'Do we understand these forces enough to tamper with them?' Tromym gulped his wine so hurriedly he choked.
'I am of the Royal Blood, Tromym, even if removed from the present rulers. Sorcery is in my genes. This book reveals some of the secrets of the earliest Etuul. It was written by the original Moriana's daughter, Kyrun.' He turned from the window with a grand sweep of his arm. 'Someday, I shall become a sorceror to equal any, Tromym. When my daughter sits on the Beryl Throne, then shall I make my true mark in the history of the City.'
Tromym looked away nervously. He reached for the decanter of wine, then saw the trembling of his hand and rang for a servant to refill his goblet for him.
'Who'd have th-thought it,' he said, 'that enlisting the help of the rabble would profit us so.' Uriath gave him a tight smile.
'That damned barbarian my daughter's taken for a pet has proved useful.'
'Y-you think he might be a fit consort for her? Robust barbarian blood might spice up the line a bit, eh?' He tried to wink at Uriath but wound up opening and shutting both eyelids alternately so that he appeared to be trying to blink a message in code. Uriath's cold blue eyes staring back at him chilled to the bone.
'Do you seriously suggest for an instant that my daughter could conceive of forming an… an arrangement with a groundling?'
Uriath's biting tone indicated he'd judge Synalon's famous hornbul! a more likely choice.
'No-no, Uriath, not at all. Making a joke, that's all. Ha, ha.' He squinted into his wine. 'Damn, this thing's empty again.' A steward entered at Uriath's summons.
'Bring the Councillor a larger vessel at once. And see that the sluggard who provided him such an inadequate thimble is soundly whipped.' Wordlessly, the servant bowed and withdrew.
'Where were we? Ah, the Northblood messenger boy. He'll have to go, I suppose. He's too likely to have some sentimental notions of loyalty to Moriana – to say nothing of the possibility that he might fancy himself to have some claim on Luranni's affections.' The steward returned bringing a soup tureen for Tromym and refilled his master's cup
Uriath watched and waited for the steward to leave, his fingers working on his fringe beard.
'If only that young fool Chiresko had done as he was told, we wouldn't have the problem of this Longspider or whatever he's called confronting us now. Or of Moriana, either.'
'Do I hear my name spoken, O good and loyal Uriath? In a favourable context, I trust.'
Wine dyeing his sidewhiskers pink, Tromym raised his face from his bowl to compliment his friend on his uncannily accurate imitation of Moriana's voice. The words congealed in his throat when he saw Uriath's face turn as white as his beard.
Experiencing the same endless falling sensation that had come over him when Synalon's silvered sphere approached him at the victory feast, Uriath gaped at the features of Moriana Etuul, laughing back at him from the surface of his wine. 'Dark Ones,' he muttered, fighting down panic. Had she heard? 'Y-your Highness,' he stammered. I didn't expect -'
'Naturally not. Synalon doesn't expect it either. She believes her magics screen my perception from the City. But I have learned much since I saw her last.' Moriana smiled, her teeth rippling as Uriath's hand trembled and conveyed the motion to the surface of the wine. 'It will be pleasant indeed to show her how much I've learned.' 'We all await that time most fervently.'
'We will take your protestations of devotion for granted, Uriath. Now listen. There is much to be done…'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Sky City crossed first Brev, then Thailot, while the inhabitants of those cities stared up in apprehension. It was wasted emotion. The City passed in gray, stony silence and was gone. It turned northeast at Thailot toward Wirix.
An army of five thousand Zr'gsz camped on the shore of Lake Wir. Their numbers were swelled by a thousand foresters from the Great Nevrym Forest, and roughly the same number of adventurers recruited by Darl on a whirlwind tour of the City States. After the fiasco of Chanobit, it was miraculous that any harkened to Moriana's claw and flower banner. After her all iance with the Fallen Ones became known she would have said itwas impossible. But the fear of the Hissers was an ancient one. Fear of Synalon burned hot and immediate. And Darl did work miracles. None who heard him failed to be stirred, and those who had heard him before said he spoke as he never had, as no man had. He spoke like an angel come to deliver a new revelation, and his words drew men's hearts like a magnet.
Moriana did not hear his stirring speeches on her behalf. She busied herself preparing for the prodigious battle with the City in the Sky. A thousand details claimed her attention. Food had to be arranged for her growing army. The skystone mines on the slopes of Omizantrim required constant administration. The imprisoned Watchers proved a nagging dilemma. Groundlings had to be drilled in the use of the Hissers' skyraft.
Then there was diplomacy. The Wirixers weren't happy at the presence of the Vridzish. However, they understood which Quincunx city would next feel the might of Synalon's men and magic. With Bilsinx and Kara-Est occupied, and Brev and Thailot having thrown themselves at the City's mercy, the Sky City could take all the time it needed to build its forces for the conquest of Wirix. The mages of the lake city were mighty, but they doubted their ability to master magics such as Synalon commanded. And if Kara-Est's aerial defenses couldn't preserve her from military defeat, Wirix's strictly landborne defenses meant little more than walls of sand. The Hissers might seem unworthy allies but they and Moriana offered the only hope of survival for Wirix.
Nonetheless, the Wirixers were glad when Khirshagk and his retinue turned down their offer to visit their city on its island in the midst of the great Lake Wir.
The city girded itself for war.
It would be a war unique in the City's long history. For the first time since the Human Conquest, the City itself would be the principal object of attack. In the many small squares and parks dotted about the Sky City, the citizens gathered in little knots and gazed at the northeast horizon until masked Monitors drove them on with curses and cudgels. Though they had grown cautious about speaking their thoughts aloud, most wondered whether the victory of either side in the impending conflict might be a loss for them.
Rann drilled his forces hard. From Terror's back he led the bird riders back and forth across the sky in exercises designed to bring them to perfect fighting pitch. Even his own elite Sky Guards grumbled at the severity with which he drove.
He drove himself harder still. He had had to work out the details of the occupation of Kara-Est mostly on his own. Fortunately, Chief Deputy Tonsho had been taken alive. She dreaded physical pain above all things, which meant Rann himself was the perfect threat to keep her in line. Just thinking what exquisite agony the deputy must be going through, knowing herself at his mercy, brought a smile of pleasure to Prince Rann's thin lips. But such smiles were rare and shortlived. Tonsho was a woman of character as well as ability. Sooner or later she would overcome her cowardice and wreak harm on her city's oppressors. But not soon, he judged, and that was all that counted. For the time, a military governor and a strong garrison sufficed to insure her cooperation.
Such cooperation was vital now. Kara-Est had to start functioning again as a seaport and trade center as soon as possible. Moreover, there were matters that would take all of Tonsho's diplomatic skills to straighten out. Since the City was not yet in a position to go to war with such powers as Tolviroth Acerte, the Empire and Jorea, there were reparations to be made for damage to neutral shipping, and the rights of non-combatant citizens had to be guarded. There were problems such as that posed by the ship's captain, half Jorean and half North Keep Dwarf whose vessel had been deposited intact in the Central Plaza of Kara-Est as a prankish parting gesture of the air elemental Synalon had summoned. The outlandish halfbreed demanded recompense far beyond the value of his vessel. In the meantime something had to be done about the ship sitting in the middle of the city. Rann was pleased to have someone, anyone, tend to such matters for him.
<
br /> Synalon sulked because she felt the Dark Ones should have prevented the Vridzish from allying with Moriana. Several of the queen's advisors pointed out that the Fallen Ones might have fallen into apostasy toward the Elder Gods since the Dark Ones' patronage hadn't benefited them before. Those advisors were not perspicacious enough to realize the fallibility of the Dark Ones wasn't something Synalon wished to be reminded of just now. She had ordered them all exiled through the Skywell to the earth a thousand feet below.
In the meantime Synalon contributed almost nothing to preparing for the conflict with her sister. In a way, Rann found that a blessing, since she was prone to fantastic whims. But it did leave more of a burden on his slender shoulders. Particularly when it became apparent that organized subversion had increased in the Sky City.
Sometimes, however, the queen herself took an interest in the affairs of her City…
Flesh parted to the caress of a blade. The naked young man bucked and screamed.
'There, my love,' said Synalon, patting sweat from his forehead with a moist rag. 'Tell me what I wish to hear. Who are the traitors?' She smiled tenderly and caressed his cheek. 'The pain can stop any time. Then you can love me. Tell me, have you ever seen anyone more beautiful than I?'
The Sky Guard lieutenant looked up at her with the eyes of a snared rabbit. They were lovely eyes, really, she thought, the deep dark blue of a winter sky at sunset. Her captive was a handsome youth, taller than normal among the short, wiry Sky Citizens, leanly muscular under tanned skin, his hair glossy brown with blond highlights from spending time in the wind and sun on an eagle's back. His cheeks and eyes were sunken from the terror of confinement following his arrest, but to Synalon's taste that merely accented the aristocratic quality of the facial bone structure.
Her breath came shallow and fast, as if after lusty exertion. The aroma of her own excitement was hot musk in her nostrils. She wore a pearl gray silk smock that came halfway down her sleek, silvery thighs. It was opened midway down the front. Heavy, well-shaped breasts with skin like fresh cream hung mostly in view, crested by burgundy nipples taut as a drum with arousal. The young man showed little inclination to look at them.
From below came mutterings, scraping noises, an occasional high, sharp cry. The vast aeries of the City, honeycombed below the level of the street and the very Palace itself, buzzed around the clock with avian activity. The almost subliminal sound transmitted itself through the stone flooring of the dungeon and Synalon's bare feet to tickle its way up the inside of her thighs. She enjoyed the melange of sensations, the sounds of martial preparation and breathing with the jagged catch of panic in its rhythm, the erratic orange light of torches set at the bases of arches which formed the groined ceiling of the torture chamber, and the smell of sweat and blood and her own hunger.
The captive sucked in his breath as Synalon trailed fingers along the tight skin of his belly to toy with his limp penis.
'There, there, I wouldn't hurt that,' she said. He quivered as she bent to kiss it. 'Not until the last – if you don't tell me what I want to know…'
He looked resolutely toward the far wall. Synalon frowned and slashed. Another scarlet line appeared across his chest. He howled in pain.
She worked on his body with passion and artistry. True to her promise, she left his genitals alone. She would break this young buck, and then she would enjoy him. And she would make him enjoy her, despite his agony.
It was rumored in the open air markets and the bird riders' barracks that Queen Synalon could bring a corpse to orgasm. The rumors were not far wrong.
'Damn Rann,' she hissed. The pink tip of her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth as she studiously flayed a strip of skin from the bulge of the lieutenant's left bicep. The young man ground his teeth on the leather strap she'd fastened in his mouth to keep him from biting his tongue. His buttocks slapped convulsively against the stone slab to which he was fastened. The bonds were leather, lined with velvet padding; no chains or manacles for Synalon. They might damage the subject by accident. Synalon regarded randomness the bane of artistry.
Reconsidering, she wondered whether she ought to curse her cousin. All bird riders were tough and well-trained, but the Guard was a fanatical elite, handpicked and then honed and polished like the finest North Keep blades. Synalon knew that only philosophical principle would cause a Guard officer to betray the throne. The young fool had decided Moriana would make a better ruler for the City than she. And what a Guard decided on principle, he would adhere to with all the fortitude Rann was so expert at inculcating. No, she shouldn't curse Rann. She loved a challenge.
The secret police who had arrested this young man had evidence which led them to believe he knew the identities of the leaders in the conspiracy against her. That was why she chose to interrogate him herself; also, she needed surcease from the screaming frustration of beseeching the Dark Ones to tell her; why?
By layers she stripped away resistance. The apparent carelessness of cuts she had first made was belied by the way she played on them to create a pattern of pain, of blood and tanned skin. And finally, sobbing uncontrollably, the captive was ready to tell everything the silvery, seductive voice coaxed him to reveal. Then the change began.
At first Synalon blinked, thinking it a trick of the light or of sweat dripping in her eyes. Itwas no illusion. The skin blackened before her eyes.
She drew back with a startled exclamation. Did the young man have some loathsome disease that had just entered a climactic stage? Her fingers traced glowing patterns in the air in front of her. She chanted a spell of protection even as the writhing of the bound body became a writhing of the very contours of that body, a change of mass and outline more profound than any wrought by Synalon's knife. The chest expanded, grew so muscular that it was grotesque. The legs shortened and thickened, swelling with muscle until the straps around thighs and shins parted with explosive cracks. The arms grew thicker, too, lengthening so that the huge muscles of the upper forearm burst asunder the straps that had restrained the captive's wrists. The forehead bulged, the jaw became a slab, the nose twisted into a sardonic beak. Eyes like portals to an infinite pit regarded her with infinite amusement.
It was a black Dwarf which lay on the torture table. But a Dwarf taller than any man she knew. The sturdy stone table groaned beneath its weight.
'Don't you remember me, little sister?' The Dwarf shook his gigantic head. 'And after all the caterwauling you've been pouring into the Void I shouldn't think you'd greet me with those paltry protective canthrips you're muttering beneath your breath.' He smiled showing huge perfect teeth. 'Or has it occurred to you that your behavior toward my Masters, alternately whining at Them and demanding that They offer explanation for what you take to be Their deeds, has been scarcely calculated to win Their approbation? And have you thought, lovely one, that the mildest of such punishments I might mete out for your impertinence would have you offering your kingdom and your soul for the chance to trade places with that unfortunate who occupied this berth before me?'
She fell to her knees. Fear and ecstasy numbed her brain, and her heart raced out of control.
'O Messenger of the Dark Ones, forgive me! I didn't realize it was you.' Her hands caressed the gnarled thighs, working upward to their juncture. The Dwarf chuckled and swung to a sitting position.
'Much would I enjoy giving way to your inviting blandishments. You definitely have your uses, though you've given little evidence of that lately.'
'What do you mean?' She flinched back. 'Haven't I served the Dark Ones well? The mightiest seaport of the Realm lies an offering at Their feet. And how do They repay me? By allowing Their chosen folk to make compact with my sister to drag me from my throne, the throne I consecrated to the greatness of the Lords of the Dark!'
The Dwarf threw back his head and laughed like the rolling of a great brass bell.
'How quickly your ire makes you forget the humility appropriate to a lowly servant.' Beams of scarlet stabbed from his e
yes. Synalon's smock flashed into flame. She shrieked and leaped to her feet, clawing at the fiercely burning garment. Her fingers blistered as the fabric resisted a moment, then gave way. She flung the smock into a heap by the wall. It flared to intolerable actinic brightness and vanished, leaving only scorch marks on the wall. All the time the
Dwarf's laughter washed over her like oily surf.
Her belly and breasts showed a fiery pink, as though from long exposure to the sun. Her rump felt as if it had been branded. The rancid smell of burning hair choked her. She beat at her head and the juncture of her thighs until the smouldering stopped. And then the realization struck her like a mace. The Messenger read understanding on her face and smiled.
'Yes. You thought you had mastered the fire long ago, and yet in its most primitive form it almost consumed you. Think on that lesson, beautiful child.'
He folded maul-like hands across his bulging belly and leaned back onto his elbows. 'Now. What was it you wished to ask of the Masters?'
She took a moment to conquer the fear and rage seething within. She almost blurted out another accusation. She turned it into an exhalation of breath and started again, to the accompaniment of the Messenger's knowing grin.
'I have done my utmost to serve the Dark Ones,' she said as evenly as possible. 'None could have served Them as faithfully. Now They – rather, now it appears that They have chosen to aid my mortal enemy against me. I dem – That is, I most humbly beg to know why They have done this thing. And what… what redress I must make to regain Their complete trust.' The black head swung ponderously from side to side.
'O, ye of little faith,' the Dwarf said. 'Is this truly how you venerate the Eldest? By leaping to the conclusion that They betrayed you?' He clucked. 'It is a sore disappointment to our mutual Masters. They harbored great hope for you.'
'But… but the Vridzish are worshippers of the Dark Ones! Aren't the Masters permitting them to come against me?'
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