side of the Lord.

" She lewdly displayed herself in a Fine Room. That is acceptable. But she had the temerity to also do it in public view. She caused a public scandal. The current Lord of the Twistings shows no mercy to those who flaunt the law, What should be her punishment?"

" Banishment!" the crowd responded, on cue.

" To the Twistings," he said, with an imperious wave of his delicate white hand.

" What' s going on?" demanded Inyx. " What kind of a trial is this? I was forced to do those things. Luister len- Larrotti made me!"

" To the Twistings, to the Twistings!" chanted the crowd.

Inyx failed to read the expression on the Lord' s face. It was a curious mixture of loss- of a plaything?- and revenge and triumph. She remembered what Silvain had said. The Lord toyed with the soldiers' leader. She provided a convenient pawn in this power struggle, nothing more. She' d given the Lord a few minutes of sick pleasure while trapped in his diabolical maze, but this transcended personal enjoyment. He now struck out at Claybore and Silvain, used her as a tool in his reelection, and doomed her.

The Twistings.

Whatever that meant, it boded ill for her.

" Shut off the sound," came a low command. The mechanicals obeyed. From where he stood, the Lord told her, " Enjoy your vacation. You were most diverting."

" Where?" she asked.

" Stop this, Lord," demanded Silvain.

" Stop it, Alberto? Stop it? Hardly. Unless you want to join her, you' ll be quiet. But then you do want to join her, don' t you? Shall it be now? Is that your plan, Alberto?"

" The Lord knows that justice is his." Silvain bowed and backed away. Inyx hated Claybore' s commandant as much as she could any human being, but she had the feeling of loss. In some fashion she didn' t comprehend, she' d just lost a powerful ally in her battle to stay alive.

The mechanicals dragged her away.

Down halls, past closed doors, descending stairs, she quickly lost track of direction. She was being taken to the lowest levels of the palace, of that Inyx was sure. They moved so fast that Inyx knew she' d have been lost even with a detailed map of the route. The mechanicals said nothing, but even in their metallic visages she detected a sadness- and a fright.

" If you see him, tell him we still think of him," whispered one to her left.

" Quiet," barked another. " He listens in."

" Knoton," said the first mechanical. " Tell him we still remember him."

" What are you doing?" the dark- haired woman demanded. They stopped, opened a door, and pushed her through. She stood, staring. A long corridor ended in another door, a huge vault door. In the center of the shining barrier smiled a likeness of the Lord of the Twistings, retouched to make him appear much more handsome than he was.

" Forward," commanded one of the mechanicals. A well- placed hand in the middle of her back sent Inyx stumbling. The heavy vault door swung ponderously, hinges silent and well oiled. A sharp sulfur tang came from the other side, the odors of hell.

" I won' t-" she began. The mechanical shoved her again. Off balance, Inyx staggered through the portal. For a moment, she wondered if this were only some insane method of imprisoning her. The room in which she stood was barren, devoid of all furniture, decoration, or even texture. The vault door closed with an ominous click.

Inyx turned to examine the room further. As she moved, the world reeled about her. She dropped to her knees, feeling as if she had shifted between worlds, using a cenotaph. Colors flowed in wild, kaleidoscopes, sounds starting below her range of hearing, then crescendoed upward till her head almost split. She felt, she tasted, she heard and experienced: damnation.

The woman spun through space and time, tumbling, lurching, jerking, twisting, especially twisting, forever twisting inside and out.

Inyx knew she had truly found the Twistings.

" Bigger than life," muttered Lan Martak. " This is similar to the projection device used by the Suzerain back in Melitarsus."

" Larger," said Krek. " And the Lord of the Twistings is not as personable."

" Personable," snorted Lan. " That woman tried to imprison us. Even if it was a prison of gold and fineries."

" Note how he controls the crowd with his voice. Seldom have I seen a more consummate politician," said Krek. " This is a touch of magic. Perhaps not in the sense you mean when you chant spells, but it is magic, nonetheless."

Lan had to agree. The Lord built the crowd' s emotions to a fever pitch, then stopped just short of inciting them to riot. Then he began again, teasing and tormenting them, moving them along in the direction he desired. The poor campaigner who had been on the platform under the giant screen when the Lord of the Twistings appeared had become a nonentity. No one noticed him now, even with his colorful illusions cavorting about, performing increasingly obscene acts. Lan turned back to the Lord' s immense face when the other office- seeker stopped his erotic images and left the platform in disgust.

" Crime is vicious," the Lord said, as if he stated a newly found truth of the universe. " Only punishment befitting the crime will stop the rampaging rise of offenses against the public."

The crowd screamed. The picture altered from the Lord' s face to a long hallway with a huge vault door at the end. The people around Lan and Krek fell strangely silent at the sight. The silence spread until Lan heard only his own heart beating. Over fifty thousand people stood without making a single sound.

" The Twistings," explained the Lord. " This is my weapon against crime. Cast the criminal in!"

The crowd sucked in and held its collective breath in anticipation. Lan' s eyes widened in recognition when he saw whom the mechanicals shoved forward.

" Inyx!"

" Be silent, friend Lan Martak. If you let on you know her, they will rip you to bloody pieces."

He didn' t need Krek to tell him that. He raged at the sight of the mechanicals shoving Inyx past the vault door, then closing it. The last view he had of her was standing in a bare room, a perplexed expression on her face. The scene changed to the exterior of the vault door, cunningly painted with a smiling portrait of the Lord on it.

In everything, the Lord advertised himself.

" Such will be the fate of all criminals. The Twistings!" came the disembodied voice.

" The Twistings! The Twistings! The Twistings!" The throng screamed until Lan' s ears revolted and refused to listen.

He grabbed one of Krek' s back legs and pulled the spider from the plaza. They sought out a back alley and slumped against the cool walls of the buildings. Only when a ringing note in his ears came did Lan speak. His voice sounded hollow, distant. He was still partially deaf from the intense noise of the crowd' s cheers.

" What do we do now?" asked Krek.

" Go after her."

" These Twistings that so fascinate the crowd do not appear to be easily visited," the spider pointed out. " Such a venture on our part might be dangerous or even suicidal."

Lan knew his friend was right. What did he owe Inyx? He turned that question over and over in his mind. He had gotten her into this fix, at least indirectly. Without his interference with Claybore she would have never become lost in the whiteness between worlds. Still, he had rescued her from that fate. Whatever drove her into Dicca and the Twistings wasn' t morally his burden.

Yet he felt it was.

Did he love Inyx? Lan Martak had no easy answer for that one. They had fought side by side. Did this shared blood constitute love? He doubted it. Rather he felt an admiration for her, a loyalty to her. She was definitely a friend.

Maybe more. Maybe.

Lan looked up at the silent bulk of the spider. He had fought and killed for Krek. Krek had done likewise for him. Yet as close as they were, something was lacking in their friendship. He guessed it was Inyx. When the three were together, they functioned as a whole, a unit, something transcending individuals.

Did he love Inyx? Yes. But mixed in with that love were other emotions no less powerful.

" We can' t leave her," he said. The decision made, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. They might march into the Twistings, into death, but the attempt to rescue Inyx had to be made.

" So we retrieve her," said Krek.

They started for the palace of the Lord of the Twistings.

" No wall," said Krek. " I have not been able to spin a worthwhile web since we came to this miserable world. I had hoped to be able to dangle freely, swinging to and fro, from the tallest spire of a castle. But this, this is pathetic!"

Lan worried, but for different reasons. Any ruler accumulated enemies, those who had been turned down for jobs, those defeated, those ruined, even the insane. From what he had seen of the Lord of the Twistings, the man probably required constant bodyguards. The position was coveted by many; assassination had to play a major role in this world' s politics. It did everywhere else.

" There aren' t any guards to be seen, either," Lan pointed out. " It can' t be this easy. We don' t just walk in."

" He might prefer an open- door policy when dealing with his adoring populace."

" He might prefer being buggered by a dwarf," snapped Lan. " There are guards around. There must be."

" What of magical wards?"

" Nothing. I don' t even feel the generation of any illusions."

" I see none," said the spider. " There is one sure way of finding if our senses lie."

" Krek, no!" he called, but the spider began walking across the grassy lawn toward the palace. His rolling gait didn' t vary as he approached the nearest building.

Lan swallowed hard and followed. Halfway across the lawn, he felt his body from the waist down go numb, as if his spine had been snapped. Falling forward, he began dragging himself with his hands. He wanted to call out to Krek but refrained. A momentary burst of magic had told him ward spells did exist; he was too unsophisticated to detect them until it was too late.

To his surprise, the paralysis vanished within a few feet. Lan crouched, running his hands over his legs, enjoying the tingle as his fingernails cut into flesh. He turned and studied the terrain he' d just walked. By deep concentration he " saw" a spot on the lawn. Unlike a perpetual guard spell, this was somehow triggered mechanically. His weight had set off a debilitating spell. How the Lord mixed physical with psychic Lan had no way of knowing.

Turning his tuned sense forward, he " saw" several other patches dimly glowing. Avoiding those brought him to Krek' s side.

“ There were traps in the grass,” he said.

" Oh? I found none."

" There are benefits to being eight- legged- and long- legged, at that. Any of the traps you might have triggered sent a column of energy directly upward. Your body stays well away from where your feet are placed."

" Keeping all my feet beneath my body as you humans do is obviously impractical."

Lan began a retort, then froze. He heard a name mentioned that sent a thrill of discovery throughout his body.

Claybore!

He motioned to Krek. They picked their way closer to the building, then edged along the wall. Lan " saw" several more of the traps and indicated Krek should pass them by also. With contemptuous ease, Krek stepped over the magically glowing spots.

" But Claybore," came the protest from inside a palace room, " he did it on purpose. I had no chance to oppose his action, not in front of half the city."

" Silvain, you disappoint me," came Claybore' s familiar voice. Lan peered in. The soldier he' d seen escorting Inyx from Luister lenLarrotti' s Fine Rooms hunched over a box. Wavering inside the box was a blue wraith- Claybore' s skull.

" Do you wish me to lead a force into the Twistings?"

" No! Not yet. That part of me residing with this upstart' s maze is important, but not vital."

" How goes the search for your tongue?" asked Silvain, obviously desiring a change of topic.

" It is difficult. The village chieftains require much persuasion, but I am hopeful that the information I require will soon be given. With my tongue once again in my head:"

" You will be invincible," finished Silvain.

The cold chuckle Lan remembered all too well filled the room, echoing, reverberating, building to a horrific pitch. The wavering blue mirage inside the box shook from side to side in negation.

" Not invincible. But certainly more powerful. To again be able to enunciate certain spells. That will speed the conquest. I need the freedom of a tongue to chant those spells most desired."

" May your quest be successful," Silvain said earnestly.

" And yours, Alberto, may it also be successful. I want that part of me returned. Also remember that the woman must die, as must the man and the bug."

Lan placed a restraining hand on Krek' s nearest leg.

" It will be done."

" I am sure it will. I place complete trust in you, Alberto." The dancing ghost- image inside the box crumbled into nothingness. Alberto Silvain leaned back and wiped sweat from his forehead.

Ducking down, Lan said softly, " Claybore is already at work in another world. Whatever it is of his body left on this planet can' t be too important, not if he is leaving it to a subordinate."

" Silvain appears competent enough."

" Claybore doesn' t take chances," Lan said. " I got the feeling that whatever they want is: Krek, run for it!"

Lan Martak spotted a patrol of grey- clad soldiers marching in precise step. Their officer had already located them before Lan shoved Krek in the opposite direction and shouted his order.

The soldiers had been trained well. Their death tubes sprang to hand. Lightning bolts slashed through the air in front of the fleeing pair, bringing them to a complete halt. Lan' s mind raced as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Getting into the palace undetected had been easy. How had they been detected?

Krek silently lifted a leg and pointed toward the sky.

Fluttercraft circled above, far enough away so that the sound of their rapidly spinning blades didn' t reach the ground but not so far away they couldn' t spy on every square inch of the palace grounds.

Lan' s mind tumbled and churned in agitation, preventing him from attaining the concentration required for casting any of the spells he knew. Even if he had been able to divert the death beams from himself, there wasn' t any way he could protect Krek, too.

The soldiers maintained position, cylinders pointing directly at their targets. Striding through their rank came their captain, smiling broadly. Lan knew he had reason to be happy: he' d just fulfilled Claybore' s command to capture the " man and the bug."

" The commandant has been expecting you," said the officer. He bowed and indicated Lan and Krek should precede him.

Lan walked off. To face death.