" Let' s stop for a few minutes' rest, Krek. My leg was injured yesterday."

" Last night," the spider corrected.

" I don' t care when it was, it still hurts." Lan stumbled to a halt, then fell to the ground. He rubbed his leg until the stiffness faded, then chanted his healing spell. He wished he' d learned more of the healing magics, but life had always seemed so filled with other, more important items. Looking up, he saw Krek passively standing, waiting for him to finish his odd human rituals.

" I want to rest awhile, Krek. My leg will give out under me if I don' t."

" Very well. I tire of running like this in the middle of the night."

" There' s no difference," Lan flared, irritated in spite of himself.

" If you say so."

Lan massaged his muscles and changed the bandage on the alligatorbitten leg. The terrain where he rested differed not one iota from where he had so ignominiously splashed down on this world. He wondered if Krek actually knew where he was going or if the giant spider simply wanted to play him for the fool. He was tired of sloughing around in knee- deep scum.

" How do you keep oriented on this world?" he finally asked. " My compass needle felt neglected with no magnetic field. And the sky and all those damned clouds prevent a sighting on stars."

" I know nothing of such things," the spider said. " I simply sight in on the cenotaph I desire, then go directly toward it. I am surprised you humans lack this talent. You boast of all manner of other, less useful talents."

" Such as?"

" The oddest one you call taste. It has something to do with the interaction of food on your eating orifice. I never understood that, though many lower animals apparently have it. They choose certain foods over others, simply due to this strange trait. Take the carrioneaters, for example. They prefer their food dead several days, just as you do. What difference does it make? Dead a day, dead a month? Is it not all the same?"

" You don' t taste your food? How dreadful. I don' t know what I' d do without being able to savor a juicy steak, cooked only until it' s red encased in a light brown skin. The salty tang of it as it works against my tongue is indescribable."

" That is what I said." The spider continued, unperturbed. " No, this sighting talent of mine is akin to vision, but differing."

" That makes as much sense as my description of taste," admitted Lan.

" The empty graves yawn wide and glow a variety of colors. They are so necessary to keep sanity on this dreary world. All seems bland here. Very depressing." For a long moment, the spider said nothing. Then: " It forces me to remember my plight, how I am adrift in a world of woe." Krek sank to the ground and pulled his eight legs under him. A gusty sigh vented like a fumarole before he said, " All this saps my strength. How can I go on?"

Lan stood, twisting to make sure his own legs were up to the task of pacing the spider' s loping gait. Sure that he was ready for a few more hours, he softly said, " Remember Klawn. Remember your mating web. And I' ll help you back to it."

" Ah, yes, I had forgotten precious Klawn- rik'- wiktorn- kyt in the midst of my sorrow." The spider' s eyes came unfocused and it stared, dewy- eyed, at nothing Lan could discern. He began to worry about the creature. Its flights of fancy took longer and longer. This might be a form of sleep or relaxation for the beast, but Lan was leery of taking such a chance. His experience included a creaturealmost human- that could dissociate its spirit from its body and roam the world at will. Not quite a ghost, the therra usually managed to return to its body before it died of starvation. If it failed and the body perished, the therra had to be hunted down and exorcised by an experienced mage. But all that lay behind him on his home world.

This world was: different.

" Krek. Krek! I hear voices. Men. Wake up, dammit!"

" Hmmm? Oh, yes, of course. I heard the men and all those silly four- legged horses some time ago. I assumed you had, also. Shall we go meet them?"

Lan' s exasperation at the spider knew no bounds. Krek had actually heard them before he had and said nothing. He stamped his foot, then regretted it as tiny stabs of pain jabbed into his wound. Controlling his voice with great effort, he told Krek, " I don' t know if they are peaceful or not. If there are too many of them, we can' t fight them all if they' re after our necks."

" Once," mused Krek, " I could have fought them all. But that was ever so long ago. My powers fade. Oh, why did I ever choose to roam? Fool that I am, it still seems a dream."

" Too late for recriminations," muttered Lan. " Our well- armed friends have seen us. Let' s hope, at least, they are our friends."

It took several minutes for the horsemen to trot into full view. Lan felt his stomach tighten into a knot. He thought he' d left such men as these behind him. The leader of the grey- clad soldiers reined in and peered down at Lan. His tunic and trousers were slightly different in tailoring from those Lan was familiar with back on his own world, but the arrogance and demeanor were identical. These greyclads were of the same band as those led by Kyn- alLyk- Surepta.

Lan did a quick head count. Fifteen of them, all mounted, all armed with sabers, some of the soldiers wearing body armor. He failed to detect any longer- range weapons such as bow and arrow or even the bulky wheel lock pistols of his own world.

" Good evening, sir," he said, assuming Krek to be right about the time of day.

The officer in charge said nothing. He stood in his stirrups and stretched, as if he' d been long asaddle. Finally, he deigned to notice Lan.

" What manner of man are you?"

Lan wondered how to answer such an odd question.

" The same as you," he said cautiously.

" You dare say you are of my clan!" roared the soldier, glowering down at Lan from his superior height. His hand rested on the hilt of his saber. From the whiteness of his knuckles, he would draw and slash at any instant.

" No offense intended," Lan hastily said, but his own hand slipped his knife free, hiding it behind his forearm. If the grey- clad soldier intended drawing the sword, a tiny wrist motion would send cold steel into his throat.

The soldier relaxed a little.

" We are the Saviour Waldron of Ravensroost' s outpatrol. We guard the far borders for our lord and master. I ask again, what manner of man are you?"

" I am Dar- elLan- Martak, recently come to this world of yours. All we ask is simple passage."

" We?" repeated the soldier. " You have companions?"

Lan turned to find Krek tightly compressed into an amorphous lump near a cypress. In the dim light it was impossible to tell that a tall spider lurked so near. Lan decided this was part of the duty he had shouldered. Krek either feared these men or had retreated into his own personal spidery world for reasons of his own.

" A figure of speech."

" No," demanded the soldier. " You said ' we.' Where are your travelling companions? Tell me!"

" I' m no peasant to be badgered by your likes. I have every right to walk this world unmolested by you."

" Kill him," came the sharp command from the officer.

Lan whipped his knife forward, wondering if he could hamstring a couple of the horses and escape in the ensuing confusion. He doubted it. These men carried their sabers as if they knew how to use them. All the accursed soldiers seemed superbly trained and ready to die in battle. He' d find his head severed from his torso the instant he dived for the horses.

To his surprise, the horses all reared, one even throwing his rider. The others bolted and ran, no matter how their riders tried to slow them. Lan saw that most of the grey- clad soldiers weren' t trying very hard to control their steeds, either. Even the officer turned pasty white and spurred his horse away, screaming incoherently.