WoP - 01 - War of Powers

by Robert E. Vardeman

  'Poor child,' the creature said. It stepped from the sill. The huge, ungainly figure seemed to float to the floor as if being lowered gently from a balloon.

  Synalon let her head slump. Her hair hung in midnight swirls down the slope of her breastbone. Her arms hung limp at her sides. The intruder chuckled again in approval of her apparent submission.

  But it was only feigned. As the black soles noiselessly touched stone, a wild cry ripped the night and a bird streaked in through the gaping window. The raven darted in for the kill.

  With venom-gleaming claws inches from its broad black shoulders, the intruder raised a finger. The raven's wings shot from its sides. It veered in the air and hurtled toward its mistress, who had mentally summoned it to her defense.

  So astonished was Synalon by the raven's perfidy, she could do no more than stand and stare. Talons reached to rip tender flesh. The intruder laughed again, gesturing.

  The raven vanished. A black rose fell to the floor at Synalon's feet. She raised wide, stark eyes to meet the intruder's ebony gaze.

  'Have you not guessed the truth, little sister?' the apparition asked. 'Or is this the way you greet the answering of your most fervent prayers?'

  Then she knew. She had heard this voice before when the messenger of the Dark Ones had assumed the place of the fire elemental. At the realization, the being's form became familiar. With the stubs of horns jutting from its head, it was like a dwarfed cousin of the Vicar of Istu that stood in the Circle of the Skywell.

  She fell to her knees. Exultation filled her. But it was exultation tinged with dread.

  'Pardon, O messenger of the Great Lords,' she said. 'I could not know . . .'

  The being shook its head cutting off her protestations. 'No harm done, except to your unfortunate bodyguards. It is what they are paid for, however.' It chuckled again. 'Besides, your precipitate action provided a useful lesson in the futility of opposing your will to even the lowliest servitor of the Dark Ones.'

  The queen slowly stood. Her limbs had turned weak and fluttery. She knew something was amiss. The sense of danger heightened.

  'How may I serve you, Lord?' 'No lord I,' the creature said, shaking its head. 'And it is not my will you serve but that of my masters.'

  'Convey their commands, I beg you.' Such humility was as alien to her lips as the taste of spoiled food. Yet it wasn't hard to muster deference in the face of such power.

  'No commands - now,' the messenger said, placing blunt fingertips together. 'I am merely to tell you that the Aspects are almost right. Soon will come the time.'

  'Soon?' Synalon cried, her heart lurching within her breast. 'And will I be the instrument of the Dark Ones' will?'

  'It is as I have said,' the apparition said. 'But you must reaffirm your obedience to my masters.'

  'How?' Synalon asked, breathless with eagerness. The creature smiled. Its teeth sent back curved glints of moonlight like twin rows of dusky pearls. It dropped gnarled hands down past its belly. Something dark grew from the juncture at its squatty legs.

  Synalon watched in fascination as it stretched toward her like a snake. The blunt head glistened like a dome of obsidian.

  The Queen of the City in the Sky dropped again to her knees before the dwarf. Her hands, as hesitant as a virgin's, reached up to enfold the black member. She felt the pulsing of the great veins, as hot and fervent as any man's. Yet the skin was dry and leathery, a perfect match with the being's voice.

  She opened her mouth to receive the benediction of the Dark Ones.

  In the womb of night a dream of hate turned to one of pleasure.

  Istu moaned in eternal sleep. The sleeping portion tensed for new disappointment. The last time it had known this peculiar excitement, this tingling delight in stony loins, it had been cruelly jerked away by rending agony. The demon slept, but it remembered.

  But this pleasure was no ephemeral delight. It lingered. It grew. It crept like a vine up the imprisoned demon's spine. Softness, moist-ness, supplication, filled the sleeping mind with lusty sensation.

  Images swarmed before the sleeping demon: a white body spread-eagled on a stone altar, with golden hair strewn in wild disarray; a silvery pale body bathed in moonlight, kneeling, faced a whiteness glimpsed through jet hair. The images expanded. The Sleeper felt the brush of thighs on hips taut with fear and horror; willing lips caressed its stony pillar. Hot tightness and futile struggle for escape drew the Sleeper's soul into a knot of delectable tension. Wet pressure, slipping, sliding, moving faster and faster. No longer chained to the altar. But still helpless. The demon's excitement soared.

  And the familiar black hair, the pallid skin, the musk scent of excitement reached the Dreamer's nostrils. The one who had summoned him before only to tantalize and torture moved before him with deliberate actions. Certainty pervaded the sleeping demon that it would not be denied again. The black-haired one would make good the pain she'd caused him before.

  Hands reached to grip her. Black hands, thick-fingered and familiar, yet alien felt and caused the Sleeper to feel. They gripped, twisted, pulled. Blue eyes flicked up, wide with anxiety. Istu felt himself sinking into a bottomless pit of ecstasy.

  Vicarious ears heard the squeal of pain and fear. The Sleeper felt acquiescence enfolding it and gave itself up to pleasure.

  A rushing dragged the Sleeper onward filling it with tautness, and the pressure exploded outward in a blaze of dark light. Squeals mounting like steps came to its ears like a song of joy. Blind delight pounded in its loins. In time the fury ebbed. The Sleeper's mind sank into a soothed and peaceful slumber. The bribe had been accepted.

  Sleeping, the demon was little more than a child. It might not be reasoned with, but it could be bought with pleasure.

  The Dark Ones would have Istu's obedience when released from bondage, even if his mind remained locked in the torpor imposed by Felarod. And far above the stone bubble still ringing with the bellows of a demon's ecstasy, the messenger of the Dark Ones reflected that a job well done brought more rewards than one.

  'Aren't you worried that Cabric will find you, Fost?' asked Erimenes.

  'That eunuch' said Fost, making a face in his ale. 'He'd be too busy counting his klenorto notice his own building burning down around his ears.'

  The tavern bustled around them. Locations might change, Fost mused as he sipped his brew, but taverns, never. The alehouses of Kara-Est differed little from those of Medurim; those here in Tolviroth Acerte weren't distinguishable from any others. Perhaps inland taverns had a different milieu, but seaport taverns were all the same.

  In his current state, this insight represented profound thinking on Fost's part. He had drunk too much. At his side Jennas, who had been induced to try the local dark ale instead of her amasinj, matched him mug for mug and showed no effects. He displayed a tendency to rock gently from side to side as though he stood on the si ickened deck of a sea-tossed ship.

  It might have been newly acquired habit, though. The pair had just spent twenty-three days beating up the choppy Karhon Channel in Captain Karlaya's Wavestrider en route to Tolviroth Acerte. It had been a trying voyage. Two days running they had to stand in along the coast while a gale blew down the channel. Winter weather wasn't too extreme due to the slight axial tilt, and the considerable extent of the polar caps owed mainly to the smallness and coolness of the sun. However, the world also orbited near the primary, giving moderately short seasons. Midwinter had come and gone while the Wavestrider worked her dogged way toward Tolviroth Acerte.

  Karlaya's predominately female crew inspired Erimenes to new heights of inventiveness. Sailors the world over being what they are, the spirit's imaginative lechery was greeted with much amusement by the crew.

  Fost had a vague suspicion that some of his companion's more outrageous proposals had been carried out. The equinox celebration had occasioned much merriment and consumption of potent Jorean rum among Karlaya's crew. The Jorean mariners kept on good terms with Somdag Squid-face, God and Protector
of Realm seamen. But he was not their deity. Instead, the Joreans worshipped Gormanka of the Wind-Wheel, like Ust the Bear, a patron of the Realm couriers. But so they would slight no one, they saluted all the deities, singing and dancing, during which the revelers became progressively less clad. Naked bodies, black and white, goosefleshed and sweat-polished, writhed passionately under the yellow light of the torches. And after that, in Karlaya's snug cabin in the sterncastle . . .

  He didn't really remember more than the gaiety on deck. But the next day Jennas seemed more subdued than called for due to the aftereffects of the rum, and Fost had overheard her informing Erimenes in a low, lethally serious voice that if he ever so much as alluded to the activities of the night before, she'd heave him into the channel.

  Now Fost did his level best to recapture the state he was in for the equinoctial festivities aboard the Wavestrider. He had arrived in Tolviroth Acerte to find that Moriana, Darl, and their carefully screened cadre had departed eight days before for the Continent. Jennas could hardly hide her satisfaction at the news.

  Fost's reaction to his latest failure to catch the princess was to get stinking drunk.

  'And whom are you calling a eunuch?' a voice bellowed from the tavern door.

  Fost pulled his snout out of the earthenware flagon. The rude, grating voice hailing him sounded familiar, though in his befuddle-ment he couldn't quite place it. Nonetheless, his guts tensed in anticipation of trouble.

  Broad shoulders blocked the tavern door. Below them the shape gave way to an equally broad chest and still broader belly, strong legs firmly planted. Above, the outline rose to something of a point without the apparent intervention of a neck.

  The image snapped Fost's brain into focus. He raised mug to lips, sipped insolently.

  'Well met, Merchant Gabric,' he said. 'How's business?' 'As good as may be expected when my top courier takes unauthorized leave.' Gabric stepped into the room, arms laid like hawsers across his chest.

  'If I'm your top courier, you should pay me top money.' He took a measured draft. 'But that's academic now. I don't work for you any longer. You can consider my resignation retroactive to the beginning of my last assignment. That way, you needn't worry about severance pay.'

  'It's not that easy, you rogue,' Gabric shouted, his jowls turning ruddy. 'You have commitments to me! You've taken my coin. You can't just say, "I quit," and have done with it.'

  Fost shrugged. He turned away, feigning disinterest. 'Fost's right, you know,' a voice commented at the courier's crooked elbow. 'You are a eunuch, Gabric. In fact, has anyone informed you that you bear the most striking resemblance to a gelded hornbull?'

  Gabric's face slowly went from the hue of a cherry to a beet to a ripe eggplant. Worn-thick blood vessels throbbed at his bald temples as he leaned forward, blinking in the gloom at the thin, translucent figure wavering beside Fost.

  'Aha!' the merchant roared in a voice that made his earlier outbursts sound like whispers. 'You're not just a contract breaker, you low cur. You're a thief, as well!'

  Some inches taller than Fost, he drew himself up to his full height and pointed accusingly at the black-haired courier.

  'I hereby charge you with commercial malfeasance. To wit, that you did willfully and without authorization take leave of your duties in violation of your contract with Gabric Exports, Inc., and did furthermore misappropriate to your own use property paid for and duly consigned to one Kest-i-Mond, mage, county of Samadum.' He lumbered forward with heavy menace, looking like some shaved cousin of Grutz or Chubchuk. 'I take you into custody, as called for by the Tolvirot Commercial Code, Section Forty-six, Sub-paragraph A.'

  Fost leaned back against the bar. He had no contract with Gabric, and there was no wrongdoing in his having Erimenes. Kest-i-Mond had been dead before the courier delivered the wayward spirit to him. The courier started to explain this to Gabric. He had forgotten, however, the full extent of Erimenes' waywardness.

  'You and what army, blubber-belly?' taunted Erimenes cheerfully.

  'Great Ultimate,' Fost moaned. Gabric had no claim against him. But if a scuffle broke out thanks to Erimenes' vicarious bloodlust, Fost could wind up in serious trouble. The Tolvirot authorities would not look kindly on anyone damaging a merchant as prosperous as Gabric.

  Jennas hissed beside him. He looked toward the door and tensed. 'Fortunate you asked us along, good Gabric,' said a whip-thin voice. 'This ruffian seems of a mind to give you trouble.'

  The. owner sauntered through the door, gauntleted thumbs thrust through his sword belt. He was a small man, his wiry frame clad in an impeccable livery of black and purple. The sword at his waist was curved as were the sidearms of the five men following him into the tavern.

  'Aye, that he is,' smirked Gabric. 'When did you expand into the novelty pet line, Gabric?' asked Fost, eyeing the sextet of Sky City bird riders.

  Gabric's pig eyes rolled from the soldiers to Fost. Beads of perspiration gleamed on his brow.

  'I knew you might prove difficult since you've always been inclined toward fiscal instability and might prove unwilling to retire your debts. I asked these gentlemen to accompany me. They are the new Sky City trade delegation.'

  'Trade delegation,' snorted Fost. If any of these bird riders had ever been involved in any exchange other than sword thrusts, he'd eat Grutz, hair and all.

  A sinking sickness settled into Fost's belly. The soldiers' presence meant Rann had found out he still lived. At this stage in their conquest, the City in the Sky did not want to risk murdering a man in Tolviroth Acerte who was nominally a citizen of the City of Bankers. But if its agents accompanied someone with a commercial grievance against the courier in the expectation he might prove obstinate . . .

  'Do what you want to the courier,' said the leader of the bird riders. 'But we get the barbarian girl. Remember.' His voice snapped at Gabric like a lash. The merchant bobbed his head.

  The crowd pressed back. Gabric closed in and a sliver of steel sprouted from one hand, incongruously slim in the vast paw gripping its hilt. Behind Gabric the bird riders drew swords.

  'You've got an insolent tongue, Longstrider,' growled Gabric. 'I think I'll cut it out.'

  Fost swept his arm around in a blur, his half-filled mug slamming into Gabric's face. The merchant dropped like a bag of wheat. Seeing this, the bird riders lunged in. A whining arc of steel sent them leaping back as jennas whirled her greatsword. The leader spat a command. They spread out. Inn patrons vanished like quicksilver. Gabric moaned and tried to rise, fingers groping for his gilded dagger. Fost kicked him hard in the belly. 'Bravo!' cheered Erimenes. Fost feinted at a bird rider, spun, and hacked at another who'd closed in quickly believing the courier's back exposed. A frantic move interposed the smaller man's scimitar between broadsword and his flesh. The bird rider fell, stunned by the force of the blow. As he tumbled backward, he carried the others with him.

  Fost couldn't fight well in the cramped interior. He motioned Jennas outside. She lunged for the door, then paused to look back at him. The courier waved her forward again. She ran out into the street with Fost close behind while the Sky City men tried to reorganize.

  A staggering patron stumbled in Fost's way. The courier considered the cries from behind him, the drunkard and the impossibility of escaping quickly through the door. So he tucked Erimenes' satchel safely behind him and hurled himself through the large leaded-glass window fronting the tavern.

  Glass exploded into the street. Riding dogs barked in surprise. Jennas had already mounted Chubchuk, waving her sword in the faces of a fresh trio of the men in Sky City colors.

  Fost threw himself over Grutz's broad back and clung. Pursuers boiled from the door of the tavern, trampling the drunk. As Fost hauled himself to a sitting position, Jennas kicked Chubchuk into a shambling lope up the brick street.

  Finally astride, Fost set off after Jennas. Grutz rumbled smugly to himself as he ran with surprising speed. From the other end of the block came a new commotion. The watchmen
from Peacekeepers, Inc., had arrived on the scene.