each other in Tolviroth Acerte, where secure neutral meeting ground could be had for a suitable price. Armed guards remained in the room with them; Wirixer mages were stationed outside, in case magic was called for. Fost tried to imagine dealing with Synalon and Rann in the common room of some country inn and found it too unsettling to ponder long.
Even in spite of the precautions, the safety of all concerned was beyond the company's ability to guarantee. Even though the Wirixer mages had been assembled, Fost knew all too well that if the sisters began tossing occult lethality about there was no way anyone in the world could stop it.
The silence in the room grew dry and scratchy with age. Fost cleared his throat.
'Excuse me for asking such a silly question,' he said, quailing inwardly at the quick blue light of anger blazing in Synalon's eyes, 'but why aren't you dead?'
She laughed. Her breasts shook vigorously to the full-throated merriment, threatening to break free of the inadequate restraint of her lacebird silk bodice.
'Ah, you poor, trusting fools. Moriana, you actually thought I'd step to my death in a fit of pique over a little setback?'
'As far as I could tell, you did,' said Moriana with an evenness of tone that amazed Fost.
'Yes, beloved sibling, I did. And before even I stepped from the window, I sent a mental call out for my dear eagle Nightwind. I hardly had the chance to enjoy the feel of falling free when he was between my legs and carrying me safely away.'
'And you, Rann?' piped up Erimenes, fidgeting at being excluded from the conversation. His and Ziore's jugs had posed a problem for the guards. Since there was nothing visible in either jar, and since the two most potent sorceresses were to be in the same room together anyway, it was decided a couple of genies made little difference. 'How do you come to be sitting here, looking so hale and hardy? I thought Khirshagk's spear brought you down.'
'It brought my eagle down, may he who cast that damned spear writhe in hellfire!'
Erimenes paled before the force of the prince's passion. The fury passed from Rann's tawny eyes and he relaxed.
'But Terror was the greatest of a great breed. The war eagles of the City are trained to preserve their rider's life at all costs. And though his every wingbeat added to his agony, Terror controlled our descent until he could set me safely on a hilltop. Then he died.'
'My dear Rann, I do believe I detect sentiment in your voice.' Some of Erimenes's cockiness had returned.
'No one cares what you believe, demon!' snapped Rann. His scars glowed like white-hot wires.
'If there's hellfire, Khirshagk's writhing in it,' Fost cut in quickly. 'He used that peculiar black smoking gem the Hissers took from the fumarole on Mt. Omizantrim and freed Istu with it. However the breaking of bonds Felarod created worked, it killed Khirshagk in the process.'
'Lucky all in the City weren't killed,' murmured Synalon. 'I've tested the magic that bound Istu, and know its potency.' She tapped her daintily pointed chin. 'No, come to think of it, from my viewpoint it wasn't lucky at all, for if all within the City had been slain, I might have returned at once.' Moriana wasn't listening.
'There's hellfire,' she said softly, staring unfocused at the center of the table. Silence crowded in again. Everyone knew why Synalon had tested the bonds pinioning Istu in the City's foundations, and it wasn't with a view toward strengthening them. Likewise, no one had to question how Moriana knew the reality of hellfire. She had seen it glowing through the slits that were the eyes of the Vicar of Istu, and it had touched her, left its mark on her.
'Perhaps if you'll explain how you came to be here,' suggested Rann. Moriana scowled, not wishing to follow any path the prince pointed out. Hurriedly, Fost began talking, telling what had happened in the City after Synalon's apparent suicide. Soon, Moriana joined in the telling, and the two spirits as well.
As she listened, Synalon's fingers idly stroked at her exposed breastbone. When the tale came to the night of the Golden Dome, they slipped into the top of her gown, at which Rann cleared his throat and looked away. Fost imagined that the Safesure attendants were grateful just then that their helmets hid their expressions. They would certainly earn their fees this day.
When the bloody aftermath of Teom's orgy was told, Rann's eyes glowed and he massaged one fist, cracking the knuckles and nodding appreciation of Fost and Moriana's exploits. Then came the storv of the Battle of the Black March, and he pounded his fist excitedly into his palm. He obviously wished he could have been there, commanding, fighting, taking in the ebb and flow of the battle. It was for such things the man lived – and it was in such things that Rann was a true genius.
Fost wondered whether Moriana, who had the narrative at this point, would tell of Zak'zar's apparition that had soured the victory celebration following the battle. She looked at him and stopped short.
'We had a visit from the Speaker of the People that night,' he said, hearing her breath catch. 'He showed us the fate that had befallen Kara-Est that day. How did you come to escape it?' The rest was Moriana's to keep or give.
Synalon's fingers curled into fists.
'We would have fought the Hissers at Kara-Est,' she growled, 'but for the treachery of this worm beside me.'
All stared at this, even the faceless attendants lining the whitewashed walls, for Rann's devotion to his princess was as legendary as his prowess in war and torture. The hair on Synalon's head began to untwine itself from its elaborate coiffure, and blue sparks crackled through it. Looking stricken, the guard sergeant started to draw his sword, knowing that it might be the last thing he ever did. Moriana raised a slim hand.
'Stay,' she said to the guard. 'She does that when she's angry. It means nothing.'
Synalon was known throughout the Realm for her behavior when angry. The sergeant did not look encouraged, but if Synalon uncorked anything horrible Moriana would catch the brunt of it, and it was Moriana who bid him not be concerned. He only hoped she wasn't going to commit suicide on his shift.
Rann had dropped his head until his sharp chin rested on the embroidered yoke of his dark brown tunic.
'I did what I thought best served the interests of my queen,' he said quietly.
While Synalon sat looking disdainful and dripping the occasional fat blue spark to sizzle and die and leave small charred circles on the floor, Rann told how he had determined that resistance to the might of Istu was futile. 'I read the old accounts of the War of Powers,' he said. 'The First War of Powers,' Fost corrected dully. Rann studied him for a moment.
'I suppose you're right in making the distinction. At any rate, I had some idea of the nature of the Black Lens, the form in which our scouts reported that Istu manifested himself. In that aspect the Demon can draw matter and energy irresistibly into himself, and only the mightiest of magics can forestall him.'
'I would have fought!' shrieked Synalon. A blue nimbus flamed about her head.
'You would have died,' answered Rann. Synalon whirled on him, raising her hand. Fost knew the gesture. Time slowed to a crawl before his eyes. The guardsmen sensed the intent but hesitated, not having expected the princess to turn on her own ally. Moriana made no motion, so it was up to Fost to act. He snatched up the goblet by his elbow and flung the contents onto the enraged princess.
A loud hiss and a cloud of steam filled the chamber. From outside came a dull thump. The Wirixer mages had detected the magics being mustered in the room; one had fainted upon realizing how potent they were. Synalon turned to Fost with eyes like lances of blue fire. For the courier, time seemed to flow like molasses. No matter how fast he reacted, it would be far too slow to stay his death. He remembered the searing caress of a salamander and wondered if a lightning bolt would feel the same. Synalon tipped back her head and laughed.
'You're a brave fool, courier. You must still hear Hell Call ringing in your ears. Death was that close.' 'I live,' he said doggedly. The laughter died.
'So you do. As does the renegade Rann. Perhaps you're not so much a fool, after all.' 'I could have told you Your Highness as much,' Rann said dryly.
'There's more to you than is immediately apparent, Longstrider, though it's not displeasing, either. It may please me one day to take you from my sister; I doubt she fully appreciates you.' Before either party named could respond, the sorceress turned to Ziore. 'And you, nun, I warn you. Don't try your emotion play on me a second time, unless you want to learn what true death is.'
Again a long silence fell as all sat back and composed themselves, for the next round in this battle of wills.
