No one felt mirth at the word the fleet brought with them. The party Moriana sent out to meet the ships was astonished to find twice as many ships riding anchor in the mouth of the Gulf of Veluz. The extra vessels were refugees fleeing the wrath of Istu, which had descended on Tolviroth Acerte not long after Moriana and the rest departed. The survivors were shocked and scarcely coherent but reported that the city had been captured, not utterly obliterated as Kara-Est had been. It was small comfort.
Under the surprisingly steady guidance of the youthful Cerestan, refugees began to stream into Athalau from Brev. And not only from Brev and Bilsinx but from as far north as the Black March. Word had spread that mankind would make its last stand in the icebound citadel of the south. Perhaps, as Rann speculated, Zak'zar had spread the rumors himself in the hope of straining Athalau's tenuous supply lines to breaking. There were other cities that had yet to suffer the attentions of the Sky City: Port Zorn in the east, Duth and Kolinth and those of the other City States that had not lain in the City's path from the Black March to Medurim, Thailot and Deepwater and the Sjeddland cities west of the Thails. But it was also true that Athalau offered the best hope for humanity's survival – the only hope.
If it was the Vridzish's wish to weaken the defenders of Athalau with hunger, that tactic was in vain. The supplies Moriana had ordered to the lost city were plentiful and great stores of travellers' fare lay in the vaults beneath Athalau. This was magically preserved dried food meant to sustain life over long journeys. It was scarcely palatable, but it did what it was intended to do. Moreover, game teemed in the Ramparts this season; hunting was good, if risky. Eventually the food stocks would run low, but Rann doubted the Fallen Ones would feel they had the leisure to wait. Every day the humans explored Athalau increased their chances of being able to successfully summon the World Spirit. It soon became apparent that the Zr'gsz would not wait. Bird riders reported that the Sky City passed first Bilsinx and then Brev, and Istu smashed each city flat. But they were abandoned by then. He reaped few souls for his collecton.
The Zr'gsz reacted violently when the survivors of the fight with the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom reported back, launching savage attacks against the long columns of refugees and airlifting in an army of foot soldiers from the north, risking the increasingly rare skyrafts in the face of the fierce storms that blew in from the Joreal Ocean in this season. And there was another danger they faced.
Prince Rann was in the field again, at the head of the reunited forces of the Sky City. No longer were the lizard men and their stone rafts a frightening novelty as they had been when Moriana led the aerial fleet against the City in the Sky; no longer were the Sky Citizens fighting halfheartedly to defend the throne of a queen many thought an usurper and worse. The soldiers of the City and their allies fought with all the skill and courage for which they were renowned – and with a cornered animal savagery, too. When Rann's eagles spread their wings above the rafts of the People, the slaughter they worked was fearful.
Despite all anyone could do, the slaughter the Vridzish worked on the refugees was frightful, too. It was impossible to protect the mile-long columns of trudging, desperate folk. But Cerestan did well, luring an army three times the size of his into an envelopment and massacring it to a man, with a force of Bilsinxt and Sky City cavalry. After that, the attacks on the refugees slacked off.
Encouraging as the humans' successes in the field were, they were insubstantial. It was a bitter war; if the humans lost, they were doomed, but all they could win was a respite, the chance to follow one breath with another until the City and the Demon arrived.
Moriana desperately prepared herself for the coming duel with Istu. The Ethereals had moved into the Palace of Esoteric Wisdom as if it had been built for them and began a strict regimen of meditation and study. Moriana studied, too, in the vast and varied Athalau libraries. Her knowledge grew, but not her confidence.
There was no way to test the Nexus or try calling upon the World Spirit until the actual time came to face Istu. The summoning of the World Spirit had been too much for Felarod and nine-tenths of his Hundred; already Moriana had fewer Ethereals to work with. She dared not risk them prematurely.
She bore the burden well. Sometimes she awakened Fost at night with weeping, but when he held her in his arms all she could speak of was her fear that the best wasn't good enough, that the evil she had loosed upon the world would consume it and humankind.
When she returned to fitful drowsing, Fost brooded over the near certainty that even victory would cost him Moriana. He never let her know of his concern. But sometimes when she slept, he shed tears, too.
During the hectic days he occupied himself with a task as necessary as Rann's. He began the eradication of the ice worms, first in the city and then in the glacier. Guardian was a good and true ally and the humans owed him much.
'Is this a fitting occupation for an itinerant hero?' Erimenes demanded one day as Fost trudged from an ice worm tunnel at the head of a weary, battered squad. 'You should be off soldiering, covering yourself with glory like Rann and Cerestan.'
'I'd sooner be covered in shit,' Fost growled. 'I'll never make a soldier. I admit, sometimes I take joy in fighting and bringing an enemy down, though I'm none too sure that's worthy. Man to man's a challenge. Mass to mass is butchery and chance.'
The genies mostly spent time together, and even Fost admitted – to himself – that he was touched by the joy Erimenes took in sharing the rebirth of his city with Ziore. However, the philosopher did go into sulks for several days when Rann flatly refused to permit him to accompany a raiding party.
Synalon kept her distance, studying in libraries as Moriana did, or in her chambers in the dormitory next to the Palace with the door closed. Moriana muttered dark suspicions of what her sister did, but had no time to act on them. Until one night a month after they arrived in Athalau…
Fost tramped down the arched corridor of the dormitory feeling as if his boots were cast of lead and his joints made of jelly. It had been a grim, brutal day hunting the worms. Two men of his ten hadn't returned. Fost was glad Erimenes had been at a museum sneering to Ziore about how art had deteriorated since his day instead of being with Fost. Erimenes had by and large lost the habit of cheering when his own side took casualties, but Fost wouldn't have liked to tempt him. There were many deep holes within the glacier where a spirit jar could be cast down.
The floor rumbled to a cheer beneath his feet. Prince Rann was being toasted in the refectory. He had another victory to his credit. The Zr'gsz had sent a hundred rafts probing into the Gate of the Mountains itself. Anticipating such a move, Rann had long since laid plans with the nomads of the Steppes, who reluctantly cooperated. Only the Ust-alayakit tribe stayed aloof.
When the Hisser rafts were well into the narrow ravine, a storm of boulders, arrows and javelins came crashing down on them from above. As the surviving rafts climbed clear to meet their attackers, Rann and the Sky Guard swept out of the sun like a firestorm from Omizantrim. The humans took a handful of casualties, none among the bird riders. Not one of the rafts escaped.
Fost had to admit the strange, compact man with the devastated face had earned the cheers. Especially since he seemed to work miracles against the Zr'gsz. He was a monster, of that there was no doubt. Fost had seen his handiwork. And yet, and yet… without the scarred prince the humans would have already lost.