Most of the rest Moriana knew, including how he had gotten in touch with the Underground opposing Synalon in the Sky City.
He watched the skyrafts drift overhead as he spoke, since this part of his journey held painful memories of Luranni and how the woman had given her life to save him from her traitorous father's fire sprite.
Fost fell silent. Moriana's slender fingers made patterns in the gray ash in front of her, then erased them. After a while she related her travails to Fost.
Moriana glossed over her stay in Thendrun, and not simply because thought of the place raised gooseflesh all over her body. Despite herself, she gave awed account of the Keep of the Fallen Ones, of the fortress hewn from giant emerald crystals grown eons ago in the heart of the Mystic Mountains by Zr'gsz magic. She talked about the witchfire that lived in the walls, and the emptiness of the castle that had made her think she treated with a dying and helpless race - she talked about everything but what actually went on within those walls of green crystal.
Fost studied her intently, sensing evasion, but did not speak of it. Instead they discussed the question of the numbers of Zr'gsz Moriana had seen since departing Thendrun. It had worried her all along and now was of vital importance. How many foes did mankind face? Fost could offer no insight. Their fellow captives might have but they remained aloof, refusing even to talk with Moriana, whom they blamed for their present troubles - and with good reason. Though their jailers hadn't brought the breakfast allotment of brackish water and rancid slop, all refused to acknowledge Fost's offer to share his inexhaustible stores of food and water.
As the morning wore on, it became apparent that the slaves weren't to be driven forth to work in the mines. The Hisser garrison had its work cut out hunting other fugitives across the inhospitable flanks of Omizantrim. Fost and Moriana moved into the shade of the eastern wall and continued to talk.
Without Erimenes on hand to incite her, Ziore turned out to be a warm and soothing presence, full of concern for her mortal friends. She made Fost feel as if she had known him her whole long life and cared for him dearly. He was even flattered when she told him he was fully the man Moriana had described in such loving terms.
In the course of Moriana's narrative, Fost had picked up the spirit's history and something of her attributes. Now he asked, 'But I thought you had the power to influence men's emotions. Couldn't you influence Sternbow to let us go?'
'I tried,' said Ziore, looking stricken. 'Such was his natural inclination, too. Yet Fairspeaker's influence proved greater than mine.'
'Is he a mage?'
'No. He holds Sternbow in bonds of love and fear and duty. I don't fully understand their relationship.'
'Perhaps I do. Fairspeaker is Sternbow's youngest sister's son. She died of fever not long after Fairspeaker's birth. Her husband fell in battle not long after. Custom provides that Sternbow should take Fairspeaker into his own house and raise him as a foster son. But Sternbow's wife wouldn't hear of it, claiming the boy was born under an evil sign.
'Fairspeaker was raised by a succession of foster parents. Even when he was young, he earned quite a reputation for his skill with sword, spear and bow. And far more for his prowess with words.' Fost shook his head. 'It's strange, too. His talent is akin to magic, if not identical with it. What he says sounds empty and often ridiculous - as long as he is saying it to someone else. When he turns his attention on you, it's damned hard not to agree with everything he says. It's as if other folk are puppets, and he knows just the strings to pull.'
'An appeal that went beyond charisma,' sighed Moriana. 'Darl Rhadaman possessed a similar talent.'
'It may be that I was wrong about Fairspeaker's not being a mage,' Ziore said musingly. 'This ability you speak of may be a talent of the mind, like Athalar magic, though it is of a kind unfamiliar to me.'
'Or perhaps too familiar,' said Moriana. 'It strikes me as similar to your talent for emotional manipulation, Ziore, but not as well controlled.'
The genie looked first rebellious, then sheepish. 'You may be right,' she admitted.
'In any event, he had grown to manhood when Sternbow's wife died. Fairspeaker returned from a campaign in which he had distinguished himself in battle against bandits from the Lolu country. He demanded the patronage Sternbow had withheld so long. Guilt wouldn't permit the older man to refuse.'
He drew idle designs in the dust at his feet. The growing heat made him sweat. Fost wondered what it had been like for the Watchers in the skystone mines. Hell, no doubt. And the man he spoke of contributed heavily to a renewal of that living torture.
'When I was in Nevrym,' he continued, 'Fairspeaker was already something of a force to be reckoned with. He was little different from the way he is now. No one quite trusts him, unless you happen to be the subject of his immediate attention. Yet when he's around no man quite trusts his comrades, either. No one can tell who is under Fairspeaker's influence. And no one knows who Fairspeaker backs.' Fost rubbed his chin. A wiry black stubble rasped under his hand. He'd lost his razor in the City, and the dagger he shaved with now had been confiscated by the foresters. 'He keeps his own balance and keeps all others off theirs. He is dangerous,' he finished.
'But why is he helping the Zr'gsz?.' demanded Moriana. 'He must know they're enemies of all humanity.'
Fost shrugged.
'I don't know. One thing no one's ever accused Fairspeaker of lacking is a keen perception of where his own best interests lie.'
A creak and a thump announced that the bolt on the gate was being withdrawn. Fost was on his feet instantly, Moriana beside him poised to take advantage of the slightest opportunity to escape. Deep down he knew escape was but a forlorn hope. The inhuman speed of the Zr'gsz and the keen eyes and ready bows of their human allies were too formidable a combination for them to overcome unarmed. Even if Moriana summoned up a fearful battle spell from inside her, all that would accomplish would be to take some Hissers and foresters down to Hell Call with them. That might be the only sensible thing to do, but despair hadn't progressed that far. Yet.
'My ears burn, gentle friends,' said Fairspeaker, stepping through the gate with a brace of Zr'gsz spearmen at his heels. A leather pouch with a suspiciously familiar bulge swung familiarly at his hip. 'Could it be you did me the honor of discussing me?'
Fost favored him with a long, dour look and folded himself back down to the ground.
'We've more pleasant topics to discuss, Fairspeaker. The state of the latrine, for example.'
Fairspeaker threw back his head and roared with laughter, as if this were the choicest joke he'd ever heard.
'Ah, good Longstrider, you were ever the droll rogue. You are sorely missed in the Great Nevrym. The dullards and dotards who infest the Tree haven't among them the wit to fill a thimble.'
Fost found himself listening intently, even thinking Fairspeaker wasn't such a bad fellow. After all, he did appreciate Fost's finer qualities.
Fairspeaker looked from the courier to Moriana who stood with legs braced and arms folded beneath her breasts, glaring defiantly at him. He met her eyes, shrugged at the message he read in them and turned his attention back to Fost.
'You'd be a valuable ally for the Dark Ones,' he said. 'Why throw away your life for this Sky scum?'
Why, indeed? It was all so lucid Fost wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.
'Are all Nevrymin allies of the Dark?' demanded Moriana.
'No, Lady,' he said, laughing at her. 'But soon they will be. As soon as those of us with the vision to see what's best for the Forest have assumed the mantle of power and cleared away a certain amount of the deadwood.'
Moriana's answering laugh was as jarring as steel on stone.
'I, too, thought the Hissers my allies,' she said, 'and I gather my sister thought the same of the Lords of Infinite Night. You can see how wisely we chose those to trust.'
A shadow crossed his pale face, then was gone, as fleeting as a bat crossing a disk of the lesser moon.
; 'I have my assurances from parties of great power - or Power, if you get my emphasis. Synalon was weighed and found wanting; you merely sought to exploit the People for your own base ends and found your wickedness turned against you. I, and those of like mind, deal with the Dark from a position of strength and good faith. We will be honored well when the final victory is achieved.'
His brown eyes found Fost's gray ones. Fairspeaker smiled and Fost felt himself stirring to the gaze.
'Well, Longstrider? May I have your hand upon it . . . comrade?'
As if of its own accord, Fost's scarred right hand rose to touch Fairspeaker's slimmer, softer one.
Idiot! A voice cracked from the back of his skull. He's playing you like a lute!
He struck the preferred hand away.
'Go drown yourself in a bucket of shit!' he snarled, deliberately using the crudity to dispel the last of Fairspeaker's verbal spell.
Fairspeaker only laughed, and waved the fingers of his raised right hand languidly in the air as if to cool them.
'Well, that's your decision. All I can say is that I am deeply regretful.' He turned to Moriana. 'Perhaps you have a clearer perception of your own interest, Princess. I can tell you that a high official of the People arrives on the morrow from Thendrun to interrogate you. You can save yourself much anguish - by which I mean earn yourself a quick and painless death - if you simply tell me now of your plans.'
'Plans?' Moriana's laugh turned bitter. 'I have none. Except to escape this stinking pen.'
'Don't lie, Princess.' The liquid eyes showed hurt. Fairspeaker patted Erimenes's new pouch. 'Your former accomplice has revealed to me many of the salient features of your scheme to turn the skystone mines to your own purposes. But the servants of the Dark need details. For example, which traitor revealed to you the workings of the skyraft controls? We know you flew here on a craft stolen from the Sky City. I tell you this so you'll understand that we know enough to tell if you try lying to us.'
Only instinct prevented Fost from dropping his jaw in amazement. It took iron self-control to keep from turning to see if Moriana was as dumbstruck. Where in the wide Realm had Fairspeaker gotten such an extravagant notion?
'Confess all, Fost.' Erimenes's voice lacked nothing of the unctuous tones Fairspeaker carried off so well. 'You've not been a bad companion, though you are uncouth and rather less valorous than I might have wished. I'd hate to see you suffer needlessly on account of your murdering wolf bitch.'
Fost turned an ugly grin on Fairspeaker.
'I might even reconsider your offer to join you, my friend,' he said in a deadly quiet voice, 'if you could promise me one reward. Return Erimenes to a living, feeling body so that I could give him the fill of sensation he so craves. My vaporous friend, I think I've picked up some useful pointers from your old friend, the late, lamented Prince Rann.' Fairspeaker guffawed.
'You'd jest on the gibbet, friend Fost.'
'Who's jesting?'
'Mark my words, Fost! You'll regret this.'
Fairspeaker looked at the sky. A few fat, fleecy clouds gamboled in the southern sky. He let his gaze drift meaningfully at the traffic of skycraft streaming in from the northeast.
'You'll have until tomorrow morning to think over your refusal.' Fairspeaker's eyes filled with concern. 'You must understand, my friends, that once Lord Nchssk arrives, affairs will pass from my hands and I will be unable to win you any mercy.'
They ignored him. He shrugged elaborately and walked out. The Zr'gsz guards waited until he had left the compound before backing out. The gates boomed shut and the lock fell with a sound like a headsman's axe.
Fost and Moriana exchanged looks. The tale Erimenes had fed the Nevrymin was a combination of truth and utter fabrication. Had the genie thought to insinuate himself into the good graces of the Dark Ones by inventing an imaginary menace, banking on the near certainty that the more fervently Moriana and Fost denied the existence of such a danger the more fervently the questioners would disbelieve them? Or had the ages-old spirit simply gone insane?
Fost slept through the heat of the afternoon. With a sentence of death looming over him as tangibly as the bulk of Omizantrim, it might have seemed strange he could sleep at all. But sleep shielded him from having to think of his fate.
He woke to find Moriana bending over a younger Watcher woman seated on a flat rock. Moriana worked on the woman's arm, which was twisted unnaturally. The woman's face was drained of color and feeling; it showed no pain.
Moriana finally stood up, wiped sweat from her forehead and regarded the job of splinting and bandaging.
'It'd be best if you wore that sling for several weeks, Beiil. Right now the thing to do is sleep.' The woman nodded dully and rose, walking to the nearest group of Watchers who were busily not watching what the princess had done. One spoke to the woman in hushed tones and looked disbelievingly at her quiet answer.
'Damn the Hissers,' Moriana swore fervently. 'And thrice damn the Nevrymin for aiding them now that they've shown their true shade! That girl's arm was broken in the capture of the village. They locked her in a storeroom with others wounded and dying. The others were too weak to help her; she bound her own arm, but set the bone wrong. By the time the Hissers let her out to join the others, it was too late to reset. I had to break it over again.'
'She was certainly quiet.'
Moriana mopped at her forehead with the hem of her tunic. Fost looked at the bare skin of her trim midriff with a pang of longing. It had been so long for them, and now they'd never have the chance to complete their reunion.
'Ziore helped. She suppressed sensation in the girl's mind while I worked. She even left a residual block that will keep the pain from becoming too severe.'
'I keep being surprised at the way your powers have grown,' Fost said. 'Tell me. You'd rather heal with magic, wouldn't you?'
Her eyes answered for her.
When the sun dipped low enough in the sky to become entangled with the black tentacles of the Omizantrim flows, Fost broke out his bowl and flask. He and Moriana ate a little, then offered the vessels once more to the Watchers. Wan and shaky, Beiil rose from her pallet and came over. Fost helped her and Fost fed her with her own spoon. When she finished, most of the other Watchers lined up wordlessly to partake of the food and drink.
As the other prisoners ate, Fost lay back with his head in his hands watching the sky set in layers of color, slate-gray and blue and orange. His mind wandered. First, he thought about Moriana's account of her trip to Thendrun. There was something missing from her story. He didn't perceive the lack as he would, say, the hollow left by a missing tooth. Rather, it was like detecting wine watered by a dishonest innkeeper. Moriana had diluted the truth.
Why?'
He'd never find out. In a short time it would no longer matter. But it hurt him to think she'd keep anything from him.
His thoughts drifted to Erimenes. He had travelled so long in the company of the garrulous and horny spirit that he'd come to like him. Certainly there were scores - hundreds! - of times when he had felt like abandoning the sage. Yet he had come to regard Erimenes as something of a comrade in arms despite the genie's superciliousness and insatiable appetite for vicarious stimulation.
And Erimenes had repaid that loyalty with treachery. Fost had no one to blame but himself for his credulity. Erimenes had shown his true essence before, when as a messenger, Fost had been charged with delivering the genie in the jug to its original owner. It had seemed to Fost that the genie was gradually changing over the many months, though, was actively trying to aid Fost rather than goad him into impossible and potentially entertaining situations.
Aye, seemed.
The Watchers finished eating and drinking and, still wordless, returned the utensils to Fost. He sat unspeaking with his arms around Moriana while the light went out of the world. Then they lay down side by side and slept.
They awoke to light.
Instinctively, Fost groped for his sword. He found a handful of s
oft flesh. Moriana automatically brushed his hand from her breast and sat up beside him.
They blinked into the yellow eye of a hooded lantern. Fost's blood chilled. Had the Zr'gsz inquisitor arrived ahead of schedule? The light winked out. Fost's eyes adjusted to the darkness again, and he made out a stocky form in a narrow gap between the gates.
'Sir Longstrider? Princess Moriana?'
'What do you want?' Moriana asked cautiously.
'Save the hackneyed dialog for later,' a familiar, testy voice snapped. 'Right now, time is of the essence.'
'Go play your vicious tricks elsewhere, you treacherous bottled fart,' said Fost hotly.
'Yes! You're a disgrace to noble Athalau!' exclaimed Ziore.
'Gentles . . .' the husky young man said, raising his hands in a placating gesture.
'The just must suffer,' Erimenes said. 'May the Three and Twenty Wise Ones of Agift witness what dullards I am saddled with as friends!'
'You've small right to call upon the Wise,' hissed Moriana. 'Gentles, now . . .'
'Must I bear such abuse heaped upon my noble head? After all I've done? Oh, it is a bitter lot dealing with such as you.'
'Silence!' The command snapped like a whip. Fost peered most closely at the youth. Whoever he was, he had the habit of command. 'Gentles, you may not know me, for you only saw me briefly. I am Snowbuck, Sternbow's son. I've come to rescue you.'
'Then why are you signing your death warrant by carrying that jar around with you?' Fost got to his feet.
Erimenes called upon the gods to witness his sorry fate.
'But gentles,' Snowbuck said, 'It was the good Erimenes who talked these men into helping free you. I couldn't convince them by myself.'
A tall shadow appeared at his side.
WoP - 02 - Istu Awakened Page 29
