WoP - 02 - Istu Awakened

by Robert E. Vardeman

  Fost felt as if the heat in his ears would make his hat burst into flame. Synalon could fling lightning bolts with words as well as magical gestures.

  'Are you truly as ponderous of wit as that byplay made you appear?' Erimenes demanded indignantly.

  'But she was. . . she was . . .'

  'Of course she was,' said Erimenes. 'And is that such an unpleasant prospect? She is lovely, as lovely as your Moriana. Lovely in the manner of a cataract or a catamount, trickish and even lethal. But lovelier for all that.'

  'What would you know about it?' snarled Fost. Erimenes only smiled an offensively superior smile. Fost cursed himself for letting the spirit know just how deep his barb had sunk.

  Not altogether willingly, he studied the dark-haired princess as she rode knee-to-knee with Moriana. They were in deep discussion now, seeming as casual as any two sisters out for a late summer ride. It was difficult to believe they had been - still were - the deadliest of enemies and bitterest of rivals. But not even Moriana could long maintain a bowstring tautness of wariness and suspicion indefinitely; with time had come relaxation and a certain fatalism. If Synalon betrayed her, no amount of worrying would stay her. As for Synalon, she had, once past her early tempest of objection, taken the arrangement with a calm that bordered on insouciance. Fost didn't know if this was more madness or confidence.

  From behind she looked younger than her sister, though Moriana was younger by minutes. Not having addressed herself to war and physical exertion - of the martial sort - the black-haired sorceress was slimmer, almost girlish, though there was little girlish about the flare of her hips and the roundness of her buttocks so clearly visible through the thin cloth of her trousers.

  Erimenes chuckled, and Fost shook his head as if that would clear it of such thoughts. He made himself concentrate on Synalon's garment, pretending that had been his intent all along. It was all of the sheerest silk, a blouse low-cut in front, trousers that fit like a second skin at the top. It was vastly impractical for travelling, but everyone knew better than to make an issue of it. Synalon was proud, strong-minded.

  Fost remembered the unfortunate scene with the dogseller back in the coastal village before they started their trek southward toward Athalau. The merchant had suggested to Synalon that she select something other than a stud dog, that if they encountered a bitch in heat he would bring them trouble. Fresh from High Medurim though Fost was, her answer had shocked him both with its content and its explicitness, and he was surprised to see Rann color and look away. It had taken even Erimenes several seconds to fully comprehend the possibilities she'd outlined.

  But now Moriana was pointing ahead and Synalon wheeling her mount and riding back to him.

  'Get to the ground,' she shouted. 'Find a hole and slip inside!' She flashed him a sunbright smile as she passed and then called her warning to Rann.

  As he drew sword, he marveled at the way in which the woman infected even emergency with salacious innuendo. Up ahead he saw that Moriana had now nocked an arrow from the quiver at her back. Ziore was also pointing, her arm misty pink and hardly visible in the sunlight.

  At first, he thought he saw a cloud, oblong and dark, floating into view above the hard yellow line of the Rim far off in the north. Then he saw the white, fleecy clouds rolling as if to meet it, and he knew what it was.

  At a stately, ominous pace, the City in the Sky floated east.

  Moriana sat erect in the saddle's stirrups, her dog prancing and sidestepping, tasting urgency in the air and the sweat smell of its rider. Her eyes were wild, wide and faraway. Her face had gone stark with a terrible rage and fear and grief and longing and a winter bleakness of soul. He looked behind and saw Synalon, too, rigidly upright and staring, and he knew then that they were truly sisters, twins.

  Rann loped by, his bow slung across his shoulders in easy acknowledgement of the futility of battle.

  'The Hissers are none too sharp of sight,' he called, as happy as if he were on the hunt and were the hunter rather than the prey. 'But they may be looking with more than earthly eyes. Time we went to ground.'

  Sheathing his sword, Fost did just that. He hoped Synalon and Moriana weren't too caught up in the tidal surge of their emotions to heed the prince's warning. He dismounted and got the burly creature to lie down in the lee of a large oilbush, dropped into loose soil beside it and began to burrow - and also to sneeze. The oilbush exuded a slippery, fragrant sap that aggravated Fost's allergies.

  A thumping of paws, a scattering of small stones, and Rann was at his side, hauling his own dog down expertly and flopping belly-down at Fost's side. He grinned. To all appearances, he enjoyed this hugely.

  Fost wasn't. His stomach tied itself in knots and his heart tried to beat its way to freedom. He felt blackness swim behind his eyes. Even if Istu had stood atop the highest tower of the Sky City, Fost could not have seen him from where he lay itching and sniffling next to a man who, until very recently, had been bending every effort to arrange a painful, messy death for him. But it was as if he could see the Demon of the Dark Ones, horned and great and invulnerable, and he was laughing, laughing . . .

  'Where's it going?' asked Erimenes. Eagerness almost masked the other tremor in his voice. Here was something Fost could find comfort in. Erimenes had at last found something to fear.

  'Tolviroth Acerte, I'd judge.' Rann shifted to a more comfortable position, cupped his hands around his eyes to cut the glare. 'Damn! It's too far to make out anything. But still, I think we quit the City of Bankers just in time.'

  Fost felt a leaden weight condense in his stomach. He was a Realm-road courier and called no place home - and every place. But Tolviroth Acerte came close. And he had friends there . . .

  A swirling breeze tossed dirt into their faces. Rann blinked and spat, and Fost was glad to see him with even this small a human frailty.

  'I don't like the timing,' Rann murmured. 'Unless the City lingered long conquering Wirix.' 'What do you make of it, cousin?' asked Synalon's call. 'Shh!' Erimenes hissed, turning skyblue in dread. Rann laughed at the genie.

  'If they can hear us at this distance, we're done for. Rest easy, jugged spirit.' Fost noted that the prince didn't call Erimenes demon. It would have been incongruous with a real demon's presence so ominously close.

  'No good,' Rann answered with raised voice. 'I fear High Medurim has seen the shadow of the City.'

  High Medurim. Fost saw crowded filthy childhood streets, wharves piled with bundles for distant ports, markets with bright colors and intriguing spices; he saw Oracle and Teom and yes, pale, hungering Temalla. His eyes turned wet and stung. He clutched handfuls of sand in futile anger. They spilled through his fingers and, he thought, so goes the world, so goes all I've known or loved.

  He did not feel the time slip by and only noted it had passed when Rann touched him on the shoulder. He came back to himself to find the sun hidden by the cliffs and the City low in the darkening eastern sky, merging with the thunderheads of a distant storm.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Brev bustled as it had not in years. It was the least of the Quincunx cities. It owed what little prosperity it had to the geographic fact that it lay at one corner of the Quincunx and could serve as a center for trade. Before the binding of the City in the Sky to the Great Quincunx, Brev had been an anonymous spot on the map. Even in the ten millennia since that event, it had failed to distinguish itself. Thailot boasted skill in artificing and glassworking, particularly the grinding of lenses; Wirix had its sorcerers with their genetic manipulations; Kara-Est was Kara-Est, grandest seaport of the Realm and a high city of the world; Bilsinx, central of the five cities, was the strategic and economic center of the Sundered Realm.

  Brev was a dispirited huddle of drab stone buildings with the Broken Lands to the west and the Steppe to the south - and occasion-ally the Sky City overhead. That was all.

  Now envious Brev could hold her head up, for she was queen of the Quincunx. Kara-Est was destroyed, perhaps Wirix as well; the isla
nd city was taken and sacked, at the very least. Thailot huddled behind its hedge of mountains. The onion domes of Bilsinx watched over empty streets, her citizens following the Sky Citizens fleeing south to avoid the wrath of the City's new owners. For now, all roads led to Brev. The merchants rejoiced in the influx of bright gold, and her leaders spoke of the dawn of a new era.

  The travellers had desired to keep word of their arrival quiet. It was too much to ask. They were greeted by shouts of acclaim, with speeches by members of the ruling hereditary council, and rum punch and floral wreaths in the Triangle where the paths of the City converged. Fost and Moriana and the rest looked on with tired eyes, even the genies subdued and weary from the desperate pace they'd maintained since sighting the City.

  Not even Rann had the heart to tell the crowds that their dawn would prove a false one.

  The Palace was an appropriate setting for the grim meeting of the sisters and their loyal, if somewhat confused, subjects. It was drafty, cold and damp and dark, and lacking in adequate fireplaces. The halls had a few cracked windows that admitted breezes but little sunlight. What light there was inside came from lanterns with panes no one had cleaned in recent memory. Dusk rose out of the east when a steward ushered them into the council chamber. Blue and purple shadows lay like curtains across the windows. The rafters were all but invisible above, not so much from height as murk. Fost decided this was a perfect place to discuss the end of the world.

  'Your Highnesses,' greeted Colonel Ashentani, lately governor of Bilsinx. 'It gives us all great pleasure to be reunited with you once again.'

  'We thank you,' said Moriana, leaving them to wonder whether she meant both sisters or simply employed the royal we. 'But let's have an end to ceremony. We've serious business to discuss.'

  The two were seated side-by-side at the head of the table. Rann sat to the left, nearest Synalon. Fost tucked Erimenes's jug under one arm and took his place at the foot of the table, hoping he would have no part in the proceedings so he could find a place to sleep.

  Ashentani he recognized. Most of the others he didn't. Moriana did and Ziore picked the information from the surface of the princess's brain and relayed it to Fost. Mostly they were Sky City officers. For their part, Ziore told him, they were frightened by the events of the past few months, afraid of the Demon and the Fallen Ones, scared that they might make a slip that would put them out of favor with one or the other sister.

  Toward one, however, Moriana felt cold hostility, which Ziore reported was returned in kind. Destirin Luhacs had succeeded Count Ultur V'Duuyek as commander of a Grassland mercenary regiment at Chanobit Creek. Moriana disliked the woman for the part her troops had played in smashing the army she and Darl Rhadaman had raised. Luhacs, a square-faced woman with eyes like blue ice, blamed Moriana for the death of the count, who had been her lover as well as her commander.

  Further down the table sat Cerestan, the young lieutenant of the Sky Guard. He'd aged considerably since the first time Fost saw him. Since escaping the City and Istu's wrath, he had waged a quiet battle against the dangers besetting the refugees - hunger, thirst, exposure - as they fled first to Bilsinx and then to Brev. His eyes were sunk into pits and a hint of gray sprinkled his temples.

  A servant came with mugs of steaming broth. Fost drained his in three swallows, almost revelling in the way it scalded his tongue. Though he barely tasted it, the warmth spread through his body and revitalized him. He felt closer to life than death for the first time in days.

  'So that's our story,' finished Synalon. 'What of the Empire? Wirix?'

  Colonel Ashentani squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.

  'Well?' demanded Moriana. 'We must know. Killing messengers bringing bad news is something I've never done.' Moriana darted a quick look at her sister, who sat back in her chair and tented fingers in front of her slightly smiling lips.

  'There are few facts,' said Ashentani, 'but they are grim enough. After Bilsinx fell and Brev collapsed, Wirix recalled its citizens from those cities. But there was a small colony of Wirixers in Samadum and it is from them we received news of Wirix's fall. The Fallen Ones launched an attack with small boats on the lake and their skycrafts above. When the City floated overhead, Istu appeared. He cast down lightnings, but the strength of the Institute was arrayed against him and the force of his bolts tempered. The Wirixer mages conjured an air elemental and set a waterspout against their invaders.' Ashentani paused, noting she had the rapt attention of not only Moriana and Synalon but Rann, also. The small man sat with eyes half closed, evaluating her every word. She went on. 'Istu bellowed in rage and disappeared.'

  'And then the Black Lens appeared in the Skywell,' put in Rann.

  'Yes,' said Colonel Ashentani in a choked voice. 'Istu absorbed the air sprite by drawing it into the blackness. Then the City crossed over Wirix.'

  'Tell me exactly what happened,' said Rann, leaning forward now, his arms resting on the table, hands clenched.

  'A black vortex descended from the Lens. It drove into the center of the city, digging to bedrock, coring Wirix like an apple. The government buildings were torn from their foundations but the Institute and most of the city proper were intact. The defenders, magicians and soldiers alike, were demoralized by the Demon's power. The purely physical storm that began when the vortex vanished destroyed what the Black Lens hadn't.'

  'And High Medurim?' Fost heard himself asking.

  'Only rumors,' answered the colonel. 'Again the Demon used the Black Lens. The Hissers were dug in along the Marchant. The Lens blazed a black trail of death and devastation across the farmlands of the City States like a spear pointing straight at Medurim's heart.'

  'Enough poetry, damn you!' flared Fost. 'What of the city?'

  She shrugged, her face a mask showing the deprivation and horror she had lived with. Fost regretted his sharpness with her.

  'The Imperial capital has fallen, whether captured like Wirix or eradicated like Kara-Est, I haven't been able to discover.'

  'Thank you, Colonel,' Fost said softly. He turned his empty cup in his hands, staring into the depths as if to read some augury there. It was true. Medurim was no more, and likewise the friends he had known in both slums and palace.

  After supper, Fost heard Cerestan's shrill voice asking the question he dreaded to hear.

  'Why must we turn tail and run? Can't we fight the damned lizards?'

  Fost feared that Synalon would renew her own objections to the plan and break the fragile coalition. Glancing up, he saw Rann twisting a linen napkin between his fingers with quiet vehemence and knew he wasn't the only one fearing for the alliance.

  'Are you a master of magics?' snapped Synalon. The young officer recoiled at the fury flaming in her eyes. 'Or do you presume to judge the decisions of your betters . . . and find them wanting?'

  'No, Your Highness,' he whispered, his face deathly white.

  'Very well,' said Synalon. 'Now, caravans are bound from Tolviroth Acerte, some here, some for the Gate of the Mountains. A small cargo fleet should be standing off the Southern Waste near Athalau awaiting our word, if they met with no misfortune rounding Cape Storm. These carry supplies for our people. This is your task, Cerestan: remove the Sky Citizens and our allies to Athalau.'

  Gasps met the announcement. 'But the barbarians of the Steppes -' '-impossible-' 'But Athalau's buried in a living glacier-' ' -impossible!'

  'Impossible?' The hair began to rise on Synalon's head. She tossed back her spark-crackling hair and sneered. 'If you find it impossible then I must depend on others not so easily daunted. You don't find this impossible, do you, Master Cerestan?' Her eyes fixed on the hapless young officer who had not joined in the chorus of protest at the announced exodus. 'You've acquitted yourself ably. In honor of that, and in view of your increased responsibilities, I hereby appoint you Constable of the City in the Sky and charge you with seeing that the resettlement proceeds expeditiously.'

  As thunderstruck silence settled, Synalon turned to her sister
and added, 'With Moriana's approval, of course.'

  The anger that had been growing in Moriana's eyes faded.

  'I approve,' she said, clearly less than happy with her sister usurping power in this fashion. Moriana leaned forward and used the opportunity to regain her position of authority.

  'As for the rest of you,' Moriana said, sweeping the group with her gaze, 'you know that Fost Longstrider and I penetrated the glacier which covers Athalau, as did Prince Rann.' She looked at Rann who stared back with perfect calmness. 'The way through this sentient glacier, who calls itself Guardian, has been opened before. We must convince it to trust us and open wide enough to accommodate all.'

  'It shall be done,' said Colonel Ashentani, glaring at Cerestan.

  'You all know the task ahead of us. Let's get to it, because we have no idea how much time the Fallen Ones will give us.' All rose when Moriana did and silently left. She turned to Fost and stretched out a hand, saying, 'I'm bone-tired. I'm going to bed.' He took her hand and she squeezed his fingers as if they were her last grip on sanity.

  A steward led them to their chambers. Glancing back, Fost saw the leaders clumped in excited knots, Rann sitting calmly with boots propped on the Count of Brev's table and ignoring the commotion. Cerestan stood gazing after Moriana; Fost saw Synalon regarding the young officer with thoughtful intensity.

  A tug on his hand drew him away and down the hall.

  As it had every day of the week since leaving Brev, the wind blew icy in Fost's face. He shivered, gathered his cloak more closely about him and rode on. In a few more hours the sun would be high and beat on the travellers like hammers. But now, in the gray, early morn, the frigid breath of the Southern Waste scoured the barren land. He shifted his weight in the saddle, no more comfortable now for all the time he'd spent in it, and thought of Moriana.

  It had been hard leaving her, but there hadn't been any other choice. They had to split, with one group going to the Great Crater Lake and the Ethereals, the other heading for the Gate of the Mountains and glacier containing Athalau. Alliance or no, oaths or no, it would have been sheer foolishness for Rann and Synalon to go one way and Fost and Moriana the other. Each princess had to be sure her interests were represented by both groups. To do so didn't guarantee safety, but to do otherwise was to invite betrayal.