'I trust Your Highness will forgive my bluntness,' he said. 'It isn't that I personally doubt your assurances that you are who you claim to be. Nor do I doubt your competence as a leader and planner in a venture such as you've outlined. But you must understand that my decision is based on more than my own preference. The investors in this bank had given their trust - and their money - to the Board of Directors to safeguard. Before we venture any of their hard-won capital, we must entertain no doubts whatsoever about the feasibility of the project under consideration. I - and I think I speak for my colleagues as well - would like nothing so much as to grant your request.' He shook his head sadly. 'But we do not believe, to speak frankly, that aligning ourselves against the Sky City's current regime is in the best interests of our bank or its investors.'
Kolwyl turned and said to Anathas, 'Really, old man, I'm surprised at you. Falling for a piece of fluff like this. She's pretty enough, I suppose, if you like the type, but is she worth the risk of impecuniation?'
Anathas turned white. Moriana's spirit was crashing back to earth. 'Impecuniation' was the Tolvirot euphemism for the severest of civil penalties, the confiscation of all properties and assets. A true merchant of the City of Bankers would rather be flayed alive in public than suffer impecuniousness.
The other directors glared reproachfully at Kolwyl for his rudeness - and in front of Moriana. But the damage was done. Anathas shrank so far into his cloak that only the tip of his nose showed. Whatever the reason for his support, it had evaporated like mist under the morning sun.
Thank you for your time, gentlefolk,' said Moriana, rising. Her voice was clear and firm, though inside she felt as if she were melting. 'I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you. In return for your indulgence, I'd like to offer some advice.' She looked from director to director, her gaze sharp and fierce. Even pugnacious Coudis cringed away from it.
'If you think to gain advantage by dealing with Synalon, or by doing nothing which might offend her, you are doing your investors small service. My sister's ambitions encompass much more than the City and the Quincunx. There's little room for the likes of you in her grand design, no matter how much you try to ingratiate or appease. You prattle on about her power; do you think she will sit by and not use it?'
She took a deep breath. Silence held sway. Even the servants stared at her.
'And if my sister fails,' she said, 'give thought, gentles, who will rule the City in her place.' She left, panicked mutterings following her out the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
'I am sorry, Moriana,' said Ziore mounfully. 'I failed you.'
'You tried,' the princess said, patting the knapsack. 'It is with me as you said it was for that pious fraud Erimenes. The farther I go from Athalau, the more my powers wane. I was lucky to influence that mousy Anathas for as long as I did. Strong convictions or passion negates my talent for controlling emotions. My best couldn't override Anathas's fear of - what did they call it? - im-pecuniousness.'
Moriana crossed her arms under her breasts. A landau rolled past, drawn by four black dogs, each with an identical white patch over its left eye. The carriage body was white painted wood with gold trim in severe lines. The vehicle couldn't be described as ornate, yet neither was it strictly functional. The gilt added a touch of garishness. It epitomized all Moriana had seen in Tolviroth Acerte. The citizens wished to appear reserved but at the same time they hinted at extravagance.
'Why don't you go to the Quincunx Cities and warn them of your sister's intentions?' suggested Ziore.
'The burghers of the Quincunx could give the Tolvirot lessons in smug complacency. They'll not believe themselves threatened until the Sky Guardsmen drop from their skies. And then it will be too late.' She smiled humorlessly. 'And once the first Quincunx city falls to my sister, it will be my life if I set foot in any of the others. They'll not trust any of the City's royal family.'
Approaching darkness sent its tentacles creeping up the block. Across the hewn stone street the most distinguished of Tolviroth Acerte's banking houses stood as stately as spinsters and, for Moriana, as impenetrable. At her back a fountain played, complete with water-spewing fish and naked little boys with urns and gilded bottoms.
'If you can't hire a mercenary army,' Ziore said, 'why not try to raise a popular one? Surely, not all the folk of the Sundered Realm are as phlegmatic as the Quincunxers? In my day, folk feared the City's might, and that was long past the fall of its builders. Can't you awaken the countryside to the dangers of your sister's ambition?'
Moriana gave the unseen spirit a pitying smile. Ziore was wise in some ways, but life in the cloister hadn't prepared her for the harsh reality of the world.
'You're right,' she said, 'about the folk of the Realm dreading the Sky City. Long ago we treated them with contempt - even we Etuul. "Groundlings" we call them. We sneer at them for never rising above the dirt into the freedom of the sky. They fear us, even hate us. The common people will believe Synalon threatens them, but they will also suspect that I wish to entangle them in a war for my own ends.'
'But what of justice? The throne belongs to you!' 'I think it's safe to wager that not a single citizen of the Realm loses so much as a minute's sleep worrying about the fortunes of the City.'
'You are cynical, child. It is your hurt that makes you speak thus.' 'It's reality, Ziore, reality.'
They sat in silence. Darkness deepened and with it the gloom enfolding Moriana. Perhaps, she thought, I should return to the City. Could Rann's peverted amusements be so much worse than the agony of helplessness?
'Don't!' cried Ziore. 'Never think that, child, never! Such thinking is always a trap, a pit without bottom. Once you fall into it, you can never. . .'
The sound of a footfall nearby cut her off. Moriana looked around. She expected to see one of the constabulary come to collect the tariff for sitting on the bench and enjoying the view of the rich statuary. Her hand went instinctively to her sword hilt.
A man stood there, a tall silhouette against the fading sun.'Fost!' she gasped. 'I fear not my lady,' came the warm but unfamiliar voice, 'just a plain passerby whose heart is torn to see one so lovely in distress. Can I be of service? A kind word? A sword to fight beside you?'
Moriana blinked. The words, coming soft in the accents of the City States, should have repelled her as mere puffery. Yet sincerity flowed through them like a warm, rich current. Something made her want to believe the offer was real.
'I am grateful, sir,' she said, gesturing for him to sit. 'But my troubles are larger than the two of us.'
'That may be so, and may be not,' he said, smiling. She studied him as he took a place-not too close, but not far either. She saw why, with the sun at his back, he had made her think of her lost lover. He had the same big-boned build, and he was well muscled and lithe. He moved with the assurance of the competent.
But up close he was quite different. His hair, she now saw, was brown touched with gray instead of Fost's night-black. The stranger had known far more than the courier had - or ever would. The stranger's eyes were brown and set in a network of fine laugh lines. His clothing was patched and travel-worn, but it was plainly of high quality. As was his manner, as well. He was no guttersnipe but a man of birth and breeding.
'If you'll pardon the impertinence of self-introduction, lady, I am Darl Rhadaman, Count-Duke of Harmis.'
'Lord Rhadaman,' she gasped. Darl Rhadaman, swordsman, strategist, orator, crusader ever in search of some new cause to champion, was no less than a legend. He'd fared around the world in his way, yet his finest hour had come in freeing his hereditary fiefdom of a wizard bent on subjugation.
A kiss on her hand brought her from her daze. 'And you, my lady? To whom have I the honor of offering my service?'
'Moriana Etuul, Heir to the City in the Sky.' 'So,' he said. 'Your pardon, Highness, for my unseeming familiarity.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' she said, pulling at his sleeve to prevent him from dropping a knee in obeisance.
'How do you know I'm not lying, anyway? I could tell you anything.'
'I have seen you, Highness, and heard of your sister's... assumption of the Beryl Throne.'
'Seen me? Where?' she asked, surprised. 'In this very city, Highness, not three years ago. The Festival of Debentures was underway and you were pointed out to me. I am appalled I could see you now and not remember your stunning beauty.'
'I remember!' Moriana cried, clapping her hands. 'I had come to discuss the City's accounts with . . .' She couldn't give name to the banker who'd so recently denied her the means of conquering the City. 'Yes’ she said shortly, 'I was here. If I'd only known a man such as yourself was nearby!'
'I have a confession, Highness. I'm no longer Count-Duke of Harmis.'
'I didn't mean ...' 'No offense taken, milady. I suppose I am still count-duke, when all is said and done. But I've renounced claim to my homeland.'
'Why?' Such a question would normally have been discourteous, but something in the man's manner told Moriana he wouldn't regard it as such.
'Peace,' Darl said, 'is a wonderful thing, a blessing for the people. The borders of Harmis are secured against foes within and without, and since I helped the people of my country find their pride again, few will issue a real challenge.'
He looked at her and said in a lower voice, 'Peace is a marvelous thing. And it's also boring as hell.'
Moriana's laugh startled her. It sounded strange, alien. It had been long since she'd laughed.
'So now my life story is yours. What of you, bright princess? I know some of the affairs of your City; the Realm lost a great leader in your mother. Tell me why Synalon sits on the Beryl Throne while you are desolate and alone on a bench in Tolviroth Acerte.'
Moriana started to speak, then halted herself. Could she trust this man? He had come to her precipitously, out of the night, a coincidence. Was he a spy for Rann? She cast that notion from her fatigued mind; Rann still did not know she lived. And she would have been whisked away to a dungeon by now. Rann's perverted sense of torture didn't extend to assignations like this.
Ziore, she spoke with her mind. Ziore, can I trust this man? The pause drew her muscles taut. Darl looked at her expectantly with his kind brown eyes. In a moment expectation would turn to impatience. She couldn't afford to irritate him if he could help her. Had Ziore caught her thought?
‘ have scanned his soul with care, child, Ziore's thought poured smoothly into her mind. His heart is good. Trust him.
Moriana tried to speak, but her words were drowned in tears. The day had been warm for winter, but as dusk deepened into night the bench became uncomfortable. They drifted to a restaurant specializing in Port Zorn cuisine. Island cooking proved dull, but Tolviroth Acerte had an excellent assortment of foreign eating establishments. Moriana told the balance of her story over a meal of sea-grass salad with spiced, boiled crab, a main course of fillet of yellowharp boiled in butter and sweet wine.
Afterward, they walked along the palisades overlooking the harbor to the north. The wind blew off the Jorea, but the highlands of the island absorbed much of its fury. Still, a winter chill gave a steel edge to the wind. In the penetrating cold, it seemed only natural for Darl's strong arm to slip around her shoulders.
'You have done many fantastic things,' he told her, 'but Erimenes is perhaps the rarest treat of all. To have lived in Athalau of old! How I envy you that meeting.'
'Perhaps I should introduce myself,' Ziore said shyly from the depths of her jug. Darl stepped back a half pace, then slowly smiled, accepting. Then he laughed at his own reaction.
'I have indeed led a sheltered life,' he said. 'Never before have I met a jug of spirits quite like you!' He paused, shivered, and drew Moriana closer, saying, 'I could do with other spirits. Milady?'
It seemed only natural for Moriana to accompany the nobleman back to the small but snug room he had engaged at a nearby inn.
Darl poured her wine. 'I am in awe of you, Princess,' he said, seating himself on the bed. 'You've braved incredible hardships and survived unearthly peril. Take no offense, but without the amulet and an Athalar to confirm your tale, I'd find it impossible to credit you. But one thing I'm unclear on.' He sipped his wine. Light danced in his eyes and reflected the image of a single tallow candle. 'What actually happened to this comrade of yours, this Fost? I'd be honored to meet him.'
'I'm . . . that's impossible,'Moriana said, her eyes dropping to her lap where her hands intertwined helplessly. Her throat knotted up with tension as she realized she must tell Dar! the truth.
'Fost is dead,' she said in a small, cracked voice. 'I killed him myself.'
Darl said nothing. She looked up and into Darl's eyes, seeking some sign of reproach or repulsion. She read nothing. Only ... a waiting for explanation.
'Fost wanted the amulet for his own,' she said, the words beginning to tumble out in a carthartic rush. 'But I needed it to help overthrow my sister. It's not just for me but for my City! It's for the entire Sundered Realm that I must destroy Synalon. He couldn't see that.'
She covered her face with her hands. Uncontrollable weeping seized her. She knew she'd done right. She also knew she'd never be done reproaching herself.
Then Darl was beside her, holding her, soothing her. She turned her face to his chest and soaked his shirt with hot, bitter tears.
Though neither seemed to will it, they rose and went to the bed. Her face lifted, seeking his. Their clothes fell without conscious effort as their hands explored each other's body. Moriana's loss and pain crystallized into sudden flaring passion. She needed to open her soul and let her grief pour out.
She lay back. He smiled down at her, gentle, compassionate. And suddenly she remembered Ziore.
What did the spirit think? They'd shared love through many a bleak night in secret ways Ziore knew. Now, how would the shade of a long-dead nun react to sharing her lover with another?
Do not be foolish, child. Your pleasure is mine, however you may come by it.
Darl hovered above her. He had sensed her tension and held back. Her arms went around his neck and drew him down.
Then he was inside her. She moved passionately against him, almost fighting, and lost herself in a frenzy of release that was only in a small way physical. A flurry of motion and the barriers burst. He moved back and forth quickly lighting a fire that burned like the sun. They both lost identity in the blaze of ecstasy. And gradually they cooled, sighing and relaxing, fingers stroking, learning all that their initial urgency had given them no leisure to discover.
The candle flickered near the end of its life when Moriana awoke. She lay on her stomach becoming slowly and deliciously aware of Darl's hand caressing her back. He kissed her when he saw her eyes open.
'I can muster support among the City States,' Darl said musingly. 'Folk may not care much who rules the Sky City, but there are those who will follow wherever I lead. Still, we'll need funds.'
She raised herself on her elbows. Her breasts swung gently, brushing her nipples along the sheets, giving her an exquisite sensation. The amulet around her neck burned like a white star.
'You mean you're willing to help me? After I told you what happened to the last man who aided me?'
'You forget, Highness. I'm a man in search of a cause. In truth, it doesn't matter what cause. I thrive on action. I see justice in your cause; that's why I feel bound to help. A just cause requires sacrifice.'
'It wasn't Fost's cause.''I spoke of your sacrifice.' Moriana reached out and ran a finger down the firm line of his jaw. She couldn't forgive what she'd done. But to know that another understood was comforting. Darl turned his face to kiss her palm.
'So,' he said, 'what about money? - before I become too distracted by your beauty.'
'I hate to disturb you,' said Ziore. 'I fear I can control only this one.' 'What? What do you mean?' demanded Moriana. 'What are you talking about, Ziore?'
Someone giggled. Moriana realized with an icy shock that the giggle she heard came not from Zio
re but from outside the room. Her eyes turned to the door.
A man stood there, short sword clutched loosely in his fingers. 'Hello,' he said, tittering. 'I was supposed to kill you. Isn't that absurd? You're friends!' 'Assassins,' hissed Darl.
The door flew open all the way and a second assassin rushed in. Moriana and Darl rolled off the bed, groping for swords in the gloom. Moriana reached hers first. The blade hissed free and swung in a moaning arc to strike away a thrust at Darl's unguarded side. The second assassin danced back as Darl got his sword out and cut at him backhand.
The first assassin giggled insanely. His comrade shot him a furious look, drew a long, thin poniard with his left hand, and backed toward the wall waving both weapons menacingly.
Naked, the pair advanced. Without conscious thought, Moriana's hand moved.
The dagger blocked her thrust with a sliding clang. At the same instant, Darl's sword darted for the assassin's groin. The shortsword swept down - too far. Before the killer could react, the broadsword's point raised and sheathed itself in his guts.
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