WoP - 01 - War of Powers

by Robert E. Vardeman

  He blinked and shook his head to clear it. Gradually memories seeped into his skull. His eyes widened in astonishment. 'I . . . live,' he mumbled. 'I live!'

  'A brilliant observation,' a voice said at his elbow. 'I didn't think you had it in you.' 'Erimenes?'

  'Who else? Certainly not that backstabbing slut of yours. She took the other amulet and left you for dead.' 'Other amulet?' echoed Fost. 'The Destiny Stone, which hung next to the Amulet of Living Flame.'

  'Which hung beside .. .' his words trailed off. He stared stupidly at the satchel.

  'Yes, fool. Your beloved princess stabbed you straight through the heart. You died, and in dying seized the amulet. Moriana took what you both assumed to be the Amulet of Living Flame.'

  Fost felt his back gingerly. There it was, the tear in the mail her dagger had made on its way to his heart. He felt a twinge of admiration for her. It took a strong hand and a sure one to drive a knife through linked rings of steel.

  He stood. His knees felt like springs. He swayed, then steadied himself against the altar with one hand while the other brushed fine grey powder off his chest.

  'Where is the amulet then, if she didn't take it?''You're brushing it off your chest,' Erimenes said sourly. Fost stared down at himself. The round burn on his chest ached, and it seemed to him to have the throb of permanence. On the black marble stone by his foot lay a leather thong charred in two.

  'As I mentioned before, the Amulet of Living Flame had a finite amount of mystical energy stored in it. I feared it was near exhaustion, and I was right. You used the last of it in being restored to life.' The spirit sniffed, as though he were about to cry. 'The last! It could have gone to giving me that which I have longed for so long, so long. And you took it, you great, stupid, selfish lout!'

  'It was hardly my doing,' Fost said defensively. Erimenes began to weep violently. The sound was so forlorn, Fost almost wished he had the amulet back so he could give it to the desolate shade.

  Almost. 'Now, now, old ghost, cheer up. This hoodoo stone of yours has healed my lesser wounds as well as the greater. I'm ready to leave this worm-infested city. Will you come along?'

  'Whatever would I wish to stay for?''This is your home. And of course your powers are greater here.' Erimenes made a rude noise. 'Much good they did me. And what use are powers such as mine when they cannot serve to free me from this miserable jar? No, I'll come with you.' His voice cheered noticeably. 'I look forward to adventuring with you again, Fost, do you know? What do you intend now? To fare north through the Gate of the Mountains and sample the fleshpots of Kara-Est?'

  'I fare north all right,' Fost said. 'But not to Kara-Est. Unless Moriana's trail leads me there.'

  'You follow the bitch to kill her?' Eagerness pulsed in the spirit's words.

  Fost shook his head. 'No. Not at all.' He laughed a puzzled laugh. 'I should hate her for what she did, Erimenes, and yet I don't. She murdered me but she thought she did the right thing.' He laughed again, more loudly. 'Maybe I don't feel bitter about it because it isn't permanent.'

  'Maybe she'll do a better job next time,' Erimenes grumbled. 'Now, now, none of that.' Fost sobered. 'I want to warn her, Erimenes. She thinks she's got the Amulet of Living Flame and if she goes up against Synalon . . .' Fost paused, thinking. Finally he asked, 'What does this Destiny Stone do anyway?'

  'A mere trifle,' Erimenes said. 'Now let me tell you of the rich treasure troves that lie all around you.'

  'Think, Erimenes,' Fost said. 'Think how marvelous it would be. All the centuries of peace and quiet down here alone in the middle of this glacier, with nothing to disturb your meditations . . .'

  'Very well,' Erimenes said with ill grace. 'It alters the luck of whoever wears it. Sometimes it works ill, sometimes good.'

  'It alternates, then?' 'No. There is no predicting the sequence, though many have tried. So it was that the Destiny Stone, though in ways immeasurably more powerful than the Amulet of Living Flame, was reckoned far less valuable.'

  'I see.' Fost pondered what he'd learned. The Destiny Stone could enable Moriana to best Synalon at a stroke - or betray her to her sister's unimaginable revenge. There was no way to guess which.

  Great Ultimate, I have to warn her! he thought. Why? asked a voice in his head. She tried to kill you. She did kill you. Why do you care what becomes of her? When it comes to that, why not join with Synalon and gain your vengeance?

  'Because I love her,' he said aloud.'The more fool you,' said Erimenes. 'Yes,' he said. The more fool I.' He hitched the strap of Erimenes's satchel over his shoulder. 'Now, my nebulous friend, what's this you say about plunder? I'll do better pursuing our wayward princess if I've gold in my purse than if I go blundering about in my usual poverty-stricken manner.'

  Blood seeped into the ancient streets of Athalau. Blood congealed, blood froze. But somewhere beneath the ice blood still ran to the pumping of a heart.

  When the ice block had fallen from above, a corner had struck the portico of the Palace. The ice did not lie flat on the street, nor had it entirely crushed the life from one who lay near the portico.

  Like a wounded, pale animal, a hand emerged from beneath the upraised corner of the ice. Behind it dragged an arm. A second hand appeared, crushed and bloody. Between them the arms drew forth a body. Many bones were broken and much of its blood had seeped out to mingle with that of a half score of men, but that blood was the Blood Royal of the City in the Sky, and those of Etuul breed did not gracefully heed the Hell Call.

  Prince Rann lived

  BOOK THREE

  The Destiny Stone

  For good friends Steve, Fred, and Roger, with appreciation —

  CHAPTER ONE

  Princess Moriana Etuui paused on the steps just outside the massive copper doors. The city's glow enveloped her. She breathed deeply, tasting chill and themustinessof age, letting the polychromatic pulse of Athalau soothe her. Her breathing slowed. The Princess let her head sink down, almost forgetting for an instant her grief, her remorse, her self-hatred .. .

  An ominous crack from overhead brought her head up. Not twenty minutes before, she and Fost had fought side-by-side against the bird riders from the City in the Sky. The bird riders' numbers and her cousin Rann's lethal sword had seemed certain to overwhelm the pair. But Erimenes was in his home and at the center of his power. With his psychic abilities magnified in this glacier-surrounded city, he had dislodged an immense block of ice from above. It had smashed down, crushing the end of the marble portico fronting the palace-and Prince Rann and his men. The ceiling of the bubble that arched over Athalau was now veined with cracks, the ice rotten with age. The falling block had loosened others and the ponderous groaning from above warned of more icefalls. With a last heart-wrenching glance into the darkness of the palace, now the tomb of her love, Moriana dropped from the broken steps and lightly ran up the street.

  The deserted edifices gazed down upon her, calm and empty, serene with the wisdom of millennia. The peculiar street paving gave slightly beneath her boot soles, adding energy to her stride. She found it almost impossible to remain depressed when she was surrounded by the glory and beauty of Athalau.

  Almost impossible. Impulse turned her from the street to climb a few steps and enter a tall, narrow building. Its face shimmered in the constantly shifting light. As she neared the door, she saw the facade was of some pale yellow metal scored with a billion shallow scratches cunningly placed to cast back light in all directions. Even in her dark gloom, Moriana marveled at the blend of diversity and harmony the Athalar had achieved in the building of their city.

  Still unsure why she did so, she explored the inside of the building. The princess came to a foyer flanked by closed doors. She tried one. Locked. Humming a half-forgotten song of her childhood, she proceeded into the hallway, checking the doors as she went.

  It occurred to her that she might find something of use in one of these long-untenanted rooms. Erimenes had spoken of great wealth stored within the city. Mere gauds an
d gold meant nothing to her. She was a princess of the City in the Sky, born to riches. Besides, she could not carry much on the difficult and dangerous journey out of the glacier - provided that a way out of the glacier existed.

  She remembered the ever-filled water flask and gruel bowl Fost had found in the castle of Kest-i-Mond the mage, where he had first learned of the Amulet of Living Flame and the gift of immortality it bestowed. She had no provisions; she couldn't bear to ransack the body of her lover for the flask and bowl. Perhaps some similar objects were hidden away in this building. Or magical artifacts that could prove useful in other ways. She shook her head, blonde hair cascading around her pale face and masking her sea-green eyes. She had no real purpose to her search. She just had to keep moving until the great, raw, throbbing pain inside her eased and she felt ready to try escaping from the glacier's guts.

  A door opened. Instinctively, her hand touched the wire-wound hilt of her scimitar. She dropped her hand and laughed nervously. In a city buried within a glacier for a thousand years, it was unlikely any menace awaited her behind a closed door.

  The room proved bare. No furniture on the floor, no decoration on the walls. Perhaps an ascetic's cell, she thought, recalling Erimenes's philosophy of self-denial, long ago shed with his corporeal being. The princess reconsidered. Perhaps the room had been left unused or had been stripped of its furnishings when the Athalar escaped the ponderous advance of the glacier. She shut the door and tried another.

  This one revealed a desk and four-legged stool. An irregular lump of dark green crystal lay on the desk. Lights flickered randomly within it, chasing one another like berserk fireflies, then winking out of existence. She closed the door on still another mystery in Athalau. It would take as many lifetimes as the amulet could give her to begin to comprehend the city and the people who had constructed it. She thought of Fost's childlike lust for knowledge, nurtured since his childhood in the slums of High Medurim, and strained again against tears.

  Two more doors failed to open. As Moriana reached for the latch of the third, a wave of panic swept over her. She froze. Her throat constricted with the impact of the almost palpable dread. There was no smell, no sound, no sight of anything dangerous. But black dread pounded inside her skull and a frantic voice cried no!

  Her fingers slipped toward the latch. Fear grew to almost intolerable intensity, but her determination to find what lay behind the blank wooden door also mounted. Her fingers found the latch and twisted it convulsively. She yanked open the door.

  Death rushed her with a clacking of black jaws. Reflexes honed in battle saved her. She threw herself aside as the ice worm hurtled past. With a splintering sound, it struck the door on the far side of the corridor. Giving a sinuous wiggle, it doubled back on itself, hissing in rage. Its putrid breath turned her stomach as the sword in her hand swept forth and struck.

  The hideous head recoiled. A great gash opened in the translucent, corpse-white flesh. Foul yellow gore defiled the floor. In wounding the ice worm, Moriana had gained the initiative. She didn't waste that advantage.

  Another sword slash parted rubbery flesh. The worm screamed. The head darted forward as Moriana swung her sword again. The ceramic-hard jaws had not yet opened. They slammed like a battering ram below her ribs.

  She sat down heavily, gasping for breath. The room spun around her, knocked loose from its moorings by her dizziness and nausea. She tried to raise the sword and strike but she failed. It was a struggle even to keep the hilt in her numbed fingers.

  The monster reared above her. The four jaws parted, the toothed sphincters above the maw pulsing in expectant spasms. Moriana looked into that mouth and saw more than her own death. If she died, the hope she held out for defeating Synalon died also. Her beloved Sky City would perish.

  She waited for the head to descend, the black jaws to slice through her flesh. Oddly, the worm did not move. The sickness slowly ebbed.

  Moriana edged away, watching the beast warily, certain that her movement would bring it out of its inexplicable lethargy. The thick annular segments that comprised its body rippled in exertion, but the monster remained still, as if held by some compulsion.

  Moriana rose. A sudden uncoiling of well-trained muscles sent her sword whistling through the air to land with a blubbery thunk. The blunt head of the ice worm slumped forward, half-severed by the face of her blow. Rage exploded inside the princess. She swung the sword again and again, taking out the fear of death and failure on the unresisting worm, purging herself of the unbearable emotions that had wracked her since she'd murdered Fost. When only a goulash of severed flesh and stinking blood and fractured jaws remained, she fell back against the wall. The poison emotions she harbored within her had been worked out.

  Then Moriana remembered the amulet around her neck. It granted her immortality. She'd really had little to fear from the ice worm -except that the beast could devour and digest her before the amulet effected her return to the living. Immortality would then have resided in the ice worm's belly along with the Amulet of Living Flame. The nearness of her escape made her shudder-she realized that even the possession of a magical device giving immortality did not make her invulnerable.

  When she'd regained her breath and controlled the quivering of her limbs, she started off again. Purpose moved her now. She was still dazed by the closeness of death and her unexplained salvation. All she could do was wonder wanly as her feet led her through a maze of twisting corridors.

  She came to a door no different from any of the others, but she knew this was the door. It opened readily. Her sword still in hand and her normal instinct for self-preservation returned, she stepped inside.

  Well met, my child, a voice echoed in her head. Moriana tensed. Her eyes swept the room. The walls were lined with shelves that at one time had been lined with clay pots. Some past disturbance had shaken those pots down, and they had shattered on the dark onyx floor.

  For a moment, the princess was mystified. Only slowly did she comprehend what she saw. The fractured pots were simple enough, round-bodied vessels of wheel-worked clay. But they weren't common jugs.

  Each one was identical to the one that held the soul of Erimenes the Ethical.

  ‘I cannot clearly read your thoughts, child. The words flowed into her mind like soothing balm. Yet ‘I perceive that you walk near the truth.

  Some unseen force drawing her, Moriana turned to a corner of the small chamber. An unbroken pot leaned against the juncture of walls.

  'Is someone there?' Moriana said hesitantly. 'I am,' the voice said aloud. There could be no question the words issued forth from the jug. 'I guided you here. Aye, and tried to save your life. I sorrow that I couldn't stop you from opening that door.'

  Moriana stared. Realization dawned on her. Erimenes had thought himself the sole survivor of old Athalau. More likely, he had only been the first; others had followed his path, finding immortality bounded by clay walls.

  This spirit, unlike Erimenes, had shown her kindness in trying to warn her of the ice worm. Erimenes would have done everything in his power to make Moriana fight to the death - and then would have cheered both sides impartially.

  Weakness surged inside the princess. The floor seemed to bow and buckle under her. She'd thought herself alone in the city, except for ice worms, corpses loved and corpses hated, and the treacherous spirit of Erimenes. Now she'd found another presence. It flowed into her now, as beautiful and serene as Athalau itself.

  Moriana sank to the floor, covered her face with her hands, and wept.

  'Aye, child, weep. Let your feelings flow freely. If you dam them up inside, they soon will swamp your soul.' Moriana did as she was told. She cried until the blood-soaked and grimy sleeves of her tunic were sodden with tears. When Moriana raised her hand, the crying stopped, she felt calm. The momentary catharsis of butchering the ice worm had been replaced by a more stable emotion. While not a feeling of well-being, it was less jagged and wracking than what had filled her before.

 
Her sword had fallen from her hand and lay beside her. Ignoring it, she leaned forward to pick up the single intact jug. It felt precisely like Erimenes'. She examined the lid. Like the one capping the philosopher's jar, it was a disk of dark basalt forced into the mouth of the jug. It resisted her attempt to pull it free, then abruptly came loose.