Princess,' he said to Moriana, who had suddenly colored and dropped her eyes. The mention of the Demon had triggered a train of memories in her that were anything but pleasant.
'I suppose you think all this supports your ridiculous theory that humanity came to the world from another plane of existence,' said Erimenes, elevating his nose to a contemptuous angle.
'I do, in fact. The legends aren't conclusive, but they point strongly to the possibility that we – or you, I suppose – originated elsewhere.'
'It also points strongly to the certainty that our kind is given to flights of imagination,' Fost pointed out, loath to rank himself with Erimenes in debate with Oracle. 'The Archipelagan Reduction states as a matter of principle that the simplest theory to account for a phenomenon is the most likely to be true.' Erimenes turned his sneer on him.
'I'm ashamed to learn you've been taken in by the naive and simpleminded doctrine of Reductionism. We sages of Athalau had more wisdom than that.'
'Did the Athalar sages ever disprove the Reductionist axiom?' Oracle asked with interest.
'Ah, no, not exactly. But there are contentions too patently absurd to require that wise men waste their precious time deigning to disprove them.'
The discussion had gotten tangled in sticky strands of epistemology. Only Moriana remained aloof, lacking the others' interest in abstract knowledge for its own sake. The question of humanity's origin on this world or elsewhere was never solved, unsurprisingly.
Moriana took her place at the ship's rail by Fost's side, pressing her hip against his. He smiled lopsidedly. He didn't dare turn from the rail now, not without revealing the state of his scanty loincloth and displaying to the entire crew of the ship Endeavor the extent of his interest in the nearly naked woman. She sensed his discomfiture – or maybe read it from the surface of his mind. Since recovering Ziore's jug from the glacier-swallowed city of Athalau, Moriana's mental abilities had been increasing. She began to rub her hip slowly back and forth against his, teasing him until he felt as if he would explode. 'You shouldn't start something you don't mean to finish,' he said.
'Why not finish it? You seem to have a good start. A very good one, from what I can see from this angle.' She leaned forward and peered down meaningfully.
His mind tumbled and roiled like a storm-wracked ocean. For no reason, he remembered the conclusion of the final talk with Oracle. The others had gone ahead after offering their farewells. The projection of the 'man' had requested Fost to stay behind. 'Will you win?' Oracle had asked. 'I'd hoped you could tell me,' Fost answered.
'I have insufficient knowledge.'
'I don't know,' Fost said, sighing deeply. 'Moriana is as powerful a sorceress as lives, perhaps the strongest in centuries. But is she Felarod?' 'Even Felarod needed Athalau and the aid of the World Spirit.'
'Athalau lies buried in a living glacier, an intelligent being named Guardian. He – it – was created by the first War of Powers and is entrusted with… guarding Athalau from intruders.' 'Yet you penetrated it once before.' Fost ran fingers through his hair.
'We've had this out, Moriana and I. I think she knows we'll have to return to Athalau to seek the means to overthrow Istu – if it can be done again. But now she's concerned mainly with getting to the City of Bankers with this draft Teom has given us so she can raise troops and supplies to try to check the Hissers in the Quincunx.' He shook his head. 'I have to admit the menace of Istu and the Dark Ones is great enough that it's easy to forget the purely physical peril the Fallen Ones pose. If their armies defeat us in battle, the relative strengths of the Powers is moot. But I think Moriana fears – or maybe resists – the idea of confronting the Powers with which Felarod trafficked so long ago.' 'But it must be done. I know enough to tell you that.'
They sat in silence for a time, flesh and blood man and a figment of an alien mentality.
'If you win,' Oracle finally said, 'will you come back here? You are my friend. And you look upon me as a friend rather than a challenging project in scientific sorcery or a surrogate offspring of a man who fears both he and his era will be without issue.'
'I'm touched,' Fost said truthfully. 'I'll come back.' He mentally added, If I can, if I live, if there's anything to come back to.
'I can tell you one thing, friend Fost,' Oracle said diffidently. 'Though I don't know if I should.' 'Go ahead.'
'You have been troubled by the profound question of why you continue with the mad adventure. At first you thought it was because you were in love. Erimenes claimed you continued because you feared being alone. Now you have the added motive of wishing to do all possible to preserve humanity and throw back the ultimate orderliness offered by the Dark. There's truth in all these, I think. But I perceive a further, even more fundamental truth.' 'What's that?' He tapped fingers tensely on one thigh.
'Why,' said Oracle, a broad grin splitting his moon face, 'you go along because you want to see what happens next. You have a great curiosity.' The grin widened even more. 'And that's as good a motive as any.'
A seabird's cry passed Fost on its way downwind, breaking his reverie. He let his fingers trail down Moriana's back until he found the wet, warm curve of her rump. She jumped when he pinched her and jammed an elbow into his ribs. Laughing, they came into one another's arms for a long kiss. Breaking apart, they headed below to the portside cabin they shared. Though most of his thoughts were for happy lechery and enjoying Erimenes's pitiful, futile pleas to be brought along to watch, he still had time to tell himself Oracle was right.
His curiosity about what would happen next drove him onward.
Considering the difficulties they'd encountered on their way to North Keep, the twice-longer journey around the northeast shoulder of the Realm passed with almost ridiculous ease. A huge Imperial Navy ship had escorted them to the delta of the River Lo marking the easternmost extent of the Imperial dominion. Teom's parting gestures to them were of a truly Imperial magnitude, as well they should be. Not only did he owe his continued life and throne to them, specifically to Moriana, the king actually felt a certain kinship with her and her companions. Alone of all those surrounding him, these stalwarts were objects of Teom's real affection. Getting them out of the Empire safely was the most gracious thing he could do. Two serious attempts to overthrow him in a matter of weeks, interspersed with a desperate battle with the reptilian invaders, constituted an ominous record even by High Medurim standards. The intervention of mercenary Captain Mayft and her heavy dog riders on the day of the investiture had broken up the mob and foiled the plot hatched by the commanders of several Imperial Army regiments in concert with the mad Sir Tharvus to overthrow Teom and Temalla and murder Fost and Moriana. It had also caused such a violent reaction on the part of the populace that the mercenaries had to be released from their contract and sent trotting home with a huge bonus. Tharvus was still on the loose crying for Teom's downfall and Moriana's death, and it seemed that more Medurimin citizens heeded his call each day. So Teom was only too glad to see the last of his controversial guests and did all in his power to speed them on their way.
One last bit of ill-tidings had arrived before they could quit the Imperial city, however. The day before the Endeavor was to sail there was a great commotion at the gates of the Palace ground. After hurried consultation with Teom's surviving advisors, the gates were opened to admit a ragged, desperate, footsore band of refugees.
Grimpeace, King in Nevrym, and a scarred and battered retinue sought asylum.
'That damned Fairspeaker came back,' Grimpeace told Fost as they had gripped forearms in greeting. 'With fifty skyrafts laden with Hissers. They dropped down on Paramount just as dawn turned its upper branches gold. They drove us – drove me – out of the Palace like ferrets starting rabbits from their hole.'
Fost and Moriana had nodded with grim understanding. Someone, Fairspeaker or the canny Zak'zar of the People, had a shrewd grasp of tactics. Had they attacked the Lord of Trees from the base, as many others had tried and failed at, they would have found themselves battling upward level by level against a foe who couldn't run but must fight and sell themselves as dearly as possible. Attempts had been made to force Paramount before; none had succeeded.
But with skyrafts dropping in from above, the startled defenders would be driven downward, level by level along a path to safety their foes had thoughtfully left open. A quick strike by the Hissers and their turncoat allies and the defenders found themselves in the foyer of their own keep, with the enemy holding the rest against them. A simple plan, and a deadly one.
Moreover, an assault borne on skyrafts avoided the problems of passage among the eldritch trees of Nevrym. Fairspeaker and his ilk were foresters and could never be seduced from the trail by the sleights of the trees. But as intruders had often found in the past, those who walked the ways of Nevrym unbidden met with a multitude of fates, none pleasant. The Hissers had flown above; the trees were impotent to stop them.
