'We are faced with two problems, cousin. The magical one posed by Istu, and whatever wizards the Hissers have. And the military threat of the Vridzish armies. We ignore either at our peril. I grant, if we undo Istu we win. But to do that we'll have to buy time. For that we'll need armies to keep their soldiers off our necks.'
'Very well,' said Moriana. 'But our efforts need direction. Where do we seek the means of defeating Istu?'
'Athalau,' Fost said, and was immediately sorry. Both sisters turned to stare at him. 'That's our one and only lead. It was Athalar magic that broke Istu before. My knowledge of these things is limited, but nothing I've seen so much as hints at an answer elsewhere.'
The others all began speaking at once, arguing, expostulating, objecting.
'Enough!' shouted Synalon after a few minutes. 'The groundling's right. It turns my stomach to walk a path trod by Felarod, but the Dark Ones have proven no true friends. If nothing else we know where the means of defeating Istu once lay. Isn't that the best place to search now?' Erimenes muttered something about Reductionism.
'Aren't you forgetting something?' Rann asked. All looked at him. 'Felarod didn't defeat Istu alone. He needed a hundred Athalar savants. They weren't just trained but were specially bred to their talents. Where can we find their like today?'
And Fost put back his head and laughed the roaring wild laughter of the mad. Where, indeed?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Everyone looked at Fost. He teetered on the brink of hysteria, caught himself and drew back from it. 'I'm all right,' he said. 'I'm not crazy – not yet, anyway.' 'Will you share this rare jest with us?' Synalon asked disdainfully.
'I know where the survivors of Felarod's Hundred went, and where to find their descendants. Yes, you do, too, you treacherous blue wisp, so don't try to look innocent.'
Moriana looked from Fost to Erimenes, who was twiddling his thumbs and gazing at the skylight overhead. 'I know, too,' she said quietly. 'The Ethereals.' Erimenes made a face.
'You mean the folk who live by the Great Crater Lake north of the Ramparts?' asked Ziore.
'What's everyone talking about?' Synalon asked pettishly. 'I'm sure I have no idea.'
'Yes, you do, cousin dear,' Rann said. 'I paid a visit to the Ethereals while pursuing your sister and Longstrider after they escaped from the Sky City. A group of ascetics who live in the mists surrounding the lake. Totally divorced from reality.' He spoke in a bantering tone, but with a small hint of respect. 'Do you think I pay attention to such trivial details?'
'Had you paid more mind to them, you might not be sitting here.' Synalon's lip curled in a snarl. The tang of ozone filled the room.
'But what do the Ethereals have to do with Felarod's Hundred?' asked Ziore, easing some of the mounting tension with her question.
'The quality of education,' Erimenes said, shaking his head sadly, 'must have declined in the years following my death.' He tugged thoughtfully at his chin. 'But then, it's only to be expected. After me, Athalau's intellectual progress could only take a downward turn.'
'It all happened ten thousand years ago, Erimenes,' Fost pointed out. 'It wasn't considered a necessary part of the curriculum where Ziore spent her life. Your teachings never addressed the War of Powers, as I recall.' Erimenes turned his attention back to the skylight. The fact that Ziore had spent her physical life in a convent devoted to the abstemious tenets laid down by Erimenes the Ethical before his own death still produced friction between the genies.
'In answer to your question, Ziore,' continued Fost, 'I assume you do know the broad outlines of the legend, how Felarod needed the help of a hundred specially trained savants to summon the World Spirit and defeat Istu and the Hissers. You've probably also heard that ninety of the Hundred died from contact with such sheer power. And that the ten survivors were so horrified at the cosmic destruction they had helped wreak that they left Athalau, vowing to keep themselves isolated from humankind and magic'
'Yes,' Ziore answered, frowning. 'I heard versions of the story as a child, even in the convent.'
'But did you hear where the survivors of the Hundred went after Felarod's victory?' 'No.' All eyes were on Fost now.
'They went to the Great Crater Lake,' he said, 'where their descendants now style themselves the Ethereals.'
'Those cattle?' Synalon blurted, evidently remembering more of Rann's report than she'd admitted. 'Yes,' Erimenes said, in leaden tones. 'It's all true.'
'And there's more to the tale,' Fost said, grinning, 'to account for Erimenes's mournful expression. For years of their self-imposed exile, the Ethereals were without any kind of philosophical base. Schools of thought came and went, but each seemed tainted by the magic they had come to fear and despise.
'Then fourteen centuries ago, an itinerant sage of Athalau stumbled across their village. He brought with him tidings of a new philosophy sweeping through Athalau like a rising spring wind. It preached total denial of the physical world. Pleasures of the flesh, monetary concerns – and yes, magic. All these matters were shunned. It was a doctrine tailor-made for the Ethereals.' He gestured grandly.
'And the tailor who made it was none other than Erimenes, called in those days the Ethical.'
'Hold me up to derision, if you will,' Erimenes said, scowling. 'Have you never made a mistake?' 'But do you think they'll help us, Fost?' asked Moriana. 'We can only ask.'
'I'd best not be among those who negotiate with them,' Rann observed wryly. He had tortured the villagers while seeking information and wouldn't be forgotten soon.
'But they've no concern with what goes on in the world,' persisted Moriana. 'They'll see Istu's release as making it their concern,' said Fost.
'It's been so long since damned Felarod's triumph,' said Synalon. 'What if they've lost what powers they had?'
'Don't damn Felarod too lightly, Highness,' said Rann, 'since we find ourselves on his side now. I see no other course than to try the Ethereals and Athalau.'
Synalon curtly ordered more wine, and the six of them, four mortal, two spectral, began laying plans.
The sun was low and its light the color of wine when the discussion was done. Rann nodded in satisfaction at the campaign they had outlined. Seeing this, the others sat back in their seats and relaxed a trifle. If Rann approved their planning, it meant that it was the best that could be done under the circumstances. Whether the best was enough remained to be seen. 'Where are you staying, cousin?' Rann spoke, his eyes half-lidded.
'The Twisthorn Inn,' Fost answered for Moriana, seeing her tense. He met her stare with steady eyes. 'We have to trust them. I know the odds are that they'll betray us, but we'll have to chance that.' 'I've had a bellyful of betrayal,' Moriana said tautly.
'Perhaps if they gave their word?' suggested Ziore.
Erimenes emitted a strangled squawk. Ziore was his beloved, but it took all his self-control to swallow the scorn he had for her naivete. 'Would it be believed?' asked Rann.
'The word of the Queen of the City in the Sky is not to be doubted,' said Synalon loftily.
'By what right now do you name yourself queen?' Moriana demanded, half rising and placing her hand on her empty scabbard. Fost gripped her arm. 'She held the title longer than you did,' he pointed out, 'and you're both fugitives now. When the Vridzish butcher you for their victory banquet, will you squabble over who'll be swallowed first?'
Fost felt the electric tension mounting. These were extraordinarily powerful sorceresses. The alliance, still fragile, threatened to come apart over this. He cleared his throat and raised his voice.
'By the Great Ultimate, I swear to take no action against anyone gathered here, save to defend myself or another of this party against treachery, until this War of Powers shall be settled.' He paused, then, 'For good or ill.'
'Well spoken, if not concisely,' Erimenes said. 'You're sure your father wasn't a lawyer? Or a confidence
