Robert Vardeman - Istu awakened

Rann did not turn, but the whole hall marked how his neck went red. His own favored diversions notwithstanding, he was a notorious prude and disapproved vigorously of his cousin's extravagant public displays of her sexual prowess and libido. He nodded jerkily and went out. The great doors swung closed with a resounding thump.

Flushed with happy anticipation, Synalon settled back on the crystal of her throne and called for more wine. Servitors hastened to her bidding.

The tall, red-faced Councillor turned to his companion. The smaller man's hands were still shaking with reaction and dread.

'Well, here's a curiosity, Tromym,' said High Councillor Uriath, smoothing the fringes of his white beard. 'I never would have thought I'd be glad to see that devil Rann.'

Tromym did not answer. Instead he lifted his goblet to his lips for a hasty gulp. Though he used both hands, a torrent of the purple wine cascaded down the front of his blue robe.

Off in the dappled distance of the woods a bird sang. Moriana walked a cathedral-like path beneath mighty trees, seeking some rest for her weary, tortured soul.

In every direction she looked grew trees. Most were yellow tai but every now and then the graceful tai stood aside for a tree giant, a shunnak with red bark shining on boles twenty feet thick, lifting blue-green clad boughs five hundred feet off the forest floor.

It was a scene of primeval beauty. Birds with long, brightly hued tails flew between the trees, small animals scurried about on missions known only to themselves. In the midst of all this tranquility walked Moriana, troubled and upset.

Ziore rode in her jug at Moriana's hip, doing her best to caress the worries from Moriana with comforting thoughts and her special gift of empathy. It should have been impossible for Moriana to remain wrapped in gloom, tormented by thoughts of past and future.

But a few miles to the northeast, an invisible presence beyond the leafy treetops, the Mystic Mountains loomed like eidolons, ancient, enigmatic, evil. Within them slumbered Thendrun like some dormant beast, the sole remaining stronghold of the Fallen Ones. Their nearness banished peace from the fugitive princess.

'But you know full well you've no other choice,' the nun Ziore said. She spoke aloud, feeling that in her present mood Moriana needed sensory reaffirmation that she was not alone, though her mind was ever aware of the presence by her side. 'And what can the danger be? The Zr'gsz will have dwindled over the centuries and most of their magic is no doubt long forgotten. They could prove no great menace to the Realm, even if they harbored such designs – which I'm sure they no longer do.'

'The Zr'gsz are long-lived but their memories are longer still.' Moriana's voice hardened. 'I'm betting they haven't lost much of their power. I will need redoubtable allies to seize the Sky City by force of arms.' Ziore held still a moment, mulling this.

'You are right. But still, you mustn't worry. It's been ten thousand years since the War of Powers and eight thousand since your ancestors drove the lizard folk from the City. Surely after all that time they cannot nurse futile hopes of regaining their power? Their time is passed. If they are so long-lived, surely they are wise enough to acknowledge that?' Moriana shrugged. 'It's what I'm gambling on.'

'And you are thinking of your other recent gambles that haven't worked,' said Ziore.

'I… yes, you're right. Darl is no better, even after he and I went into that small village to purchase new clothing.'

'He accompanied you. That is a sign of some progress,' pointed out the genie. 'It is the first indication of interest in the world around him since his defeat.'

'Our defeat.' The words fell like bitter droplets from the princess's tongue. 'And he showed only passing interest in these.' She looked down at the new clothing. Moriana had selected a wardrobe of the kind she had come to fancy in her own years of faring through the Realm: rugged tunics that laced up the front with leather thongs, canvas breeches with dog leather linings sewn inside the thighs to cushion the chafing of long hours in the saddle. The colors were russet, muted orange, burnt umber, the earth tones she favored, that set off her golden hair and vivid green eyes so well.

'Darl still thinks of you as his fairy princess,' pointed out Ziore. 'Seeing you clad thusly might have shattered his illusions.'

'Damn him!' flared Moriana. 'I'm not a toy to be put on display. I'm a woman and a princess. Not a fairy princess but one with the need to regain my City. How dare he pretend I'm anything but what I am?'

'Not all have your drive, Moriana,' quietly pointed out Ziore. The genie paused. Moriana felt fleeting touches over the surface of her brain, feathery tickles, light samplings. 'And Darl reads your thoughts as surely as I. He realizes the burden you carry over Fost Longstrider.'

'I killed the man I loved. And all for this.' Her fingers went to the black and white Amulet hung around her neck: the Amulet of Living Flame, which legend said would bring the dead back to life. For the promise of eternal life she'd killed Fost, driven her knife firmly into his heart, as they fought for possession of it.

'Your reasons were noble. The Amulet will allow you to best Synalon. Without it, your powers can never be used. She knows so much more of the black arts than you. Even if she slays you, with that in your possession you will live on and succeed.'

'Dar! reads more than guilty knowledge,' Moriana said bitterly. 'He knows I can never love another man as I loved Fost. Not even Darl Rhadaman.'

'You are wise, my child. What you say is true. Dad's depression is great because of the loss. He hoped to win your favor with victory. He knows no other way of gaining your heart. His most romantic gestures and words carom off the shell you've built around your heart.'

'I loved Fost' she said simply, a tear welling at the corner of her eye. She brushed it away, then rubbed the wetness from her finger onto the black and white Amulet. Even as her fingers touched it, the colors swirled in slow motion, black battling white for supremacy. 'You can love Darl – if you try,' said Ziore.

'I have my duty to the Sky City before me. After Synalon is defeated and I've regained the throne, then will be the time to consider affairs of the heart. Darl's withdrawal, painful as it is to me, isn't the worst of my problems.'

Though she had not spoken of it again since the evening of the battle, word had filtered through her small party that she intended journeying to Thendrun to ally with its denizens. That word was not well received. Her fellow refugees had begun slipping away, in ones and twos, walking away from sentry duty in the midst of darkness or falling back on the march until turning off unobserved into the woods. Among those who stayed there was talk; Moriana heard – or thought she heard – terms such as 'witch' and 'traitor to her kind' hissed behind cupped hands around the campfires when they halted for the night. 'I don't understand.'

Moriana started at Ziore's words, though they rang softly in the quiet of the woods. When Moriana writhed in the grip of a mood like her present one, the nun's shade would read her thoughts carefully unless Moriana asked her not to. The princess had made no such request. But she had forgotten that her dark musings were shared by another. 'What don't you understand?' she asked stiffly.

'Why the terrific resentment among the others about your going to the Fallen Ones? I doubt more than a handful of humans have so much as seen one in the eighty centuries since Riomar Shai-Gallri seized the Sky City. Why the intensity of feeling?'

Moriana stopped, allowed the forest stillness to settle about her for a dozen heartbeats before answering. 'Have you heard of the Watchers?' she asked.