War of Powers

by Robert E Vardeman;Victor Milan

  Southward floated the City, silent and still deadly. The battle roared and howled and clashed below. Sky City arrows and javelins slaughtered defenders in the Central Square. But officers of initiative were countering the aerial threat. On their orders, troops dragged tables and other furniture from surrounding buildings to erect lean-to shelters to protect the archers while they shot. Others barricaded the avenues leading to the square.

  Outside the square there was little organized resistance. But the problem the Sky City strategists had foreseen - and dreaded - had arisen. Their balloon-landed assault teams lacked strength to storm the square and were taking casualties from the archers sent scurrying from the central strongpoint. Given time, the bird riders would wear down the defenders, clear out the square, and then land soldiers to finish the battle. Wherever resistance cropped up, bird riders could harry from above and drop troops to take the defenders in the rear.

  Already, flight after flight of eagles dove down on the palace, raking its roof with storms of arrows. They would land on its roof very soon.

  But only at a fearful cost in lives of men and birds, lives the City in the Sky could not afford.

  This was of academic interest to Irb. He nodded in irritation when the Captain of the Palace Guard informed him of the fact; what did it matter that the might of the Sky City was broken when his city was captive? He was about to snarl a rebuke to his commander when the skirl of trumpets drew his attention to the east.

  The Highgrass cavalry of Ultur V'Duuyek rode to action under bright swallowtail pennons.

  'There,' said Irb with satisfaction. 'Now we shall see results.' The scale armor of the dog riders shone dully in the gray morning light. The leader, a compact rider with blue and green ribbons fluttering from the spired top of his helm, raised his sword above his head and dropped it with a chopping motion. Arrows rose from the ranks.

  And fell among the startled defenders of the Central Square. The mobs that had clogged the streets leading to the center of Bilsinx had evaporated, leaving behind only still, dark forms. Nothing hindered the dog riders as they charged down the broad avenue, loosing flights of arrows at the defenders. Militiamen fell among carts and tables and crates in unfinished barricades. Archers returned the mercenaries' barrage. Steel scales clanked like the wings of a billion locust-encased men and dogs alike. The Bilsinxt arrows had no more effect than the gentle falling snow.

  Bilsinxt dog riders charged to meet the new threat. Their arrows finally took a toll among the Highgrass Broad riders. The mercenaries slung bows across armored backs, undamped lances from brackets set alongside their saddles, couched, and charged. Heavy riders met a light wall. The Bilsinxt countercharge melted like a sandcastle struck by a sea wave.

  Irb had time to call down the curse of the Dark Ones on the treacherous Count Ultur. Then a five-ton rock from above smashed into the north face of the palace, obliterating Irb and the balcony on which he stood.

  Weakened, the battlemented edge of the roof slumped, falling into the street in a stately, horrid silence. The City's savants had reckoned well. As planned, a picked commando unit of six-score Sky Guardsmen swooped in the wake of the giant stone. Their eagles' claws scraped to landings on the roof, even as the defenders tried to grasp the horrifying fact that fully a quarter of their number had been dashed to ruins by the huge rock.

  First to touch down was a huge black eagle, head crowned by a crest the color of blood. The bird named Terror voiced its bulging war cry as its rider leaped lithelyfrom its back, scimitar and hornbull-hide buckler in hand. Though not fully recovered from his wounds, Prince Rann Etuul led the attack. He had to be there when the stricken city received its deathstroke. With a deft blow, he laid open a spearman from clavicle to hip. Then he was running for a stairway, his Guardsmen shouting triumphantly at his back.

  The Grasslanders drove like a lance into the Central Square. Raked bloody from above, ridden down by iron riders from behind, the defenders broke. The lucky ones made it into nearby buildings. The rest were shot down by flying archers. Other bird riders dropped their mounts onto the backs of fleeing militiamen. The defenders' cries rang hideous and defeated as the warbirds disemboweled them.

  Prince Rann's men spread throughout the palace like a black and purple plague. Rann cut his way through a shouting rabble to the courtyard, swept the last defenders from the gates, and swung the portals open to clasp his leather glove in Count Ultur V'Duuyek's bloodstained steel gauntlet.

  The City in the Sky had won the vital first battle in its campaign of conquest. It had taken forty-three minutes.

  Snow fell softly, laying a white shroud over the dead.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Torchlight splashed orange and ominous down the snowy flanks of the hills to strain the listeners' faces.

  'Free men of the North,' Darl said loudly, 'hear me!' They heard. Standing in the snow with their breath coming in white plumes, the men of the Black March listened to Darl Rhadaman's words. Chores would be neglected that night, beds unoccupied until late. When Rhadaman spoke, men attended.

  'Long has the City in the Sky held itself aloof from the affairs of the surface,' he went on, voice deep and clear. 'Even contemptuous, aye. But always apart, alone, trading its magic for the goods we produced. They are sharp traders; so are the Tolvirot. In all, we and they profited.

  'Now they are discontented. They want to rule the surface as they command the air above. They have treacherously attacked the Five Cities. They came sowing death from the air and Bilsinx fell. So shall it be until every city in the Quincunx is theirs. But will they be content to stop then? No!'

  He swept his gaze around the throng of onlookers. The night was as still as a cathedral.

  'With the wealth of the Quincunx they will buy mercenaries as they bought the dogs of the Highgrass to bay after their foes and drag them down. They will spread their dominion like a creeping sickness - no! — like a fever, raging, spreading, until all the Realm is infected with their evil.'

  'We must act. The time is now when their schemes are aborning, when their treacherous grip on the ground is tenuous. Now they are vulnerable. Soon they will build momentum and power. And then your steads and crops will be theirs, your wives and children sacrificed screaming to the Dark Ones whose worship the usurper has revived. Will you have that? Will you?' 'NO!'

  The sound boomed forth like the roar of Omizantrim in full eruption. Darl stood erect in the full force of their rage and fury. His expression was transfixed, transported, ecstatic. He was in his element. He lived for moments of power like this.

  The incoherent burst of hatred resolved into words. 'Lead us, Darl!' the mob howled. 'Lead us! We'll claw the City down from the sky!'

  Standing just beyond the full glare of the torches, Moriana shuddered. She felt the blood-hunger gripping the crowd. If they realized a Sky City noble was practically in their midst, they'd turn on her and rend her like enraged war dogs.

  'You wish to destroy the City, then, brothers?' Darl called. He fixed a tall, vigorous onlooker with his gaze.

  Singled out, the man waved his cap in the air and cried, 'Yes!' The fever of destruction on him, he added, 'Will you lead us, Darl?'

  'No.' The word dropped like a stone among them. Exuberance left the throng. They stared at the speaker. Hostility began to replace-adoration.

  'You do not wish to destroy the City in the Sky. Who among you does not benefit from their magics? The metalworker whose captive elemental increases his production tenfold and more? The herdsman whose flocks are kept free of pestilence by Sky City wards and potions? No, my friends. To destroy the Sky City would be to destroy yourselves.'

  'But, Lord Darl,' said the man he'd singled out as spokesman for the crowd, 'what do you want of us?' He scratched behind prominent ears. 'One minute you issue the call to arms, and now you'd have us swear eternal friendship with the City. How can we do both?'

  'Your quarrel is not with the City, brother,' said Darl, 'nor yet with its people. It is with those w
ho rule the City: Synalon, the evil sorceress who calls on the Dark Ones. She and her minions would make you bend your necks to the yoke of slavery.

  'You fear the Sky City, and rightfully so. Yet you cannot exist without it. So you ask, what are you to do?'

  He looked around, eyes boring into the innermost recesses of each man's mind.

  'You can serve yourselves and at the same time serve a higher justice as well. You can right the wrong Synalon did in seizing the Beryl Throne for herself. For you all know that Synalon is not the true and proper ruler of the City. Her sister, who would be friend to all the peoples of the Sundered Realm, desires only peace and prosperity. Her cause is just. Her cause is yours.

  'You ask what you can do? I say to you, swear yourselves to Moriana's cause as I have done myself!' And he nodded to Moriana, who stepped forward into the circle of torchlight.

  The acclamation washed over her like the ocean's tide. They had gained over five million klenor from Imin Dun Bacir in Tolviroth Acerte, the sum total of his personal fortune. As Moriana told him, his life was a bargain at any price.

  Moriana had thought they had all the money they needed. To her chagrin, Darl corrected her. They had nowhere near the requisite amount to mount a campaign - or a single battle - against the Sky City.

  Moriana and Darl remained another week in Tolviroth Acerte winnowing the mercenaries who thronged to the island in search of employment. They looked for leaders of proven skill and experience to command, and a few especially battle-hardened warriors to act as cadre for the volunteer armies Darl promised to raise. With the majority of Bacir's money remaining, the pair then started putting together an army.

  Even after the news of the fall of Bilsinx reached the North, Moriana got no support from the surviving Quincunx Cities. Each had plans of its own for meeting this new menace, plans in which the pretender to the Beryl Throne didn't fit.

  They continued from Wirix northwest to the River Merchant, which bordered that conglomeration of feuding states still called the Empire. Here Darl enjoyed his greatest renown. Here it was that he hoped to garner the bulk of the army to press Moriana's claim to the throne.

  The princess still couldn't believe her good fortune in meeting the count-duke. Who else in all the Realm would swear to aid her to victory or follow her to defeat on their first encounter? Mere infatuation was unlikely to motivate anyone of intellect and talent to be of service to her.

  But Darl's attraction for her was not the reason he joined her. The reason was simply as he'd stated it: he needed a cause. Without some crusade, some quest, his life lacked meaning. Challenging the City promised the adventure of a lifetime.

  Moriana only marveled at the coincidence that brought him and her to Tolviroth Acerte at the same time. It was part and parcel of the bewildering luck she'd been experiencing. One minute she was given great good fortune, the next it was snatched away. It was as if. some mad god toyed with her destiny.

  But it was no mad god. It was the Destiny Stone. She still believed she possessed the Amulet of Living Flame. She had marked the fluctuations in color, dark to light, light to dark, in the amulet's great jewel. She had even connected the shifts in hue with her own fortunes. But it never occurred to her that the talisman caused the twists in destiny. She merely thought the amulet had a subsidiary property of measuring a person's good fortune at any given instant. She credited it to the wisdom of the Athalar and thought no more about it.

  Again Moriana marveled at her luck in finding Darl. He possessed the means of effectively accomplishing her ends. And he was a magician whose skills rivaled Synalon's.

  Sorcery had nothing to do with his talent. His magic was in his tongue and the skill with which he plied it.

  His speech was like a torch. It set afire the souls of those who heard it. When she thought about the things Darl had said, it seemed to Moriana there was little remarkable about them. But something in his manner of speaking, his presence, lifted men up and out of themselves. This was the greatest gift he brought to Moriana.

  The chorus of approval roared on and on. Moriana faced the crowd, her head held high, trying to look noble and resolute. They would get a hundred volunteers from this gathering, perhaps more, and this was only a small meeting. Success rode on the air like a banner.

  And yet she irrationally felt uneasiness dogging her at every turn.

  Prince Rann stalked the vaulted corridor that led to the queen's throne chamber. His steel-rimmed boot-heels rapped authoritatively, echoes diminishing behind him like the wakeof a ship. He wore new boots in the fashion of the Highgrass Broad riders. Unlike the light, soft, knee-high moccasins worn by the Sky City flyers, these were of heavy grazer leather and came to mid-thigh when unrolled. Now the tops were folded rakishly below the prince's knees. He had been given them as a gift from Destirin Luhacs, V'Duuyek's second-in-command, in commemoration of Bilsinx. They were too heavy to wear astride a warbird, but it pleased Rann to wear them about the palace.

  He contemplated the coming interview with his cousin with great satisfaction. In the flush of conquest, she had forgotten all about the Athalau affair.

  From Bilsinx, the Sky City had proceeded southward passing over Brev and then veering toward Thailot. Of all the Quincunx Cities, Brev was the weakest, and the Hereditary Council governing her knew it. As the City approached, they held hurried consultation, then sent word that the Sky City was as welcome as always to trade there. The City did not answer. Yet when its vast oblong filled Brev'ssky, the cargo balloons drifting down held only magic artifacts and other trade goods.

  The Sky City had bigger game in mind. The three remaining Quincunx Cities followed Rann's expectations. Thailot couched its submission in terms of caring little what befell those on the other side of the Thails, but submitted nonetheless. Not so with Wirix and Kara-Est. The Jewel of Wir interned all Sky Citizens on the island and sent its defiance to Synalon. Kara-Est contemptuously expelled the Sky-Born and sent no other message to their aerie.

  After Bilsinx was secured and Sky City agents had informed Rann by means of communicator crystals that the news had reached the seaport city, he dispatched a squad of Sky Guardsmen to make an aerial reconnaissance of Kara-Est. Intelligence reports indicated that the Estil were devoting their whole attention to shoring up their defenses.

  Observers' riding baskets slung from ludintip spotted the patrols' wings far off. No other living gasbags rose to challenge the bird riders. The Sky City commander gloated until the ballistae mounted on revolving platforms on Kara-Est's rooftops engaged his patrol. A steel missile pierced a rider's leg, pinning it to his mount's chest. A frantic midair rescue attempt failed. He plunged to death with his mount on the steep streets below. Another eagle was grazed by a bolt before the patrol winged out of range.

  Rann had been furious at the news. But the setback was only temporary. Fate - or perhaps the Dark Ones - had gained the City time to prepare for its duel with Kara-Est. Rann knew how to make use of time. When the Sky City passed over the seaport, the groundlings would be amply repaid for their presumption.

  Far more serious had been the tidings that Moriana had formed a liaison with Darl Rhadaman. The possibility existed, as much as Rann hated to admit it, that the slippery bitch and her new consort would be able to scrape together enough second sons, criminals, and others in the degenerate North to harry the City's lines of communication. If that happened, he would have to divert precious manpower to avert the threat.

  Amazingly, Synalon had taken even that news with equanimity. Rann had expected that more than antique statuary would-fall victim to her lightning bolts. But his royal cousin had merely nodded distractedly when he gave her the word and had gone back to feeding gobbets of raw meat to one of her loathsome talking ravens.

  Now he was on his way to report that the palace mages met with greater success than anticipated in generating new fire elementals. The salamanders had a special role in the upcoming battle.

  'Highness?' The familiar nasal voice stopped h
im in his tracks. He wheeled to face Maguerr the mage.

  'What is it?' Rann asked. The network of scars covering his face whitened at the strain of keeping his tones polite.

  - Maguerr was a pissant; what affronted the prince most was that Maguerr was an indispensable pissant. No other sorcerer in the City had his skill in the magics of communications crystals. Though Maguerr's manner with Rann was as unctuous as ever, Rann had to be polite - and he hated it. The rumor had even started that Synalon toyed with the idea of inviting Maguerr to her chambers for nocturnal consultations.

  'Word comes from our agents in Kara-Est, lord.' Maguerr fingered sandy wisps of beard. The gray and maroon robes of his recently earned mastery had not lent him dignity. He looked like a scrawny waif who had pilfered a Master Mage's wardrobe.

  'Well, what is it?' demanded Rann impatiently. Maguerr's head bobbed up and down as though on a string.

  'Two strangers of a most peculiar variety, lord. They came from the south out of the Southern Steppes, and they rode giant bears.'

  Rann stared at him, eyes suddenly without color. 'One of them,' Maguerr continued through his nose, 'was no less than the hetwoman of a clan of bear-riding savages. The other.. .' and he preeened like a warbird, ' ... the other was a Medurimite courier, Fost Longstrider by name.'