But Fost worried. In the past, the genie's sole allegiance had been to gratifying his own lust for vicarious experience, particularly sex and violence. Back in the days of a more innocent eon, when Fost had been a mere courier delivering a parcel of unknown contents to a sorceror, Erimenes had repeatedly gotten Fost into trouble by calling pursuers down on him when he sought to hide. To hear the philosopher, he saved Fost from a life of cowardice. Fost knew Erimenes merely wanted to enjoy the ensuing bloodshed. When Moriana had stolen the jug from Fost and returned to the City to make her fateful reconnaissance, Erimenes promptly transferred his loyalty to the princess. And when Moriana was captured by Synalon, again Erimenes had switched his perfidious loyalties, seeing in Synalon and Rann the chance to sample their offerings of perversion and sadism.
After the escape from the City he helped Fost and the princess.
But he had aided them because they provided him legs and the chance to gain for himself the life-restoring Amulet of Living Flame. Since then, he had befriended Fost consistently, though he was always ready to provoke a good fight whenever he found things dull. Erimenes seemed to be genuinely on Fost'sside. But the courier could not forget Synalon's determination to exhaust the possibilities for perversion nor Rann's dark genius with knife and heated iron – or the attraction their activities had for a shade of Erimenes's tastes.
As long as Erimenes acted helpful, there was nothing Fost could do about him but worry. Which he did.
Like metal in a forge, the days warmed and stretched as summer came on. Fost taught urban guerillas in the day and engaged in sweaty sexual encounters every night. He started losing weight and growing dark circles under his eyes. Sometimes he worried about Jennas, who had helped and loved him, even knowing that she could never truly have him. And he thought of Grutz, his war bear; he had grown fond of the beast. But he told himself worrying was both futile and unnecessary. Jennas could care for herself, as could Grutz.
As time passed, he thought less and less about the hetwoman. But all the time he thought of Moriana.
He was not the only one preoccupied with thoughts of the princess.
'But Uriath!' Tromym's whiskered jowls bobbled mournfully above his goblet. 'The princess is laying plans to march against the City with the thrice-cursed Hissers. She might actually win. And then what becomes of us?'
Uriath sat at apparent ease, fingers steepled, allowing his eyes to rove over the screens adorning the walls of his study. They were quite ancient, depicting the Three and Twenty Wise Ones of Agift: Gormanka with his Wind Wheel, Ust rolling the ball of the sun, lithe Jirre and her lyre whose music was irresistibly aphrodisiac, Ennisat blessing the first human settlers of the Realm with the knowledge of double entry bookkeeping, along with the other nineteen. Urialh used the pictures for both relaxation and as an excuse not to meet Tromym's eyes.
Uriath sighed, thinking what a congenital fool Tromym was. And fools quickly outlived their usefulness. 'She might, Tromym. She might also lose. Our most exalted queen has fought three major battles in as many months. And won each, but every time at a cost. What will remain of her strength after the final confrontation with her sister?' He blew out a long breath. 'And if Moriana wins, how strong will she be? In the disorganization following the invasion of the Sky City, it will be easy enough to eliminate her.' He picked up his own goblet and sipped. 'We might become heroes for doing away with her. She's turned traitor to her kind, after all, by enlisting the help of the Hissers.'
He belched lightly, rose, went to the window. It lay open to admit a breeze heightened with the sweet growing smells of the plains a thousand feet below. The two moons hung above the lower reaches of the Thai Is, pink and blue, casting the High Councillor's shadow behind him and across the table where Tromym sat.
'Don't forget the gift that subcurator of the Palace library made us. We have magical forces at our disposal now, too, ones our own mages don't even know of. That could give us the needed edge.'
'Do we understand these forces enough to tamper with them?' Tromym gulped his wine so hurriedly he choked.
'I am of the Royal Blood, Tromym, even if removed from the present rulers. Sorcery is in my genes. This book reveals some of the secrets of the earliest Etuul. It was written by the original Moriana's daughter, Kyrun.' He turned from the window with a grand sweep of his arm. 'Someday, I shall become a sorceror to equal any, Tromym. When my daughter sits on the Beryl Throne, then shall I make my true mark in the history of the City.'
Tromym looked away nervously. He reached for the decanter of wine, then saw the trembling of his hand and rang for a servant to refill his goblet for him.
'Who'd have th-thought it,' he said, 'that enlisting the help of the rabble would profit us so.' Uriath gave him a tight smile.
'That damned barbarian my daughter's taken for a pet has proved useful.'
'Y-you think he might be a fit consort for her? Robust barbarian blood might spice up the line a bit, eh?' He tried to wink at Uriath but wound up opening and shutting both eyelids alternately so that he appeared to be trying to blink a message in code. Uriath's cold blue eyes staring back at him chilled to the bone.
'Do you seriously suggest for an instant that my daughter could conceive of forming an… an arrangement with a groundling?'
Uriath's biting tone indicated he'd judge Synalon's famous hornbul! a more likely choice.
'No-no, Uriath, not at all. Making a joke, that's all. Ha, ha.' He squinted into his wine. 'Damn, this thing's empty again.' A steward entered at Uriath's summons.
'Bring the Councillor a larger vessel at once. And see that the sluggard who provided him such an inadequate thimble is soundly whipped.' Wordlessly, the servant bowed and withdrew.
'Where were we? Ah, the Northblood messenger boy. He'll have to go, I suppose. He's too likely to have some sentimental notions of loyalty to Moriana – to say nothing of the possibility that he might fancy himself to have some claim on Luranni's affections.' The steward returned bringing a soup tureen for Tromym and refilled his master's cup
Uriath watched and waited for the steward to leave, his fingers working on his fringe beard.
'If only that young fool Chiresko had done as he was told, we wouldn't have the problem of this Longspider or whatever he's called confronting us now. Or of Moriana, either.'
'Do I hear my name spoken, O good and loyal Uriath? In a favourable context, I trust.'
Wine dyeing his sidewhiskers pink, Tromym raised his face from his bowl to compliment his friend on his uncannily accurate imitation of Moriana's voice. The words congealed in his throat when he saw Uriath's face turn as white as his beard.
Experiencing the same endless falling sensation that had come over him when Synalon's silvered sphere approached him at the victory feast, Uriath gaped at the features of Moriana Etuul, laughing back at him from the surface of his wine. 'Dark Ones,' he muttered, fighting down panic. Had she heard? 'Y-your Highness,' he stammered. I didn't expect -'
'Naturally not. Synalon doesn't expect it either. She believes her magics screen my perception from the City. But I have learned much since I saw her last.' Moriana smiled, her teeth rippling as Uriath's hand trembled and conveyed the motion to the surface of the wine. 'It will be pleasant indeed to show her how much I've learned.' 'We all await that time most fervently.'
'We will take your protestations of devotion for granted, Uriath. Now listen. There is much to be done…'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Sky City crossed first Brev, then Thailot, while the inhabitants of those cities stared up in apprehension. It was wasted emotion. The City passed in gray, stony silence and was gone. It turned northeast at Thailot toward Wirix.
An army of five thousand Zr'gsz camped on the shore of Lake Wir. Their numbers were swelled by a thousand foresters from the Great Nevrym Forest, and roughly the same number of adventurers recruited by Darl on a whirlwind tour of the City States. After the fiasco of Chanobit, it was miraculous that any harkened to Moriana's claw and flower banner. After her all iance with the Fallen Ones became known she would have said itwas impossible. But the fear of the Hissers was an ancient one. Fear of Synalon burned hot and immediate. And Darl did work miracles. None who heard him failed to be stirred, and those who had heard him before said he spoke as he never had, as no man had. He spoke like an angel come to deliver a new revelation, and his words drew men's hearts like a magnet.
Moriana did not hear his stirring speeches on her behalf. She busied herself preparing for the prodigious
