'Who's the damned impostor?' Had her arms been long enough, Fost thought she would have reached across the desk to choke an answer from the banker.
'No impostor at all, or so I believe. She's a quite striking young lady, who goes to no pains to conceal her considerable personal beauty.' He looked meaningfully at Moriana's businesslike garb of tunic and trousers and boots. 'She's tall, like yourself, and as inclined to be overbearing. Her hair is as black as the soul of Darkness, if I may wax poetic. Her name…' He drummed thin fingers on the desktop while he studied the ceiling with one eye, the other closed. Moriana quivered with need to hear the name.
'Ah! I have it now,' said Omsgib, donning a crudely counterfeited expression of recollection. 'Her name is Synalon Etuul.'
Squinting in the bright sunlight cascading in through the translucent skylight, Fost peered into faces he had only expected to see again in a nightmare.
'You're looking well, Long-strider,' said Prince Rann Etuul, giving the peculiar Sky City inflection to Fost's Nevrym-given surname. 'You should thank whoever broke your nose like that. It gives you an impressively rakish air.' 'It was one of your damned lizard friends.'
'Indeed?' Rann replied, one slim eyebrow arching. 'I had no "lizard friends." If by chance you refer to one of the Zr'gsz, I might remind you it was your comrade Moriana who enlisted the Fallen Ones as friends.' He smiled, showing a hint of fine, white tooth. 'If that's the case, I sympathize. I narrowly escaped death from one of the reptile folk myself.'
Fost looked down at the tabletop, cursing himself for letting fear-spawned anger speak for him. Even in the most secure room of the most prestigious negotiation and intermediary firm in Tolviroth Acerte, with the company's armed guards standing by in case one of the parties attacked the other, Rann jockeyed for advantage. And letting emotion run away with him, Fost knew, gave Rann considerable advantage.
'We both made our pacts with the Dark Ones, sister dear,' said Synalon from where she lazily sprawled at Rann's side. 'And they both proved worthless. Let's leave the past and see what the future provides, shall we?'
For the first time since the Safesure Intermediary Company guards had escorted her into the room, color came to Moriana's face. 'I made no pact with the Dark Ones!' she flared.
'You bargained with Their chosen,' the dark haired woman pointed out. 'Surely, you didn't think that the Fallen Ones would do anything contrary to the interests of their masters?' It was Moriana's turn to avert her eyes and berate herself for giving advantage to a foe. She had thought exactly that, and she did not need the studied irony in Synalon's voice to tell her how foolish that thought had been.
Fost took a drink from the cup of wine at his elbow. One of the attendants, swaddled in white scale armor, looked to his sergeant, who nodded, and then stepped forth to refill the cup. The cup was of thin beaten silver, not for purpose of decoration but because a heavier one might be used as a bludgeon. Even one of ceramic might be broken to provide a sharp-edged, makeshift knife. Silver was too soft to hold an edge, and the flimsy cup would simply collapse if used to strike someone. The wine itself was scientifically diluted and its serving carefully overseen to produce a calming effect. Safesure took its responsibilities seriously, which was why Captain Arindin had recommended them so highly for this ticklish reunion. It was fortunate that the rival royal parties had encountered each other in Tolviroth Acerte, where secure neutral meeting ground could be had for a suitable price. Armed guards remained in the room with them; Wirixer mages were stationed outside, in case magic was called for. Fost tried to imagine dealing with Synalon and Rann in the common room of some country inn and found it too unsettling to ponder long.
Even in spite of the precautions, the safety of all concerned was beyond the company's ability to guarantee. Even though the Wirixer mages had been assembled, Fost knew all too well that if the sisters began tossing occult lethality about there was no way anyone in the world could stop it.
The silence in the room grew dry and scratchy with age. Fost cleared his throat.
'Excuse me for asking such a silly question,' he said, quailing inwardly at the quick blue light of anger blazing in Synalon's eyes, 'but why aren't you dead?'
She laughed. Her breasts shook vigorously to the full-throated merriment, threatening to break free of the inadequate restraint of her lacebird silk bodice.
'Ah, you poor, trusting fools. Moriana, you actually thought I'd step to my death in a fit of pique over a little setback?'
'As far as I could tell, you did,' said Moriana with an evenness of tone that amazed Fost.
'Yes, beloved sibling, I did. And before even I stepped from the window, I sent a mental call out for my dear eagle Nightwind. I hardly had the chance to enjoy the feel of falling free when he was between my legs and carrying me safely away.'
'And you, Rann?' piped up Erimenes, fidgeting at being excluded from the conversation. His and Ziore's jugs had posed a problem for the guards. Since there was nothing visible in either jar, and since the two most potent sorceresses were to be in the same room together anyway, it was decided a couple of genies made little difference. 'How do you come to be sitting here, looking so hale and hardy? I thought Khirshagk's spear brought you down.'
'It brought my eagle down, may he who cast that damned spear writhe in hellfire!'
Erimenes paled before the force of the prince's passion. The fury passed from Rann's tawny eyes and he relaxed.
'But Terror was the greatest of a great breed. The war eagles of the City are trained to preserve their rider's life at all costs. And though his every wingbeat added to his agony, Terror controlled our descent until he could set me safely on a hilltop. Then he died.'
'My dear Rann, I do believe I detect sentiment in your voice.' Some of Erimenes's cockiness had returned.
'No one cares what you believe, demon!' snapped Rann. His scars glowed like white-hot wires.
'If there's hellfire, Khirshagk's writhing in it,' Fost cut in quickly. 'He used that peculiar black smoking gem the Hissers took from the fumarole on Mt. Omizantrim and freed Istu with it. However the breaking of bonds Felarod created worked, it killed Khirshagk in the process.'
'Lucky all in the City weren't killed,' murmured Synalon. 'I've tested the magic that bound Istu, and know its potency.' She tapped her daintily pointed chin. 'No, come to think of it, from my viewpoint it wasn't lucky at all, for if all within the City had been slain, I might have returned at once.' Moriana wasn't listening.
'There's hellfire,' she said softly, staring unfocused at the center of the table. Silence crowded in again. Everyone knew why Synalon had tested the bonds pinioning Istu in the City's foundations, and it wasn't with a view toward strengthening them. Likewise, no one had to question how Moriana knew the reality of hellfire. She had seen it glowing through the slits that were the eyes of the Vicar of Istu, and it had touched her, left its mark on her.
'Perhaps if you'll explain how you came to be here,' suggested Rann. Moriana scowled, not wishing to follow any path the prince pointed out. Hurriedly, Fost began talking, telling what had happened in the City after Synalon's apparent suicide. Soon, Moriana joined in the telling, and the two spirits as well.
As she listened, Synalon's fingers idly stroked at her exposed breastbone. When the tale came to the night of the Golden Dome, they slipped into the top of her gown, at which Rann cleared his throat and looked away. Fost imagined that the Safesure attendants were grateful just then that their helmets hid their expressions. They would certainly earn their fees this day.
When the bloody aftermath of Teom's orgy was told, Rann's eyes glowed and he massaged one fist, cracking the knuckles and nodding appreciation of Fost and Moriana's exploits. Then came the storv of the Battle of the Black March, and he pounded his fist excitedly into his palm. He obviously wished he could have been there, commanding, fighting, taking in the ebb and flow of the battle. It was for such things the man lived – and it was in such things that Rann was a true genius.
Fost
wondered whether Moriana, who had the narrative at this point, would tell of Zak'zar's apparition that had soured the victory celebration following the battle. She looked at him and stopped short.
'We had a visit from the Speaker of the People that night,' he said, hearing her breath catch. 'He showed us the fate that had befallen Kara-Est that day. How did you come to escape it?' The rest was Moriana's to keep or give.
Synalon's fingers curled into fists.
'We would have fought the Hissers at Kara-Est,' she growled, 'but for the treachery of this worm beside me.'
All stared at this, even the faceless attendants lining the whitewashed walls, for Rann's devotion to his princess was as legendary as his prowess in war and torture. The hair on Synalon's head began to untwine itself from its elaborate coiffure, and blue sparks crackled through it. Looking stricken, the guard sergeant started to draw his sword, knowing that it might be the last thing he ever did. Moriana raised a slim hand.
'Stay,' she said to the guard. 'She does that when she's angry. It means nothing.'
Synalon was known throughout the Realm for her behavior when angry. The sergeant did not look encouraged, but if Synalon uncorked anything horrible Moriana would catch the brunt of it, and it was Moriana who bid him not be concerned. He only hoped she wasn't going to commit suicide on his shift.
Rann had dropped his head until his sharp chin rested on the embroidered yoke of his dark brown tunic.
'I did what I thought best served the interests of my queen,' he said quietly.
While Synalon sat looking disdainful and dripping the occasional fat blue spark to sizzle and die and leave small charred circles on the floor, Rann told how he had determined that resistance to the might of Istu was futile. 'I read the old accounts of the War of Powers,' he said. 'The First War of Powers,' Fost corrected dully. Rann studied him for a moment.
'I suppose you're right in making the distinction. At any rate, I had some idea of the nature of the Black Lens, the form in which our scouts reported that Istu manifested himself. In that aspect the Demon can draw matter and energy irresistibly into himself, and only the mightiest of magics can forestall him.'
'I would have fought!' shrieked Synalon. A blue nimbus flamed about her head.
'You would have died,' answered Rann. Synalon whirled on him, raising her hand. Fost knew the gesture. Time slowed to a crawl before his eyes. The guardsmen sensed the intent but hesitated, not having expected the princess to turn on her own ally. Moriana made no motion, so it was up to Fost to act. He snatched up the goblet by his elbow and flung the contents onto the enraged princess.
A loud hiss and a cloud of steam filled the chamber. From outside came a dull thump. The Wirixer mages had detected the magics being mustered in the room; one had fainted upon realizing how potent they were. Synalon turned to Fost with eyes like lances of blue fire. For the courier, time seemed to flow like molasses. No matter how fast he reacted, it would be far too slow to stay his death. He remembered the searing caress of a salamander and wondered if a lightning bolt would feel the same. Synalon tipped back her head and laughed.
'You're a brave fool, courier. You must still hear Hell Call ringing in your ears. Death was that close.' 'I live,' he said doggedly. The laughter died.
'So you do. As does the renegade Rann. Perhaps you're not so much a fool, after all.' 'I could have told you Your Highness as much,' Rann said dryly.
'There's more to you than is immediately apparent, Longstrider, though it's not displeasing, either. It may please me one day to take you from my sister; I doubt she fully appreciates you.' Before either party named could respond, the sorceress turned to Ziore. 'And you, nun, I warn you. Don't try your emotion play on me a second time, unless you want to learn what true death is.'
Again a long silence fell as all sat back and composed themselves, for the next round in this battle of wills.
'What precisely happened in Kara-Est, if it's not too much trouble to tell us?' demanded Erimenes, in a pet because the promised mayhem had failed to materialize.
The sergeant of the guard had dispatched one of the attendants to fetch a bowl of water and a towel to clean the wine from Synalon and the table. He entered without noticeable enthusiasm and began mopping up the sticky red mess. Synalon undulated beneath the caress of the cloth, making the man so nervous he dropped it three times. The last time one end fell down between Synalon's breasts. His hand shot reflexively in pursuit. Synalon raised an eyebrow at him, smiled. He threw up his hands, uttered a thin scream and fled the room.
'Now that the comic relief is over, we can get down to business,' said Rann, rapping his knuckles on the table. 'To answer your question, demon, I made preparations to evacuate Kara-Est, without advising Synalon. Then, the night before the City was to arrive overhead, I went to her to tell her the only logical thing we could do was get out.' His eyes avoided his sovereign's. 'And she refused,' said Moriana. 'Just so. As I had anticipated.' 'So what happened?' Fost asked.
'I struck her with a Thailint drug dart. The chemical acts almost instantaneously. Not altogether so, unfortunately.' He raised his right arm and drew up the tunic sleeve. The underside of his wiry arm showed angry red, as if recently scalded. 'I'll bear the marks of her anger a long time.' 'You deserved worse,' Synalon said, but without heat.
'I did what I thought best,' Rann repeated. 'We had no hope of winning. And as far as I knew, Synalon was the strongest magician alive, and the only one with a faint hope of ever commanding the power to defeat Istu. But then and there, she had no hope at all.' 'So what do you intend now?' asked Ziore. 'Isn't that obvious? We join forces against Istu and the Vridzish.'
Moriana and Synalon jumped to their feet screaming denial; the Safesure attendants stood by the walls fairly quaking in their armor. They were well-tempered men and women, normally fearless, but this was like dancing with an unconstrained fire elemental. In the commotion, Fost's gaze met Rann's and perfect understanding flowed between them. The sensation made Fost's skin crawl, but he knew that he and the prince alike knew what must be done. Sharing a thought with the likes of Rann was not something Fost found comfortable.
For all their mutual hate, for all the many ways they were opposites, both royal sisters possessed intellects on the same order as their egos – enormous. And between them they knew almost all of the magic learned by humanity over the ages. Slowly, reluctantly, they calmed and resumed their places.
'He's right,' Moriana said grudgingly. 'Alone, neither of us has a chance against the Demon. Together…' 'Together, you've scarcely more of a chance,' said Rann.
'Have you learned so much magic,' Synalon said, looking at him narrowly, 'that you can predict the future?'
'No. But I know history. Felarod and his Hundred – a hundred Athalar savants of the heyday of that city's skill in magic – couldn't contain the Demon of the Dark Ones. They had to invoke the World Spirit, and in that act almost died.' He looked from one cousin to the other. 'Recall that not even Felarod long survived his triumph.'
'I don't fear dying to defeat the Demon!' shouted Moriana. She of all those assembled had the deepest hatred of the spawn of the Void. Rann faced her coolly.
'What about dying uselessly? I don't know magic as you do, but this I know. Even if you and Synalon act in perfect harmony, you have no more chance of overcoming Istu than I have of hiking to the Pink Moon.'
'It sounds as if you're refuting your own argument,' Fost said, arguing against himself as much as Rann. 'If our joining forces won't bring Istu's fall, why should we take the risk? Either of us?'
'I'll tell you something, Longstrider,' said Rann. 'When we were antagonists I found myself wishing that we could work together, you and I. You continue to show yourself perceptive, and to prove the soundness of my judgment of you as a shrewd man, rough-edged and not well schooled in subtlety, but able. I hope we can yet work together, Northblood.'
Fost moistened his lips from his cup to hide what he assumed correctly to be the expression of unwonted ple
asure. The prince was flattering him. And he seemed to mean it.
'But to your question. I still feel that the means of bringing down Istu can be found. Just because a weapon doesn't lie conveniently at hand doesn't mean it doesn't exist.'
'Istu was overcome before.' Instantly, Fost cursed himself for speaking. He was actually trying to elicit the prince's approval and had wound up mouthing the obvious. Rann seemed not to notice.
'Just so. We can find the means.' He smiled cheerlessly. 'But there's the problem of staying alive until we do.'
Moriana leaned forward across the table. She held her anger back with obvious effort, yet what her cousin said had merit.
'You've thought on the situation,' she said with only the faintest hint of begrudging it to Rann. 'Outline it for us, if you will.'
Fost nodded to himself. Subconsciously at least, Moriana had accepted the necessity of joining with those who had been her deadliest foes. Now she spoke to Rann much as she must have when the two of them fought the Golden Barbarians together, years before.
'First, 'Rann started, 'the strengths and weaknesses of our enemies. They have Istu, of course. But even the Demon of the Dark Ones has his limitations. According to the lore – and it's unanimous on this subject – Istu is in some way linked to the City itself. He's a creature of the Void, of the nothingness between suns. This world's as much a hostile environment to him as the bottom of the sea would be to us. The historical evidence indicates that he is most powerful when he is physically present in the City. Apparently, that was one reason Felarod bound him there; so strong are the forces binding him and the Sky City together that they might have drawn him forth from another prison, no matter what spells Felarod devised to hold him.
'The City itself provides severe limitations, at least to his movement. It is no longer constrained to follow the Quincunx. However, neither in the past nor in the days since Istu was freed has it ever been observed to go faster than the mile-an-hour pace it has maintained throughout the centuries. It may be able to go faster. It's safe to assume that speeding it up would tax even Istu's powers.'
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