Why? What was it about the black column that devoured all light that so paralyzed him? He was not afraid of it or the magics locked within it, yet he knew he ought to be. There came from it an undeniable power, and the Resident was unable to tell him of it. In some fashion the magics robbed the Resident of godhood and reduced a once mighty deity to little more than a wishing well.

But what a wishing well! Lan guessed that there were pits on every world along the Road. His mind turned to other avenues of attack. If the Resident of the Pit existed simultaneously on each world, might it not be possible to walk the Road using those pits? Where was the magic for that? Lan searched for the proper chant, the incantation that would reveal any such well in this whiteness, and failed.

He turned-or not, since it hardly mattered-and saw Kiska k’Adesina. She had become a ghostlike figure, transparent and flickering in and out of sight like a guttering candle flame. Lan lost her as gauzy curtains floated between them, then found her, much to his disgust, by using the geas Claybore had laid upon him. His love for her drew them together.

“Lan,” gasped Kiska as she grabbed for his arm. “I never thought I’d be happy to see you. What is this place?”

Lan Martak didn’t answer. The geas forced him to joy on being reunited with Kiska, but he knew there was no true love. For Inyx he would have stranded himself in this nothing place if she could only have walked free on some world of substance. But for Kiska, he would not trade spit for her company, given free will.

But an idea began forming. His spells were useless, that he knew. Could Claybore’s geas provide the thread leading out of this white desolation? Lan smiled wryly at that. To use Claybore’s own spell to unlock a more deadly one amused him. It almost vindicated his claim to being a mage.

Try as he would, though, all Lan succeeded in finding was a hint as to the direction, a glimmering of hope that he had enough power held in reserve to accomplish the task.