'You did well. You saved several thousand of our subjects.'
Hardened as he was, Cerestan shuddered. Several thousand people - perhaps a quarter of the City's population. And the rest . . .
He looked out under the rolled tent wall. In all directions vultures crowded the sky and dotted the landscape in grave clumps, strutting stiff-legged with hooded heads drawn between their shoulders, bending down to partake of the unprecedented feast. The voracious birds extended in a line hundreds of yards across and a mile long, following the route of the Sky City. Though the hills were bright with fragrant wildflowers, the smell riding the wind was a ghastly charnel stink.
'So?' Synalon slumped back on her stool. 'Well, she defeated me and that made her the most potent wizard alive.' She propped her chin on one hand. Sparks stopped dripping like raindrops from her hair. 'How did she fare?'
'I couldn't see - not more than quick glimpses - Your, uh, Highness. But she must have survived because she kept the Demon at bay for a long time.'
Synalon slapped her knee. Her other breast bounced into view. Cerestan swallowed hard.
'That's my sister! I knew she could achieve real power if only she'd quit dabbling with her pathetic healing spells.'
Glancing toward Rann in his growing discomfiture, Cerestan noticed that the prince, too, was looking pointedly away from his cousin. The scarred cheeks showed pink like sunburn, though no bird rider of Rann's experience could possibly sunburn. For a fleeting instant, Cerestan almost shared a human bond with his commander.
'Very well.' Synalon settled back on the stool as if it were a throne. 'Now tell me,' she said, purring the words, 'tell me, good Cerestan, which of your brother and sister officers did you happen to observe wearing the armband of my sister's faction?'
Cerestan squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Conflicting loyalties pulled in opposite directions like dogs, worrying a corpse, but one loyalty overrode all.
'I saw none, Highness.' Then realizing how bald the lie sounded, he quickly added, 'None so well I'd recognize them, at least.'
A blue glow started to play around the roots of Synalon s hair. Cerestan prepared himself for death. She would either fry him with a lightning bolt or summon other soldiers to exact a painful penalty for his defiance. He cast a quick look out over the plain covered with feasting vultures. With luck, that was the least of all possible fates awaiting him at Synalon's hand.
'I'm sure you didn't, Lieutenant,' Rann murmured. Cerestan stared at him, trying not to show his surprise at having such an unlikely ally. 'In the press of prisoners you probably got no clear look at your captors. And later during the evacuation you had no chance to see which of your comrades might be wearing Moriana's colors. Isn't that so?'
The prince ended in a tone well-known to his men, one that clearly stated anyone contradicting him would shortly wish he had died in his sleep the night before.
'Y-yes, milord.'
Rann nodded. Frowning, Synalon glanced from Cerestan to her cousin. It seemed to her that the young lieutenant should have recognized some of the traitors ar least. By the Dark Ones, yes! But Rann was expert in internal security and he must have reasons for this action. She pouted slightly in frustration. It was bad enough that her own loss of the City was compounded by her fumble-witted sister losing the damned place the very same day. She had counted on at least a dozen agonizing executions of rebels this very night to take away the sting of her disappointments.
'Very well. You've done the Guard proud, Cerestan. Dismissed.' Rann turned and bent his head toward Synalon. Cerestan stood as if his feet had put down roots. It couldn't be this simple.
Rann's head swiveled.
'I said, dismissed. Are you waiting for your mother's beak, Lieutenant?' It was a bird rider taunt referring to a weak fledgling that must be physically shoved from the nest. Cerestan saluted and fled.
Once more Rann bowed his head to speak to Synalon. A slim, raised finger cut him off.
'Cousin dear, what was that young man's name again?'
'Cerestan, Your Highness. Flight Lieutenant of the Guard. A good man.'
She smiled wickedly.
'I judged as much.' He was a well-proportioned youth, tall for a Sky Citizen, wide-shouldered, with black hair and blue eyes and a look of innocence hidden behind the veneer of veteran hardness that marked so many of Rann's officers. And Synalon hadn't missed the bulge between his legs and the way he oh-so carefully looked anywhere but at his monarch's naked breasts. 'But tonight, I think, I shall find out for myself what kind of man he is. We should always strive to know the more promising underlings. Well, Rann, isn't that so?'
Rann licked his lips and his cheeks flamed scarlet. 'Yes, Your Highness.'
Blinking into the sudden glare, Fost was momentarily transported back to his childhood. Night was the favorite time for street urchins of High Medurim to play their games. Usually there was some reward. Always there was penalty for losing. Adding spice to the game was the possibility of being caught by the watch for violating curfew. What happened next depended entirely on the whim of the arresting officer. A low caste, impoverished out-Guild youth pulled in after sunset could be let off with a lecture, whipped ... or enslaved.
It was all in the luck of the game.
The yellow beam shining directly into his eyes came from a bull's-eye lantern exactly like those the Medurim city guard used.
Fost felt the familiar, clammy thrill: caught!
An almost pleasant voice brought him back to reality.
'Ho, my friend, don't do anything foolish now. It would be a shame for you to end up like that dolt on the ground.'
He tore his gaze from the lantern's shine. Ludo lay on his back, kicking spastically at the black sand, his motions becoming more and more feeble. Moriana knelt by his side, but the man was clearly beyond the reach of her healing magics.
Dark shapes detached themselves from the misshapen trees along the bank. The men appearing held flexed bows on the huddled people in the arroyo.
'Why was it necessary to shoot the Warden, Fairspeaker?' a voice from the darkness asked.
"Twas necessary so that these rabble shouldn't attempt futile resistance, great Sternbow,' replied the first disembodied voice in tones both oily and smooth and suasive. 'It brought their helplessness home to them. So now it proves unnecessary to slaughter them. Such forebearance does us all credit.'
The lantern was uncovered and flooded the draw with sallow light. Tall men jumped down from the banks with swords drawn and herded the recaptured Watchers together. They wore tunics and trousers that reflected black and gray in the torchlight. In sunlight they would have been forest green and brown.
Beside the lantern at the head of the draw stood a tall, stately forester, his arms folded across his chest, his sword sheathed. His blond hair and beard were sprinkled with gray. His brow creased and the frown-lines deepened as he studied Fost.
'Longstrider,' he stated quietly.
The courier folded his arms across his breast.
'Sternbow.'
'What? You fail to recognize me? I'd thought your memory more tenacious, good Fost.' The unctuous voice belonged to the lantern-bearer who stood at Sternbow's side. He was young and slender, with a chestnut fringe of beard adorning his jaw and brown eyes that laughed at some private jest.
'I know you, Fairspeaker,' Fost said quietly.
Slowly and ponderously, Moriana rose from the side of the fallen Warden.
'He's dead,' she said. 'What's the meaning of this senseless murder?'
A look of pain crossed Sternbow's angular face.
'No murder,' Fairspeaker put in quickly, 'to shoot a fleeing felon.'
'Felon?' Moriana's eyes blazed. 'How can you call him that? He was a victim held as a slave by the Zr'gsz.'
One of the Watchers moved to touch her arm.
'Save your breath, Lady. These are the very hounds of the Hissers set to hunt us down even as Ludo foretold.'
'But they're men,' she said,
stunned. The Watcher's chuckle was as dry and bitter as an old root left in the searing desert sun.
'On behalf of our ally the Instrumentality of the People I hereby place you under arrest for aiding and abetting the flight of prisoners of war,' Sternbow said formally.
'Am I not your ally, as well?' demanded Moriana.
'The wise Sternbow takes cognizance of the fact that you have been an ally of the foresters,' said Fairspeaker. 'Yet he is also well aware that relations between Thendrun and the Tree go back to a time long before the name of the Princess Moriana was ever heard in the Great Nevrym.'
'Don't you understand? The Hissers turned on me - turned on us. They helped me capture the City, then they wrested it from me. They mean to drive all humans from the Realm. They've freed the Demon Istu to help them do it!'
Shaking his head, smiling sorrowfully over human duplicity, Fairspeaker looked to Sternbow.
'Honored sir, is it not clear that she has had some falling out with our friends the People and means to turn us against them with these fanciful tales?'
Sternbow's already thin lips disappeared in a pensive line. Moriana's pulse raced. She had touched him with doubt. She could tell.
'Father.' A stocky young man, face wreathed in golden ringlets, pushed his way into the draw to stand beside Sternbow. 'She's telling the truth, can't you see? I've told you repeatedly we can't trust those lizards.'
Fairspeaker laid a hand on Sternbow's shoulder, squeezed reassuringly.
'A sad burden it must be to you,' he said softly, 'that your son Snowbuck has not learned the meaning of faith among friends.'
Sternbow shook himself free of the hand.
'We waste time here,' he grated. 'Brookrunner, Stagsnarer, disarm the princess and Longstrider.' Fost and Moriana stood in stony silence as the Nevrymin relieved them of their weapons.
More torches were lit. The Nevrymin, a score of bow and swordsmen, ranged themselves around their captives and began to drive them back down Omizantrim's rocky slope. Above them the mountain rumbled to itself, and a brimstone smell stung their nostrils.
'Do those boorish forest dwellers all have doubled names?' Erimenes demanded from his jug. 'Frogbaiter. Leafeater. Shitkicker.' He produced a decidedly unphilosophical snort. 'Absurd.'
'They seem to know you, Fost,' Ziore said hesitantly.
'Indeed they do.' In spite of their predicament, a lopsided grin appeared on the courier's face. 'In fact, they gave me the name Longstrider.'
With neither gentleness nor excessive force, the foresters guided them around a seething fumarole.
'Ah, well, of course, there is a certain bucolic charm to the custom of bestowing two-part descriptive names,' said Erimenes loudly, his wavering form peering down into the fumarole. 'In fact, I once composed a monograph on . . .'
A loose rock turned under Fost's foot. Moriana caught his arm, steadying him.
'How did that come to pass?' she asked, cutting off the philosopher's nervous word flow.
'Lawless men plotted together to assassinate our king,' said a forester walking nearby. 'The outwood courier learned of the scheme and went to warn Grimpeace. Though he couldn't match the woods-craft of the rebels, he was able to outpace them and reach our king in time.' He spoke without looking at the captives and he continued to hold his bow relaxed but ready. 'In reward for the feat, the King in Nevrym bestowed upon him the forester's name Longstrider.
'It is indeed a pity that one who so nobly served the interests of our king should now place himself in opposition to noble Grimpeace.' Fairspeaker had materialized out of the night. The forester clamped his bearded jaw tight and kept trudging through the lava flows.
The former village of the Watchers was awash in torchlight. Armed Zr'gsz, torpid with the chill, milled about the compound without apparent aim. An officer in feather helmet emerged from what had been the Watchers' assembly hall and held a vigorous discussion with Sternbow. The Hisser spoke in sibilant, garbled human speech augmented by violent gestures. Fost and the others were too far away to make out what was being said, but as far as the courier could tell the reptile was determined the escapees and those who had helped them should be put to death immediately. His only point of uncertainty was whether they should be speared where they stood or flung into the lava pits, thereby saving wear on obsidian spear tips. Fost did think Fairspeaker added his voice to Sternbow's in arguing they be speared. He found it cold comfort, somehow.
At last, Fairspeaker lowered his voice and, shaking his head with the lugubrious regret of an inquisitor ordering his assistants to crank the rack a few more turns, said something that caused the Vridzish officer to turn moss green and immediately begin issuing orders with even more histrionic gestures.
Sternbow strode to where the captives stood. He had to make his way through a mob of lower caste Zr'gsz surrounding the prisoners in unmoving, silent ranks. Somehow their silence, their apparent lack of emotion, seemed more threatening than a display of hostility. Fost saw little approval on the Nevrym leader's face as he pushed aside the scaled bodies.
'The Vridzish officer was adamant that you pay full price for your crimes.' Though he stopped a foot behind Sternbow, Fairspeaker quickly thrust his presence to the fore. Sternbow showed no sign of irritation at being pre-empted. 'But Sternbow, whom all know as a merciful and just man, prevailed upon him to let you live.' Fair-speaker shrugged slightly. 'For a time, at least. The People are much outraged by your treacherous defection, Princess.'
'My defection?' She held her anger back with visible effort.
Sternbow locked his gaze on Fost's.
'You were a loyal friend to the Forest,' he said. 'I hope this breach can be healed.' 'So do I.'
The compound gates swung open. The Hissers made quick, menacing jabs with their spears. The prisoners were marched into the lava rock walled pen.
'Wait!' cried Erimenes as the gates started to swing shut.
Fairspeaker appeared in the gap between the gates.
'Why should we wait, friend spirit? I judge you are another bottle-bound shade, such as the one known to accompany the Princess Moriana.'
'Yes. I mean no! I'm not like that vacuous creature at all. I'm much, much wiser. And I know many things that might interest you.
Things your masters would give a great deal to learn.' An eyebrow arched.
'My masters, eh?' Fairspeaker pursed his lips, nodding to himself as he meditated. Then he bobbed his chin. 'Well, there's no harm in listening to you if you wish to speak.'
He gestured. A pair of Hissers approached Fost with the curious sporadic movement of their kind, their spears at the ready. Fost plunged a hand into his satchel. The Vridzish stopped, pointing the spearheads at his heart. He ripped Erimenes's jug from the pouch and flung the red clay vessel onto the hard-packed earth at their feet.
Unfortunately, it bounced.
'Really, Fost, such petulance ill-becomes you,' Erimenes sniffed. 'I could never abide such a poor loser. Come then, Fairspeaker, let us converse.'
'Let us, indeed.' The young man accepted the jug from a clawed hand.
'I must confess the smell in that sty was quite revolting,' Erimenes said as Fairspeaker walked out cradling the jug in one arm. 'Say, you're a strapping young fellow. Are there any lively wenches in the vici -'
The gates slammed shut.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The air in the prison compound lay like a thing dead, hot and still and decaying. Upslope toward the rear slit, latrines festered like wounds under buzzing clouds of flies. The tents and huts Fost had seen the night before were gone, torn down and trampled by the enraged Hissers. Crude makeshifts though they had been, they were sorely missed.
Fost had awakened with a pounding in his head and the sun pouring like hot wax on his eyelids. He lay near the gate, where exhaustion had claimed him when the curdled gray of false dawn started to seep into the eastern sky. Moriana sat nearby, her hair tied back from her face, her head bent in earnest conversation with Ziore. She and the spir
it seemed to take turns reassuring each other.
Fost pulled himself upright. For a moment, he expected the longwinded complaint that was his usual morning greeting from Erimenes. Then he remembered. He spoke a heartfelt curse and dug his magic water flask from the satchel.
Moriana and Ziore noticed he was awake and greeted him in subdued voices. He handed the flask to Moriana and looked around the compound. The lava pen was almost empty. Two score Watchers stood in sullen knots. He spat to clear his throat.
'Most of the Watchers got away, I see,' he finally said.
'But for how long?' Moriana answered, reluctantly pulling the flask from her parched lips. She pointed skyward. It was busy up there. No clouds were visible, and if Omizantrim breathed this morning its exhalation streamed away northward and out of their sight. But the skyrafts of the Zr'gsz teemed in the air like flies around the latrines.
'You'd know that better than I,' Fost pointed out.
'I think they've got a chance,' she said slowly. 'If they have sense to lie up in the bubble caves during the day, the Zr'gsz will never find them.'
With his usual touch of the inappropriate, Fost marvelled at the ease with which she pronounced the Vridzish's name for themselves. It wasn't intended for human tongue, yet she grated out the hissing and gutturals as if she'd hatched from an egg in the emerald depths of Thendrun. Fost took out his bowl and traded it to Moriana for the water flask.
As they ate, they talked about their adventures since parting in Athalau, the city in the glacier, the fabulous lost city of sorcerers and savants in which Ziore and the treacherous Erimenes had been born centuries before.
Fost's account was straightforward. He looked away from the hardness that came into Moriana's eyes when he spoke of having been discovered outside the glacier by Jennas, the hetwoman of the Bear Clan. Moriana had known that even before their precipitous separation in Athalau he and Jennas were more than mere friends. Fost recounted his journey north to find Moriana and tell her that the magic bauble she possessed wasn't the one she thought. Jennas had travelled with him, partly out of love, but mostly because her bear god Ust had revealed to her that a new War of Powers loomed, and that she must discover what that implied for her folk. Fost had nervously discounted Jennas's claims of visions and divine revelation. The farther they travelled, the less he was inclined to do so. They found powers afoot in the Realm beyond simple shades and sprites and hedge demons.
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