CHAPTER NINE
Brev bustled as it had not in years. It was the least of the Quincunx cities. It owed what little prosperity it had to the geographic fact that it lay at one corner of the Quincunx and could serve as a center for trade. Before the binding of the City in the Sky to the Great Quincunx, Brev had been an anonymous spot on the map. Even in the ten millennia since that event, it had failed to distinguish itself. Thailot boasted skill in artificing and glassworking, particularly the grinding of lenses; Wirix had its sorcerers with their genetic manipulations; Kara-Est was Kara-Est, grandest seaport of the Realm and a high city of the world; Bilsinx, central of the five cities, was the strategic and economic center of the Sundered Realm.
Brev was a dispirited huddle of drab stone buildings with the Broken Lands to the west and the Steppe to the south – and occasion-ally the Sky City overhead. That was all.
Now envious Brev could hold her head up, for she was queen of the Quincunx. Kara-Est was destroyed, perhaps Wirix as well; the island city was taken and sacked, at the very least. Thailot huddled behind its hedge of mountains. The onion domes of Bilsinx watched over empty streets, her citizens following the Sky Citizens fleeing south to avoid the wrath of the City's new owners. For now, all roads led to Brev. The merchants rejoiced in the influx of bright gold, and her leaders spoke of the dawn of a new era.
The travellers had desired to keep word of their arrival quiet. It was too much to ask. They were greeted by shouts of acclaim, with speeches by members of the ruling hereditary council, and rum punch and floral wreaths in the Triangle where the paths of the City converged. Fost and Moriana and the rest looked on with tired eyes, even the genies subdued and weary from the desperate pace they'd maintained since sighting the City.
Not even Rann had the heart to tell the crowds that their dawn would prove a false one.
The Palace was an appropriate setting for the grim meeting of the sisters and their loyal, if somewhat confused, subjects. It was drafty, cold and damp and dark, and lacking in adequate fireplaces. The halls had a few cracked windows that admitted breezes but little sunlight. What light there was inside came from lanterns with panes no one had cleaned in recent memory. Dusk rose out of the east when a steward ushered them into the council chamber. Blue and purple shadows lay like curtains across the windows. The rafters were all but invisible above, not so much from height as murk. Fost decided this was a perfect place to discuss the end of the world.
'Your Highnesses,' greeted Colonel Ashentani, lately governor of Bilsinx. 'It gives us all great pleasure to be reunited with you once again.'
'We thank you,' said Moriana, leaving them to wonder whether she meant both sisters or simply employed the royal we. 'But let's have an end to ceremony. We've serious business to discuss.'
The two were seated side-by-side at the head of the table. Rann sat to the left, nearest Synalon. Fost tucked Erimenes's jug under one arm and took his place at the foot of the table, hoping he would have no part in the proceedings so he could find a place to sleep.
Ashentani he recognized. Most of the others he didn't. Moriana did and Ziore picked the information from the surface of the princess's brain and relayed it to Fost. Mostly they were Sky City officers. For their part, Ziore told him, they were frightened by the events of the past few months, afraid of the Demon and the Fallen Ones, scared that they might make a slip that would put them out of favor with one or the other sister.
Toward one, however, Moriana felt cold hostility, which Ziore reported was returned in kind. Destirin Luhacs had succeeded Count Ultur V'Duuyek as commander of a Grassland mercenary regiment at Chanobit Creek. Moriana disliked the woman for the part her troops had played in smashing the army she and Darl Rhadaman had raised. Luhacs, a square-faced woman with eyes like blue ice, blamed Moriana for the death of the count, who had been her lover as well as her commander.
Further down the table sat Cerestan, the young lieutenant of the Sky Guard. He'd aged considerably since the first time Fost saw him. Since escaping the City and Istu's wrath, he had waged a quiet battle against the dangers besetting the refugees – hunger, thirst, exposure – as they fled first to Bilsinx and then to Brev. His eyes were sunk into pits and a hint of gray sprinkled his temples.
A servant came with mugs of steaming broth. Fost drained his in three swallows, almost revelling in the way it scalded his tongue. Though he barely tasted it, the warmth spread through his body and revitalized him. He felt closer to life than death for the first time in days.
'So that's our story,' finished Synalon. 'What of the Empire? Wirix?' Colonel Ashentani squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.
'Well?' demanded Moriana. 'We must know. Killing messengers bringing bad news is something I've never done.' Moriana darted a quick look at her sister, who sat back in her chair and tented fingers in front of her slightly smiling lips.
'There are few facts,' said Ashentani, 'but they are grim enough. After Bilsinx fell and Brev collapsed, Wirix recalled its citizens from those cities. But there was a small colony of Wirixers in Samadum and it is from them we received news of Wirix's fall. The Fallen Ones launched an attack with small boats on the lake and their skycrafts above. When the City floated overhead, Istu appeared. He cast down lightnings, but the strength of the Institute was arrayed against him and the force of his bolts tempered. The Wirixer mages conjured an air elemental and set a waterspout against their invaders.' Ashentani paused, noting she had the rapt attention of not only Moriana and Synalon but Rann, also. The small man sat with eyes half closed, evaluating her every word. She went on. 'Istu bellowed in rage and disappeared.' 'And then the Black Lens appeared in the Skywell,' put in Rann.
'Yes,' said Colonel Ashentani in a choked voice. 'Istu absorbed the air sprite by drawing it into the blackness. Then the City crossed over Wirix.'
'Tell me exactly what happened,' said Rann, leaning forward now, his arms resting on the table, hands clenched.
'A black vortex descended from the Lens. It drove into the center of the city, digging to bedrock, coring Wirix like an apple. The government buildings were torn from their foundations but the Institute and most of the city proper were intact. The defenders, magicians and soldiers alike, were demoralized by the Demon's power. The purely physical storm that began when the vortex vanished destroyed what the Black Lens hadn't.' 'And High Medurim?' Fost heard himself asking.
'Only rumors,' answered the colonel. 'Again the Demon used the Black Lens. The Hissers were dug in along the Marchant. The Lens blazed a black trail of death and devastation across the farmlands of the City States like a spear pointing straight at Medurim's heart.' 'Enough poetry, damn you!' flared Fost. 'What of the city?'
She shrugged, her face a mask showing the deprivation and horror she had lived with. Fost regretted his sharpness with her.
'The Imperial capital has fallen, whether captured like Wirix or eradicated like Kara-Est, I haven't been able to discover.'
'Thank you, Colonel,' Fost said softly. He turned his empty cup in his hands, staring into the depths as if to read some augury there. It was true. Medurim was no more, and likewise the friends he had known in both slums and palace.
After supper, Fost heard Cerestan's shrill voice asking the question he dreaded to hear.
'Why must we turn tail and run? Can't we fight the damned lizards?'
Fost feared that Synalon would renew her own objections to the plan and break the fragile coalition. Glancing up, he saw Rann twisting a linen napkin between his fingers with quiet vehemence and knew he wasn't the only one fearing for the alliance.
'Are you a master of magics?' snapped Synalon. The young officer recoiled at the fury flaming in her eyes. 'Or do you presume to judge the decisions of your betters… and find them wanting?' 'No, Your Highness,' he whispered, his face deathly white.