weak-kneed, cowardly slut! How could she!' She brought her hands up to angrily tear her garment. It resisted her wiry strength. Fat blue sparks travelled the length of her frizzled strands of hair and exploded in the air.
Cerestan made himself watch the princess's head shed sparks as a duck's wing sheds water. It kept his eyes off the naked breast which bobbed about in tempo with her efforts to rip her robe. The skin was the translucent white of snow the upper crust of which has melted in sunlight and then frozen again to a fine glossing. The nipple was a dainty blossom pink…
'She thought it necessary to save as many of our people as possible.' He forced himself to hold his head high. But it put a severe strain on his nerve to face Synalon this way, a fact that only peripherally had to do with her spiritual and temporal power. 'She herself battled the Demon Istu and bought time for as many to escape as possible.'
Rann had been watching the officer sidelong, his tawny eyes distant. Now they fastened on Cerestan. 'You did well. You saved several thousand of our subjects.'
Hardened as he was, Cerestan shuddered. Several thousand people – perhaps a quarter of the City's population. And the rest…
He looked out under the rolled tent wall. In all directions vultures crowded the sky and dotted the landscape in grave clumps, strutting stiff-legged with hooded heads drawn between their shoulders, bending down to partake of the unprecedented feast. The voracious birds extended in a line hundreds of yards across and a mile long, following the route of the Sky City. Though the hills were bright with fragrant wildflowers, the smell riding the wind was a ghastly charnel stink.
'So?' Synalon slumped back on her stool. 'Well, she defeated me and that made her the most potent wizard alive.' She propped her chin on one hand. Sparks stopped dripping like raindrops from her hair. 'How did she fare?'
'I couldn't see – not more than quick glimpses – Your, uh, Highness. But she must have survived because she kept the Demon at bay for a long time.'
Synalon slapped her knee. Her other breast bounced into view. Cerestan swallowed hard.
'That's my sister! I knew she could achieve real power if only she'd quit dabbling with her pathetic healing spells.'
Glancing toward Rann in his growing discomfiture, Cerestan noticed that the prince, too, was looking pointedly away from his cousin. The scarred cheeks showed pink like sunburn, though no bird rider of Rann's experience could possibly sunburn. For a fleeting instant, Cerestan almost shared a human bond with his commander.
'Very well.' Synalon settled back on the stool as if it were a throne. 'Now tell me,' she said, purring the words, 'tell me, good Cerestan, which of your brother and sister officers did you happen to observe wearing the armband of my sister's faction?'
Cerestan squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Conflicting loyalties pulled in opposite directions like dogs, worrying a corpse, but one loyalty overrode all.
'I saw none, Highness.' Then realizing how bald the lie sounded, he quickly added, 'None so well I'd recognize them, at least.'
A blue glow started to play around the roots of Synalon s hair. Cerestan prepared himself for death. She would either fry him with a lightning bolt or summon other soldiers to exact a painful penalty for his defiance. He cast a quick look out over the plain covered with feasting vultures. With luck, that was the least of all possible fates awaiting him at Synalon's hand.
'I'm sure you didn't, Lieutenant,' Rann murmured. Cerestan stared at him, trying not to show his surprise at having such an unlikely ally. 'In the press of prisoners you probably got no clear look at your captors. And later during the evacuation you had no chance to see which of your comrades might be wearing Moriana's colors. Isn't that so?'
The prince ended in a tone well-known to his men, one that clearly stated anyone contradicting him would shortly wish he had died in his sleep the night before. 'Y-yes, milord.'
Rann nodded. Frowning, Synalon glanced from Cerestan to her cousin. It seemed to her that the young lieutenant should have recognized some of the traitors ar least. By the Dark Ones, yes! But Rann was expert in internal security and he must have reasons for this action. She pouted slightly in frustration. It was bad enough that her own loss of the City was compounded by her fumble-witted sister losing the damned place the very same day. She had counted on at least a dozen agonizing executions of rebels this very night to take away the sting of her disappointments.
'Very well. You've done the Guard proud, Cerestan. Dismissed.' Rann turned and bent his head toward Synalon. Cerestan stood as if his feet had put down roots. It couldn't be this simple. Rann's head swiveled.
'I said, dismissed. Are you waiting for your mother's beak, Lieutenant?' It was a bird rider taunt referring to a weak fledgling that must be physically shoved from the nest. Cerestan saluted and fled.
Once more Rann bowed his head to speak to Synalon. A slim, raised finger cut him off. 'Cousin dear, what was that young man's name again?'
'Cerestan, Your Highness. Flight Lieutenant of the Guard. A good man.' She smiled wickedly.
'I judged as much.' He was a well-proportioned youth, tall for a Sky Citizen, wide-shouldered, with black hair and blue eyes and a look of innocence hidden behind the veneer of veteran hardness that marked so many of Rann's officers. And Synalon hadn't missed the bulge between his legs and the way he oh-so carefully looked anywhere but at his monarch's naked breasts. 'But tonight, I think, I shall find out for myself what kind of man he is. We should always strive to know the more promising underlings. Well, Rann, isn't that so?' Rann licked his lips and his cheeks flamed scarlet. 'Yes, Your Highness.'
Blinking into the sudden glare, Fost was momentarily transported back to his childhood. Night was the favorite time for street urchins of High Medurim to play their games. Usually there was some reward. Always there was penalty for losing. Adding spice to the game was the possibility of being caught by the watch for violating curfew. What happened next depended entirely on the whim of the arresting officer. A low caste, impoverished out-Guild youth pulled in after sunset could be let off with a lecture, whipped… or enslaved. It was all in the luck of the game.
The yellow beam shining directly into his eyes came from a bull's-eye lantern exactly like those the Medurim city guard used.
Fost felt the familiar, clammy thrill: caught!
An almost pleasant voice brought him back to reality.
'Ho, my friend, don't do anything foolish now. It would be a shame for you to end up like that dolt on the ground.'
He tore his gaze from the lantern's shine. Ludo lay on his back, kicking spastically at the black sand, his motions becoming more and more feeble. Moriana knelt by his side, but the man was clearly beyond the reach of her healing magics.
Dark shapes detached themselves from the misshapen trees along the bank. The men appearing held flexed bows on the huddled people in the arroyo.
'Why was it necessary to shoot the Warden, Fairspeaker?' a voice from the darkness asked.
'Twas necessary so that these rabble shouldn't attempt futile resistance, great Sternbow,' replied the first disembodied voice in tones both oily and smooth and suasive. 'It brought their helplessness home to them. So now it proves unnecessary to slaughter them. Such forebearance does us all credit.'
The lantern was uncovered and flooded the draw with sallow light. Tall men jumped down from the banks with swords drawn and herded the recaptured Watchers together. They wore tunics and trousers that reflected black and gray in the torchlight. In sunlight they would have been forest green and brown.
Beside the lantern at the head of the draw stood a tall, stately forester, his arms folded across his chest, his sword sheathed. His blond hair and beard were sprinkled with gray. His brow creased and the frown-lines deepened as he studied Fost. 'Longstrider,' he stated quietly.
The courier folded his arms across his breast. 'Sternbow.'
'What? You fail to recognize me? I'd thought your memory more tenacious, good Fost.' The unctuous voice belonged to the lantern-bearer who stood at Sternbow's side. He was young and slender, with a chestnut fringe of beard adorning his jaw and brown eyes that laughed at some private jest. 'I know you, Fairspeaker,' Fost said quietly.
