'Now I see why your men fear your destination – and why you do, as well.'
Moriana bit her lip. 'And have I reason to fear my course of action?'
'Have you any other?' came the sharp reply. 'I -' The nun's voice cut off, to resume in Moriana's mind: Someone comes.
The princess went into a fighting crouch, hands on hilt of sword and dagger. She heard whistling, a jaunty carefree tune, and the crunching of leaves under boots.
'Well met, Lord Stormcloud,' she said as the tall blond youth strode into view. He smiled, as radiant as the sun shining above.
'You requested that I not sneak up on you again,' he said. 'I saw fit to follow your advice.' Straightening, Mortana took hands from weapons and smiled.
'I… I wanted to tell you, latic, that I am most grateful for the assistance you've given me. It wouldn't have been possible to come this far.' He stood arm's length from her, smiling.
'Then perhaps the time has come for you to tender payment,' he said, lunging as he spoke.
Caught off balance, Moriana fell back against the trunk of a tree. Strong fingers clawed at her belt. She felt the brass catch give, felt her swordbelt torn away bodily and flung into the brush. Her fingers struck at his eyes. Laughing, he easily caught her wrists and threw her down.
Moriana felt a pulse of energy surge from Ziore. The spirit was trying to quell the mercenary's passion, latic's face purpled in fury. He savagely kicked the satchel, parting the strap and sending Ziore's jug spinning after Moriana's swordbelt. Moriana heard the jug strike a tree with crushing force. She screamed.
The air exploded from her lungs as the mercenary flung himself atop her. Moriana wasted no time demanding what he was doing; she felt the hardness of him prodding into her thigh as his fingers tore at the fastening on her breeches. She brought a knee up. He twisted his hips expertly to block and grinned at her. The Amulet, torn free of her bodice, shone like obsidian.
'I've wanted this for so long,' he panted. 'Watching you flash your breasts and thighs in that flimsy gown… ah! You've wanted what I can offer you. There we go! Now, down with your trousers and in – you'll be begging for more, Bright Princess, by the time I'm done!'
He held both wrists pinioned in one powerful hand while the other tore open her breeches. His body had the power of a seasoned warrior. But so did hers, and she was coming out of the numbness of shock she'd first felt at his attack.
'No, no, you've got no right to hold back.' He groaned in her ear like an avid lover, but in words no lover would utter. 'You've made your pact with blackness, you've sold your soul. Now collect some of the wages!'
He thrust. Snarling like a war dog, she tore her hands free. His smile widened sardonically as she grabbed his throat. Then, as her thumbs began inexorably to press his head back, the smile disintegrated and a look of disbelief came into his eyes.
Stormcloud clutched at her wrists with both hands. Sweat poured down his face. Her eyes blazing with insane rage, Moriana gathered her strength and heaved.
When armed men ran up from the camp, led by Darl looking fully his old self with broadsword bared in his hand, they found her huddled half-naked against the slick trunk of a shunnak, cradling Ziore's jug in her lap. The Amulet, now the purest white, hung quiescent between bare breasts. The genie hovered by her side. A few feet away latic Stormcloud lay sprawled, as limp as a child's ragdoll, eyes touched with the lifeless cast of porcelain. His neck was broken.
CHAPTER FIVE
'And what forecasts have you for me?' Duke Morn, ruler of Kara-Est, slumped on his throne, speaking into his beard and not looking at the stubby figure who stood before him. 'Are we ready to meet the onslaught of ah, the, ah, Sky City?'
Rising from her knees, Parel Tonsho, Chief Deputy of Kara-Est, wrinkled her nose in distaste. The wind was in from the north, blowing directly across the great fen called the Mire. Not even the Ducal Palace in the Hills of Cholon overlooking the city was exempt from the sour reek of decaying swamp. Heightened by unseasonable heat, the smell overpowered even the pomades carried by the deputy's half-dozen armed and painted retainers. One of the youths caught her expression and tittered, thinking it directed at the duke's vagueness. She shot him a glance that froze him to silence.
'As ready as we shall ever be to trade with them on the battlefield,' she said, 'unless our brave partners in Wirix see fit to send us some of their mages to help ward off the spells of that damned bitch-slut, Synalon.' Bony fingers stroked gray-shot beard.
'Oh, but our, our trading friends the Wirixers, ah, they're cautious,' he murmured as if to himself. 'They wish us to deal with the Sky City, bleed them penniless, that they do, and at the same time they marshal strength in case we fail in the exchange. Clever… clever business, indeed.'
Tonsho moistened thin lips. She gave the boy who had snickered a meaningful glare. Though for the most part Duke Morn was the distracted, feckless dodderer he appeared, sometimes he gave evidence that the shrewd statesman he once had been had not wholly died with his wife and only son two years ago. The boy pouted and stroked a golden bangle depending from one ear. Tonsho made a mental note to get rid of him at the first opportunity. He was obdurately stupid, and she could not abide that, even in her kept pretty-boys.
In the drafty throne room atop the Palace's highest tower they made a curious contrast, the duke and the commoner who actually ruled the dukedom. Morn's once mighty frame had shrunk to a spindly, emaciated shadow of its former self. His leonine head, once long and fierce, was parchment-skinned and hollow at the temples. Despite the sticky noonday heat unrelieved by the rank breeze crawling through open windows, he wore a heavy robe of yellow velvet trimmed with the fur of the rare gazinga of the Dyla Wilderlands. He huddled within its confines as though afflicted with chill. Whether heat or senility caused it, Morn virtually ignored Tonsho and idly rustled fingers among the maps and charts that covered the tables set by the curving stone wall to his side.
She stood before him, as stubby and ugly as a tree trunk but equally unyielding. Her slit-eyed face resembled that of a pit-bred fighting dog, her eyes watery gray and hair an indeterminate color suggestive of mice. Her lumpy body was decked out in an outrageous robe of scarlet and electric blue, and her shoes were yellow, curling upward at the toes. Tonsho was the most senior and powerful member of the Chamber of Deputies which administered the wealthy port of Kara-Est. She had clawed her way to that lofty position from the lowest gutter of the city's slums.
'The artillerists manning our roof engines can hit an osprey on the wing,' she told him. 'And our ludintip can hoist aloft gondolas filled with archers. For the first time in generations we will carry the war to the enemy in his own element. Most of Synalon's ground forces are still straggling back from the north, and her bird riders are diminished by two hard-fought battles in the last several weeks. Only the dog cavalry the City held in reserve in Bilsinx, the greater part of which already has marched on us according to our spies, is reasonably fresh. And they can be discounted.'
The huge, narrow head slowly moved up and down in a nod. Tonsho had no idea whether he comprehended her words or not. His lucid moments were both infrequent and unpredictable.
'On the debit side: their bird riders, particularly the Sky Guard, are consummately skillful and have the morale to absorb huge losses without breaking. We will have to inflict frightful slaughter on them to turn them back. And as they have made all too clear in recent days, they are more than adept at wreaking slaughter themselves. They have Synalon, who has announced to all the world that the Dark Ones have given her Their favor, and traded her increased powers. This may be true. Lastly, they have Rann. I credit him a greater advantage to them than the favor of the Dark Ones, or of the Three and Twenty Wise Ones of Agift into the bargain.' She smiled grimly at the thought of such an unlikely alliance.
'Well…' Duke Morn stuttered at a loss for words. 'Do what you can. Yes. Let this be your watchword: do what you can.'
'We will,' the deputy rasped. A cold knot gathered in her belly at the prospect of battle, but she held her mind rigidly from her fear. 'We may not win, Your Grace. But we will cost the City in the Sky dearly in this armed negotiation. Perhaps enough to render moot their dreams of conquest.' She made abasement and prepared to
