purely physical storm that began when the vortex vanished destroyed what the Black Lens hadn't.' 'And High Medurim?' Fost heard himself asking.
'Only rumors,' answered the colonel. 'Again the Demon used the Black Lens. The Hissers were dug in along the Marchant. The Lens blazed a black trail of death and devastation across the farmlands of the City States like a spear pointing straight at Medurim's heart.' 'Enough poetry, damn you!' flared Fost. 'What of the city?'
She shrugged, her face a mask showing the deprivation and horror she had lived with. Fost regretted his sharpness with her.
'The Imperial capital has fallen, whether captured like Wirix or eradicated like Kara-Est, I haven't been able to discover.'
'Thank you, Colonel,' Fost said softly. He turned his empty cup in his hands, staring into the depths as if to read some augury there. It was true. Medurim was no more, and likewise the friends he had known in both slums and palace.
After supper, Fost heard Cerestan's shrill voice asking the question he dreaded to hear.
'Why must we turn tail and run? Can't we fight the damned lizards?'
Fost feared that Synalon would renew her own objections to the plan and break the fragile coalition. Glancing up, he saw Rann twisting a linen napkin between his fingers with quiet vehemence and knew he wasn't the only one fearing for the alliance.
'Are you a master of magics?' snapped Synalon. The young officer recoiled at the fury flaming in her eyes. 'Or do you presume to judge the decisions of your betters… and find them wanting?' 'No, Your Highness,' he whispered, his face deathly white.
'Very well,' said Synalon. 'Now, caravans are bound from Tolviroth Acerte, some here, some for the Gate of the Mountains. A small cargo fleet should be standing off the Southern Waste near Athalau awaiting our word, if they met with no misfortune rounding Cape Storm. These carry supplies for our people. This is your task, Cerestan: remove the Sky Citizens and our allies to Athalau.'
Gasps met the announcement. 'But the barbarians of the Steppes -' '-impossible-' 'But Athalau's buried in a living glacier-' ' -impossible!'
'Impossible?' The hair began to rise on Synalon's head. She tossed back her spark-crackling hair and sneered. 'If you find it impossible then I must depend on others not so easily daunted. You don't find this impossible, do you, Master Cerestan?' Her eyes fixed on the hapless young officer who had not joined in the chorus of protest at the announced exodus. 'You've acquitted yourself ably. In honor of that, and in view of your increased responsibilities, I hereby appoint you Constable of the City in the Sky and charge you with seeing that the resettlement proceeds expeditiously.'
As thunderstruck silence settled, Synalon turned to her sister and added, 'With Moriana's approval, of course.' The anger that had been growing in Moriana's eyes faded.
'I approve,' she said, clearly less than happy with her sister usurping power in this fashion. Moriana leaned forward and used the opportunity to regain her position of authority.
'As for the rest of you,' Moriana said, sweeping the group with her gaze, 'you know that Fost Longstrider and I penetrated the glacier which covers Athalau, as did Prince Rann.' She looked at Rann who stared back with perfect calmness. 'The way through this sentient glacier, who calls itself Guardian, has been opened before. We must convince it to trust us and open wide enough to accommodate all.' 'It shall be done,' said Colonel Ashentani, glaring at Cerestan.
'You all know the task ahead of us. Let's get to it, because we have no idea how much time the Fallen Ones will give us.' All rose when Moriana did and silently left. She turned to Fost and stretched out a hand, saying, 'I'm bone-tired. I'm going to bed.' He took her hand and she squeezed his fingers as if they were her last grip on sanity.
A steward led them to their chambers. Glancing back, Fost saw the leaders clumped in excited knots, Rann sitting calmly with boots propped on the Count of Brev's table and ignoring the commotion. Cerestan stood gazing after Moriana; Fost saw Synalon regarding the young officer with thoughtful intensity. A tug on his hand drew him away and down the hall.
As it had every day of the week since leaving Brev, the wind blew icy in Fost's face. He shivered, gathered his cloak more closely about him and rode on. In a few more hours the sun would be high and beat on the travellers like hammers. But now, in the gray, early morn, the frigid breath of the Southern Waste scoured the barren land. He shifted his weight in the saddle, no more comfortable now for all the time he'd spent in it, and thought of Moriana.
It had been hard leaving her, but there hadn't been any other choice. They had to split, with one group going to the Great Crater Lake and the Ethereals, the other heading for the Gate of the Mountains and glacier containing Athalau. Alliance or no, oaths or no, it would have been sheer foolishness for Rann and Synalon to go one way and Fost and Moriana the other. Each princess had to be sure her interests were represented by both groups. To do so didn't guarantee safety, but to do otherwise was to invite betrayal.
Moriana had gone with Rann to Athalau and Fost guided Synalon to the Ethereals' village. Likewise, the genies had to split up. Erimenes, who had helped gain entrance to Athalau before, went with Moriana. Ziore rode with Synalon and Fost in hopes her ability to sway emotion would help convince the Ethereals to forsake their ancient isolation and join the battle against the Dark.
Orange and swollen, the sun peeked above a blanket of clouds stretched across the eastern horizon. Fost scanned the sky. Twice they had glimpsed skyrafts in the distance, and once they had scarcely managed to find shelter in a steep-walled arroyo when a twenty foot slab of stone passed soundlessly overhead. Rann's ruse must have failed; it was rare for the Vridzish to commit their aircraft this far south.
A few times they had glimpsed other riders. To Fost's surprise, the jet-haired princess made no objection to evading them. But as she pointed out, there was no honor – and damned little diversion – to be gained in battling brigands.
Beyond these incidents, little transpired. Several times Ziore detected the nearness of some hunting animal but was always able to deflect the creatures before they came near enough to attack. Unlike Moriana and Rann, neither Fost nor Synalon was a competent archer so they had taken plentiful provisions, and the necessity of hunting didn't slow them. Having reassured himself the sky was clear of foes, Fost's main concern was to keep an eye out for the fierce barbarians of the Steppe. Eventually some agreement would have to be reached with them to allow the passage of unprecedented numbers of northerners across their territory. It wouldn't help if Synalon reduced a score of them to cinders before Fost had a chance to open negotiations. Synalon rode behind, wrapped in her cloak and her own thoughts.
'What are you thinking?' Ziore's voice asked from the satchel bumping at Fost's hip. He started. He wasn't yet accustomed to the gentle feminine voice that now accompanied him or the equally gentle presence that went with it.
'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, and quickly twisted off the lid of the nun's jar. 'I forgot you were there. Erimenes would have made his presence known long before this.'
A surprisingly girlish giggle emerged along with a streamer of pink smoke that swirled in a familiar fashion and became the form of Ziore. 'Erimenes can be trying sometimes. But still, he's awfully cute.'
Fost couldn't think of anything to say to that and so rode in silence. The land here was almost flat, tan dotted with the green of occasional bushes as far as the eye could see. The very uniformity of the land was treacherous for it made the terrain seem flatter than it was. The Steppe boasted hills, ridges and deep gullies which could hide large bodies of foes until one was almost on top of them. The sameness of the land lulled one into thinking none could approach without being seen far off. 'I wish I knew what to make of our friend back there,' he said.
'I, as well. Can we trust her? Moriana is afraid that she'll betray us.'
'We don't have much choice. And she's got as much reason to hate the Dark Ones as Moriana. More, in fact.'
'But she's not always rational.' In spite of himself, Fost laughed at this. It was a marvel of understatement. 'Perhaps her hatred of Moriana will overrule her bitterness toward the Lords of Infinite Night.'
He took his black water flask from the satchel and drank. The taste of gruel was still in his mouth, and the tepid water the vessel provided did little to wash away the taste. He took a mouthful, swirled it around in his mouth, spat at a clump of amasinj bush. 'Have you had any luck at reading her?' he asked.
'She sensed it at once when I tried probing her at that first meeting, and since then I've been careful. Her
