The city came to life again for the first time in almost two hundred years. The caravans Moriana had dispatched from Tolviroth Acerte weeks before arrived bringing sorely needed supplies. The merchant fleet lay at anchor in Dawngold Bay thirty miles east of Athalau, and Guardian obligingly opened a new passageway to permit the supplies to be portaged overland and into the city. He did so eagerly because it was always a source of deep sadness for the glacier that he had watched over the death of the city. Now he could take part in Athalau's rebirth. Sometimes he chuckled to himself, the sounds of his pleasure booming through the tunnels and streets.
No one felt mirth at the word the fleet brought with them. The party Moriana sent out to meet the ships was astonished to find twice as many ships riding anchor in the mouth of the Gulf of Veluz. The extra vessels were refugees fleeing the wrath of Istu, which had descended on Tolviroth Acerte not long after Moriana and the rest departed. The survivors were shocked and scarcely coherent but reported that the city had been captured, not utterly obliterated as Kara-Est had been. It was small comfort.
Under the surprisingly steady guidance of the youthful Cerestan, refugees began to stream into Athalau from Brev. And not only from Brev and Bilsinx but from as far north as the Black March. Word had spread that mankind would make its last stand in the icebound citadel of the south. Perhaps, as Rann speculated, Zak'zar had spread the rumors himself in the hope of straining Athalau's tenuous supply lines to breaking. There were other cities that had yet to suffer the attentions of the Sky City: Port Zorn in the east, Duth and Kolinth and those of the other City States that had not lain in the City's path from the Black March to Medurim, Thailot and Deepwater and the Sjeddland cities west of the Thails. But it was also true that Athalau offered the best hope for humanity's survival - the only hope.
If it was the Vridzish's wish to weaken the defenders of Athalau with hunger, that tactic was in vain. The supplies Moriana had ordered to the lost city were plentiful and great stores of travellers' fare lay in the vaults beneath Athalau. This was magically preserved dried food meant to sustain life over long journeys. It was scarcely palatable, but it did what it was intended to do. Moreover, game teemed in the Ramparts this season; hunting was good, if risky. Eventually the food stocks would run low, but Rann doubted the Fallen Ones would feel they had the leisure to wait. Every day the humans explored Athalau increased their chances of being able to successfully summon the World Spirit. It soon became apparent that the Zr'gsz would not wait. Bird riders reported that the Sky City passed first Bilsinx and then Brev, and Istu smashed each city flat. But they were abandoned by then. He reaped few souls for his collecton.
The Zr'gsz reacted violently when the survivors of the fight with the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom reported back, launching savage attacks against the long columns of refugees and airlifting in an army of foot soldiers from the north, risking the increasingly rare skyrafts in the face of the fierce storms that blew in from the Joreal Ocean in this season.
And there was another danger they faced.
Prince Rann was in the field again, at the head of the reunited forces of the Sky City. No longer were the lizard men and their stone rafts a frightening novelty as they had been when Moriana led the aerial fleet against the City in the Sky; no longer were the Sky Citizens fighting halfheartedly to defend the throne of a queen many thought an usurper and worse. The soldiers of the City and their allies fought with all the skill and courage for which they were renowned - and with a cornered animal savagery, too. When Rann's eagles spread their wings above the rafts of the People, the slaughter they worked was fearful.
Despite all anyone could do, the slaughter the Vridzish worked on the refugees was frightful, too. It was impossible to protect the mile-long columns of trudging, desperate folk. But Cerestan did well, luring an army three times the size of his into an envelopment and massacring it to a man, with a force of Bilsinxt and Sky City cavalry. After that, the attacks on the refugees slacked off.
Encouraging as the humans' successes in the field were, they were insubstantial. It was a bitter war; if the humans lost, they were doomed, but all they could win was a respite, the chance to follow one breath with another until the City and the Demon arrived.
Moriana desperately prepared herself for the coming duel with Istu. The Ethereals had moved into the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom as if it had been built for them and began a strict regimen of meditation and study. Moriana studied, too, in the vast and varied Athalau libraries. Her knowledge grew, but not her confidence.
There was no way to test the Nexus or try calling upon the World Spirit until the actual time came to face Istu. The summoning of the World Spirit had been too much for Felarod and nine-tenths of his Hundred; already Moriana had fewer Ethereals to work with. She dared not risk them prematurely.
She bore the burden well. Sometimes she awakened Fost at night with weeping, but when he held her in his arms all she could speak of was her fear that the best wasn't good enough, that the evil she had loosed upon the world would consume it and humankind.
When she returned to fitful drowsing, Fost brooded over the near certainty that even victory would cost him Moriana. He never let her know of his concern. But sometimes when she slept, he shed tears, too.
During the hectic days he occupied himself with a task as necessary as Rann's. He began the eradication of the ice worms, first in the city and then in the glacier. Guardian was a good and true ally and the humans owed him much.
'Is this a fitting occupation for an itinerant hero?' Erimenes demanded one day as Fost trudged from an ice worm tunnel at the head of a weary, battered squad. 'You should be off soldiering, covering yourself with glory like Rann and Cerestan.'
'I'd sooner be covered in shit,' Fost growled. 'I'll never make a soldier. I admit, sometimes I take joy in fighting and bringing an enemy down, though I'm none too sure that's worthy. Man to man's a challenge. Mass to mass is butchery and chance.'
The genies mostly spent time together, and even Fost admitted - to himself - that he was touched by the joy Erimenes took in sharing the rebirth of his city with Ziore. However, the philosopher did go into sulks for several days when Rann flatly refused to permit him to accompany a raiding party.
Synalon kept her distance, studying in libraries as Moriana did, or in her chambers in the dormitory next to the Palace with the door closed. Moriana muttered dark suspicions of what her sister did, but had no time to act on them.
Until one night a month after they arrived in Athalau . . .
Fost tramped down the arched corridor of the dormitory feeling as if his boots were cast of lead and his joints made of jelly. It had been a grim, brutal day hunting the worms. Two men of his ten hadn't returned. Fost was glad Erimenes had been at a museum sneering to Ziore about how art had deteriorated since his day instead of being with Fost. Erimenes had by and large lost the habit of cheering when his own side took casualties, but Fost wouldn't have liked to tempt him. There were many deep holes within the glacier where a spirit jar could be cast down.
The floor rumbled to a cheer beneath his feet. Prince Rann was being toasted in the refectory. He had another victory to his credit. The Zr'gsz had sent a hundred rafts probing into the Gate of the Mountains itself. Anticipating such a move, Rann had long since laid plans with the nomads of the Steppes, who reluctantly cooperated. Only the Ust-alayakit tribe stayed aloof.
When the Hisser rafts were well into the narrow ravine, a storm of boulders, arrows and javelins came crashing down on them from above. As the surviving rafts climbed clear to meet their attackers, Rann and the Sky Guard swept out of the sun like a firestorm from Omizantrim. The humans took a handful of casualties, none among the bird riders. Not one of the rafts escaped.
Fost had to admit the strange, compact man with the devastated face had earned the cheers. Especially since he seemed to work miracles against the Zr'gsz. He was a monster, of that there was no doubt. Fost had seen his handiwork. And yet, and yet . . . without the scarred prince
the humans would have already lost.
On top of such a day, this was too much to think about so Fost went into the suite he shared with Moriana and fell asleep.
It seemed he had just drifted into blackness when a scream aroused him. He jumped to his feet, yanked his sword from the scabbard and ran into a footstool. Cursing and clutching his shin, Fost found a cloak, wrapped it around himself and went hopping into the hall.
Down the corridor stood Rann. The naked arc of a scimitar gleamed blue in the prince's hand. Fost's blood chilled. Then he realized Rann also sought the source of the cry.
'Upstairs,' he said. He turned and dashed for the stairway. He heard Rann following.
He came out on the third floor. Moriana stood in an open door from which a strange blue light spilled. It was the door to Synalon's room. Moriana looked in with horror that metamorphosed slowly to anger as Fost watched.
He ran to her as she raised a trembling finger and pointed it like a weapon at her sister. 'You -' Fury choked her. 'You traitor!'
He came to the door and looked in. Synalon sat on the bed wearing some confection like azure mist that clearly showed the lush outlines of her body even in the dimness. Witchlights danced in clay saucers on the floor.
Across from the black-haired princess sat a gigantic black Dwarf.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Messenger of the Dark Ones rose. He smiled, his teeth startlingly white against the midnight of his face.
'I see our discussion is at an end, daughter,' he said to Synalon. 'To you others, farewell. I regret not having the chance to speak with you before since I shall not see you again - alive.' He faded and vanished, leaving only his taunting laughter hanging in the air.
Moriana's eyes blazed.
'You -'
'No,' Fost shouted, moving as fast as he ever had. He thrust past Moriana and stood, arms outspread, between the furious princess and her sister. 'Hear her out.'
'Get out of my way.'
Fost saw Rann standing just behind Moriana in the door. The scars on his face glowed whitely. Fost knew with certainty that this was betrayal and that the prince was about to drive his curved blade into Moriana's oblivious back.
Then Rann pushed past, taking his place at Fost's side, raising a hand to Synalon who rose from her bed with death in her eye.
'This is fair, I think. Neither of you casts a deathbolt without slaying the both of us. Now, Highness, will you talk?'
Fost felt his neck hairs rise. The air crackled with potent magics barely held in restraint. He waited to die and wondered what the Hell Call would be like.
It didn't happen. Moriana was first to drop her threatening hand, but Synalon followed reluctantly.
'I see nothing to talk about.' She gazed past Fost without warmth.
"What were you doing, Synalon? Do you deny that creature is a sending of the Dark Ones?'
'I do not.' Haughtily, she tossed back her head. 'It was the Messenger of the Lords of Elder Dark himself. I have spoken with him before.'
'What did you discuss?' Rann asked in a casual tone, as if mentioning how nice the weather had been that day.
'We discussed my sabotaging your plans to raise the World Spirit against Istu.'
Moriana's hand shot forth. Fost grabbed it.
'Wait, dammit!' He swiveled his head and said in desperation, 'Explain and explain quickly or we're all dead.'
Synalon started to bristle.
'I'd be pleased to hear an explanation, as well,' Rann drawled.
She shook back her hair and straightened her shoulders, as if preparing herself for a wearisome task.
'Very well. Shortly after we left Brev the Messenger appeared to me, after Fost had gone to sleep. He proposed that I rejoin the Dark Ones. He said I had proven wanting before but that if I acted rapidly and well I could earn back my lost grace - and more.'
Moriana dropped her arm. She shook her head in dejection.
'How could you? How could even you?'
'I could not!' Synalon laughed. 'What kind of fool do you take me for, sister mine? Think me a traitor if you will. But I would be a stupid groundling if I trusted anything the Dark Ones said to me.'
'Then why did you tell him you'd go along?' Fost demanded.
'I thought better of you, Longstrider. Is it not obvious? The Dark Ones fear what we do here. They are not certain Istu can prevail so they sought to ensure their success from within. It takes great energy for the Lords to intervene on this plane, even through the agency of their Messenger. So I let them think I was mooncalf enough to heed them, and they wasted their efforts on me. I may have saved us, sister. Small thanks I'll get.'
'I don't believe it,' Moriana stated flatly.
'But what of you?' Synalon flung at her. 'Can we trust you? You've treated with the servitors of the Dark before - daughter of Thendrun!'
Moriana sagged. She caught the doorframe to support herself. Fost longed to go to her and hold her but sensed it wasn't safe to move.
'He told you,' Moriana said in a weak voice. 'Yes.' Synalon raised her head triumphantly. 'Is it so strange that we are drawn to Darkness, dear sister, with the heritage we share?'
'I. . . I couldn't bring myself to tell you,' whispered Moriana. She turned away. 'Best we die here and let others carry on the fight. We are tainted, touched by the Void and the Night. We do not deserve to return to the City in the Sky.'
'Are you so weak?' Synalon screamed at her. 'Go then. Open your veins and spill your blood upon the floor, if you despise it so! I care not what I do or do not deserve, nor whether I am sprung from Zr'gsz or even if one was my father! I will wreak my revenge upon those who betrayed and used me, and all who stand with them.' She strode forward, pushing Fost and Rann aside as easily as if they were children and seized Moriana's shoulders, spinning her roughly around. 'Perhaps you do not deserve to stand in the streets of our City again, sister. Then don't! But I shall! The City is all I've ever loved. I shall possess it again - and only death can stop me!'
In the stunned silence following her outburst they all heard the frantic footsteps in the corridor beyond. Synalon shoved her sister from her as a small boy in the tabard of a Bilsinxt drummer looked nervously around the door.
'Your Highnesses.' he said in a shrill voice. 'Th-they sent me from below to fetch you. The Sky City has just entered the Gate of the Mountains!'
Their footsteps rang loudly in Fost's ears as he and the others crowded into the chamber where the Nexus lay. Light appeared from everywhere; no torches were needed in Athalau. The Ethereals had been stirring on their pallets in the nave of the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom when Moriana and the rest raced by. Now they filed into the chamber as they had on that first day.
This time they did not take up kneeling positions on the dull steel pattern. Instead they lined themselves along the walls.
'The time is come, mistress?' Selamyl asked Moriana.
She hesitated, then said, 'The time is come.'
Selamyl strode forward and took his position in the middle of the line and faced the far wall. Soundlessly the others glided forward and knelt, each upon one of the nodes that seemed strewn at random throughout the mandala. With a sinking feeling, Fost saw how few there truly were. Many of the nodes were unoccupied and the silvery patch in the center looked like a gap left by a missing tooth.
He didn't see how they could ever succeed.
'What would Felarod do, were he here now?' Moriana asked aloud.
'You must find your own way,' said Selamyl. His eyes were closed, his voice seemed to come from all around. 'Flow with the universe. The World Spirit will guide you.'
'Can you - can you reach the Spirit?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'Then do so.'
Silence. Fost felt it gnawing inside him like an animal demanding release, felt the tension begin to build and set his limbs trembling. He wanted to scream at the inactivity.
Moriana shifted to stand beside him, and her hand sought his. He willed his hand not to qua
ver and knew he failed. He looked around. Synalon stood nearby with lifted chin, feigning disinterest. Rann stood with folded arms, his head thrust forward, his yellow eyes wide beneath thin brows.
A greenish glow bathed Rann's face. Fost stared at him for a second, then turned back to the center of the room.
The metallic tracery on the floor had come to life. The green glow flowed from it suffusing the room. The kneeling Ethereals had become translucent. Each slender body shone like a lamp but without heat.
He became aware of a faint pulsation of the light. Shouts rebounded down the stairway from above, and it seemed there was an outcry in the streets.
'Behold the Nexus,' came Selamyl's voice. 'It is Athalau itself. This is the center.'
'And the World Spirit?' Moriana could barely force out the words.
'It comes.'
A chill wind tore at Zak'zar's face and felt as if it would strip away the skin. His cloak cracked behind him like a whip. It was agony to be abroad in this cold night with the icy breath of the Waste upon him. The others of the People lay abed wrapped against the chill. But his place was upon the rampart of the floating City.
Istu stood beside him, set apart from the night only by the absolute blackness of his being unmarred by stars. His yellow eyes watched the rugged terrain below unfold. The City followed his will, its course matching the winding of the black slash that wandered through the mountains.
He stiffened, raised his head as if testing the wind for some scent, some sound.
'What is it?' Zak'zar asked, shouting to be heard above the keening wind.
Istu raised a taloned hand to still him. Then he crumpled his hands into fists and shook them in the face of the south. 'My curse upon you! I lay my curse on Athalau and all within!' "What's happening?'
Istu's eyes swept down. Zak'zar thought the Demon would slay him in his unreasoning fury. But the mad glare subsided. Istu spoke.
'In Athalau. I feel it, I hear it, it wounds my ears! The Pale Ones have summoned the World Spirit.'
Zak'zar felt strength ebbing.
WoP - 02 - Istu Awakened Page 56