WoP - 01 - War of Powers

by Robert E. Vardeman

  'So now my life story is yours. What of you, bright princess? I know some of the affairs of your City; the Realm lost a great leader in your mother. Tell me why Synalon sits on the Beryl Throne while you are desolate and alone on a bench in Tolviroth Acerte.'

  Moriana started to speak, then halted herself. Could she trust this man? He had come to her precipitously, out of the night, a coincidence. Was he a spy for Rann? She cast that notion from her fatigued mind; Rann still did not know she lived. And she would have been whisked away to a dungeon by now. Rann's perverted sense of torture didn't extend to assignations like this.

  Ziore, she spoke with her mind. Ziore, can I trust this man? The pause drew her muscles taut. Darl looked at her expectantly with his kind brown eyes. In a moment expectation would turn to impatience. She couldn't afford to irritate him if he could help her. Had Ziore caught her thought?

  ‘ have scanned his soul with care, child, Ziore's thought poured smoothly into her mind. His heart is good. Trust him.

  Moriana tried to speak, but her words were drowned in tears. The day had been warm for winter, but as dusk deepened into night the bench became uncomfortable. They drifted to a restaurant specializing in Port Zorn cuisine. Island cooking proved dull, but Tolviroth Acerte had an excellent assortment of foreign eating establishments. Moriana told the balance of her story over a meal of sea-grass salad with spiced, boiled crab, a main course of fillet of yellowharp boiled in butter and sweet wine.

  Afterward, they walked along the palisades overlooking the harbor to the north. The wind blew off the Jorea, but the highlands of the island absorbed much of its fury. Still, a winter chill gave a steel edge to the wind. In the penetrating cold, it seemed only natural for Darl's strong arm to slip around her shoulders.

  'You have done many fantastic things,' he told her, 'but Erimenes is perhaps the rarest treat of all. To have lived in Athalau of old! How I envy you that meeting.'

  'Perhaps I should introduce myself,' Ziore said shyly from the depths of her jug. Darl stepped back a half pace, then slowly smiled, accepting. Then he laughed at his own reaction.

  'I have indeed led a sheltered life,' he said. 'Never before have I met a jug of spirits quite like you!' He paused, shivered, and drew Moriana closer, saying, 'I could do with other spirits. Milady?'

  It seemed only natural for Moriana to accompany the nobleman back to the small but snug room he had engaged at a nearby inn.

  Darl poured her wine. 'I am in awe of you, Princess,' he said, seating himself on the bed. 'You've braved incredible hardships and survived unearthly peril. Take no offense, but without the amulet and an Athalar to confirm your tale, I'd find it impossible to credit you. But one thing I'm unclear on.' He sipped his wine. Light danced in his eyes and reflected the image of a single tallow candle. 'What actually happened to this comrade of yours, this Fost? I'd be honored to meet him.'

  'I'm . . . that's impossible,'Moriana said, her eyes dropping to her lap where her hands intertwined helplessly. Her throat knotted up with tension as she realized she must tell Dar! the truth.

  'Fost is dead,' she said in a small, cracked voice. 'I killed him myself.'

  Darl said nothing. She looked up and into Darl's eyes, seeking some sign of reproach or repulsion. She read nothing. Only ... a waiting for explanation.

  'Fost wanted the amulet for his own,' she said, the words beginning to tumble out in a carthartic rush. 'But I needed it to help overthrow my sister. It's not just for me but for my City! It's for the entire Sundered Realm that I must destroy Synalon. He couldn't see that.'

  She covered her face with her hands. Uncontrollable weeping seized her. She knew she'd done right. She also knew she'd never be done reproaching herself.

  Then Darl was beside her, holding her, soothing her. She turned her face to his chest and soaked his shirt with hot, bitter tears.

  Though neither seemed to will it, they rose and went to the bed. Her face lifted, seeking his. Their clothes fell without conscious effort as their hands explored each other's body. Moriana's loss and pain crystallized into sudden flaring passion. She needed to open her soul and let her grief pour out.

  She lay back. He smiled down at her, gentle, compassionate. And suddenly she remembered Ziore.

  What did the spirit think? They'd shared love through many a bleak night in secret ways Ziore knew. Now, how would the shade of a long-dead nun react to sharing her lover with another?

  Do not be foolish, child. Your pleasure is mine, however you may come by it.

  Darl hovered above her. He had sensed her tension and held back. Her arms went around his neck and drew him down.

  Then he was inside her. She moved passionately against him, almost fighting, and lost herself in a frenzy of release that was only in a small way physical. A flurry of motion and the barriers burst. He moved back and forth quickly lighting a fire that burned like the sun. They both lost identity in the blaze of ecstasy. And gradually they cooled, sighing and relaxing, fingers stroking, learning all that their initial urgency had given them no leisure to discover.

  The candle flickered near the end of its life when Moriana awoke. She lay on her stomach becoming slowly and deliciously aware of Darl's hand caressing her back. He kissed her when he saw her eyes open.

  'I can muster support among the City States,' Darl said musingly. 'Folk may not care much who rules the Sky City, but there are those who will follow wherever I lead. Still, we'll need funds.'

  She raised herself on her elbows. Her breasts swung gently, brushing her nipples along the sheets, giving her an exquisite sensation. The amulet around her neck burned like a white star.

  'You mean you're willing to help me? After I told you what happened to the last man who aided me?'

  'You forget, Highness. I'm a man in search of a cause. In truth, it doesn't matter what cause. I thrive on action. I see justice in your cause; that's why I feel bound to help. A just cause requires sacrifice.'

  'It wasn't Fost's cause.''I spoke of your sacrifice.' Moriana reached out and ran a finger down the firm line of his jaw. She couldn't forgive what she'd done. But to know that another understood was comforting. Darl turned his face to kiss her palm.

  'So,' he said, 'what about money? - before I become too distracted by your beauty.'

  'I hate to disturb you,' said Ziore. 'I fear I can control only this one.' 'What? What do you mean?' demanded Moriana. 'What are you talking about, Ziore?'

  Someone giggled. Moriana realized with an icy shock that the giggle she heard came not from Ziore but from outside the room. Her eyes turned to the door.

  A man stood there, short sword clutched loosely in his fingers. 'Hello,' he said, tittering. 'I was supposed to kill you. Isn't that absurd? You're friends!' 'Assassins,' hissed Darl.

  The door flew open all the way and a second assassin rushed in. Moriana and Darl rolled off the bed, groping for swords in the gloom. Moriana reached hers first. The blade hissed free and swung in a moaning arc to strike away a thrust at Darl's unguarded side. The second assassin danced back as Darl got his sword out and cut at him backhand.

  The first assassin giggled insanely. His comrade shot him a furious look, drew a long, thin poniard with his left hand, and backed toward the wall waving both weapons menacingly.

  Naked, the pair advanced. Without conscious thought, Moriana's hand moved.

  The dagger blocked her thrust with a sliding clang. At the same instant, Darl's sword darted for the assassin's groin. The shortsword swept down - too far. Before the killer could react, the broadsword's point raised and sheathed itself in his guts.

  His partner laughed himself into a fit of hiccuping. Moriana teetered back to the bed and sat. Strength flowed from her. Her sword tip fell to the floorboards and stained them with dark, rich blood. She felt sick. She glanced down at the familiar cool hardness of the amulet between her breasts. The blackness that had predominated was giving way to equilibrium.

  'You hurt?' asked Darl. His voice was rough. Danger and death so soon af
ter love had jarred his composure. Moriana shook her head. 'Well, then, let's see what Chuckles has to say about whoever hired the Brethren of Assassins to come for us.'

  'Ask me anything,' the assassin said. 'Dear friends, how can I refuse you?'

  Imin Dun Bacir knew opportunity when he saw it.

  For fifteen years he'd held the coveted post of Chief Trade Factor for the Sky City in Tolviroth Acerte. In that time he had absorbed the true Tolvirot's appreciation for opportunity. And today fortune had granted him the most delectable opportunity of his career.

  He had seized it. When Derora V had died and Synalon assumed the Beryl Throne, Bacir had considered dropping everything and leaving. Synalon was utterly mad. He had never taken much interest in politics, but he knew that anything less than active support for Synalon would be construed as opposition. He had accumulated enough money as chief factor to make any Tolvirot proud. He could have gathered his treasure, bought passage on a fast ship, and spent his retirement in a villa in Jorea.

  To do so, however, would have been to pass up a fabulous opportunity.

  It had called just as he was sitting down to dinner in his Medurim-style mansion in the suburbs of Tolviroth Acerte.

  'Tulmen Omsgib to see you, Notable,' Trune, his majordomo, announced. Bacir looked longingly at the steaming spread before him. He could not delay speaking with the banker. To defer business until after a meal would gain him a reputation for frivolity. To a Tolviroth the pursuit of gain was not like a sacrament, it was a sacrament. He arranged an expression of heartiness on his ample features and followed Trune to see what Omsgib had to say.

  Imin Dun Bacir heard from Tulmen Omsgib how the Princess Moriana had come begging for money and how her request had been turned down on the grounds of not wishing to alienate his bank's best customer. Bacir solemnly thanked the banker for the interest in the Sky City, but his brain shifted into high gear as he figured ways of turning this tidbit to his own interest.

  Omsgib gave him a clue by mentioning that he had assigned agents to watch the princess surreptitiously. Bacir quickly assured the banker that the Sky City's own men would assume these tedious duties.

  Synalon would be lavish to whoever informed her that her sister still lived. And to the person who finally rid her of the threat Moriana posed, her generosity would know no bounds. Bacir considered capturing Moriana, then regretfully discarded the idea. Part of success in business was not to allow greed to overcome good sense. If Rann had been unable to eliminate Moriana, Bacir was not eager to risk capturing her alive.

  The Brethren of Assassins was notified of a task as soon as Omsgib left. Bacir then turned back to his long-awaited meal. He scarcely noticed the food was cold. He wolfed it down, barely tasting it, then retired to his leisure rooms to inhale narcotic fumes and soothe his jangled nerves listening to a quartet of naked female musicians play archaic Medurimin chamber music.

  Naked girls and archaic chamber music were his twin passions, after the accumulation of wealth. But not even they kept him diverted. After an hour, he dismissed them with an irritable wave of his hand. He turned to pacing grooves in his plush rug, waiting for word that the Brethren had fulfilled their commission.

  The water clock had just dripped the eleventh hour when Trune appeared at the door of the leisure room.

  'The assassins?' Bacir demanded harshly. Seeing his majordomo nod, he said, 'Well, don't stand there. Send them in at once.'

  He quivered with tension and felt as if fat blue sparks would leap from his fingers like static electricity. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, chins jiggling, until he heard Trune's subtle footsteps padding down the corridor.

  'G-good evening, Notable,' the assassin said. He laughed a squealing laugh through his nose. Bacir wondered if he'd been sniffing vapors, too. It hardly seemed appropriate for an assassin to indulge in such vices while on business.

  Another, much larger man came in behind the first. Bacir sensed a third presence in the corridor. He frowned. Three assassins? The Brethren evidently considered Moriana formidable.

  'Did you kill the princess?' he demanded, using the word 'kill' in spite of the Brethren's touchiness about its use. Bacir was in no mood to humor the hired help.

  'Why, no, Notable. I've done much better than that.' He interrupted himself with a giggle. 'I've brought the princess to you.'

  The third member of the small party came into the room. Her hair was spun gold, her eyes green balefires.

  'Princess!' gasped Bacir. Trune started to move for a bell rope hanging by the wall. Darl's sword materialized and touched its tip to Trune's neck. The majordomo grew very still.

  'That's right, cur,' said Moriana. 'Grovel. Grovel for your worthless life. You've earned a traitor's death, Bacir. I may not be as cruel as my sister, but do not mistake my motives. Give me one reason why you shouldn't pay for the attempted murder of your rightful sovereign.'

  'Mercy,' sobbed Bacir. Tears rolled down his round cheeks onto the rings on his fingers, now clutched beseechingly before his face.

  'There is a way, foul one,' she said, her voice low and menacing, 'for you to redeem yourself. You can aid me, dropping off a carrion-eater. To do so is no more than your sworn duty, but if you perform your task well, I shall be magnanimous. I will allow you to continue your wretched existence.'

  'Mercy, bright one! Have mercy on me, O Mistress of the Clouds!' He rolled a tear-sheened eye at Moriana. She remained unmoved by his use of the title reserved for the Queen of the Sky City. 'I dare not help! Synalon will have my life for it!'

  That may be, but Synalon is far away. ‘ am here.' Baric stopped snuffling and peered at her from beneath quivering brows. It might have been a trick of the light, but at that moment Moriana bore a startling resemblance to her cousin Rann.

  Squalling seabirds rode on the morning wind. Captain Uin Ragalla lounged at ease on his poop. He puffed great clouds of blue smoke from his pipe and contemplated the day's sailing. The wind blew northerly and the sky was blue. He could ask for nothing more. The Black Flame could warp out of harbor, run south with the wind through the Karhon Channel till it cleared the southern tip of the island, and be well on the way to Jorea by the noon bell.

  A hail from the dock roused him from his reverie.'What's that?' he demanded, looking up at the annoyance. 'Hail the ship.' The man calling to him was short and so fat as to be almost globular. The roundness of his face was accentuated by a black fringe of beard clinging to the uppermost of his myriad chins.

  'What would ye?' Ragalla asked. His grasp of the Imperial Tongue spoken throughout the Realm was good for a Jorean.

  'I would take passage to Jorea’ the man said, clutching a ragged cloak about him as the wind whipped up.

  'And what'll ye pay with, then?''I have no money.'Ragalla spat. 'Some chance. Nothin' for nothin' - that's what you Tolvirot always say, innit? Well, then.' He nodded and sucked aggressively at his pipe. Blue clouds rose from the bowl.

  'But I'm not a Tolviroth’ the fat man protested. 'Nooo,' he said, studying the man. 'I suppose ye ain't. Fact be, I suppose you're that Factor fellow from the Floating City, then? Hey?'

  The fat man nodded. 'Well, fancy that. The high-and-mighty trade fellow from that Sky City a'beggin' passage 'cross the sea without two sipans to clink together.'

  'I've fallen on misfortune,' the man said with a certain dignity. 'So? May happen I'll fall and get misfortune all over my face one day, then.' He motioned to the man. 'Come aboard. I can always use another cabin boy, hey?'

  Imin Dun Bacir took ship for Jorea as he had long planned. He left without the fortune he had spent so long accumulating. But he went with his life, and where he went not even Synalon's wrath could reach.

  Imin Dun Bacir knew an opportunity when he saw one. The Sleeper sensed a Presence.

  The demon's subconscious groped for that nearness, a response born of loneliness. The first outpouring of joy crusted over with bitter resentment.