Palace Guards and Monitors anonymous behind brown iron salles lunged from their waiting places by the walls, cursing and driving the illustrious assembly from their path like so many cattle. Synalon threw back her head and laughed, a sound unutterably pure and sweet.
Her face a red demon's mask unrecognizable in its hatred, the Councillor reached the foot of the royal dais and raised her arm to strike. The two ravens swept down upon her, striking with beaks and black-tipped claws. The woman reeled back, beating impotently at the bird sinking its claws in her scalp and stabbing at her eyes with its beak. Its fellow lit on her dagger arm and dug its nails deep.
The venom on the birds' talons took effect. With an anguished scream, dun Krit straightened so spasmodically that both large black birds were flung aside. She began to twitch, then hop, until she was spinning about the pattern inlaid in the floor's center with her arms flung wide, a ghastly parody of the calm dance that had occupied that place scant moments before. Her face turned bluish-black and her tongue protruded between bloated lips. With a last garbled outcry she fell to her back. Her body arched, flopped, black foam gushed from her nostrils, and then she lay still.
The silence of ghastly death filled the great hall. All cheer was stilled – except for the pealing laughter of the beautiful young queen.
Four Monitors made their way through the crowd and gingerly bore the body off. The revellers turned away.
'Come, the gaiety has just begun,' cried Synalon, clapping her hands for the orchestra to start afresh.
The Bilsinxt musicians looked at the faceless men bearing out their limp burden, and fell into a light and happy air. At a nod from Synalon a small army of servants invaded the hall, bearing fresh platters of meats and pastry and great tureens of wine and essences. Slowly the tide of conversation began to flow once more.
High above the assemblage floated the pearly sphere. Synalon looked to it again, motioned with a finger. It dropped.
Conversation ebbed. Another clique of Councillors stood not far from where the ball had found dun Krit, and it was toward them the sphere now moved. Once more it seemed to single out the tallest person present, this time a portly man whose red face was fringed by a white beard that grew to meet the rim of equally white hair circling the base of his great skull. A shorter, stouter companion in a blue robe and black slippers with flaring gingery sidewhiskers and rough cheeks spoke urgently to him in a high-pitched voice that quieted as the sphere descended.
A commotion at the entrance brought heads around. Prince Rann strode in without so much as a glance at the heralds who bawled annunciation of his arrival. Moving without apparent haste he quickly came to the cleared space before Synalon's throne. The crowd melted to give him way.
At a finger wave from Synalon, the sphere veered from above the Councillors' bald heads and followed the prince. Hearing an intake of breath from the crowd, the prince turned to see the shimmering ball floating toward him. Instead of kneeling before his sovereign, he crossed his arms and stood waiting, watching the approaching object with neutral eyes. It came to a stop over his head. The swirling crossed its face again. The tantalizing hint of a picture had begun to appear when Synalon clapped her hands smartly and the ball vanished tracelessly. Her pale skin was flushed all the way down the revealing front of her bodice.
One eyebrow raised, Rann knelt to make the customary obeisance.
'Rise, cousin,' Synlon said throatily. 'Accept the plaudits of the crowd gathered to offer thanksgiving for the survival of our most valuable servant.' He crossed his arms again as the hall rang with applause.
'I thank Your Majesty,' he said dryly when the clapping ebbed. 'But I cannot stay to partake of your amusements.' The leaden inflection of the last word told what he thought of her ideas of diversion. They had some tastes in common but fetes and grandiose display were not among them. Synalon pursed her lips. 'And why not, honored cousin?'
'I have only come to inform you that the preparations of your mages are completed. The conjurations are done. Magically, we are as prepared for battle as ever we'll be.'
A murmur of whispered comment ran through the hall. It was rumored that Synalon herself would take part in the coming battle with Kara-Est. The Dark Ones had bestowed new and frightful powers on her. She wanted the world to behold them, and to know fear. Those in the great audience hall already knew that fear. 'But why must you rush away, then?' asked Synalon peevishly.
'The mystical preparations are but a part of making ready for the battle,' said Rann. 'I must see to our men and arms.'
Synalon waved a hand languidly. As usual no rings adorned her fingers. Any ring she might wear interfered with the dangerous spells she cast so casually.
'Your burden yourself overmuch, cousin. Is our victory over the wretched groundlings not assured?'
'By no means, Majesty.' The crowd gasped. They expected Synalon's face to distort in anger, for her slim hands to clap furiously to summon guards to haul Rann off to torture and death for his defeatism. Instead, she rested her chin on one hand and regarded him calmly. Above her shoulders the ravens carefully preened blood from their wings. 'And why not?'
'Kara-Est is the most powerful of all the Quincunx cities. They have their aerial defenses and they know quite well we mean to take them on our next transit. Further, our ground forces are still en route back from the north. We'll have to rely almost totally on our bird riders.' He took a deep breath. 'I think we shall win, O Queen. But assuming that our victory is assured can only weaken us.' Synalon gave him a mocking smile.
'Our cousin instructs us with his customary wisdom,' she said. 'Very well, Prince. You have our permission to return to your chores.' He bobbed his head and knelt again.
'Oh,-and how fares the loyal young apprentice mage Maguerr, through whom the Dark Ones acted to effect your rescue?'
'He does well, Majesty. He should be able to return to full service by the time the prow of the Sky City crosses the Cholon Hills outside of Kara-Est.'
'You area man indeed, Prince Rann, to inspire such loyalty in your followers', Synalon said with a razor-edged smile. Rann colored furiously. Synalon alone could torment him with that knowledge with impunity. He rose and stalked off, the heel taps of his boots clacking angrily on the marble flagging.
'Oh, and one more thing, cousin.' Synalon's voice halted him just before the great double doors of graven green jade. 'Might you be able to spare a flight or so of your most stalwart Sky Guards for the evening? They need not bring their mounts. They, ah, shall have a mount supplied them.' She licked her lips which gleamed as red as fresh blood in the light of torches and captive salamanders. 'I feel the need of some slight stimulation.'
Rann did not turn, but the whole hall marked how his neck went red. His own favored diversions notwithstanding, he was a notorious prude and disapproved vigorously of his cousin's extravagant public displays of her sexual prowess and libido. He nodded jerkily and went out. The great doors swung closed with a resounding thump.
Flushed with happy anticipation, Synalon settled back on the crystal of her throne and called for more wine. Servitors hastened to her bidding.
The tall, red-faced Councillor turned to his companion. The smaller man's hands were still shaking with reaction and dread.
'Well, here's a curiosity, Tromym,' said High Councillor Uriath, smoothing the fringes of his white beard. 'I never would have thought I'd be glad to see that devil Rann.'
Tromym did not answer. Instead he lifted his goblet to his lips for a hasty gulp. Though he used both hands, a torrent of the purple wine cascaded down the front of his blue robe.
Off in the dappled distance of the woods a bird sang. Moriana walked a cathedral-like path beneath mighty trees, seeking some rest for her weary, tortured soul.
In every direction she looked grew trees. Most were yellow tai but every now and then the graceful tai stood aside for a tree giant, a shunnak with red bark shining on boles twenty feet thick, lifting blue-green clad boughs five hundred feet off the forest floor.
It was a scene of primeval beauty. Birds with long, brightly hued tails flew between the trees, small animals scurried about on missions known only to themselves. In the midst of all this tranquility walked Moriana, troubled and upset.
Ziore rode in her jug at Moriana's hip, doing her best to caress the worries from Moriana with comforting thoughts and her special gift of empathy. It should have been impossible for Moriana to remain wrapped in gloom,
