'After ten millennia,' Moriana added, 'the descendants of the original Watchers remain on their lonely vigil at the foot of Omizantrim. Can you imagine the dedication that implies?'
'Yes, it disturbs me greatly. For three hundred generations to circumscribe their lives willingly to keep an ancient faith – it makes my own deprivation trivial, doesn't it?'
Moriana felt Ziore's bitterness at her own life. She could sense the troubling of her friend's thoughts and wondered if some of Ziore's gift had worn off on her. Being a nun in life following Erimenes's self-denying teachings and missing the rich realms of human experience had stunted her in many ways.
'Each person's problems, no matter how trivial, are enough and more for that person,' said Moriana, smiling wanly at being able to quote one of the genie's aphorisms back at her.
'But it's more than just the Watchers,' the princess went on. 'I take it you're not acquainted with children's fairy tales.'
'No,' Ziore replied. 'I was sent to convent at an early age. We had no time for such mundane trivia.' Her words rang as harshly as any Moriana had heard her speak.
'The favorite of them, even now, concerns the bravery and dedication of the Watchers in standing off attempts by the Hissers to regain their precious skystone mine. Whether there's any truth in them, I don't know. And when children cry or balk at eating their greens, what do mothers tell them? "The Vridzish will get you if you don't behave!"'
'So the Hissers are the legendary embodiment of evil to the people of the Realm.'
'And the Watchers the embodiment of heroic dedication,' said Moriana.
'Now I see why your men fear your destination – and why you do, as well.'
Moriana bit her lip. 'And have I reason to fear my course of action?'
'Have you any other?' came the sharp reply. 'I -' The nun's voice cut off, to resume in Moriana's mind: Someone comes.
The princess went into a fighting crouch, hands on hilt of sword and dagger. She heard whistling, a jaunty carefree tune, and the crunching of leaves under boots.
'Well met, Lord Stormcloud,' she said as the tall blond youth strode into view. He smiled, as radiant as the sun shining above.
'You requested that I not sneak up on you again,' he said. 'I saw fit to follow your advice.' Straightening, Mortana took hands from weapons and smiled.
'I… I wanted to tell you, latic, that I am most grateful for the assistance you've given me. It wouldn't have been possible to come this far.' He stood arm's length from her, smiling.
'Then perhaps the time has come for you to tender payment,' he said, lunging as he spoke.
Caught off balance, Moriana fell back against the trunk of a tree. Strong fingers clawed at her belt. She felt the brass catch give, felt her swordbelt torn away bodily and flung into the brush. Her fingers struck at his eyes. Laughing, he easily caught her wrists and threw her down.
Moriana felt a pulse of energy surge from Ziore. The spirit was trying to quell the mercenary's passion, latic's face purpled in fury. He savagely kicked the satchel, parting the strap and sending Ziore's jug spinning after Moriana's swordbelt. Moriana heard the jug strike a tree with crushing force. She screamed.
The air exploded from her lungs as the mercenary flung himself atop her. Moriana wasted no time demanding what he was doing; she felt the hardness of him prodding into her thigh as his fingers tore at the fastening on her breeches. She brought a knee up. He twisted his hips expertly to block and grinned at her. The Amulet, torn free of her bodice, shone like obsidian.
'I've wanted this for so long,' he panted. 'Watching you flash your breasts and thighs in that flimsy gown… ah! You've wanted what I can offer you. There we go! Now, down with your trousers and in – you'll be begging for more, Bright Princess, by the time I'm done!'
He held both wrists pinioned in one powerful hand while the other tore open her breeches. His body had the power of a seasoned warrior. But so did hers, and she was coming out of the numbness of shock she'd first felt at his attack.
'No, no, you've got no right to hold back.' He groaned in her ear like an avid lover, but in words no lover would utter. 'You've made your pact with blackness, you've sold your soul. Now collect some of the wages!'
He thrust. Snarling like a war dog, she tore her hands free. His smile widened sardonically as she grabbed his throat. Then, as her thumbs began inexorably to press his head back, the smile disintegrated and a look of disbelief came into his eyes.
Stormcloud clutched at her wrists with both hands. Sweat poured down his face. Her eyes blazing with insane rage, Moriana gathered her strength and heaved.
When armed men ran up from the camp, led by Darl looking fully his old self with broadsword bared in his hand, they found her huddled half-naked against the slick trunk of a shunnak, cradling Ziore's jug in her lap. The Amulet, now the purest white, hung quiescent between bare breasts. The genie hovered by her side. A few feet away latic Stormcloud lay sprawled, as limp as a child's ragdoll, eyes touched with the lifeless cast of porcelain. His neck was broken.
CHAPTER FIVE
'And what forecasts have you for me?' Duke Morn, ruler of Kara-Est, slumped on his throne, speaking into his beard and not looking at the stubby figure who stood before him. 'Are we ready to meet the onslaught of ah, the, ah, Sky City?'
Rising from her knees, Parel Tonsho, Chief Deputy of Kara-Est, wrinkled her nose in distaste. The wind was in from the north, blowing directly across the great fen called the Mire. Not even the Ducal Palace in the Hills of Cholon overlooking the city was exempt from the sour reek of decaying swamp. Heightened by unseasonable heat, the smell overpowered even the pomades carried by the deputy's half-dozen armed and painted retainers. One of the youths caught her expression and tittered, thinking it directed at the duke's vagueness. She shot him a glance that froze him to silence.
'As ready as we shall ever be to trade with them on the battlefield,' she said, 'unless our brave partners in Wirix see fit to send us some of their mages to help ward off the spells of that damned bitch-slut, Synalon.' Bony fingers stroked gray-shot beard.
'Oh, but our, our trading friends the Wirixers, ah, they're cautious,' he murmured as if to himself. 'They wish us to deal with the Sky City, bleed them penniless, that they do, and at the same time they marshal strength in case we fail in the exchange. Clever… clever business, indeed.'
Tonsho moistened thin lips. She gave the boy who had snickered a meaningful glare. Though for the most part Duke Morn was the distracted, feckless dodderer he appeared, sometimes he gave evidence that the shrewd statesman he once had been had not wholly died with his wife and only son two years ago. The boy pouted and stroked a golden bangle depending from one ear. Tonsho made a mental note to get rid of him at the first opportunity. He was obdurately stupid, and she could not abide that, even in her kept pretty-boys.
In the drafty throne room atop the Palace's highest tower they made a curious contrast, the duke and the commoner who actually ruled the dukedom. Morn's once mighty frame had shrunk to a spindly, emaciated shadow of its former self. His leonine head, once long and fierce, was parchment-skinned and hollow at the temples. Despite the sticky noonday heat unrelieved by the rank breeze crawling through open windows, he wore a heavy robe of yellow velvet trimmed with the fur of the rare gazinga of the Dyla Wilderlands. He huddled within its confines as though afflicted with chill. Whether heat or senility caused it, Morn virtually ignored Tonsho and idly rustled fingers among the maps and charts that covered the tables set by the curving stone wall to his side.