WoP - 02 - Istu Awakened

by Robert E. Vardeman

  Moriana couldn't respond, either with mind talk or vocalized words. She was too stunned by what happened.

  Hand and diamond sank from view. The watchers hissed consternation. At a nod from Khirshagk a second lizard man plunged into the fumarole, eyes fixed on the spot where the gem had disappeared.

  He brought the diamond five feet nearer shore before he succumbed. Six more Zr'gsz made the horrendous journey into the boiling hell of the fumarole before the last handed the great diamond to the Instrumentality and fell back to sink in a cloud of steam.

  Khirshagk cradled the gem in both hands. His mighty arms trembled as if it were too massive to hold. He spoke to it fervently in his own hissing tongue, and then turned to Darl and Moriana to address them in their language.

  'Ah, this day shall live as long as night comes to cover the land! The Heart is returned to us!'

  The diamond glittered darkly from a hundred facets. Smoke streamed from it. The surviving Zr'gsz threw themselves down and writhed in rapture.

  Unspeaking, Moriana ?.nd Dar! backed off and then almost ran down the stony path. The princess felt anguish emanating from Ziore's jug, a mental keening. She pitied the genie. It would be horrible to have been cloistered all one's life and then be subjected to such a spectacle.

  She saved some pity for Darl and herself. The sight of the young lizard men wading deeper into the killing heat of the lava would live in their dreams as long as they lived. Tomorrow Moriana would attempt to evaluate this shocking demonstration of the gulf that existed betwen the human owners of the Realm and their inhuman predecessors. Tonight they would cling to one another to maintain their sanity and would seek forgetfulness in the sharing of flesh.

  'In High Medurim' Fost told the faces upturned in the dusty gloom of the warehouse, 'this type of technique is called the push-pull. Originally it involved a mature thief and a juvenile apprentice. The urchin, whose appearance was carefully made as scruffy and dirty as possible, would jostle a noble walking the streets. The noble, and guards if any, would either seize the urchin to chastise him for his effrontery or give chase if he was agile enough to evade them.'

  He allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk. 'I was only caught once. The best record for any "pusher" in The Teeming. However it went, both the mark and his or her retinue were sufficiently distracted for the well-dressed adult thief to make the "pull," that is, lift the victim's purse. Though manual dexterity was useful, as a general rule the mark was so set on avenging himself on the presumptuous brat that a blind man could rob him without being noticed.' He leaned back against the cool wall.

  'Now, since I didn'tdragyou through that discourse simply toshow you what a fine apprentice thief I was as a lad, who among you can tell me how a variation of the classic push-pull can be employed against a Monitor armory guarded by a dozen armed men?'

  Blank looks met him. He crossed his arms, arranged a knowing and superior smile on his lips and waited. On his last sojourn to the City in the Sky he had fallen in with the Underground who resisted Synalon's rule. He hadn't been notably impressed by their competence. In fact, their ineptitude had almost cost him and Moriana their lives when he rescued her from the Vicar of Istu's lustful clutches during the Rite of Dark Assumption. Now he did his best to help them grow more professional and effective. As Luranni, golden-eyed daughter of High Councillor Uriath, had told him, he had little real choice.

  He caught Luranni's eye. She sat on a stockfish barrel at the back of the audience of would-be revolutionaries. She smiled at him. He held back the urge to wink in reply.

  His eyes slid to the youths of both sexes seated in the makeshift classroom. Their garb was of far humbler quality than that of the people surrounding Luranni. Patches were much in evidence and here and there a ragged hem of tunic or skirt caught his eye. In spite of their less than splendid appearance, it was from among these young people that Fost expected an answer.

  He got it. A girl with black hair cut square across her forehead and a piquant prettiness offset by thick eyebrows raised her hand.

  'You set children to taunt the guards. Make'em good'n loud so a crowd gathers. Pretty soon all the Monitors'll be able to think about's the way the brats're making them look foolish. While their cods are shrivelled inside their trousers, your team can slip inside.' Her brow wrinkled. 'To think on it, might be still better to have the kids fling rocks'n garbage at the Monnies. That way they're likely to leave station to give'em chase.'

  Fost smiled in appreciation at a correct answer.

  'Very good, ah - I'm afraid I don't know your name.'

  'Syriana,' she replied. She smiled at his quizzical expression. 'I was named for the Royal Twins, Sir Longstrider.'

  'Fost will do, Syriana - and for the rest of you, as well.' He glanced at the high, narrow windows of the warehouse and gauged the slant of the sunlight falling through dusty, musty air. 'It's getting near dark. We'll wrap things up for the day.'

  The class gave him a ripple of polite applause and rose to file out. He thought it nice to be appreciated.

  Fost Longstrider, revolutionary, had such a nice ring to it. Even if he hadn't volunteered.

  As the students split up in ones and twos to slip from the building by different exits to avoid attracting attention, Syriana approached Fost with a shy expression.

  'Sir . . . uh, Fost,' she said. 'Is it true you, urn, you killed a war eagle? All by yourself?'

  A rustle of silk, a waft of cinnamon and Luranni's arm slipped cool into his.

  'It is indeed true,' she said. 'He's quite a man, my Fost.' Luranni smiled more widely than necessary.

  'I, uh, I see.' Syriana licked her lips, then turned and joined the file of departing students.

  Luranni looked up at the courier, a glint in her eyes.

  'You weren't thinking of letting that lowborn fluff turn your head?' she asked in a fierce whisper Fost was sure must be audible all the way to the Palace of Winds. 'I'll have to braid another knot in my hair to bind you more closely.'

  He smiled reassuringly at her. The smile ran no deeper than his lips. He wondered what would happen if - when - Luranni discovered that he was still devoted to Moriana. Given the perilous nature of his very existence in the Sky City, where discovery meant a lingering death at Rann's hands, there was danger of more than an unpleasant emotional scene if Luranni became jealous of the princess.

  He donned a cloak, pulled the hood up to obscure his features and let Luranni lead him out into the narrow streets of the Sky City. Sunset was beginning to tinge the western horizon in outlandish colors. Despite the promise of cooling evening breezes, Fost sweltered inside his cowl. Still, this was better than roasting over a grill lit by Rann.

  He had killed one of the gigantic eagles of the City's armed forces in single combat. But he hadn't intended to. He had meant to ride up to the City on his captive bird and slip away into the maze of streets hoping to meet some member of the Underground who could tell him where to find Moriana. Only later did it occur to him that he had let fatigue and horror cloud his judgment. The bird could communicate to its keepers in its own speech that it had been forced to bring a groundling into the Sky City. There was no reason for Rann or his secret police to guess the identity of the intruder, but they'd turn the City inside out looking for him. This of all times, the City's rulers couldn't afford to allow possible spies to roam at large.

  After flying over the grisly battle between the poison-taloned ravens and the Estil suicide squad, the eagle had touched down in a sidestreet near the starboard beam of the City. Fost had leaped to the pavement.

  'Look out!' Erimenes shouted from his jug.

  Fost flung himself face down, not even pausing to ask himself why the genie had warned him again of impending danger. Perhaps the long-dead philosopher thought a fight would be small entertainment if terminated at the first stroke by the great decapitating sweep of the eagle's sharp beak that swooshed inches above his back.

  Fost rolled desperately. The bird struck again, scoring
his hide and striking the flagstones with a jarring screech. Yellow talons groped. Fost got his legs under him and sprang away.

  The bird advanced, its eyes bright with the determination to shed his blood. It was bright enough to know Fost must try to kill it; it had struck the first blow. Fost fell back step by step, weighing his chances. He didn't care for them at all. The bird was almost twice as tall and fast, very fast. If he stood, the beast would shred him with beak and claws. If he ran, it would be on him in an instant like an owl falls on a fleeing mouse. The street was little more than an alley between hostelries and shops shuttered for the battle. He had little room to dodge and no place to seek refuge.

  'Go past him, you fool!' hissed Erimenes. Unquestioning, the courier obeyed.

  Shrieking rage, the bird whirled as Fost dived past its legs. The great white head struck a jutting cornice of gray-green stone. As the bird reeled, stunned, Fost regained his feet and closed to make a quick kill with his broadsword.

  Bleeding from wounds he didn't remember receiving, wounds dating back to those given him by the demon-bird in the Black River, Fost ran. Most of the City's police and military were occupied on the walls, but it still took every bit of streetcraft he'd learned growing up in the poverty of High Medurim's slums to reach the familiar short building with its wood facade. The door inside the triple arched entryway was barred by magical means.

  'Allow me,' Erimenes said with sardonic satisfaction, and the door swung open to admit the courier.

  Luranni's eyes showed no astonishment when she had later entered her third floor flat to find him lounging among fat cushions she used for furnishings.

  'I knew you'd come,' she said, a smile spreading across her face.'l made magic to bring you to me. See?' She reached and undid a braid of brown hair which had been wound around her head. The intricate plaiting made it hard for Fost's eyes to follow.

  'Well?' Luranni asked. 'What are we waiting for?' She let her gown drop to the floor.

  With an unusual degree of discretion, Erimenes viewed their love-making from within his bottle without tendering his normal lewd commentary. When Fost and Luranni paused to rest, he introduced himself. Once again Luranni showed no surprise. Naked, she pulled the philosopher's jug from Fost's satchel and examined it.

  'I've not met you before, have I?' she asked. 'But you spoke to me when I met Fost and the Princess Moriana and guided them to where their eagle waited.'

  'Just so,' replied Erimenes.

  'So,' she said, turning coin-colored eyes to Fost, 'this is the property Moriana stole from you.'

  'Yes.' Like her well-born comrades in the Underground, she may have lacked a sense of the realities of intrigue and insurrection, but she was a highly intelligent woman who had earned high responsibility in her father's import-export business because of her abilities. It was well for Fost to be reminded in a minor matter. It might mean his life if he didn't consider her in more ways than one.

  He had to be circumspect in what he told her. Praying that Erimenes wouldn't see fit to contradict him, he explained that he and Moriana had gone off in search of some unspecified treasure, pursued all the way by Rann's bird riders. In Athalau, deep inside the glacier that called itself Guardian, they had become separated.

  Fost had been trying to catch up with the princess ever since.

  'I just missed her at Chanobit Creek' he said, lapsing back into truth. 'We found a survivor of her retinue. He didn't live long, but before he died he told us that Moriana was coming here. And so I came to find her.'

  'But she didn't come here,' said Luranni.

  Fost groaned. His stomach turned over.

  'Wh-where is she? Are you sure?' he demanded when he recovered from the shock.

  'Synalon claims she has gone to make a compact with the Fallen Ones in Thendrun' she said. 'It might be a lie. You know what our beloved queen is like.' Fost knew. 'But my father says she appeared to be speaking the truth when she told the Council of it. She was in a rare fury. Sparks were flaming off her the way they do when she's angry, like hot wax from a taper. Poor Tromym got his side-whiskers set on fire. A servant had to pour a beaker of wine over his head.'

  'How did Synalon come by this information?' Erimenes asked. 'I only enquire to expedite this discussion,' he added with a courtly bow, having insisted on being let out of his jug, 'so that Fost can get back to sampling sundry carnal delights with you as soon as possible.'

  Fost winced. Luranni only smiled. The courier noted the broad patches of her areolas and the way her nipples stood erect again.

  'She divined it, she said. It was hard to tell what made her more furious, her sister betraying humankind or the Dark Ones betraying her. She seemed to think they allowed the Fallen Ones to ally with Moriana in spite of promising to aid her.'

  'Mightn't the Vridzish have decided to take matters into their own hands?'

  Luranni shrugged, then said, 'Synalon seemed not to think so.' She went to a pewter bowl on a shelf, took up a long slender fruit and began to peel it. 'She spends most of her time brooding and trying to make contact with the Dark Ones, and occasionally torturing some poor soul to death to take her mind off her problems.'

  'Synalon has grown rather exalted in her own esteem,' Erimenes remarked, 'if she thinks she can summon the Lords of Infinite Night like some lower caste djinn.' He stroked her nose with a skinny forefinger. 'But enough talk.'

  Luranni took a bite from the fruit she held.

  'I agree' she said, reaching for Fost.

  Not only did the Sky City woman not seem to mind Erimenes's appreciative presence, she went out of her way to indulge in erotic variations that left Fost gasping for breath. The philosopher was elated.

  To each her own, thought Fost, then settled back to enjoy.

  Since then he had found himself a full member of the Underground. He had been less than enthusiastic until Luranni pointed out that Fost wanted to join forces with Moriana again, and that Moriana, one way or another, was bound for the Sky City. He might as well lend a hand in the interim both to further the princess's cause and pay for his keep among the City's resistance.

  Behind his normal congeniality Luranni's father had not been overjoyed to see the courier again. Fost took it for granted that if he did nothing to justify his continued existence, the High Councillor was fully capable of having him dropped over the skywall some night when the moons were down. In fact, he suspected Uriath might not be beyond hinting to the Monitors where a prize Rann would value highly could be located, but he kept that suspicion to himself.

  Fost soon found himself enjoying his role as revolutionary. The subterranean life was far from unfamiliar to him. He had spent his early years dodging the Emperor's police and the goons of the various guilds until opposition to authority had become a part of him. Wandering through the Grand Library of Medurim under the guidance of Ceratith the pedant, Fost had come upon many works on the theory and practice of revolution. He had read them with the all-consuming eagerness with which he approached all learning in that halcyon stage of his life.

  His first suggestion had been resisted vigorously by Uriath and the senior members of the Underground. Fost wanted the resistance to be broadened to include middle and lower classes as well as the noble-born.

  'I'm a sorceror,' Fost told Uriath, 'and I can teach your people the secret of invisibility.' By that, he explained, he meant that the Underground was ignoring the best source of intelligence in the entire City.

  'Who pays attention to servants? More than that, who heeds the glaziers who repair broken windows, the workmen who clean and polish the building stones, the maids who dust Queen Synalon's bedchamber?'

  Uriath looked skeptical. Grinning, Fost gestured past the High Councillor. Plying a feather duster over the elaborate wooden screens hung on the walls stood a servant in the yellow and blue livery of Uriath's own household. Uriath turned a deeper red and agreed to try Fost's scheme.

  It had borne fruit. Through workers in the barracks of the bird riders, the
Underground had made contact with malcontents in the City's military, the first such breakthrough in the movement's history. Actual armed insurrection against Synalon became for the first time more than a dream as unreal as any evoked by the Golden Barbarians' drugs.

  His spectacular rescue of Princess Moriana from the Vicar of Istu gave Fost a reputation with the Underground. It was enhanced by rumors of his victory over a war eagle, which he saw no need to balance by pointing out that the bird had smacked its own fool head against a building. When in spite of initial sullen resistance to the idea of recruiting members of the service class into the movement Fost's outrageous scheme produced results, he could do no wrong.

  He'd made further innovations. The Underground's internal security was little more than wishful thinking. As far as Fost could judge, the only reason it survived was that Rann was too occupied with planning and executing Synalon's grand scheme of conquest to give much mind to the business of spying on Sky Citizens. Additionally, the leaders of the movement were too highly placed and valuable to the running of the City bureaucracy for Synalon to arrest without concrete evidence. So far, all the Undergound members had died before revealing the names of anyone important.

  But it was only a matter of time.

  In the existing organization, the damage was done; each member knew the identities of too many comrades. For new recruits, including servants and disgruntled soldiers, Fost introduced a cell system. An individual never knew anyone outside his own three-person cell and those whom he or she recruited. Contact with superiors was done through those who had recruited the cell members themselves, and the recruiters kept their own identities secret. In this way the damage would be minimized if a captured rebel lived long enough to spill his figurative guts along with his literal ones.

  While Fost played rebel leader, Erimenes consulted with various mages in the Underground about means of short-circuiting Rann's magical surveillance net. By using captive fire elementals, Palace sorcerors spied on any events near the direct glow of fire. It netted a fair number of disaffected citizens overly fond of sitting down before their evening fire and spouting off about the oppressions of the crazy queen.