Moriana shrugged as she picked up the jar. She made her way out of the room of smashed jugs, wondering what became of the ghosts of ghosts.
They paused to rest near the wrinkled, shiny inner skin of the glacier. This had once been the highway to the Gate of the Mountains. The road had long since been blocked by millions of tons of ice, but up to the glacier itself the road was still the most convenient path to travel. Moriana sat down on a bench of unfamiliar substance. It yielded beneath her form, molding itself to her body's contours. It was marvelously restful, and she wondered at the skill of those whose magic remained potent after so many years.
It was here the question she dreaded most was asked. Ziore floated free of her jar in a fashion familiar to Moriana after her travels with Erimenes. The spirit now looked diffident as she asked, 'The amulet - might I look at it?'
Color rushed to Moriana's cheeks. Her impulse was to shout no! and pull back. Yet she didn't do it. She didn't wish to hurt the spirit's feelings. She owed her life to Ziore.
Moriana hooked her finger into the silver chain from which the amulet hung. Slowly, she drew forth the jewel. Ziore stared. The stone glowed white with only a thin crescent of black around the edge.
'It's beautiful,' exclaimed Ziore, 'but. . .''But what?' Moriana asked sharply.'Nothing. Only ... I thought it would look different.' Moriana shrugged. Looking like a child marveling at an intricate toy, Ziore stretched insubstantial fingers out to touch the amulet. Moriana tensed. Her heart almost stopped beating. Erimenes had believed he could make the Amulet of Living Flame restore him to life by 'touching' it, even though he lacked physical substance. Would it restore Ziore to her mortal shape if she brushed fingers over it? And would that exhaust its stored power and render all her torment for naught?
Ziore sensed the tension in Moriana and looked deeply into the princess's eyes. Moriana recalled the great hunger for life Ziore had displayed in the chamber of broken spirit jars. Was it less fierce than Erimenes'? Yet slowly, grudgingly, she felt the mistrust leave her.
Ziore nodded, withdrawing her vaporous hand. 'You need not fear me, child,' she said gently. 'I would give much to live again, but not at your expense. I will not redeem the folly of-my life at the expense of your dreams.'
Moriana dropped the amulet. It still burned like a white beacon. She smiled gratitude, eyes misting with tears. She envied Ziore her strength of character.
Thunder made her look back at the city. The lofty buildings enthralled the eye, subtle and magnificent, as ethereal as spun sunlight. But the slimmest spires seemed to waver slightly. Disturbed by the fall of the block of ice that had killed Rann, the ice overhead shifted, settling back into its ancient equilibrium.
Moriana stood silently for a moment, staring toward the distant Palace of Esoteric Wisdom. Then, with Ziore's jar under her arm, she started climbing for the black cavern of the nearest ice-worm tunnel.
CHAPTER TWO
Blood seeped into the ancient streets of Athalau. Blood congealed, blood froze, blood streamed from fingertips scraped raw on the pavement.
Inch by tortured inch, Prince Rann Etuul dragged himself from beneath the block of ice partially pinning him. In falling, the ice had struck the marble steps of the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom, saving him from instant death.
Though he delighted in the pain of others, hewasnot immune from feeling his own. Many of his bones were broken; he didn't know if even the surgical arts of the Sky City would mend him. The vicious pain shooting up his legs every time he moved at least assured him his spine was intact.
A rumble from above hastened his strugglings. The ice dome overhead had been fractured by slow shiftings and pressures within the glacier. With one ice block fallen, the others would soon follow. A fist-sized piece ricocheted off the larger block in a spray of glass-sharp shards and went whistling off down the street. He fought harder to escape.
With a last convulsive heave, Rann pulled his legs free. He was hardly the picture of a Sky City prince. The black and purple of his uniform had been stained the color of dried blood. The clothing had dried stiff. He felt as if the pressure of the ice had squeezed the blood from his very pores.
He coughed, spat, then eyed his injuries critically. He saw no blood; internal bleeding could finish him before any possible rescue. He knew better than most physicians of the Sundered Realm how much abuse a human body could take. He had pushed others screaming past those limits often enough.
Exhaustion darkened his vision. The smell of age and blood and death clotted in his nostrils. He wondered if he wanted to live. The savage Thail tribesmen had already robbed him of that pleasure most men reckoned indispensable. The tortures were a surrogate, as was driving his small, hard body through ceaseless exercise with sword and bow. If his injuries could not be healed, still more of his feeble pleasures would be torn from him. Would life be worth much then?
The thought formed calmly in his mind: Yes. Those of Etuul blood did not yield easily, even to death.
He must report to Synalon and assure her he had not failed her once again. He and his men had been about to best Moriana and her consort when the world had fallen on top of them. He assumed the princess and courier had been mashed as thoroughly as his own men. He knew that the Amulet of Living Flame lay somewhere within the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom, even if he was in no shape to recover it personally. At the moment, his main concern was getting out of the path of more falling ice cubes.
Haven awaited him in a doorway on the left side of the street, flanked by decorative glass bricks running to street level. Like a broken-backed snake, Rann painfully hunched over to it. The world dipped and whirled about him when a groping finger touched smooth hardness. It was impossible to tell the difference between his own pulse and the creaking of overstressed ice. He forced his eyes open, blinked away the sweat that filled them, and forced his mind to focus on a face.
Magical power as well as political passed through the female side of the Etuul clan. But Rann was not without some basic sorcerous lore. He struggled to contact the one who was trying to contact him.
'My lord.' For a moment, Rann looked without comprehension at the face appearing in the milky glass before him. 'My lord prince, is it you?'
He sighed with mingled relief and disgust. He recognized the nasal, whining tone of the apprentice magician, Maguerr. The youth kept watch from outside the glacier by means of a magic seeing stone, looking in every hour to note the progress of the prince and his party. The rest of the time he was to maintain a loose rapport with the stone. By concentrating on Maguerr's thin and pimply face, Rann had drawn his attention.
The boy tugged his sandy beard in dismay.'Milord, it's been the longest time since I've heard from you. Why, it's almost daylight!' 'Enough!' Somehow Rann found the strength to bark out the word. 'I'm hurt. Send for help.' Each syllable produced a spear thrust through his broken chest.
'I already did, milord,' Maguerr said, his head bobbing. 'When I no longer found you with my geode, I called the Sky City for aid. They are sending bird riders. They should be here soon after dawn.'
'Bird riders!' Rann spat in disgust. 'What can they do to get me out? Chisel a way through the glacier with their eagles' beaks?'
'They bring powerful elementals with them, lord.''My cousin's idea, I take it?' 'Yes, lord. The queen herself commanded that the sprites be sent.' A shadow crossed the pimply visage. 'She desired that you report immediately on making contact with me, most noble one.'
'I . . . can't talk now,' Rann said, exaggerating the difficulty of speech. 'Damn block of ice fell on me. Later.'
Maguerr blanched. 'But, lord, I . . . but. . .' He was caught between conflicting commands. Rann savored the consternation radiating from the sorcerer's face. At last Maguerr came to the prudent conclusion that Rann, being closer, commanded temporary priority. He swallowed his gibbered protests and said, 'Very well, O lord, to hear is to obey. But I must communicate with Her Majesty. What shall I tell her?' Maguerr's expression made it clear that he
wanted to report success.
Rann smiled mirthlessly at the young sorcerer's understanding of the situation. Synalon was indiscriminate with her wrath. If Rann failed, Maguerr, not being high-born, would suffer no less - and possibly more.
'We overtook Moriana and her accomplice. We fought; they died.' Maguerr's throat worked like a frog's. His eyes bulged. If an insect had flown by, Rann would have expected to see a long forked tongue dart out of the boy's mouth and snare it.
'And the amulet, lord?' Maguerr stammered. 'Do you have it?' A vast, flat boom cracked across the city as Rann started to reply. The prince looked up. An irregular piece of ice detached itself from the arched vault of Athalau. The ponderous ice spear moved as if it were dipped in clear molasses, then gained speed, smashing into the ground barely a hundred feet distant. The shock wave stunned Rann momentarily.
'My lord,' called Maguerr. 'Are you there? Do you have the amulet?'
With a sardonic smile, Rann regarded the huge block of ice that had landed next to its icy brother. The front half of the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom lay crushed now. Getting inside would require exhausting work; he dare not damage the amulet by allowing a fire elemental to approach too closely.
'Not exactly,' he said. The long drum roll of the ice falling brought Fost's head up abruptly, a spoonful of tasteless gruel halfway to his mouth. The sound rolled like thunder splashing off the frigid walls. The taller buildings swayed to the beat of the massive impact.
'Glad I wasn't under that,' commented Fost, swallowing the gruel. He plunged his spoon into the ebony bowl again and scooped up more, which was dutifully replenished by the spell that animated the bowl. The courier almost savored the slop. He'd never felt this ravenous in his life. Being raised from the dead did wonders for a man's appetite.
'You almost were,' was Erimenes' dour comment. He peered into the city, blue brow furrowed. 'That landed smack atop the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom, I see.'
Something seemed to stick in Fost's throat. 'Desecration,' Erimenes sighed. His thin shoulders moved with such exaggerated despair that Fost laughed aloud. Erimenes looked daggers in his direction. 'Laugh if you will, barbarian. But this was once my city - the greatest on earth!'
'No offense meant, spirit,' Fost said, waving his spoon placatingly. 'But don't look so at me. If it weren't for you yanking that chunk of ice off the ceiling, I doubt the new block would've fallen.'
'And if I hadn't, you wouldn't be here to carry on so witlessly.' 'Well taken.' Fost forced down another mouthful of gruel. 'At any rate, I wasn't laughing at the damage done to your precious city; I was laughing at you. The thought of such beauty laid to waste depresses me, too.'
Erimenes did not look appeased. He folded thin arms, elevated his nose, and in a lordly fashion gazed out over Athalau. Ignoring him, Fost turned back to his gruel. But food would cure only part of the hollow ache he felt inside.
'Man Fost.'The words rolled forth in a thunderous bass. Fost jumped off the bench spilling Erimenes in one direction and his gruel in another. The spirit turned into an agitated blue tornado as he tried to resume his form. Fost looked about him, hands on sword and dagger. 'You humans are an excitable lot,' the voice rumbled. It came from all around at the same pitch and volume as the falling ice. 'I had forgotten that, along with your poor eyesight.'
'It wasn't poor eyesight, dammit!' Fost shouted. 'And I'm not excitable. It was - is - I'm not used to being addressed by glaciers.'
The pause fell as heavy as the glacier's voice. It took Fost a few moments to realize he'd hurt the glacier's feelings.
He sighed. It wasn't enough to be saddled with a treacherous, lecherous, hypocritical spirit and a beautiful but idealistic princess; he had to cope with a temperamental glacier as well.
His bowl lay tilted against the end of the bench, disgorging a steady stream of fluid that ran down the ice-sheathed road in a stream the color of dirty wool. He wondered whether it would keep issuing gruel until the whole bubble enveloping Athalau was filled with the stuff. He was appalled with the idea of the timeless beauty of the city being drowned in murky, colorless, salty glop. He capped the bowl, still needing it.
'I'm sorry, Guardian,' he said. He looked around for a way to clean the bowl. He finally broke up some ice and rinsed off the bowl with it. Erimenes reformed and stood by, watching with his usual expression of disdain.
'I didn't mean to insult you, Guardian,' Fost went on. Several minutes had elapsed between the first part of his apology and the second. He was beginning to adopt the glacier's speech habits. 'I was taken by surprise when you spoke.'
'I see.' An ominous crack echoed above as the words rolled around the bubble over Athalau. Fost looked up uneasily. At its highest point several hundred feet up, the hollow containing the city must come within a few score feet of the glacier's exterior. It wouldn't take much to bring the entire roof hurtling down.
'I thought you might be glad to know that the other two members of your party passed this way not long ago.'
Fost's heart soared. Moriana took the road out of the city leading northeast to the Gate of the Mountains! With luck, he might catch up with the princess in a few days. How surprised Moriana would be, that lovely, golden-haired bitch . . .
Slowly, the courier realized that Erimenes looked at him strangely. At the same instant, his subconscious reran the glacier's words.
'Wait a minute! You said, "the other two". What other two?''Why, the yellow-haired one who claimed Athalar descent. . .''Go on,' Fost demanded, his boot tapping impatiently on the ice. 'And the other was, why excuse me, Ureminus, I'd thought it to be you who accompanied the princess.'
Erimenes jaw dropped. The news was scarcely less surprising to Fost.
'Impossible!' raged the spirit. 'There's only one of me! I and only I, Erimenes the Ethical, last survivor of Athalau! Accept no substitutes!'
'But there was another such as you,' the glacier said. Erimenes turned the color of squid's ink. He beat impotent fists against the air. If he'd been alive, Fost would have thought he was seized by ademon.
'An impostor!' Erimenes roared, his form shifting with passion. 'O gods, O Five Holy Ones and the Three and Twenty of Agift, witness now how I am wronged!'
'You said you didn't believe in any of those,' pointed out Fost. Erimenes ignored him.
'Hmmm, yes, ah, I was wrong. My apologies, Irreminas.' Erimenes pulled together rapidly, so mollified by the glacier's retraction that he forgot to take exception to the mangling of his name.
'I remember now that this shade was pink and feminine in gender.' The Guardian sighed, rattling Athalau's foundations. 'I have such a hard time differentiating between you humans. You're so minute.'
Erimenes puffed up like a lizard in rut, preparing to flirt with the netherworld's approximation of apoplexy again. Fost hastily jammed the lid back into the spirit jar. The outraged philosopher faded from view. A wail emerged from the jug.
'Let me out! This instant, Fost, let me out! I must tell that oversized icicle a thing or two!'
Fost heartily thumped the jar with his fist. Erimenes gulped and quieted. Inside the jug, he was susceptible to motion sickness.
Stuffing Erimenes' jar back into its satchel, Fost set off at a rapid pace into a tunnel the spirit had adjudged to be the way out. A mere twenty paces shut off the light of Athalau. Blackness as thick and heavy as velvet engulfed him. He tried a few experimental steps, bumped his nose into a wall, cursed, and stopped. Even with Erimenes guiding him through this maze of ice-worm tunnels, he might encounter one of the builders. Memory of hard black jaws stayed him.
'Erimenes? If I let you out, will you promise not to squabble with the Guardian?'
'Why should I promise you anything?' Fost sighed. A century of life and fourteen of death and Erimenes still acted like a spoiled child.
'Because I can't see where I'm going.' 'Ahh,' said Erimenes cagily. 'You need my glow to illuminate your way. And Moriana has your torches. You need me. Not the other way around.'
&nb
sp; 'Tell me,' said Fost, 'how many centuries would it take before an ice worm decided to see if a discarded clay pot was tasty?'
'A pot like mine? Oh, very well. But I won't forget this, Fost. You're brutal. Brutal.'
Fost opened the satchel and allowed Erimenes to waver into being beside him. Fost smiled broadly and got a scornful sniff in return. The light cast wasn't bright, but it did prevent him from colliding with tunnel walls.
Fost walked rapidly, avoiding the cold walls until a slab of ice slammed sideways into the courier and knocked him off his feet.
Erimenes shrieked in terror as his jug flew into the air. The satchel cushioned it enough to prevent it from shattering. Another tremor rocked the passageway. Erimenes swirled like a tornado, jittery blue lightning crackling through his being. He squealed like an orphaned shoat.
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