War of Powers

by Robert E Vardeman;Victor Milan

  'Ahhh!' came the satisfied cry. A red vapor curled from the jar in a long unsweeping plume. Motes of energy danced through the pinkish cloud as it swirled, formed, and congealed into an astonishingly solid figure.

  The rose-colored figure of a woman stood before the princess. What Moriana had sensed from her communication with the spirit was confirmed by its appearance: this survivor of Athalau was the opposite of Erimenes in every detail. Where Erimenes was stooped and scrawny, the woman was tall and robust. Her face was lined by the passage of many years of mortal life, but it retained a calm and dignified beauty. Erimenes' face was hatchet-lean and shrewd, dominated by the blade of his nose and etched by years of repression of every worldly desire, though his newly profesed hedonism kept his lips curled into a perpetual half-leer. The female ghost's hair hung unbound down her back like a pale misty waterfall. Erimenes' smooth dome of a skull was decorated by a fringe of scraggled hair. The shade reached out to touch Moriana's cheek. Feeling a spider-web tenuous contact, the princess yelped and jerked away. The woman smiled at her.

  'Do not be afraid. In the middle of Athalau, I can almost regain the solidity I knew in life. Outside the city, far across the mountains, it would be different, I think.' She frowned and added, 'But my years of solitude have left me sadly lacking in courtesy. My thanks, many and eternal, for releasing me from a durance lasting thirteen hundred years.'

  'It. . . it was little enough to do for someone who'd saved my life. You made the ice worm pause before striking, didn't you?'

  'The beast's emotions were simple and blunt, and it took me a moment to find one to manipulate that would keep it from slaying you. They are feral creatures, those worms. Their lives consist solely of seeking and slaying.' Her face creased with concern. 'My lack of swiftness nearly cost your life. Accept my apologies.'

  'Apologies?' Moriana said in confusion. 'But you tried to keep me from entering the worm's chamber and then kept it from killing me when it had the better of me. I owe you my life.'

  'It was my mental touch that guided you into this building. You were far away, and I failed to mesh my thoughts with yours at such a distance. But closer, I found it easy to deal with your emotions. I manipulated you, I fear. But your will is strong, child. When you wished to enter the room into which the worm had laired, I couldn't dissuade you.' She watched Moriana intently. When the princess smiled, the spirit also smiled. With a start, Moriana realized the wraith was practising facial expressions, unsure of herself after thirteen centuries.

  'But come,' the ghost said, 'I am less than courteous. I am Ziore. What name are you known by, child?' 'Moriana Etuul.'

  'Etuul? I remember such a name, though we knew little of the outside world in my convent. Are you related to the ruling house in the City in the Sky?'

  'I am of that blood,' came the proud reply. 'A princess!' the spirit cried. Moriana blinked, a headache blurring her vision. 'Forgive me, child. I pried into your thoughts again. But a princess!' The spirit smiled more broadly. 'High company for one who was a lowly nun in life.'

  'A nun? I didn't know the Athalar practised that form of devotion.' 'We didn't.' The spirit sighed gustily. 'It was my misfortune to fall under the influence of a philosophy propounded by one who died fourteen years"before my birth.'

  Moriana stared at her, a premonition dawning. 'And who was this philosopher?'

  'A foolish man,' Ziore said with a frown, an expression out of place on her serene countenance. 'And a bad one, I think. Erimenes the Ethical. I am sure you've never heard of him.'

  'But I have, Ziore! And your assessment of him is perfect. I came to Athalau with him. It was because we accompanied him that the Guardian - the glacier- let us in.'

  'But how is this?' cried Ziore, dumbfounded. 'He died!' 'Just as you did. He survived, in spirit, much the same way.'

  'Tell me of it.' Moriana looked around. The remnants of shattered jugs about her feet gritted like dried bones under her boot soles. Her every impulse was to flee this forlorn graveyard of ghosts, to escape Athalau, to put distance between her and the city in which she had slain her lover.

  Ziore's eyes went round. 'I know little of these matters,' she said quietly. 'We Sisters of Denial kept ourselves apart from the world and its ways. But I know this, child. The pain within you will fester and grow if you hold it in. It will destroy you as surely as the cancer that took my life.'

  Moriana sighed. The spirit's presence soothed her, though she realized she was responding to a deliberate effort on Ziore's part. She sensed truth in what Ziore said. She sat on a low bench and told her story.

  It took an hour. The words began in a trickle. Then the dam burst, and they flowed forth in a torrent that Moriana later thought she would have been unable to stem, even if she'd wanted to do so.

  She told of her life in the City in the Sky. She was one of Queen Derora's twin daughters; as the younger, she was heir to the Beryl Throne. But her sister, the lovely, black-haired Synalon, had been a strange and sullen child. Moriana had been bright, compassionate, effervescent. Synalon had been the antithesis. Resentment sprouted within the elder twin and flourished with the years. In time, dark Synalon had recognized the seedling and actively nurtured it.

  Moriana matured into an intelligent, responsible woman. She studied history, statecraft, trade, and arts magical and military. She was an apt pupil. Her mother the queen doted on Moriana.

  During this time, Synalon drew ever more into herself. Her interest in external matters manifested itself in a growing entanglement in palace intrigue. She studied the darker branches of sorcery, which were of particular horror to the people of the City, who lived with the knowledge that a demon slept beneath their feet. Derora had looked on in distress but had done nothing to curb Synalon's dangerous magical leanings.

  Two factions had gradually emerged in the Palace of the Skyborn: one favoring Moriana and the other Synalon. Moriana at first refused to take part in the unpleasant vagaries of palace intrigue. A series of near-fatal accidents in which her sister's complicity could never be quite proven had changed her attitude.

  Life in the City had slipped further and further from the happy simplicity Moriana knew as a child. It was further complicated by the tragedy that befell their cousin when he was eighteen. Two years older than the royal twins, and barred by gender from ever ruling the matrilineal City, Prince Rann Etuul had shown every sign of growing into a strong and capable leader who would be an invaluable adjunct to Moriana's rule. He was a remote boy given to strange moods and fits of emotion; like his cousin Synalon, he dabbled in the black arts. His mother, Derora's sister Ekrimsin the lll-Favored, had been similarly involved. Palace rumor had it that her death after the prince's birth had been caused by her summoning an entity she couldn't control.

  But Rann, to his humiliation, discovered that he lacked any trace of magical ability. He threw himself completely and wholeheartedly into military matters, a pursuit for which he soon showed surprising aptitude.

  As a young cadet in the elite bird riders, he was forced down as he escorted a trade caravan through the Thail Mountains. He had been captured and tortured by the mountain savages. They disfigured his face with an obsidian knife, leaving behind a network of razor-thin scars. Not content with this simple torture, they robbed him of his manhood with repeated applications of flambeaux.

  Rann returned to the City. After recovering, he threw himself into military affairs more vigorously than ever before. And he emerged on Synalon's side in the growing struggle for power.

  The situation between the sisters had deteriorated almost to the point of civil war. When Rann's spies on the surface learned of a jar containing the spirit of Erimenes the Ethical of glacier-swallowed Athalau, even further rivalry was touched off. If the rumors were true, he would know not only the location of the lost city but might well find out where within it rested the Amulet of Living Flame.

  'The Amulet of Living Flame,' mused Ziore. 'I've heard of it. There were a number of magical items in the Palace o
f Esoteric Wisdom, but by my time their use had been forgotten. Athalau grew senescent in its final years, even as people do.'

  Moriana bit her lip. She sensed trouble ahead. Yet her story impelled her onward of its own momentum.

  She had left the City and her ailing mother in search of Erimenes. Synalon was much stronger than she in magical application, and the dark princess made a speciality of the sorceries of destruction and devastation. A magical struggle between them would be no contest at all - unless Moriana possessed the Amulet of Living Flame. With its life-restoring property, it could revive her even if Synalon's death spells struck her down. Her own magic required lengthy preparation, time Synalon would never give her in a real contest of wills. With the Amulet of Living Flame providing the needed time to weave spells not even her sister could counter, she would emerge victorious. Perhaps she might even be able to use the energies stored within the amulet to fuel her own magic. If she seized the amulet and returned to the Sky City, she had a fighting chance of overcoming her sister.

  The jar containing Erimenes had turned up in the possession of a Realm courier named Fost Longstrider. She had tried to steal it from him in the middle of the night, but she was caught. She fought with him sword to sword. He had grappled her, and their wrestling bout had turned from struggle to ardor. Without quite understanding how it all came about, the pair had made love.

  For all her confused and confusing feelings toward Fost, she still had her mission. As he slept, she had again taken the jug and slipped away. Then, driven by concern over her mother's welfare, she returned to the City in the Sky.

  It had been a mistake. She learned that her beloved mother had just died. Before she had time to properly mourn, she was arrested by Rann and charged with Derora's murder. Convicted of regicide and matricide, she found Synalon usurping the Beryl Throne.

  Moriana was sentenced to die - and the manner of her execution still caused her to shake uncontrollably at the thought of it. Death by torture was mild in comparison. She was to be given as bride to the Vicarof Istu in the Riteof Dark Assumption. During theearlymillennia of human rule in the City, that Rite had cemented the loyalty of the sleeping Demon of the Dark Ones to the humans. It involved summoning a part of the sleeping demon's subconscious and using it to animate a hideous statue at the City's center. The effigy accepted only those of the Royal Blood as victims. Suitably bribed by the ravishment, it would lend its power to the City's ruler. Even bound and eternally asleep due to the magic of Felarod and the Earth-Spirit after their triumph in the War of Powers, Istu remained a potent force.

  Fost had rescued Moriana. He had followed her into the Sky City by hijacking a military balloon and made contact with an underground force opposing Synalon. Though the members of the underground ineptly failed to aid Fost, he had succeeded in freeing the princess.

  Fost had learned of the amulet from Erimenes himself and claimed he had rescued the princess only to reclaim what was rightfully his. But there had been a more complex reason for the rescue. When Fost left the City with Erimenes back in his possession, he had taken Moriana with him. Moriana's skills in flying and aerial combat had assured his escape.

  Together, they had trudged southward across miles of peril from cold, hostile nomads and Rann's Sky Guardsmen. They had finally passed through the Rampart Mountains and to the very glacier enveloping Athalau. The glacier possessed a rudimentary intelligence granted it by energies released during the War of Powers ten thousand years before. They had a final confrontation with Rann that ended with the eunuch prince's death and a last desperate struggle in which Erimenes tried to seize the amulet to restore himself to physical being. The bottled spirit had developed a taste for the carnal pleasures he'd eschewed in life. His desire to remedy the lacks of his prior existence had almost cost Moriana the amulet.

  During their journey, Moriana had come to love Fost. He returned her love even though a barrier lay between them. Fost had a lust for knowledge that bordered on obsession; he had a lust for life, also, which delighted Erimenes when they first came together. The lecherous spirit couldn't have found a better companion through whom to pursue vicarious sensation. Fost intended to use the Amulet of Living Flame in learning all he could, drinking all there was to be drunk, and sleeping with all the women there were to be slept with. Moriana wanted - needed - the amulet to save the Sky City from Synalon and her insane ambitions to conquer all the Sundered Realm and reunite it under her iron rule. Neither Fost nor Moriana budged from desire for the amulet.

  The dispute was settled once and for all in the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom when Moriana thrust her knife through Fost's back.

  Finishing her tale, Moriana surrendered immediately to tears. She saw the truth in Ziore's warning of a festering emotional tumor inside her. The telling had sliced out much of the cancer.

  Ziore let her weep, then calmed her with a gentle mind-touch. 'I do not know that I can approve of your actions,' the spirit said, 'but it was a terrible decision confronting you. Perhaps you chose wisely. I am no judge of such things. In spite of killing Fost, you are good. You have been touched by the powers of the Elder Dark, but it has left no taint upon your soul.'

  Moriana raised her eyebrows skeptically.'Do not mistake scars for taints, child,' the spirit said. Moriana nodded, understanding. She leaned back against the wall, cool and firm against her body. The chill of the glacier seemed to seep into her bones. She felt adrift as if all the cause for her urgency had vanished. She suspected this was Ziore's doing, too. But Moriana felt her strength returning and did not resist.

  'What happened here?' she asked, gesturing around the room littered with broken pottery. It felt good to change the subject from her own sorrows.

  'Some centuries ago - I've lost count now - ice fell from the roof of the glacier. Only a small chunk, but it struck this building a powerful blow. The spirit jars were knocked from their shelves. From within our jugs we cannot influence material objects, though from what you tell me of Erimenes, once released our powers appear to be considerable.' Ziore looked in sorrow at the broken jugs, emotion rippling through her form. 'But when this happened, we were helpless.'

  'I felt them die. They were kin to me. I felt their agony, their fear-and for a few, their exaltation. Life within the jugs had become wearisome, and it seemed a blessing to be released. But still, the shock of their final passing unsettled me for centuries.' Sadness radiated from her face, a desolation and loneliness that made Moriana's troubles dwindle into insignificance. 'But pain remembered pales quicker than other, more pleasant memories. I recovered. But, ah, so long have I endured loneliness!'

  'You're not alone now,' said Moriana. 'I'll take you with me.' 'You will?' Ziore exulted. She clapped vaporous hands together in silent glee. 'I hardly dared hope!'

  'That is ... if you can guide us out of here.' 'I can sense the ice-worm tunnels, even from here. For all their unthinking voracity, I find beauty in their works. Many paths lead to the outer world. And once there it's a short journey to the Gate of the Mountains and lands beyond!'

  'It can be an impossible journey without food.' 'Don't worry, child. Traveler's fare has been stored in the buildings nearby.'

  The thought of eating centuries-old food appealed to the princess as much as eating the reeking, rubbery flesh of the ice worms.

  'It's been so long,' she protested. 'You need no food in your state. I need something more than handfuls of ancient powder.'

  Ziore laughed. 'We knew how to use our magic to keep food from spoiling. An especially potent spell was used on food intended for travelers. I think you'll find it as palatable after a millennium as the day it was laid down.' Ziore chuckled, looking like a small girl caught in a prank as she added, 'Not that it was very palatable when fresh. From what I remember, the stuff tastes like plaster. But it will nourish.'

  'I've eaten worse than plaster,' said Moriana, thinking of Fost's gruel bowl and its tasteless contents.

  'In fact,' continued Ziore, hand under her chin in thought,
'there are numerous items not far from here that might be of considerable worth in the outer world. I see no harm in helping yourself to them. The original owners can lodge no protest.'

  She drew up her arms and laughed, more like a happy, innocent child than the ghost of an elderly woman.

  'Oh, to be free, to know companionship!' Moriana smiled wryly. She wondered if the spirit would feel otherwise after she had renewed her acquaintances with humanity. Or perhaps her knowledge had never been that great, stultified as it was by Erimenes' arid doctrines. Still, the spirit's joy diminished Moriana's own pain for the moment.

  'But what of Erimenes? He was your spiritual master, I suppose. Do you want to bring him out, too?'

  'No.' The expression on the pale, rose-colored face surprised Moriana. In her brief acquaintance with Ziore, she had come to think of her as a creature of gentleness and loving strength, not of the bitter anger appearing now at the mention of Erimenes' name. 'His teachings led many to waste their lives as I did in contemplation of empty wisdom, empty because it denied experience and served no human end. And from what you tell me, he has caused hardship enough in the years since his death. How many of history's evil men weave such an enduring net of duplicity? I waste no sympathy on him. Leave him.