He steepled his fingers in front of his lips. Even Synalon listened now, with only a trace of contempt lingering on her face.
'Now, as to the People. Their population is limited, and even given that they put whole generations into hibernation to await this moment, they still must number vastly fewer than us. They do not work well at night. As Fost's friend Oracle discovered in old writings, the caste differences among the Hissers are more than social; it takes more gestation time and special nourishment for a mother to produce a noble Zr'gsz. Thus the lower caste ones are more numerous and are physically and mentally inferior to the higher orders. You can thank that fact for your present survival, Longstrider. The common Hissers at the March just didn't know how to deal with your one-man charge.' 'I know,' Fost said glumly.
'Thanks to the Watchers, the skystone mines are in disorder, and the Hissers' military might depends on their air power as heavily as did ours. Also, the Hissers have a severe disadvantage in terms of experience. Even among the Children of Expectation there can be few seasoned officers. They simply haven't fought any wars since Riomar shai-Gallri cast them from the Sky City, and really none since the War of Powers. So, though some of them like this Zak'zar may be shrewd, we still have a considerable edge in skill.'
'You make it sound as if they were at the point of being whipped all the way back to Thendrun,' Erimenes complained.
'Not at all, demon. Our forces, such as they are, are scattered throughout the lower half of the Realm. We have concentrations in Brev and Bilsinx, but let the Sky City appear over them and they fall just as Kara-Est did. Wirix is perhaps fallen; none has heard from them, either by messenger or magical communication, in over two weeks. We must assume the worst in this instance. The Dwarves of North Keep and the Nevrym foresters have made an open alliance with the Zr'gsz; and the Empire has rotted like a melon, from the inside out. Only at its peak long ago would the Imperial Army have counted for more than a moment's annoyance to the Hissers. It's victory at the Black March was almost totally illusory. No, friend
Erimenes, even if the Fallen Ones lacked the aid of Istu we would still be like the drunk who fell in a cesspit. We'd be forced to stand on tiptoe to keep our noses out of the shit.'
A nervous look passed among the listeners. Rann seldom used such earthy expression.
'What good does all this talk of military matters do?' demanded Synalon. 'They have Istu; we have myself. And my sister, of course. What more needs to be discussed?'
'We are faced with two problems, cousin. The magical one posed by Istu, and whatever wizards the Hissers have. And the military threat of the Vridzish armies. We ignore either at our peril. I grant, if we undo Istu we win. But to do that we'll have to buy time. For that we'll need armies to keep their soldiers off our necks.'
'Very well,' said Moriana. 'But our efforts need direction. Where do we seek the means of defeating Istu?'
'Athalau,' Fost said, and was immediately sorry. Both sisters turned to stare at him. 'That's our one and only lead. It was Athalar magic that broke Istu before. My knowledge of these things is limited, but nothing I've seen so much as hints at an answer elsewhere.'
The others all began speaking at once, arguing, expostulating, objecting.
'Enough!' shouted Synalon after a few minutes. 'The groundling's right. It turns my stomach to walk a path trod by Felarod, but the Dark Ones have proven no true friends. If nothing else we know where the means of defeating Istu once lay. Isn't that the best place to search now?' Erimenes muttered something about Reductionism.
'Aren't you forgetting something?' Rann asked. All looked at him. 'Felarod didn't defeat Istu alone. He needed a hundred Athalar savants. They weren't just trained but were specially bred to their talents. Where can we find their like today?'
And Fost put back his head and laughed the roaring wild laughter of the mad. Where, indeed?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Everyone looked at Fost. He teetered on the brink of hysteria, caught himself and drew back from it. 'I'm all right,' he said. 'I'm not crazy – not yet, anyway.' "Will you share this rare jest with us?' Synalon asked disdainfully.
'I know where the survivors of Felarod's Hundred went, and where to find their descendants. Yes, you do, too, you treacherous blue wisp, so don't try to look innocent.'
Moriana looked from Fost to Erimenes, who was twiddling his thumbs and gazing at the skylight overhead. 'I know, too,' she said quietly. 'The Ethereals.' Erimenes made a face.
'You mean the folk who live by the Great Crater Lake north of the Ramparts?' asked Ziore.
'What's everyone talking about?' Synalon asked pettishly. 'I'm sure I have no idea.'
'Yes, you do, cousin dear,' Rann said. 'I paid a visit to the Ethereals while pursuing your sister and Longstrider after they escaped from the Sky City. A group of ascetics who live in the mists surrounding the lake. Totally divorced from reality.' He spoke in a bantering tone, but with a small hint of respect. 'Do you think I pay attention to such trivial details?'
'Had you paid more mind to them, you might not be sitting here.' Synalon's lip curled in a snarl. The tang of ozone filled the room.
'But what do the Ethereals have to do with Felarod's Hundred?' asked Ziore, easing some of the mounting tension with her question.
'The quality of education,' Erimenes said, shaking his head sadly, 'must have declined in the years following my death.' He tugged thoughtfully at his chin. 'But then, it's only to be expected. After me, Athalau's intellectual progress could only take a downward turn.'
'It all happened ten thousand years ago, Erimenes,' Fost pointed out. 'It wasn't considered a necessary part of the curriculum where Ziore spent her life. Your teachings never addressed the War of Powers, as I recall.' Erimenes turned his attention back to the skylight. The fact that Ziore had spent her physical life in a convent devoted to the abstemious tenets laid down by Erimenes the Ethical before his own death still produced friction between the genies.
'In answer to your question, Ziore,' continued Fost, 'I assume you do know the broad outlines of the legend, how Felarod needed the help of a hundred specially trained savants to summon the World Spirit and defeat Istu and the Hissers. You've probably also heard that ninety of the Hundred died from contact with such sheer power. And that the ten survivors were so horrified at the cosmic destruction they had helped wreak that they left Athalau, vowing to keep themselves isolated from humankind and magic'
'Yes,' Ziore answered, frowning. 'I heard versions of the story as a child, even in the convent.'
'But did you hear where the survivors of the Hundred went after Felarod's victory?' 'No.' All eyes were on Fost now.
'They went to the Great Crater Lake,' he said, 'where their descendants now style themselves the Ethereals.'
'Those cattle?' Synalon blurted, evidently remembering more of Rann's report than she'd admitted. 'Yes,' Erimenes said, in leaden tones. 'It's all true.'
'And there's more to the tale,' Fost said, grinning, 'to account for Erimenes's mournful expression. For years of their self-imposed exile, the Ethereals were without any kind of philosophical base. Schools of thought came and went, but each seemed tainted by the magic they had come to fear and despise.
'Then fourteen centuries ago, an itinerant sage of Athalau stumbled across their village. He brought with him tidings of a new philosophy sweeping through Athalau like a rising spring wind. It preached total denial of the physical world. Pleasures of the flesh, monetary concerns – and yes, magic. All these matters were shunned. It was a doctrine tailor-made for the Ethereals.' He gestured grandly.
'And the tailor who made it was none other than Erimenes, called in those days the Ethical.'
'Hold me up to derision, if you will,' Erimenes said, scowling. 'Have you never made a mistake?' 'But do you think they'll help us, Fost?' asked Moriana. 'We can only ask.'
'I'd best not be among those who negotiate with them,' Rann observed wryly. He had tortured the villagers while seeking information and wouldn't be fo
rgotten soon.
'But they've no concern with what goes on in the world,' persisted Moriana. 'They'll see Istu's release as making it their concern,' said Fost.
'It's been so long since damned Felarod's triumph,' said Synalon. 'What if they've lost what powers they had?'
'Don't damn Felarod too lightly, Highness,' said Rann, 'since we find ourselves on his side now. I see no other course than to try the Ethereals and Athalau.'
Synalon curtly ordered more wine, and the six of them, four mortal, two spectral, began laying plans.
The sun was low and its light the color of wine when the discussion was done. Rann nodded in satisfaction at the campaign they had outlined. Seeing this, the others sat back in their seats and relaxed a trifle. If Rann approved their planning, it meant that it was the best that could be done under the circumstances. Whether the best was enough remained to be seen. 'Where are you staying, cousin?' Rann spoke, his eyes half-lidded.
'The Twisthorn Inn,' Fost answered for Moriana, seeing her tense. He met her stare with steady eyes. 'We have to trust them. I know the odds are that they'll betray us, but we'll have to chance that.' 'I've had a bellyful of betrayal,' Moriana said tautly.
'Perhaps if they gave their word?' suggested Ziore.
Erimenes emitted a strangled squawk. Ziore was his beloved, but it took all his self-control to swallow the scorn he had for her naivete. 'Would it be believed?' asked Rann.
'The word of the Queen of the City in the Sky is not to be doubted,' said Synalon loftily.
'By what right now do you name yourself queen?' Moriana demanded, half rising and placing her hand on her empty scabbard. Fost gripped her arm. 'She held the title longer than you did,' he pointed out, 'and you're both fugitives now. When the Vridzish butcher you for their victory banquet, will you squabble over who'll be swallowed first?'
Fost felt the electric tension mounting. These were extraordinarily powerful sorceresses. The alliance, still fragile, threatened to come apart over this. He cleared his throat and raised his voice.
'By the Great Ultimate, I swear to take no action against anyone gathered here, save to defend myself or another of this party against treachery, until this War of Powers shall be settled.' He paused, then, 'For good or ill.'
'Well spoken, if not concisely,' Erimenes said. 'You're sure your father wasn't a lawyer? Or a confidence man?'
'Swear,' Fost said grimly, his eyes moving around the small circle. One by one they took the vow until Fost came to Synalon. Fost refused to break the gaze and, such was the intensity of his feeling, it was Synalon who turned away.
'If you insist,' she said, making an irritable gesture with one hand, 'I'll swear your silly little oath, as well.'
'Then let's drink to it,' Rann proposed. The toast was drunk. And Fost wondered what he was getting into.
In her official capacity before Synalon had driven her into exile, Moriana had dealt with many of the financial matters of the Sky City. Haggling for provisions and material proved second nature. And, after Rann had visited the House of Omsgib-Bir, money began to flow from the official coffers of the City. Fost was never sure what Rann had threatened, but the goatlike banker now fell over himself to supply ample amounts of money, presumably drawn against Sky City accounts. But such was Rann's effect on people that Fost didn't discount the possibility that Omsgib gave them money from his own pocket – out of fear.
While Moriana purchased supplies, Fost and Rann went to the waterfront district to find mercenaries seeking employment. Rann promptly sought out the biggest braggart of the lot, a big red-bearded man who wore his hair plaited into pigtails. Physically he was imposing enough, but it was obvious to Fost that the man knew even less of military arts than of discretion. 'You're the man I'm looking for,' Rann told the giant.
'What's that, little man?' the giant bellowed. He obviously wanted to have some sport with the diminutive Rann. Fost waited to see the color of the fool's blood, but instead of a blade, Rann brought forth a well-filled purse and swung it slowly before the big man's bloodshot eyes.
'I hear you,' the giant said, and followed Rann and a thoroughly bemused Fost to a booth in the shadows at the rear of the inn.
'What I'm about to tell you,' Rann said conspiratorially, 'must be kept in the strictest confidence. I am empowered by certain parties who cannot be named to raise a company of stalwart warriors to march to the relief of the Empire. As a man as well-informed as yourself is doubtless aware, the Empire is beset by inhuman foes camped along the River Marchant. We – those I represent – intend to mount an expedition to take the Hissers in the rear.'
The big man nodded slowly and thoughtfully, though Fost doubted he understood a word in ten. 'And you want me to join this expedition.' Rann's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
'Why no, my good man! I want you to lead the expedition! You will, discreetly of course, raise a company and march north. Yours will be one of several secretly travelling to a rendezvous. However,' he said quickly, as the man began to frown, 'I don't doubt that with your obvious talents you'll find yourself in a position of authority. Perhaps even overall command.' And to Fost's further astonishment, Rann simpered in a fashion that went well with the dandefied accent he had adopted.
'How much?' the big man finally said, after his mind had slowly worked over the ramifications.
Rann swept his arm across the table, sowing circles that rang with deep, true tones. Coins of Tolvirot gold, not Imperial clay and tin, sprouted. The giant's eyes grew as big and round as the klenors winking seductively at him from amid the pools of spilled drink. 'Elhard Lanisol's your man,' he said with ponderous sincerity.
The deal was quickly done. Half the princely sum scattered on the table went directly into the big man's pocket. The rest was to be used to begin recruiting. Rann said he would return to meet Lanisol in a few days. Before Lanisol found out the name of his employer, Rann and Fost were pushing through the door and out into the street.
'You look as thick witted as our friend inside,' laughed Rann. Fost set his jaw. He wasn't going to ask for an explanation. Rann smiled and answered, as if he had. 'The Nevrymin and the Dwarves are openly ranked with the
Vridzish,' the prince explained. 'It's safe to assume that other human allies of the Dark exist who keep their sympathies concealed. And I suspect there are such here in Tolviroth Acerte. And it is no assumption at all that they'll have heard about the small, scarred man and the expedition he's mounting to save the Empire.' 'I don't follow you,' Fost said reluctantly.
'The hypothetical minions of the Dark are going to learn that Moriana and Synalon have joined forces, and that they are spreading their coin liberally about Tolviroth Acerte. That much we cannot hide.' He flicked a speck of soot from his shirt collar. 'They'll wonder, of course, where we intend to go – and lo! the worthy Master Lanisol will tell them, as he's no doubt done to all in earshot by now.'
'But you wouldn't tell him who you were. How will the spies know who's recruiting?' Rann looked at him sidelong. Fost instantly regretted the question.
'How many men have you encountered matching my description, Longstrider? If it got back to someone with wit, this Zak'zar, say, that the renowned Prince Rann was accosting drunks under his own name to raise an army, what would that someone think? He'd feel the trap as sharply as if its jaws were closed about his ankle.' Fost still looked doubtful.
'Of course,' Rann went on, 'I'll have to hire a few legitimate mercenaries to march north to lend some credence to the tale. But mostly I seek out ones like Lanisol.'
'Likely, he'll keep the money himself,' said Fost, confused by the prince's devious mind.
'What of it? His ego won't let him keep quiet about the important secret mission that brought him such a weight of gold. That the story reaches the proper ears is all that matters.' They rounded a corner and Rann lightly touched him on the sleeve. 'Let's go in here, and see if the Blow On Inn is as ghastly as its name.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
'So, friend Fost,' asked E
rimenes, expansive after a night spent cavorting with Ziore, 'what do you think of our travelling companions? They're not such monsters, eh?'
Mostly occupied with trying not to think about the way his piebald riding dog's trot traumatized his kidneys, Fost didn't answer immediately. He let his gaze sweep the horizon, front to rear. The ground sank slowly behind into the green woods and metallic luster of the River Wirix, which could be glimpsed in its windings far away. To the right – north – the land became a sea of grass rippling on the frozen waves of hills. There in this season the grass grew taller than a man on dog-back; from this it had gotten the name Highgrass Broad. In front rose a barrier that had grown day by day, dark when the sun hung in the west, but a dry yellow light when the sun still mounted the cloud-piled eastern sky. It was the rim of the central massif, a great slab of land that tilted upward from the foothills of the Thails to a line meandering south of Mount Omizantrim. Now the cliffs were near, sheer and forbidding, looking as if they'd been scooped out by a great trowel. They were over a thousand feet high, though numerous and perilous trails ascended the many faces. They planned on reaching the foot of one such trail, which Fost and Moriana both knew from their travels, by early afternoon, completing the climb to the top before night made the way too dangerous.
'Did you say something?' Fost asked, belatedly aware that the spirit had.
'That's what I like about you, Fost. Always on the alert.' 'Ziore would never forgive me if I accidentally dropped your satchel halfway up the face of the rim.'
'I've told you before, you have exceedingly dubious tastes in humor.' Erimenes shook his head, tiny trails of vapor drifting from his forehead as he moved. 'As I was saying, I believe you've learned that our new companions aren't the fiends you'd thought. Of course, I realized long ago that Rann and Synalon were not wholly lacking in merit. But then I had more intimate contact with them…' 'Collaboration is the word, Erimenes.'
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