Come to me, the Will commanded. You are mine. Take form before me that my enemies shall be destroyed. By my Power, by the City in the Sky, by the Dark Ones who have chosen me (or Their own, I bid thee - come!
Out over the bay a swirling stirred the air.
CHAPTER EIGHT
'Behold,' said Erimenes. 'The City in the Sky, precisely as Jennas predicted. Now do you believe her visions, Fost? I've told you all along to heed them.'
Fost glanced at Erimenes. The genie leaned jauntily on the weatherworn railing of the ship, as though the splintery, faded wood actually propped up his insubstantial form.
'You did no such thing,' growled Fost.
'Don't quibble. I hadn't thought you so small-minded. I've held all along that Jennas truly was receiving inspiration from Ust the Red Bear. If I didn't say so, it was only because I deemed it so painfully apparent to any thinking being as to require no comment.'
Fost paid no attention. The courier stared into the sky and tried not to be sick.
In any kind of sea, the caravel Miscreate rolled like a pig in mud. Fost and Jennas had turned green the minute she warped out of Port Zorn and stayed that way until the walls of the easternmost lock of Dyla Canal shut behind the Miscreate's round stern. On the sheltered waters of Kara-Est harbor even a beast like Ortil Onsulomulo's slatternly ship rode as smooth as a dream. It was the commotion of the sky beyond the pastel buildings on the waterfront that made Fost's gorge yearn once more for wide-open spaces.
The Sky City was exactly where Jennas had predicted. And it floated in the middle of a battle of awesome proportions.
'Now you know why no one else was willing to haul your carcasses down the coast,' came a voice from behind Fost.
Fost turned to the Miscreate's captain. He was something to behold.
The foremost mariners of the day were the black-skinned Joreans of the continent lying northeast of the Sundered Realm. The fact that Ortil Onsulomulo was half Jorean tended in Fost's mind to balance the disreputable appearance of both him and his vessel.
Joreans believed that each sex possessed its own peculiar essence and that these essences were best not intermingled. Thus, except for purposes of procreation, joreans tended to eschew intercourse with members of the opposite sex, taking those of their own gender as lovers instead. However, like most folk, the Joreans were not insensible to the lure of a little perverse fun. Sailors being what they are, the Jorean mariners were inclined to go all-out when indulging their taste for the unconventional.
Thus Jama Onsulomulo, master of the cog Swift, begot a son with a sallow, blonde-moustached Dwarven woman of North Keep.
With a Jorean's strong moral sense, Onsulomulo had taken it upon himself to see to as much of the lad's upbringing and education as he could. As a result, young Ortil spent half his time on the decks of Swift and half sweltering in the warrens and foundries of North Keep. The boy became a mass of unresolved conflicts between the openness and intellectualism of the Jorean and the dour materialism of the Dwarves. Ortil Onsulomulo became a sailor of notable skill while at the same time flaunting the fact that his vessel was a ghastly ramshackle tub that only a landlubber could possibly mistake as seaworthy.
As Fost, Jennas and Erimenes looked on with expressions ranging from bewilderment to glee, winged shapes and bloated balloons battled across a smoky sky. Anchored off the bow of Miscreate, broad-beamed carracks of the Estil navy flung a hail of darts into the air. One bird rider tumbled from his saddle and another pinned a rider to his eagle for a long fall into the greasy water of the harbor. Farther away, a ludintip shot sideways, its tentacles spasming to drop gondola and crew into the central plaza.
'A nucleus hit,' Erimenes said sagely. 'Some bird rider got either lucky or smart.'
In a single prodigious bound, Onsulomulo leaped to the railing of his ship. He swayed this way and that on the precarious perch. The half-Dwarf kept his balance with almost contemptuous ease, as if hoping to be flung overboard to his doom.
He waved a stubby arm at the sky.
'Swine! Rogues! Devil worshippers!' he screamed. 'You'll go too far, mark my words. The land has rejected you, the sea won't have you, and soon the sky itself will cast you from its bosom!'
He looked strange and wonderful standing there with his bare feet splayed on the railing. He was the height of a short man, massive of torso and head, childlike of limb. His hair was a curly orange brush, his skin reddish gold, his eyes liquid amber. Finely chiseled Jorean features mingled grotesquely with the Dwarven lumpishness of his body. Watching him, Fost wondered if he was in one of the manic spells that had gripped him periodically during the journey - or if he, like Jennas, were touched by some higher power.
A sharp bronze beak lanced through the water toward them. Fost barely made out the low black hull of a galley, its gunwales almost swamped by its own bow wave as twenty pairs of oars rose and fell with the same easy unison as an eagle's wings.
The courier cried a warning. Onsulomulo capered on the rail and shouted crazy laughter. But the black ship was not trying to ram them. It swept by, as clean and quick as a shark, rocking the much heavier caravel with the power of its passing. Streaming out from the mainmast in the stiff breeze cracked a familiar ensign: a red field emblazoned with a tentacled black triangle, from which glared a single red eye.
'Cowards!' Erimenes shouted at the fleeing ship. 'Go about! How can you flee from a handful of overgrown sparrows?'
Onsulomulo cackled laughter, a surprisingly ancient sound from one who looked to be Fost's age.
'Never in my hearing has anyone ever called the sailors of the Tolviroth Maritime Guaranty cowards, smoke-man,' he said. 'They've completed their commission of guiding some fat merchant fleet to safety. No one's paying them to stick around and fight the flyers.'
A rock cast from the City landed on the waterfront and bounced like a bowling ball along the pier. It struck an anchored merchant ship, scattering spars and sailors like eightpins. Fost gulped, acutely aware that he was heading into a witch's cauldron of battle from which the redoubtable warriors of the TMG were fleeing.
He felt Jennas's eyes on him.
'What now, Longstrider?' she asked calmly.
'We get the captain to put us ashore,' he said with no great enthusiasm. 'Then we try to find a way into the City.'
'Then we try to stay alive long enough to find a way into the City,' corrected Erimenes. 'You must beware of imprecision in speech, friend Fost. I've told you before . . .'
An unearthly moan froze Fost's blood in his veins. It came again and he realized it issued from his war bear Grutz's capacious chest, who sat man-fashion on his rump on the deck not far away. The bear stared into the air beyond the Miscreate's aft rail and hunched his head down between his shoulders.
'Look!' Jennas's brawny arm shot out.
Fost squinted. He made out a disturbance in midair. Ghosts of color danced within as though the sun's light were being broken into component colors. As he watched in uncomprehending fear, the disturbance grew and a tail dipped toward the surface of the bay.
'Ust preserve us,' breathed Jennas. 'A sylph!' The spinning tail of the air elemental touched water and a waterspout loomed above the vessel, a thousand feet tall.
Though he expected it, Rann's lips drew back in a grimace as the waterspout blossomed in Kara-Est's harbor.
'She does have the power!' he exclaimed in wonder.
No one had summoned an air elemental of that size in centuries, perhaps not since the War of Powers. The Sky City's magicians traditionally dealt with fire sprites. Though Air and Fire were by no means inimical principles, it was testimony to the growth of Synalon's power that she could summon an unfamiliar breed of elemental outside the confines of a laboratory. And one so huge!
As if gravity had been reversed, an Estil war galleon leaped abruptly into the air. The water tornado sucked up another vessel, and another. From several miles away, Rann heard the screams of the doomed seamen, even above the roaring of the eleme
ntal.
The menace of the water battery was broken. That still left most of the rooftop-mounted ballista intact. Synalon claimed she could deal with those, too. What she had in mind was even more ambitious than summoning a sylph tall enough to peer over the parapets of the Sky City itself. Though Rann still doubted, he had little choice but to turn Terror's head around and start the bird climbing toward the City to execute the next stage in the conquest of Kara-Est.
Drinking air that intoxicated like wine, Synalon knew the exaltation of pure power. She had summoned a giant sprite and bound it to her will, as docile as a pup. Her creature sported in the harbor, scattering Estil ships like so many broken toys. But there were still the defenders on the pitched roofs of Kara-Est to eliminate. The sylph might be able to deal with them but not without endangering Synalon's bird riders - and perhaps the City itself. The sorceress-queen had another conjuration in mind that would better eliminate the Estil artillery - and at the same time demonstrate her own power in a unmistakable way.
She staggered slightly and clutched arms around her body. Pain grew in her like a metastasizing cancer. She clamped her teeth to hold back a howl of agony. The black sun had turned to red, and there was no pleasure in the fire that ate at her belly and limbs. Battle raged, her body the battleground and her mind and soul the prize. But still her Will shone brighter than the fire. Gripped by distress that transcended mere physical pain, Synalon shouted a word of Command.
A ball of fire enveloped her. Her guards fell back, throwing up their hands to shield their faces against the dreadful searing heat. Something had gone wrong. Their queen was being reduced to ashes before their eyes.
Then the flame vanished, rushing away across the doomed seaport as the giant salamander Synalon had conjured within her own body was set to do her bidding. It etched a line of death through the air, leaving ludintip and eagles alike flaming in its wake.
It cast itself into the waterspout.
Windows exploded in the two cities as the salamander's scream of agony burst like a bomb above the harbor. Water was the foe of Fire; Synalon had brought forth the sprite only to hurl it to horrid death. But not immediate death. Tottering, going to her knees on the lip of the pier, Synalon forced the salamander to remain in being, denying it the surcease of death that was its only desire.
Steam hid waterspout and harbor. Naked now, her glorious black mane charred to a smouldering, crackling stubble, Synalon clung to the stone of the pier. Though her body was drained of strength, though her skin stung as to the touch of a hot iron, she continued to work her Will upon spirits of Air and Fire, while her servitors watched in horror from the skywall.
Misty tendrils began to billow from the swirling cloud. Though the wind had been blowing out toward the harbor, they crept into the streets of Kara-Est, swallowing the city like a vast white amoeba. The surviving artillerists shouted in dismay and disbelief as the cloud engulfed them, hiding the sky from their view.
With an eagle's cry of challenge and delight, Rann launched Terror once more from the rim of the City. Behind him flew a hundred of the elite Sky Guard. Huge protuberances grew from the docks, became the sausages of giant balloons, silks gleaming in the sun. Though salamander-heated air filled the gasbags almost to the bursting point, they could not successfully lift the freight of men and arms that swung below. Five balloons towed by a score of straining eagles carried five hundred men toward the Hills of Cholon and the Ducal Palace in the wake of Rann's attack.
The Palace garrison saw them coming and sent a frantic signal for reinforcements to watchers in a spire atop the Hall of Deputies, who were only just visible above the unnatural fog. Then the bird riders struck. An arrow storm swept engineers from their emplacements. Detachments veered to land at preassigned parts of the Palace, while Rann and a dozen men attacked the tower.
Duke Morn awaited them. Somehow he seemed to fill his suit of plate and chain as robustly as he had before the death of his beloved wife and his heir. He held his head high. When the Sky Guard came for him, he killed six with a greatsword that flickered featherlight from side to side. The seventh he faced was Rann, and the duke did not prevail.
Still convinced the day was his, General Hausan despatched most of his defenders to aid the duke. Neither Tonsho nor Marshal Suema shared his optimism.
'Yes, yes,' the general cackled like a hen sitting on an egg. 'This will be the finest hour for the city. The very finest. We triumph on all fronts! The bird lovers are being repelled on all fronts. Oh, yes, a fine day. Fine.'
Sky Marshal Suema drew Tonsho aside.
'The plan, Excellency,' Suema whispered in the Chief Deputy's ear. 'Shall we execute it?'
Tonsho nodded jerkily. Her teeth chattered too violently for her to speak.
Claws scrabbled on the stone as Grutz heaved his bulk out of the water. Fost let go of the animal's stubby tail to hoist himself onto the dock. He scrambled into the saddle and turned back. Chubchuk appeared, with Jennas still aboard his broad back. A cloud covered the harbor like a fleecy white roof. Sounds echoed eerily beneath: screams, shouts, the crack of splitting timbers, the roaring of the sylph. From above came the hideous keening that had sounded since the fireball from the City had plunged into the depths of the waterspout.
'A fire elemental, I do believe,' said Erimenes from his jug. 'Quite amazing. Synalon's position as foremost enchanter of the age is assured now beyond all doubt.'
'How nice for her,' said Fost. 'Let's get the hell out of here.'
'I think getting the Hell out of this scene is quite beyond your powers, friend Fost.' The spirit chortled eerily as the two bears broke into a soggy, squishy run.
The waterspout had cut through the anchored naval vessels like a scythe. Then it began to rampage at random across the harbor, picking up ships and flinging them to the points of the compass.
Even the slovenly Miscreate did not escape its attention.
Fost saw Ortil Onsulomulo. The golden Dwarf had climbed up the Miscreate's rigging and clung with one hand while he shook his chubby fist at the elemental. Then the wind funnel caught the vessel. Fost had a final glimpse of Onsulomulo hurling defiant curses at his enemy before man and ship vanished.
Fost turned away. He was all too aware of moisture on his cheeks that had a taste different from the rank water of the harbor.
Leading the way, Fost rode for the southern fringes of the seaport. He had no particular reason for heading that way. All he knew was that the center of town wasn't going to be a healthy place. Battle raged furiously in the thickness of the fog.
They rounded a corner and steel hissed reflexiveiy into his hand before his brain had time to evaluate the situation. A brown eagle, its chest a blaze of white, swooped straight at them. Grutz snarled a challenge, and jennas unslung her greatsword.
The bird paid them no heed. It set down lightly in the middle of the block and stood gazing over its shoulder at the rider clinging to its back. The dark-haired woman rider slumped over the bird wore the armlet of the Guard.
As he and Jennas watched, the woman swayed and toppled to the ground. Fost dismounted and approached, sword in hand. The bird beat its wings and screamed at him. He jumped back, then looked closer at the prostrate form of the Sky Guardswoman and sheathed his sword.
The bird let him near the rider. The osprey-feathered shaft of an Estil arrow jutted out just below her collarbone. A trail of blood ran from a corner of the full-lipped mouth.
'I tried,' she told Fost, gazing up at him from beneath sagging eyelids. 'I . . . tried.'
'You did well.' There seemed little else he could say.
She coughed pink foam, sighed raggedly, seemed to shrink. Fost thumbed her eyelids closed. The eagle raised its head and uttered a single, lonely cry.
Fost straightened, casting his eyes warily up and down the street. He heard the clamor of voices and arms off to his right, toward the center of town. But under the fog which formed a few feet above his head the streets of Kara-Est were deserted.
He drew a deep breath, a decision made.
'Jennas. We've found our way into the City.'
The hetwoman looked from him to the eagle, standing with its fierce head wreathed in mist. Tost took a step toward the bird. It opened its beak in challenge.
Jennas brandished her sword.
'Ho, bird, here!' she shouted. Grutz and Chubchuk growled and lumbered about menacingly. The bird turned its head to glower at them, allowing Fost to vault into the saddle.
The bird cried in fury.
'Settle down, bird, there's nothing to fear. I mean you no harm. Damn!' The last word popped out as the feathered head swiveled to slash at his leg with a black beak. Fost drew his sword and pressed the tip to the side of the bird's neck.
'I mean you no harm,' he said, enunciating each word carefully. The eagles were intelligent and understood manspeech even though they couldn't speak it. 'I must travel to the Sky City. If you try to hurt me, I'll defend myself.'
The head bobbed. Fost hoped that meant assent.
'Come on aboard,' he called out to Jennas.
The woman hesitated, took a step forward. The eagle hissed. She stopped.
'I can't.'
'Certainly you can!' Fost twisted in the uncomfortably small saddle, keeping a sharp watch for interlopers. It was unlikely that soldiers of either side would be friendly to armed strangers in the streets. Anyone in the street would be fair game. 'Get aboard.'
Her approach was again met by shrill whistling from the eagle. It batted at her with its wings as it stepped backward, clumsy under the courier's weight.
'It fears her smell,' said Erimenes. 'I don't think it likes bears.'
'It accepted me. Jennas, for Ust's sake, hurry!'
'With all due respect to the lovely and capable Jennas, you're hardly as steeped in ursine essences as she.'
At the mention of the Bear God, Jennas's face had gone thoughtful. She stepped back and let her greatsword slump until its tip rested on the granite cobblestones. She had reached a decision of her own, no less painful than the one Fost made.
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