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.
'What precisely happened in Kara-Est, if it's not too much trouble to tell us?' demanded Erimenes, in a pet because the promised mayhem had failed to materialize.
The sergeant of the guard had dispatched one of the attendants to fetch a bowl of water and a towel to clean the wine from Synalon and the table. He entered without noticeable enthusiasm and began mopping up the sticky red mess. Synalon undulated beneath the caress of the cloth, making the man so nervous he dropped it three times. The last time one end fell down between Synalon's breasts. His hand shot reflexively in pursuit. Synalon raised an eyebrow at him, smiled. He threw up his hands, uttered a thin scream and fled the room.
'Now that the comic relief is over, we can get down to business,' said Rann, rapping his knuckles on the table. 'To answer your question, demon, I made preparations to evacuate Kara-Est, without advising Synalon. Then, the night before the City was to arrive overhead, I went to her to tell her the only logical thing we could do was get out.' His eyes avoided his sovereign's. 'And she refused,' said Moriana. 'Just so. As I had anticipated.' 'So what happened?' Fost asked.
'I struck her with a Thailint drug dart. The chemical acts almost instantaneously. Not altogether so, unfortunately.' He raised his right arm and drew up the tunic sleeve. The underside of his wiry arm showed angry red, as if recently scalded. 'I'll bear the marks of her anger a long time.' 'You deserved worse,' Synalon said, but without heat.
'I did what I thought best,' Rann repeated. 'We had no hope of winning. And as far as I knew, Synalon was the strongest magician alive, and the only one with a faint hope of ever commanding the power to defeat Istu. But then and there, she had no hope at all.' 'So what do you intend now?' asked Ziore. 'Isn't that obvious? We join forces against Istu and the Vridzish.'
Moriana and Synalon jumped to their feet screaming denial; the Safesure attendants stood by the walls fairly quaking in their armor. They were well-tempered men and women, normally fearless, but this was like dancing with an unconstrained fire elemental. In the commotion, Fost's gaze met Rann's and perfect understanding flowed between them. The sensation made Fost's skin crawl, but he knew that he and the prince alike knew what must be done. Sharing a thought with the likes of Rann was not something Fost found comfortable.
For all their mutual hate, for all the many ways they were opposites, both royal sisters possessed intellects on the same order as their egos – enormous. And between them they knew almost all of the magic learned by humanity over the ages. Slowly, reluctantly, they calmed and resumed their places.
'He's right,' Moriana said grudgingly. 'Alone, neither of us has a chance against the Demon. Together…' 'Together, you've scarcely more of a chance,' said Rann.
'Have you learned so much magic,' Synalon said, looking at him narrowly, 'that you can predict the future?'
'No. But I know history. Felarod and his Hundred – a hundred Athalar savants of the heyday of that city's skill in magic – couldn't contain the Demon of the Dark Ones. They had to invoke the World Spirit, and in that act almost died.' He looked from one cousin to the other. 'Recall that not even Felarod long survived his triumph.'
'I don't fear dying to defeat the Demon!' shouted Moriana. She of all those assembled had the deepest hatred of the spawn of the Void. Rann faced her coolly.
'What about dying uselessly? I don't know magic as you do, but this I know. Even if you and Synalon act in perfect harmony, you have no more chance of overcoming Istu than I have of hiking to the Pink Moon.'
'It sounds as if you're refuting your own argument,' Fost said, arguing against himself as much as Rann. 'If our joining forces won't bring Istu's fall, why should we take the risk? Either of us?'
'I'll tell you something, Longstrider,' said Rann. 'When we were antagonists I found myself wishing that we could work together, you and I. You continue to show yourself perceptive, and to prove the soundness of my judgment of you as a shrewd man, rough-edged and not well schooled in subtlety, but able. I hope we can yet work together, Northblood.'
Fost moistened his lips from his cup to hide what he assumed correctly to be the expression of unwonted pleasure. The prince was flattering him. And he seemed to mean it.
'But to your question. I still feel that the means of bringing down Istu can be found. Just because a weapon doesn't lie conveniently at hand doesn't mean it doesn't exist.'
'Istu was overcome before.' Instantly, Fost cursed himself for speaking. He was actually trying to elicit the prince's approval and had wound up mouthing the obvious. Rann seemed not to notice.
'Just so. We can find the means.' He smiled cheerlessly. 'But there's the problem of staying alive until we do.'
Moriana leaned forward across the table. She held her anger back with obvious effort, yet what her cousin said had merit.
'You've thought on the situation,' she said with only the faintest hint of begrudging it to Rann. 'Outline it for us, if you will.'
Fost nodded to himself. Subconsciously at least, Moriana had accepted the necessity of joining with those who had been her deadliest foes. Now she spoke to Rann much as she must have when the two of them fought the Golden Barbarians together, years before.