Vridzish,' the prince explained. 'It's safe to assume that other human allies of the Dark exist who keep their sympathies concealed. And I suspect there are such here in Tolviroth Acerte. And it is no assumption at all that they'll have heard about the small, scarred man and the expedition he's mounting to save the Empire.' 'I don't follow you,' Fost said reluctantly.
'The hypothetical minions of the Dark are going to learn that Moriana and Synalon have joined forces, and that they are spreading their coin liberally about Tolviroth Acerte. That much we cannot hide.' He flicked a speck of soot from his shirt collar. 'They'll wonder, of course, where we intend to go – and lo! the worthy Master Lanisol will tell them, as he's no doubt done to all in earshot by now.'
'But you wouldn't tell him who you were. How will the spies know who's recruiting?' Rann looked at him sidelong. Fost instantly regretted the question.
'How many men have you encountered matching my description, Longstrider? If it got back to someone with wit, this Zak'zar, say, that the renowned Prince Rann was accosting drunks under his own name to raise an army, what would that someone think? He'd feel the trap as sharply as if its jaws were closed about his ankle.' Fost still looked doubtful.
'Of course,' Rann went on, 'I'll have to hire a few legitimate mercenaries to march north to lend some credence to the tale. But mostly I seek out ones like Lanisol.'
'Likely, he'll keep the money himself,' said Fost, confused by the prince's devious mind.
'What of it? His ego won't let him keep quiet about the important secret mission that brought him such a weight of gold. That the story reaches the proper ears is all that matters.' They rounded a corner and Rann lightly touched him on the sleeve. 'Let's go in here, and see if the Blow On Inn is as ghastly as its name.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
'So, friend Fost,' asked Erimenes, expansive after a night spent cavorting with Ziore, 'what do you think of our travelling companions? They're not such monsters, eh?'
Mostly occupied with trying not to think about the way his piebald riding dog's trot traumatized his kidneys, Fost didn't answer immediately. He let his gaze sweep the horizon, front to rear. The ground sank slowly behind into the green woods and metallic luster of the River Wirix, which could be glimpsed in its windings far away. To the right – north – the land became a sea of grass rippling on the frozen waves of hills. There in this season the grass grew taller than a man on dog-back; from this it had gotten the name Highgrass Broad. In front rose a barrier that had grown day by day, dark when the sun hung in the west, but a dry yellow light when the sun still mounted the cloud-piled eastern sky. It was the rim of the central massif, a great slab of land that tilted upward from the foothills of the Thails to a line meandering south of Mount Omizantrim. Now the cliffs were near, sheer and forbidding, looking as if they'd been scooped out by a great trowel. They were over a thousand feet high, though numerous and perilous trails ascended the many faces. They planned on reaching the foot of one such trail, which Fost and Moriana both knew from their travels, by early afternoon, completing the climb to the top before night made the way too dangerous.
'Did you say something?' Fost asked, belatedly aware that the spirit had.
'That's what I like about you, Fost. Always on the alert.' 'Ziore would never forgive me if I accidentally dropped your satchel halfway up the face of the rim.'
'I've told you before, you have exceedingly dubious tastes in humor.' Erimenes shook his head, tiny trails of vapor drifting from his forehead as he moved. 'As I was saying, I believe you've learned that our new companions aren't the fiends you'd thought. Of course, I realized long ago that Rann and Synalon were not wholly lacking in merit. But then I had more intimate contact with them…' 'Collaboration is the word, Erimenes.'
The genie heaved a melodramatic sigh and drew himself up even straighter.
'For all your experience in the wide world, and for all my tutelage over this past year – think of it, Fost. We've spent almost a year in one another's company.' Ignoring Fost's groan, he carried on brightly. 'At any rate, though I've no doubt been a maturing influence on you, I find to my deepest regret that you are still callow, unable to appreciate the subtler motivations of your elders.'
'Your motivations aren't subtle. They come down to only one thing. Hedonism.'
'Fost, you must curb this tendency to stray from the subject.' Erimenes wagged a finger at him. 'Now, about Prince Rann and the exquisite Princess Synalon…?'
Fost considered. Again his eyes made a quick circuit of his surroundings. The little party was strung in a winding line picking its way around clumps of scrub and outcroppings of rock. Moriana rode lead on her dog, heavy Highgrass war bow strung across the rounded pommel of her saddle. Next rode Fost, then Synalon and Rann at the rear on a shaggy red animal, his own, smaller Sky City bow likewise resting across his saddlebow. This was caravan season, and bandit country.
'I don't know,' he confessed. 'I think Synalon's insane, but all the same there's something I can't quite name about her… something magnificent, I think, though evil. And Rann…'He shook his head. 'I've heard enough of his handiwork to keep me well-stocked in nightmares the rest of my life. But it's also said he's a genius. And I believe that, too. I can't forget that day in the City when I rescued Moriana and found myself singlehandedly facing both Istu and the whole damned army. I had no choice in that and ran like hell as soon as Moriana was freed. But down dropped Rann from the safety of his eagle to put himself between the monster and Synalon, though he knew his blade couldn't even scratch the thing. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen.'
'It bothers you to find that your former foes aren't wholly the black villains you'd like to think them?' Irritation darted through Fost. He smiled unevenly.
'You know, Erimenes, it's when you're at your most perceptive that you tend to be the most annoying.' He let the reins lie across the dog's neck while he raised his broad-brimmed felt hat and smoothed lank black hair from his eyes. 'It does gripe me, though, to concede any goodness in a creature like Rann.'
'And Synalon, ah, but I perceive the lady herself comes to join our small soiree.'
Fost looked around too sharply and almost lost his balance. Synalon had indeed nudged her mount into a gallop and drew up on the courier's left side. 'Greetings, milord Duke,' she called gaily.
Fost felt himself blushing. He tried to stop and only caused a deeper reddening of his features.
'Are you unaccustomed to folk employing your proper title?' she asked, her voice as clear and sweet as a mountain spring, and seemingly as guileless.
'I -' The words stuck in his throat. He desperately needed a drink, though he'd last sipped from the canteen bouncing by his knee not ten minutes earlier. He cleared his throat and started over.
'Your Highness, I confess I don't really think of myself as a duke. Nor a knight, if it comes to that.'
'But you had those titles granted you from the hand of the Emperor himself. What more could you want? For one of those tiresome Wise Ones to come down from Agift and personally hand you a ducal coronet?'
'No. In all truth, Highness, I never wished to be a knight, or a duke, either. I wanted only to be a free man, and to lead my life in peace.'
He didn't need her laughter to tell him how silly his words sounded.
'Besides,' he said quickly to cover his embarrassment, 'Imperial titles don't mean much. The Emperor tosses them around the way dancing boys and girls strew sweets at every public function.'
'So the honor was too common for you.' She nodded sagely. 'You are a proud man, Longstrider.'
Damn the woman! She was watching him out of eyes the deep, strange blue of turquoise, laughing and yet not laughing.