War of Powers

by Robert E Vardeman;Victor Milan

  Clad in a filmy gown the color of her hair, Synalon lounged by an open window. The landscape spread before her, yellow and white, patched over with shadows of drifting clouds. Off in the east, past where the land fell away from the central massif and rolled gently to the sea, Kara-Est readied itself for war.

  'Greetings, cousin,' said Synalon without turning. The way she draped herself against the window's frame made her seem part of the design, a sinuous and erotic embellishment. The gossamer material of her gown clung to her limbs like lover's fingers.

  'What is your pleasure, Majesty?' asked Rann, bowing deeply. 'Are you ready to crush the upstarts challenging me in the name of that slut Moriana?' she demanded.

  'Quite, dear cousin. V'Duuyek will ride north with nine hundred of his men leaving the other three hundred to garrison Bilsinx in case the Estil try to be clever. We've five hundred of our own dog riders accompanying him and eleven hundred infantry. Additionally, we have a thousand Bilsinxt light-dog bowmen for scouting and skirmishing.' Synalon raised an eyebrow at this. Rann smiled with a touch of impudence. The thousand Bilsinxt mounted archers represented a victory for him.

  Rann did not possess the preternatural gift of oratory that animated Darl Rhadaman. Yet he was a skillful enough speaker and he knew well the ways and weaknesses of humankind. He had called the citizenry of Bilsinx before him in the Central Square the day after the assault. It wasn't subjugation the Sky City offered, he'd told them. Partnership, rather, in a glorious enterprise that would make the City the foremost power in the Sundered Realm. Mere aggrandizement at the expense of the Quincunx had not been the City's goal. Instead, the City's ruler, the bold and brilliant Queen Synalon, wished to streamline the inefficient process of trade among the Cities and the City and meld the Quincunx and the Sky into one powerful, smoothly functioning entity to stand against an envious world.

  He reminded Bilsinx of the 'merciful' character of the conquest. There had been no fires, no looting, no widespread slaughter or property destruction. The only ones who had been harmed were those offering resistance. He had told the populace he regretted even those deaths. The shedding of Bilsinxt blood, the martyrdom of so many brave soldiers fighting nobly - if misguidedly - in defense of their homes, would not have been necessary but for the obstinate unreason of Irb and his sycophants. The wicked mayor had been punished; Bilsinx and the Sky City were now one. It remained only to put hard feelings behind and forge a bond of eternal friendship between two great peoples.

  A wave of restrained approval met his words. Irb had not been popular among his subjects. But the Bilsinxt had heard tales of dark and bloody retribution meted out by Synalon and Rann. This avowal of friendship and the chance to share in the Sky City's greatness were unexpected. The cheers had been sporadic at first, then turned into a wave of acclamation.

  The Sky City need have no fear of rebellion in Bilsinx.'We can't spare many flyers,' Rann went on. 'I believe that a squadron of two hundred fifty common bird riders will suffice. Moriana notwithstanding, the Northerners have no experience fighting bird riders.' Synalon turned. One leg was cocked, the foot resting insouciantly on the windowsill. The other dangled downward to the floor. She nodded slowly.

  'And who commands? Not Count Ultur, surely?' 'I will, Majesty.' Rann frowned.

  'Really?' said Synalon, feigning surprise. 'You intend to desert the City at the crucial moment of our preparations to conquer Kara-Est? You disappoint me, cousin.'

  He could scarcely believe what Synalon was saying. He had to lead the expedition against Moriana. Their best intelligence-and it was good - indicated that her army outnumbered the City's forces two to one. In spite of this, Rann felt confident of success. Had he not led the combined armies of the City, Thailot, Deepwater, and the other cities of the west, outnumbered and disorganized as they were, to victory over the nerveless slave-warriors of the Golden Barbarians?

  'Majesty,' he said, voice rasping with sudden dryness. 'Surely you don't expect me to stay!'

  'Oh, but I do.' Her voice was like the caress of a silken whip, soft and yet deeply cutting. 'You are needed here, cousin mine. At such a juncture I cannot chance the loss of your cogent brain.' She allowed her lips a subtle curl.

  'But I have to lead the expedition! However much you value my . . . cogency, we cannot have Moriana's rabble rampaging through our supply lines. With all due modesty, Majesty, only ‘ can guarantee that they will be stopped before they endanger our hold on the ground.'

  'Your post is here!' rapped Synalon. Then the harshness flowed from her features and she smiled with mocking gentleness. 'Besides, good cousin, you don't think any Northblood savages can defeat our armies, do you?'

  He stood without responding, feeling his limbs turn leaden, feeling the tightening in his bowels, the stinging at the backs of his eyes. For some reason, he was reminded of the frustration of his youth when his best efforts had failed him in learning even the simplest magical lore.

  Synalon watched him. Her head tipped forward, slim brows sweeping up like wings, her mouth curved into a coquettish smile.

  Yet her eyes were mad lamps. She inflicted her insane whim on him, punishing him for his failure to make an end to Moriana Athalau. That her petulance could make her dreams crumble like a dead, dried leaf did not stay her. Perhaps she didn't realize the danger of holding Rann back now. Perhaps she did.

  With bile burning his throat, he bowed, turned, and was gone. Synalon's laughter followed him like the chime of a tarnished silver bell.

  An arrow thumped sod an arm's length from Grutz's churning haunch. Fost turned in his saddle and flung back a defiant curse at his pursuers. It was all he had to hurl at them.

  'Curs! Cowards!' shrilled Erimenes, his vaporous being shaking with rage. 'Stand. Turn and fight the rogues. Oh, the dishonor of it all!'

  'Is he always like that?' called Jennas from Chubchuk's broad back. 'He's worse at times,' Fost said. The two bears loped across the undulating hills of the Highgrass Broad. The tall grasses that gave the land its name whipped their flanks, urging them to greater speed. Erimenes hovered at Fost's elbow, occasionally blurring and dissipating in the breeze butalways re-forming to heap further curses on the fleeing pair. Looking back in exasperation, Fost saw that the score of dog-mounted archers was gradually falling behind. Relief flowed through him like liquor. Not even Jennas, ferocious as she was, favored giving battle when they'd been ambushed. All the courage in the world wouldn't prevent the lethal steel broadheads from finding their marks.

  As if to reaffirm the fact, an arrow sped past Fost's ear. 'On!' he shouted at Grutz, drumming his heels into the bear's ribs. Armored in fat and fur, the beast never felt him. But he heard the nasty whine of arrows and the baying of twenty hounds. Even a war bear of the steppes knew when not to buck the odds.

  'You call yourselves heroes!' cried Erimenes disdainfully. 'Yet you turn your backs and flee like rabbits at the first sign of danger. Oh, that my poor eyes must witness such craven, fainthearted cowardice!'

  'When did we ever call ourselves heroes, you blue flatulence?' shouted Fost. 'If you want to fight the dog riders, go back and do it yourself!' Jerking savagely at Grutz's reins, he wheeled the bear around to face the onrushing riders. Howling like their dogs, the men rushed forward.

  Fost snatched at the satchel strap and began whirling it around his head like a sling.

  'What are you doing?' Erimenes wailed. 'Giving you a chance to taste the joys of battle firsthand.'

  'My jug!' moaned the spirit. 'You'll break my jug! Oh, how can you be so heartless?'

  'If I don't throw you at them, will you, by the Great Ultimate, shut up?' 'Y-yes!'

  Jennas was a hundred yards away and moving fast. 'Come on, you Ust-forgotten fool!' she shouted.

  Fost turned Grutz around and booted him. A flight of arrows moaned by and were lost in the weeds.

  'For this I gave up being a courier,' muttered Fost. Then he was galloping full tilt down a hill to catch up with Jennas.

  The Re
d Bear rolled the sun down the sky. The pursuers gradually fell back as the land became more uneven. Finally, they became lost in the settling evening gloom.

  Fost and Jennas camped on a bank above a stream. The crisp, cold water made a sound like sipans clinging in a beggar's cup as it tumbled its endless way toward the Wirin River. The bears drank greedily, splashing and snorting, their muzzles black with water. Most of the year, water was" scarce on the Southern Steppe. It had turned warm early in the north this year, all but a fringe of ice at the edge of the stream had melted. Grutz and Chubchuk fished. Their long talons swept a half-dozen fish wriggling onto the shore where Fost dispatched them by slamming their heads against a rock.

  Jennas squatted on the bank, face bronzed by the maiden glow of the fire she was building. Snow had already given way to rain here at the northwestern edge of the Highgrass country, but many peasants had stored more firewood than they needed last autumn and were willing to sell the fuel. Grutz and Chubchuk sat haunch to furry haunch attacking shrubs growing above the water. Fost grimaced. Snowberries had a powerful purgative effect on humans, as he'd discovered to his acute embarrassment early in his career as a courier. Apparently the tiny blue-green berries didn't have the same effect on bears. They had been eating them all the way across the broad without showing any ill effects.

  'Ah,' said Erimenes, swaying slightly in the breeze. 'Nothing like a fine fire on a cold winter's evening.' Fost scowled at him but said nothing. Whether in affectation or simply by habit (what with surviving fourteen hundred years of afterlife), he held his spectral blue hands over the fire as if to warm them.

  Fost dropped the fish on the grass at Jennas's side. The bears continued noisily consuming their berries. They would catch their own fish later on. Their talent for fishing had been an unexpected benefit of their presence. Since neither Fost nor Jennas had the slightest skill with missile weapons, hunting meat posed a problem, and not even Fost's dwindling supply of gemstones looted from Athalau would survive the prices the peasants charged for livestock, a precious commodity in this war-torn land.

  Fost cut a branch from a bush stripped by the bears and whittled it to a point. The fire blazed up eagerly, as if anticipating the roasting fish.

  Fost impaled a fish on a sharpened twig and handed it to Jennas. He stuck another on the branch he'd sharpened for himself. The nomad woman stuck her fish into the upper reaches of the flame where it soon began to crack lustily. A succulent odor drifted from the fire.

  As his own fish browned, Fost eyed his companion. Her face was as impassive as ever, even in the orange firelight. But he could tell she was troubled.

  'We'll reach Moriana's army tomorrow,' he said. He watched the woman closely. A muscle tightened at the corner of her jaw. 'Why did you come, Jennas? I know you .. . you care for me. This has to be painful for you.'

  She said something he didn't catch. He asked her to repeat it.'I didn't come for your sake,' she said softly.I'm glad of that,' he said in a neutral tone.She looked at him sharply. 'You don't believe me?' He didn't reply. 'I could say you flatter yourself, but that's not so. I like the nearness of you. I'd make you my mate if I could, and it's a sorrow to me that you stay set on this Sky City wench who stabbed you once already. But it is not for your sake that I left the steppe. It is for my people.'

  He said nothing. One of the bears licked noisily at a paw smeared with sweet juices and ambled down to the stream. A moment later the other joined him. There soon came a splat-splash! of their broad paws slapping fish from the water.

  'I have dreamed again,' she said. 'Ust warns me that time is short. He has not told me so, but I feel this coming battle will be crucial. That somehow its outcome may lead to a release of powers once thought chained forever.'

  Fost felt a prickling at the back of his neck. The only powers he knew that were 'chained forever' were those of the demon Istu, offspring of the Dark Ones, who slumbered beneath the streets of the City in the Sky. Having encountered a fragment of the demon's subconscious, Fost found it disconcerting to face the prospect of the demon actually being loosed.

  'Maybe you read too much into these dreams, Jennas. I've never had a god appear to me, but I've read accounts of those who have. The gods seem fond of generalities. I'm sure if you looked at whatever it was that Ust told you, you'd find it to be no more than the customary calls for charity, pious thoughts, and good hygiene.'

  'Do not mock me.' 'I don't. I'm serious, even if I'm too flippant in the way I put things. But I can't credit all this talk of a War of Powers. The old one, yes, I'm willing to admit it happened as legends say. But that was ten thousand years ago, Jennas, a hundred centuries. Most of the magic's gone out of the world. The gods have grown tired with it. They've gone on to other playthings.'

  Jennas stared at him, her expression one of wonder. 'But you are the Chosen of Ust. You owe your life to his intercession. Don't you believe in him? Can't you feel his nearness, here, now, in this place at this moment?'

  A bear snorted behind Fost. He jumped, turned around. Grutz grunted to him and continued shoving a fish into his mouth.

  'You're ready enough to acknowledge the existence of evil beings,' Jennas said, reproach in her voice. 'You can't deny the reality that is the Demon of the Dark Ones, can you ? Why do you turn from the Wise Ones, then?'

  Gingerly, he plucked his fish from the spit and broke it apart. The meat inside was still steaming. He took a mouthful, chewed it thoughtfully, and swallowed before answering.

  'I can't deny the truth of what you say,' he conceded. 'I do find it easier to admit the existence of personified evil than of good. It fits in better with the way the world seems to be.' He broke off another chunk of flesh and tucked it into his mouth. 'And my experience,' he added wryly, 'shows more evil than good all around.'

  'I think,' said Erimenes, 'that the real question is what motivates you on this fool's errand, Fost.' 'What?'

  'You may not have the Amulet of Living Flame but you have its gift. Or have you forgotten? You lay dead, stabbed by the Princess Moriana about whose welfare you wax so solicitous. And the amulet returned your worthless life to you.' hie spoke bitterly. He had desired the amulet to restore his own life, to permit the worldly pleasures he had denied himself so long ago.

  'You have your life. You are young, strong, presentable. You have a pocketful of gold. And what do you do with these precious gifts, these things for which I would have given even my immortality? You spurn them. Instead of enjoying them to the fullest, you go rambling off across the countryside in pursuit of the very golden-haired witch who killed you, not to wring from her your just revenge but to warn her of the peril of the Destiny Stone!' He shook his head. His long, ascetic nose was pinched in distaste. 'You are indeed a fool, O Fost.'

  'So I'm a fool,' said Fost angrily. 'What of it?' 'It is time to consider your motivations, as I said. I think you know what drives you to this foolishness.'

  'Pray enlighten me,' Fost said sarcastically. He felt his anger smoldering. What right did this treacherous, lecherous old wraith have to speak like this?

  'When you were a child,' said Erimenes, 'did not your parents die? Were you not left an orphan?'

  'Yes,' Fost said, puzzled. 'They were killed in a riot. It was the day young Teom assumed the Imperial yellow. Word had reached the Teemings that the food dole was being cut back. Rumor had it that the reason was the high cost of his coronation. The populace rose.' He rubbed his chin. 'I never found out who killed them, civil guard or rioters. Makes no difference, I suppose. They were dead.'

  'And they left you, the parents you loved, alone on the streets in a slum. Is that not so?' Hesitantly, Fost nodded. 'And in all your life, you've never known lasting affection.'

  When Fost only scowled at Erimenes, the spirit went on. 'Old Fimster, the thief who took you in, died of fever, did he not? And Ceratith the pedant, who opened to you the doors of human knowledge, he was murdered by alley bashers.' He shook his head. 'It is indeed small wonder.'

  'What
is small wonder?' snapped Fost. His fists were tightly clenched.

  'That you cling to any slight scrap of affection offered you. You became enamored of Moriana and thought she felt the same way about you. So now you pursue her the length of the continent to protect her from her own greedy folly. You are as loyal - and pathetic - as a foundling pup. You follow anyone showing attention, even someone kicking you in the ribs.'

  'That's ridiculous,' said Fost. His cheeks felt as if he'd held them too near the flames. 'It doesn't make sense, dammit!'

  'Then why are you shouting?' Fost became acutely aware of Jennas's eyes fixed on him across the dance of fire.

  'Because it's untrue! It's absurd. It's not a matter of some fixation on my part but of saving Moriana's life.'

  'Why?' the spirit asked with malicious inflection. 'She took yours.' Fost jumped to his feet. He raised his fists menacingly at Erimenes, who stood calmly by with his arms folded across his insubstantial breast. Slowly, Fost lowered his arms.