War of Powers

by Robert E Vardeman;Victor Milan

  The sorceress stood panting, a sense of frustration suffusing her. She had been so near the consummation she sought. And she had been denied. Her body trembled with rage and thwarted yearning.

  Stone had been the likeliest choice as intermediary with the Dark Ones. Darkness was the great Sixth Principle. The other five acted upon each other, Fire consuming Wood, Water stilling Fire, Air dispersing Water, Stone negating Air, and finally Wood sundering Stone. Darkness was aloof, inviolate, the First Principle from which the rest derived. Light, that waste product of Fire, produced the illusion of dispelling Dark; but Dark remained, ever-present, hiding just beyond sight, biding in shadow until the Light vanished.

  Dark alone was eternal. She turned to the captive sylph. The water sprite oozed within its crystal pen.

  'You,' Synalon said, her hair waving as if it were caught in a breeze, 'you shall serve me. Great will be your reward, O child of the oceans. Bear my message to the Dark Ones. This I ask and no more.'

  The sylph's voice was pleasing, fluid, and as elusive as quicksilver. But it, too, refused the sorceress's command. Quivering with fury, Synalon waved her hands before her in a whirlwind gesture. The sylph's body became agitated and was drawn up in a whirlpool around the insides of its prison. The spirit squealed, an aching, candescent sound. Synalon gestured. Vents at the bottom of the cylinder opened. The dying sylph puffed outward, mist. It filled the chamber for a moment and then was gone.

  Synalon rounded the third cylinder. It contained the dryad, a lovely naked maiden whose toes were root and whose fingers were supple branches, her hair a green rustling of leaves. She sang with a voice like wind in spring-sweet branches, but her answer was the same. She dared not contact the Dark Ones.

  She screamed lingeringly in her very human voice as a fire consumed her loveliness. It left behind only ashes.

  Sparks flickered in Synalon's hair, popping and snapping electrically. Ozone was rank in her nostrils. And fear began to seep in around the edges of her determination. Her voice was edged as she addressed the shimmer that was the spirit of the upper air.

  It defied her in the tones of chimes. Dark crystals appeared on the inside of the vessel. They rapidly obscured Synalon's view of the sprite as they grew together and inward. The spirit taunted Synalon with its tinkling laughter even as the hardness crushed out its life.

  Blue radiance bathed her body. Lightning traveled her limbs in a violet corona discharge. Her hair floated in a glowing spark-shot nimbus around her head. There remained only one captive elemental: Fire.

  Fire, the elemental best understood and controlled by the mages of the City; Fire, the elemental most inimical to Darkness. It had been the humans who brought salamander lore to the City. The builders had venerated Dark alone.

  Fire was the best choice and the worst. And if Fire defied her, too? The thought threatened to melt her resolve. She needed the power granted by the Dark Ones, she needed it, if her world-girdling ambitions were ever to be realized. And after Fire there remained no elementals to try to bend to her will. There were no lesser spirits of Darkness. The closest thing to a Darkness elemental was Istu, sleeping in chains of power in the depths of the City. Synalon knew too well what would befall her if she dared stir the Sleeper. The last time she had roused a fragment of his sleeping mind and animated the Vicar of Istu for the Rite of Dark Assumption, the demon had been given pain such as he'd never known before. He would not forget the sorceress who summoned him to anguish.

  'Salamander,' she said, fighting to keep the quaver from her words. 'Strength of my City, ally of my folk. I command you and beseech you to bear my message to the Dark Ones.' She stood straight, flames spilling from her outstretched, supplicant hands.

  The salamander's vessel exploded. Flying shards of glass scored Synalon's stomach, thighs and breasts. One glittering fragment laid open her right cheek. She flinched but held her ground. The salamander was loose. The fire sprites were fickle, vicious beasts and never predictable - and never entirely controlled. Something had gone horribly wrong. The enchanted vessel should have held any power less strong than Istu himself.

  The flame creature danced in the middle of the throne room. The stone floor ran and puddled like water beneath it. Synalon threw up her hands to shield her eyes from the yellow incandescence.

  In a few trip-hammer beats of her heart, she sensed that the blinding radiance had dimmed. Carefully, she lowered her hands. And gasped.

  The thing was no normal salamander. They were usually shifting, indistinct beasts. Their only form appeared vaguely reptilian and sinuous. The horror confronting her was like a goat, an ape, a grossly misshapen human. It had a bulky body with ever-changing outlines, and yet its lineaments didn't change with the quicksilver speed and smoothness of an elemental. The thing had hooves on its four feet-two? more? - clawed hands, and bizarre paired horns sprouting from both sides of its head. With a start, Synalon recognized what she had conjured.

  'Aye, little one, you guess the truth,' the apparition said. The words came not in a salamander's familiar sibilance but in a dry sound that made her think of dead leaves and blighted lands. 'The Lords of Darkness have taken note of your petition. They have sent me to bear their tidings to you.'

  Joy exploded in Synalon's heart, a joy magnified by the frantic fear clutching her. Would they favor her or cast her to shrieking damnation?

  She dropped to her knees, throwing her arms wide. 'O harbinger of Darkness, accept my subservience. Take me, Lords! Make me the instrument of your revenge for the wrong done you by accursed Felarod!'

  'The Dark Lords hear your voice, little one. They bid me tell you this: their time is almost come. But. . . ' A wave of a tentaclelike member cut off her glad cry. 'But they are as yet undecided as to whether you are the proper tool by which they shall accomplish their vengeance - and their return.'

  'Tell me,' she cried, wringing her hands. 'I beseech thee, tell me how I may prove myself!'

  The creature's smile was unmistakable in spite of its slowly changing features.

  'Your chance arrives soon.' And it vanished. But not entirely. The torches in their brackets on the walls blazed to life. Blinking back the spots swimming in her eyes, she saw only darkness beyond.

  Dazed, she rose and walked from the circle and triangle. She noted that the three ward fires had been extinguished. She didn't doubt that the emissary of the Dark Ones had put them out to show how ineffective her spells were against their minions. She slumped into the Beryl Throne.

  The stone chilled her buttocks and thighs, reviving her. She brushed sweat-lank hair from her eyes and tried to think.

  Synalon tried to tell herself she had nothing to fear. The Dark Ones had been banished formillennia, and few outside the City dared even think of them. They needed an ally on this plane, a powerful one with the skills and ruthlessness to carry out their designs. She was unquestioned ruler of the City in the Sky, the City of Sorcerers. Her winged legions would soon spread out to cover the Sundered Realm. Who would they find better suited to their ends?

  Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that the Dark Ones only toyed with her, that she'd been found wanting and they had chosen their earthly instrument - and she was not their choice.

  Synalon reached for the golden bell by the throne and rang. She needed wine and restoratives and, after that, the attentions of one of her many lovers. Or perhaps more than one. Perhaps even the trained hornbull.

  She did not want to sleep and dream this night. Tolviroth Acerte had no army. Contrary to popular belief, war is not good business. And the Tolviroth were consummate businessmen.

  The City of Bankers was not without its defenses. Twenty-five miles of sea separated it from the nearest mainland. The seamen and marines of the Tolviroth Maritime Guaranty Corporation, largest insurance firm on the island, were famed well beyond the Realm for their fighting and naval skills. But that was merely good business. Pirates, with or without letters of marque, interrupted trade. That was intolerable. The merchants of Tolv
iroth paid and paid well to see that their vessels were safeguarded. And the Maritime Guaranty, with a half-dozen competitors only too ready to claim its market share, made certain its customers got their money's worth. Not even the Imperial Navy in its heyday centuries before would have undertaken to protect the wallowing bottoms of an invasion fleet against the lethal black ships of the TMG.

  Moriana had spent eight hours in the forest near the City in the Sky as patrols of dog cavalry scoured the woods for the missing bird rider. Her senses, turned animal-sharp, had gotten her through the cordon. One of the searchers had strayed too far from his comrades, and Moriana was soon bound southeast for Kara-Est, a stolen black-and-white war dog bunching and straining between her legs.

  Weeks passed as she made her way to Kara-Est and from there by sea to Tolviroth Acerte, paying for her passage with the klenors gained by selling her stolen dog. And after reaching Tolviroth Acerte, she headed directly for the House of Omsgib-Bir, the bank that held the accounts for the Sky City.

  They'd given her no satisfaction. She'd established her identity without difficulty. She'd been to Tolviroth Acerte twice before and knew the passwords and countersigns that proved she had legitimate access to the accounts. Or at least the records of the accounts. Tulmen Omsgib, chancellor of the bank, had politely but relentlessly refused her request to release the money to her.

  'Your bona fides are not questioned, Highness,' the syndic had said unctuously, stroking his beard. 'Yet we can only disburse funds to the government of the City in the Sky, or its rightful representative.'

  'But I'm the rightful heir to the throne!' 'I can appreciate that,' he said with spurious compassion in his sad, round eyes. 'By the laws of ultimogeniture followed in your City, you are the rightful successor to Derora, may the Great Ultimate bring her soul repose.' He sat back and pressed his palms together as if in prayer. 'But you are not in the City. You are here before me in my office, an honored guest, to be sure, but a guest without official standing.'

  He held off her protest with upraised hand. 'No, I am most sorry, Highness. But it is not the custom in Tolviroth Acerte, or in the House of Omsgib-Bir, to deal with what might be, or even what ought to be.' He reached down and took a jellied sweet from a salver at his elbow and popped it right down his throat. 'Your title is clear by right, but it is your sister who rules the City. It is she, therefore, whom we must recognize and deal with as the lawful government.'

  He tilted his head back and regarded her down his crooked nose. The look in his eye was unmistakable. Moriana's garb was rough and functional and not precisely what one expected of the rightful queen of the City of Sorcerers. It did nothing to hide the curves of her body. Omsgib's oily tongue slipped from the cavern of his mouth and slowly circled his lips.

  'Has Your Highness made arrangements for accommodation? If you are in difficulty, please allow me to offer the hospitality of my own humble villa.'

  She got up and walked out in the middle of his offer. She didn't even bother to ask him for a loan. He would be as smooth and slippery as a slug's track, saying nothing to offend, but he would not give it to her. It didn't matter that she was an 'honored guest', or that she'd dealt with him personally before. She was the bitter, deadly enemy of the person who controlled one of his bank's largest accounts. She'd get nothing from him financially, and she wanted no part of what he was obviously only too willing to give her.

  She left Omsgib and went to the second largest bank in Tolviroth Acerte. And then the third, the fourth, and on down until she ended up in the boardroom of Iola Trust, the eighth bank she'd visited that day.

  The seven members of the Board of Directors regarded her from behind veils of professional politeness. She looked away from the ascetic face of the man who'd just refused her request. She saw no sympathy anywhere. Of the four male directors, at least two would obviously be willing to offer the same 'accommodation' Omsgib had hinted at. But not even they showed the slightest inclination to advance her the money to raise a mercenary army.

  'Look,' she said, eyes flicking from face to face. 'I'm not asking you to involve yourself in the affairs of the Sky City. I am applying for a loan. Isn't my credit good?'

  A look of pain passed over the face of a female director named Bovre Coudis. A person's credit rating was all but sacred toaTolvirot, and Synalon had good credit. Refusing a loan to someone with good credit moved perilously close to blasphemy. But obviously that did not extend to Synalon's renegade sister.

  'I know the Sky City as well as any person living. Do any among you doubt that? I know the military doctrines of the City, I know the caliber and training of its troops, I know its commanders. If I'm given the proper backing — if — I can conquer the City. And then you, gentlefolk of this board, will see a handsome return on your investment.'

  'War's bad business,' grumbled one. Another twitched an impatient finger to silence the speaker.

  'So you say’ said the man introduced as Kolwyl, dabbing languidly at his lips with a scented handkerchief. Moriana pegged him as totally uninterested in 'accommodations' of any sort with her. 'But no one has ever invaded the City before. For any loan, we must have a reasonable assurance the money will not be frittered away. Success must loom large or it is a poor loan. What makes you think you can succeed in this mad venture?'

  She met his gaze levelly, unspeaking. After a moment, he turned his eyes away and coughed delicately into his handkerchief.

  'The City has been invaded successfully before,' she said. 'My ancestors wrested it from the Fallen Ones.'

  'They used treachery,' replied Kolwyl sharply. 'They succeeded. Your obligation to my proposal seems to be that it can't succeed. What does it matter to you how it comes about as long as you realize your profit?'

  Kolwyl looked about him for support. Anathas, a small mousy man wearing a thick fur collar despite the heat within the chamber, shifted in his seat with a rustle of expensive cloth.

  'You know,' he said nasally, 'it is not impossible that we are being unfair to Princess Moriana. She is, after all, rightful Queen of the Sky City. Surely, she has some popular support among the, uh, the masses.'

  'That may be,' said Bovre Coudis, leaning forward so far that her jowls swung like a bulldog's. 'But her sister controls the secret police. And from our intelligence in this matter, the masses would be well advised to keep their place.'

  Moriana scarcely heard her. She stared at Anathas, who huddled down inside his fur-lined robe, uncomfortable beneath her gaze. She tried to fathom his sudden reversal. He had seemed against her at first.

  Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a yellow-brown light on the vast oaken table. Servants passed through the room, ignoring the conversation and being ignored, refilling wineglasses and replenishing the trays of dainties. Moriana had the impression that if she touched oneofthem, she'd find itas insubstantial as Ziore.

  'We have a great deal of venture capital at our discretion,' said Anathas, looking everywhere but at the princess. 'Surely, there's no doubting her Highness's resourcefulness. Recall, gentles, how many years we've tried to wrest the City's account from that lascivious hound, Omsgib.'

  The decorous tone of the meeting lapsed for the first time. Everyone spoke at once, clamoring for attention. With sinking spirit, Moriana realized the others were unanimous in their opposition to Anathas.

  The gaunt man uttered the first refusal and restored order by rapping bony knuckles on the table.

  'Gentles, gentles, please! Is this any way to conduct business?' That quieted them. 'Now,' he said, nodding. 'Now, Anathas, it pains me to say this but you seem to be suffering from a lapse of good judgment. This young lady comes to us with a harebrained scheme to conquer the City in the Sky, a City never taken by conquest. It has been taken, as our lovely guest so thoughtfully pointed out, but not by battle. The gradual infiltration of human traders into the City originally made it possible to expel the Fallen People. No outside intervention was used. While military matters are somewhat beyond my provi
nce, I must say that the Sky City seems to be impregnable. Even if I am wrong, it is not the place of this bank to become involved in such a risky undertaking as a war. And not just any war, but a civil war, as it were.'

  He turned to Moriana.

  'I might also point out that we've no way of knowing if this woman is who she claims to be.' Moriana stiffened. Her hand dropped to her side, clutching empty air. She'd left her sword in the anteroom according to standard banking practice. Her fingers brushed the rough cloth of her knapsack.

  She blinked twice rapidly. She hadn't been asked to surrender the knapsack before being ushered into the august corporate presence of the board as she had at every other institution she'd visited that day. A sudden intuition into Anathas's change of mind made her smile. Her spirits rose in spite of the firm hold she kept on her expectations.

  ' . . . further enjoy the services of Prince Rann Etuul, cousin to the queen, and widely acknowledged to be one of the most astute military minds of our day,' the gaunt man was saying. He turned to Moriana and attempted to smile benignly. It made him look as if he'd just bitten into a spoiled sweetmeat and was trying to pretend he hadn't.