But if Krek was unable to move, the gnome’s leader Broit Heresler and his few surviving clansmen did act. The gnomes, who called this hollowed mountain their home, rushed into the chamber, spades and picks cutting and hacking at the leg. The limb tried valiantly to defend itself against the tiny chunks being taken out of it, but there were too many gnomes attacking.

Claybore cursed, tried to magically destroy them, and found himself overextended. He dared not relent in his attack on Lan; to do so meant his own demise. But he needed his leg and the gnomes prevented it from rejoining him.

“Bring out the water,” Broit called. Others of the gravedigger clan rolled huge barrels into the room.

“You can’t do that!” shrieked Claybore.

They threw acid water onto the leg. Flesh smouldered and turned putrescent. Soon, only the bare leg bones remained, and they were easily hammered into dust by the gnomes.

“You’ve lost, Claybore,” said Lan. “Stop your drive for power now. We can work out some sort of truce.”

“Truce? You fool! You don’t understand. I’ve tasted ultimate power. I can’t turn away from it. I can’t share it.”

The sorcerer lay in a heap on the ground, his metallic legs destroyed and his own legs unreachable now. Lan Martak had magically blasted the one leg and the other was little more than bonemeal in a paste of acid water on the floor.

Claybore reached up and touched the spot on his chest where the Kinetic Sphere pinkly pulsed.

“You will find this victory fleeting, Martak,” promised Claybore. The sorcerer’s entire body blinked out of existence. The sorcerer walked the Road.

“You killed him!” cried Broit Heresler, jumping up and down, his bandy legs quivering with excitement.

“He shifted worlds,” said Lan in a tired voice. “We stopped him from regaining either of his legs, but he still walks the Road, plotting and planning.”