latrines festered like wounds under buzzing clouds of flies. The tents and huts Fost had seen the night before were gone, torn down and trampled by the enraged Hissers. Crude makeshifts though they had been, they were sorely missed.
Fost had awakened with a pounding in his head and the sun pouring like hot wax on his eyelids. He lay near the gate, where exhaustion had claimed him when the curdled gray of false dawn started to seep into the eastern sky. Moriana sat nearby, her hair tied back from her face, her head bent in earnest conversation with Ziore. She and the spirit seemed to take turns reassuring each other.
Fost pulled himself upright. For a moment, he expected the longwinded complaint that was his usual morning greeting from Erimenes. Then he remembered. He spoke a heartfelt curse and dug his magic water flask from the satchel.
Moriana and Ziore noticed he was awake and greeted him in subdued voices. He handed the flask to Moriana and looked around the compound. The lava pen was almost empty. Two score Watchers stood in sullen knots. He spat to clear his throat. 'Most of the Watchers got away, I see,' he finally said.
'But for how long?' Moriana answered, reluctantly pulling the flask from her parched lips. She pointed skyward. It was busy up there. No clouds were visible, and if Omizantrim breathed this morning its exhalation streamed away northward and out of their sight. But the skyrafts of the Zr'gsz teemed in the air like flies around the latrines. 'You'd know that better than I,' Fost pointed out.
'I think they've got a chance,' she said slowly. 'If they have sense to lie up in the bubble caves during the day, the Zr'gsz will never find them.'
With his usual touch of the inappropriate, Fost marvelled at the ease with which she pronounced the Vridzish's name for themselves. It wasn't intended for human tongue, yet she grated out the hissing and gutturals as if she'd hatched from an egg in the emerald depths of Thendrun. Fost took out his bowl and traded it to Moriana for the water flask.
As they ate, they talked about their adventures since parting in Athalau, the city in the glacier, the fabulous lost city of sorcerers and savants in which Ziore and the treacherous Erimenes had been born centuries before.
Fost's account was straightforward. He looked away from the hardness that came into Moriana's eyes when he spoke of having been discovered outside the glacier by Jennas, the hetwoman of the Bear Clan. Moriana had known that even before their precipitous separation in Athalau he and Jennas were more than mere friends. Fost recounted his journey north to find Moriana and tell her that the magic bauble she possessed wasn't the one she thought. Jennas had travelled with him, partly out of love, but mostly because her bear god Ust had revealed to her that a new War of Powers loomed, and that she must discover what that implied for her folk. Fost had nervously discounted Jennas's claims of visions and divine revelation. The farther they travelled, the less he was inclined to do so. They found powers afoot in the Realm beyond simple shades and sprites and hedge demons.
Most of the rest Moriana knew, including how he had gotten in touch with the Underground opposing Synalon in the Sky City.
He watched the skyrafts drift overhead as he spoke, since this part of his journey held painful memories of Luranni and how the woman had given her life to save him from her traitorous father's fire sprite.
Fost fell silent. Moriana's slender fingers made patterns in the gray ash in front of her, then erased them. After a while she related her travails to Fost.
Moriana glossed over her stay in Thendrun, and not simply because thought of the place raised gooseflesh all over her body. Despite herself, she gave awed account of the Keep of the Fallen Ones, of the fortress hewn from giant emerald crystals grown eons ago in the heart of the Mystic Mountains by Zr'gsz magic. She talked about the witchfire that lived in the walls, and the emptiness of the castle that had made her think she treated with a dying and helpless race – she talked about everything but what actually went on within those walls of green crystal.
Fost studied her intently, sensing evasion, but did not speak of it. Instead they discussed the question of the numbers of Zr'gsz Moriana had seen since departing Thendrun. It had worried her all along and now was of vital importance. How many foes did mankind face? Fost could offer no insight. Their fellow captives might have but they remained aloof, refusing even to talk with Moriana, whom they blamed for their present troubles – and with good reason. Though their jailers hadn't brought the breakfast allotment of brackish water and rancid slop, all refused to acknowledge Fost's offer to share his inexhaustible stores of food and water.
As the morning wore on, it became apparent that the slaves weren't to be driven forth to work in the mines. The Hisser garrison had its work cut out hunting other fugitives across the inhospitable flanks of Omizantrim. Fost and Moriana moved into the shade of the eastern wall and continued to talk.
Without Erimenes on hand to incite her, Ziore turned out to be a warm and soothing presence, full of concern for her mortal friends. She made Fost feel as if she had known him her whole long life and cared for him dearly. He was even flattered when she told him he was fully the man Moriana had described in such loving terms.
In the course of Moriana's narrative, Fost had picked up the spirit's history and something of her attributes. Now he asked, 'But I thought you had the power to influence men's emotions. Couldn't you influence Sternbow to let us go?'
'I tried,' said Ziore, looking stricken. 'Such was his natural inclination, too. Yet Fairspeaker's influence proved greater than mine.' 'Is he a mage?'
'No. He holds Sternbow in bonds of love and fear and duty. I don't fully understand their relationship.'
'Perhaps I do. Fairspeaker is Sternbow's youngest sister's son. She died of fever not long after Fairspeaker's birth. Her husband fell in battle not long after. Custom provides that Sternbow should take Fairspeaker into his own house and raise him as a foster son. But Sternbow's wife wouldn't hear of it, claiming the boy was born under an evil sign.
'Fairspeaker was raised by a succession of foster parents. Even when he was young, he earned quite a reputation for his skill with sword, spear and bow. And far more for his prowess with words.' Fost shook his head. 'It's strange, too. His talent is akin to magic, if not identical with it. What he says sounds empty and often ridiculous – as long as he is saying it to someone else. When he turns his attention on you, it's damned hard not to agree with everything he says. It's as if other folk are puppets, and he knows just the strings to pull.'
'An appeal that went beyond charisma,' sighed Moriana. 'Darl Rhadaman possessed a similar talent.'
'It may be that I was wrong about Fairspeaker's not being a mage,' Ziore said musingly. 'This ability you speak of may be a talent of the mind, like Athalar magic, though it is of a kind unfamiliar to me.'
'Or perhaps too familiar,' said Moriana. 'It strikes me as similar to your talent for emotional manipulation, Ziore, but not as well controlled.' The genie looked first rebellious, then sheepish. 'You may be right,' she admitted.
'In any event, he had grown to manhood when Sternbow's wife died. Fairspeaker returned from a campaign in which he had distinguished himself in battle against bandits from the Lolu country. He demanded the patronage Sternbow had withheld so long. Guilt wouldn't permit the older man to refuse.'
He drew idle designs in the dust at his feet. The growing heat made him sweat. Fost wondered what it had been like for the Watchers in the skystone mines. Hell, no doubt. And the man he spoke of contributed heavily to a renewal of that living torture.
'When I was in Nevrym,' he continued, 'Fairspeaker was already something of a force to be reckoned with. He was little different from the way he is now. No one quite trusts him, unless you happen to be the subject of his immediate attention. Yet when he's around no man quite trusts his comrades, either. No one can tell who is under Fairspeaker's influence. And no one knows who Fairspeaker backs.' Fost rubbed his chin. A wiry black stubble rasped under his hand. He'd lost his razor in the City, and the dagger he shaved with now had been confiscated by the foresters. 'He keeps his own balance and keeps all others off theirs. He is dangerous,' he finished.
'But why is he helping the Zr'gsz?.' demanded Moriana. 'He must know they're enemies of all humanity.' Fost shrugged.
'I don't know. One thing no one's ever accused Fairspeaker of lacking is a keen perception of where his own best interests lie.'
A creak and a thump announced that the bolt on the gate was being withdrawn. Fost was on his feet instantly, Moriana beside him poised to take advantage of the slightest opportunity to escape. Deep down he knew escape was but a forlorn hope. The inhuman speed of the Zr'gsz and the keen eyes and ready bows of their human allies were too formidable a combination for them to overcome unarmed. Even if Moriana summoned up a fearful battle spell from inside her, all that would accomplish would be to take some Hissers and foresters down to Hell Call
