Istu awakened wop-2 Page 8

  From the woods upslope came a screeching, a rising-falling unearthly sound. The dogs started and growled. One whined and tucked tail between its legs. The four archers with the party, three Nevrym foresters and an Imperial borderer from Samazant, looked to their bows. Moriana did likewise.

  'I don't like this place.' Ziore's subdued voice came from the pouch. Neither she nor Moriana felt her misty presence would do other than aggravate the others' uneasiness over the princess's sorcery. Moriana shrugged, finished her tea and stood. 'Nor do I,' she said simply. 'Let's ride.'

  Hissing, the monster lurched from a hidden draw beside the trail. The lead dog reared and leaped back, almost unseating his rider. Moriana drew the nock of her arrow to her ear in a single fluid motion. Her dog growled deep in his chest. The others set up an excited barking as the vast green shape slid across their path.

  It was a monstrous lizard, twenty feet long and more. A crest of yard-long spines, yellow and curving, grew down its back, diminishing in size as they approached the tail tip – still out of sight up the gulley. Moriana recognized it as a sprawler, its immense body suspended between its legs rather than supported atop them. It turned a bony triangular head toward them and regarded them dispassionately with a yellow eye the size of a man's head.

  Horrific as the creature was, it wasn't the giant lizard that drew muffled exclamations from the travellers. Three iron-hard spines had been removed where the wattled neck flowed into its shoulders. Where they had been sat a rider.

  Tall and manlike, the being stared at them from within an elaborate casque of green metal that shimmered in the sun. His helmet and breastplate revealed few details of head and body, except a pair of flat black eyes as emotionless as the lizard's yellow one. On the being's left arm rested a great spiked target shield, whose rough surface suggested construction from the scaled hide of a beast such as the alien warrior rode. The right hand's three black taloned fingers and thumb gripped a lance. The stranger wore no boots; the feet the startled humans saw sported three toes, also tipped with black claws. The largest was hooked in a ring serving as a stirrup.

  With reptilian patience, rider and mount gazed upon the travellers. Behind her Moriana heard a low wail, rising into a shrill frightened yapping as a war dog panicked at the smell and nearness of the monstrous lizard – or perhaps of the being who rode it. Easing her bowstring forward, she clipped the arrow in the bowstaff with her thumb and snapped the fingers of her right hand. 'Enough,' she said, and the dog was still.

  Her companions looked from the monsters blocking their path to the princess, sitting tall in her saddle, her golden hair thrown fearlessly back. A mixture of fear and confidence radiated from their gazes. Before Mortana said another word, the lizard rider spoke.

  'Men.' The word came out oddly protracted, with an almost tubercular wheeze. 'Expected. Come.' With that abbreviated greeting, the lizard man goaded his mount with one knee. The monster lifted its belly from the dirt, turned its head and began crawling laboriously upslope. Moriana paused for a few seconds, considered and then followed, her dog shouldering past the cringing mount of the knight who had taken the lead. She forced herself not to look back. Not a soul of her party might be following her, but at this of all moments she couldn't show fear.

  Only the emotion-sampling Ziore knew the princess's true condition.

  She concentrated on studying as much of their peculiar guide as possible from the rear. He wore a breastplate and back of the same unfamiliar metal as his casque, and a skirt set with strips of the same stuff. His arms and legs flashed bare. They were dark green, almost black, like the needles of the pines that grew to either side of the wash they followed up the mountainside. From where she sat, the musculature looked human enough and the skin flexed as supplely as any human's. Now and then sunlight broke on the curve of the high muscle in a metallic glint, and Moriana guessed the being – the man, though unlike any she'd ever seen before – was covered in fine scales. The only jarring overt sign of his alienness, aside from his complexion, was his feet and hands. Somehow, Moriana found those small divergencies more unsettling than more obvious ones would have been.

  'What do you think?' she said softly, directing her question to Ziore. She felt the genie's puzzlement before the mental answer came.

  'I cannot tell. I sense no emotion that I can read. Or none that makes sense. A dark inchoate churning, shot through with – yes, with longing. And a feeling of fulfillment.' 'Fulfillment? How so?' Ziore paused long before answering.

  'I can tell no more, she thought. The thoughts and passions of the creature are so… so other. The dog we ride is far more easily accessible than this Zr'gsz.

  Moriana slid a hand inside her tunic and pulled the Amulet up so that only she could see it. Its surface was evenly divided between black and white. She grimaced in both annoyance and relief. She saw only ambiguous omen in the odd stone.

  Letting the Amulet drop back cool and hard between her breasts, she marvelled at the craft of the long dead Athalar savants who had created the Amulet. Not only did it return life to the bearer but in some way it monitored the state of her fortunes. It seemed a facility of limited application. After all, someone blessed with good luck or afflicted with bad as a general rule needed no portents to tell her so.

  But not always. And so she had come to consult the gem in situations such as the present that might bode good or ill.

  And like now her answer was no answer at all. Equilibrium of black and white mocked her.

  They neared the top of the round-crowned mountain. The lizard hoisted itself over the top, tail sweeping from side to side in a swirl of black dust. Moriana leaned forward and goaded her balky dog after.

  What she saw made it hard to breathe. A horn of black rock rose before her, separated from the round-topped peak by a chasm so deep its bottom was lost to view in mist and shadow. Hung about the peak was a wreath of what she first mistook for cloud. With a quickening of her pulse Moriana finally realized it was in fact gray smoke from Omizantrim.

  Far beneath them she saw a thin line spanning the void. A bridge? She scanned the peak with her eyes but saw no sign of keep or tower, nothing raised by hands, human or otherwise.

  The princess became aware of the black-jasper scrutiny of the lizard man. She peered at the smoky wreath, finally catching some anomaly within. Slowly she made out shapes-but nothing like the battlemented walls she had expected. Instead, clinging to the mountain's shoulder was a clump of dark geometric shapes, blocks and angles jutting in disorder that appeared almost organic. A single emerald green gleam shone through the smoke.

  The Zr'gsz did not turn at the sound of the rest of the party scrabbling up onto the mountain top. Still gazing impassively at Moriana, he raised his lance and pointed it unerringly toward the outcrop on the distant peak. Thendrun,' he said.

  'You are welcome, humans.' The words were spoken with flawless diction, vowels duly voiced, plosives and labials properly enunciated. 'You may take for granted that many years indeed have passed since those words were uttered here.' Khirshagk, Instrumentality of the People, raised his goblet and smiled.

  Before the beaten gold rim of the cup covered his mouth Moriana glimpsed blue-white teeth. Like the rest of him, they were almost human, incisors to the front, flat and shovel-tipped, and blunt grinding molars in the back. But his eyeteeth protruded like sabers, with a hollow behind the upper pair into which the equally formidable lower ones could socket when he locked his jaws. Humans and Khirshagk's ancestors, had shared a diet of both flesh and vegetation – but more of the former.

  Otherwise, its owner was what Moriana could only honestly call handsome. His face, narrow and finely boned, sported high cheekbones and a lordly knife blade nose that she found oddly familiar. His skin was bluish green, darker still than the sentry who had guided them across the narrow bridge to the keep. His startling cat-green eyes shone with intelligence in the light of torches flickering in black wrought iron sconces on the walls of the chamber.

&n
bsp; To her surprise the reptile man had hair, black and lustrous, combed back from his high, broad forehead. All in all, he had the appearance of a perfectly human male of more than average comeliness. Except for the clawed hands and feet.

  Moriana sipped bitter green wine. Behind her she heard a whisper. Her head snapped around. She saw nothing but the curved wall of the Instrumentality's audience chamber. The wall was unadorned, of a dark green crystal. There were no hangings for furtive listeners to hide behind, and her eyes made out no seams revealing secret doorways. Moriana puzzled over the source of the sound. Nor do I know, came Ziore's soft thought mingling with her own. She was conscious of cool eyes on her. 'I am grateful for your hospitality, Lord Khirshagk.' He smiled.

  'You pronounce my name quite well, Your Highness,' he said. 'But you need not name me lord. I am Instrumentality of the People; I am a tool in their hands. Not master over them.'

  Moriana returned the smile, letting some of her skepticism show. Most human rulers claimed that it was the people who reigned, and that they themselves were merely servants of the popular will. The reality was inevitably the reverse. She doubted whether the Zr'gsz and humans differed much on that score.

  Khirshagk had met them at the gate of Thendrun in a green-trimmed robe of what Moriana at first thought to be unadorned black. Now in the flickering light she made out faint hints of patterns and arcane figurations. To her eyes they appeared black on black; she assumed he saw the contrast more clearly.

  'Lady Moriana,' he had said, 'and Lord Darl. In the name of the People, I bid you enter Thendrun.' After the inhuman accent of the lizard rider, the cultured perfection of Khirshagk's words was as startling as his knowledge of their names, and of the rest of the party as well, whom he named and greeted one by one as they filed between the great black gates into the keep.

  All those who had started the ascent into the Mystic Mountains accompanied her into Thendrun. Perhaps her men felt that in this lair of ancient magic and evil the presence of a sorceress was more asset than liability. She didn't question this small bit of good luck on her part. It was about time things ran smoothly for her.

  Lizard men whom Moriana took for servants, lighter of skin than the Instrumentality and the gate guards who stood by with two-handed maces and tall rectangular shields, stepped forward to lead the tired dogs to kennels. The beasts snapped at them so viciously that the riders had to lead their own mounts.

  The retinue was led to a great table in an apartment carved out of one of the many jutting blocks of crystal that formed Thendrun. The block tilted at thirty degrees from the perpendicular, though the dining chamber was hewn out parallel to the ground. The princess's men cast dubious glances at the nothingness beyond the windows and surveyed the steaming joints served them on black jade platters with varying degrees of uneasiness; rumors abounded about the manner of meat the Hissers savored most. But it proved to be good, hearty dog, served with piles of boiled greens and potatoes – basic Northland fare. When Khirshagk led forth Moriana and Darl, smiling sardonically at the men's scrupulousness, they had fallen to with a will.

  'Come, Lady Moriana, Lord Darl,' said the reptilian Instrumentality. 'Here is food that might be more pleasing to your palates.' 'What my men eat is good enough for me,' said Darl.

  Moriana hastily cut in. Strange feelings worked inside her, feelings that had no easily definable name. Going along with Khirshagk seemed more important than sharing the table of her stalwart band.

  'What Lord Dari says is true. But if you have prepared special dishes for us, we would be honored.' Moriana cast a look at Darl telling him not to argue. He bowed his head slightly in acquiescence.

  'This way, then,' said Khirshagk, a tiny smile dancing on his all-too-human lips. He led them down a long corridor and into another part of the keep, a part obviously different from the spot where they left behind their human comrades.

  More refined fare awaited the highborn pair: small birds baked in leaves, served whole and smoking; brittle crusted black bread; mushrooms; and a bowl of savory sauce so spicy that Darl and Moriana clutched their throats and hastily swallowed wine at the first taste.

  The Instrumentality's circular chamber was forty feet across and carved in the center of a pyramidlike extrusion of green stone. Moriana judged it to be one of the highest points within the keep. A waist-deep circular well was cut into the center of the room. It was here that Khirshagk had seen his guests served on low tables carved of black onyx, while they reclined gratefully on luxurious furs.

  Lounging back, Moriana noticed that Khirshagk was drinking only wine. He hadn't joined them in their meal.

  'Aren't you hungry, Instrumentality?' she asked warily. 'Surely, such a feast isn't commonplace in Thendrun?'

  'It is specially prepared for you,' admitted Khirshagk with some amusement. 'But I have already supped. As you might know, the dining habits of we Zr'gsz differ from yours.'

  By no means ignorant of the rumors concerning the Zr'gsz culinary preferences, Moriana forebore to comment.

  She noted that Darl ate with an appetite he hadn't shown for some time. She caught his eye and smiled and was happy to see the corners of his mouth turn briefly upward in reply. She turned back to Khirshagk.

  'Since you expected us,' she said, meeting Khirshagk's gaze and the challenge she read there, 'no doubt you already know our errand.' Wine swirled as Khirshagk rotated the goblet in lazy circles.

  'Our divinations told us much, and we deduced some, as well. We are not wholly unaware of what goes on in the world beyond the limits of our admittedly limited preserve.' He spoke without apparent bitterness. 'Then you know what we've come to ask.'

  'We do.' The Instrumentality smiled. 'What remains to be seen is what you have to offer us.'

  She nodded deliberately. Her wine cup was empty. She bent forward to set it on the table, aware that Khirshagk's eyes followed the sway of her breasts inside her tunic. She had loosened the lacing in front to allow herself to breathe; now she wondered if that had been politic.

  A Zr'gsz woman, slightly built and pale of skin, came to refill her cup. Moriana wondered how she walked across the stony floor without her nails clicking. By human standards, the lizard woman was attractive. A bit blunt of feature, black-eyed and thin-lipped, her jet hair confined at the temples with a stone circlet carved to imitate plaited strands, she moved with inhuman cadence, limbs swishing softly inside a lead-colored smock.

  '1 assume that mere riches mean little to you,' said Moriana, retrieving her goblet.

  'More than you might think. Not that we care for gold as such. Living stone means far more to us than rock killed by over-refinement, tainted by fire, sullied by movement from one hand to another. But we do have dealings with your kind, more than you probably expect. The yellow metal comes in quite handy at times.' He sipped. 'But your point is well taken. We wouldn't aid you for any wealth you could offer.'

  'I haven't much to offer.' She grinned. 'Have your divinations told you that?' She shook her head; the wine made it feel light. 'No, what I have to offer you will value much more than a few gold klenors, I think.' She leaned forward. This time his eyes held hers.

  'When my… my ancestors drove yours from the City in the Sky, your folk were constrained to leave behind certain items of ritual significance.'

  'At risk of being slaughtered should they have tarried to retrieve them, yes.' His manner was languid, but his eyes glittered with interest beneath half-lowered lids. 'If we win, you'll get them back.'

  He drew a deep breath. Setting down his goblet with a clink, he leaned on furs and steepled his fingers before his face.

  'Ah, the relics of my people,' he murmured. 'The Jade Mace, the Bell, the Scrolls of Eternity, the Idol of the Blessed Child.' Reverence rang in his words. 'Yes, we value them… much.'

  'All are intact, awaiting only you to reclaim them.' She spoke before realizing that the 'Idol of the Blessed Child' referred to what her people called the Vicar of Istu, the ugly stone effigy that squatted in
the Well of Winds. The Rite of Dark Assumption, banned since Julanna Etuul had seized the Beryl Throne almost five millennia before, made the idol live for a short period with the spirit of the Demon of the Dark Ones, whom Felarod had imprisoned in sorcerous sleep in the depths of the Sky City. Moriana's sister had revived the rite – with Moriana meant to be the Vicar's sacrifice and bride. Only the timely intervention of Fost Longstrider saved her life. Moriana's thoughts tumbied and swirled thinking of Fost and his valor in saving her from that vile fate.

  Ziore's gentle touches on the perimeter of her mind soothed and steadied her.

  Moriana licked her lips. Khirshagk watched impassively. How much had his divinations revealed? He had an aura of vast power; she almost tasted it.

  'For such inducement we would aid even the get of those who stole the City from us,' said Khirshagk. 'But we can offer little aid if neither of us can reach the City, is it not so?'

  'Yes.' She had to fight to say the next words. 'We will help you regain access to the skystone mines, as well.' Darl let out his breath in sharp exhalation, but said nothing. 'You know what that entails.' 'I do.' The words hurt her chest.

  'And the Heart?' He curled his fingers down, save for forefingers tipped forward to aim at Moriana like a weapon. 'The Heart of the People, which damned Felarod cast into molten lava in the Throat of the Old Ones, where his monster could keep it ever beyond our grasp? You'll help us retrieve that as well?'

  The Heart of the People!

  She had thought the tale of the huge night-black diamond, which smoked like a heart plucked beating from a breast and laid on the sacrificial brazier, to be mere legend. Fear seized her. The Heart was reputedly one of the most powerful of all the Dark Ones' gifts to their chosen. Only Istu himself was a greater sign of favor of the Lords of the Elder Dark. She didn't wish to think what bringing the Heart back into the world might imply.