Tides of Blood

by Richard A. Knaak

  Ironically, the Stormbringer was originated by the late Chot’s ship designers, and its prototype had already been partially assembled at the time of the coup. However, Hotak’s own naval engineers had added a more maneuverable keel and adjusted the design and angle of the sails to better catch the wind. The warship sported both a larger catapult located at the aft, and a tightly wound ballista situated near the bow. The huge vessel carried twice the usual complement of crew and marine fighters.

  The warhorse banner flew high over the topmast of the proud ship, with the slightly smaller green and white sea dragon flag of the fleet draped a few feet below. There were three titanic masts in all. Despite its enormous dimensions, the front edge of the Stormbringer was cut narrower than most ships, enabling swifter speed. The assembled crew and crowds marveled at the ship. No race, not even humans, could claim such ingenuity. Surely the sea and ocean belonged to the minotaur race.

  Out beyond the flagship, the other new vessels of the great minotaur armada awaited their christening. Lined up to the east, facing other lands awaiting conquest, the twenty-four sisters of the Stormbringer were anchored like sentries guarding the imperium, their sails set for voyaging despite the fearsome wind.

  As Hotak and Ardnor arrived, both clad in glittering breastplates and long, midnight purple cloaks, the sky shook with thunder, and lightning flashed over the sea.

  A column of stiff, determined legionaries rode behind the emperor and his son, with the alternating ranks carrying high the warhorse banner for all to cheer. Crowds had begun to gather since before dawn; this occasion would be recalled for years to come. Long streamers of crimson and black had been handed out by the order of the Supreme Circle, all of whom were in attendance—it was mandatory—for the occasion. Gaunt, gray Lothan, leader of the administrative body, rose when the pair neared the stand next to the huge framework holding the Stormbringer, bowing his horns to both.

  A line of legionaries flanking the wide, wooden pathway to the area raised their weapons in salute, shouting in the old tongue, “Hri Dirac Una! Hri Jesek Una! Hri Dirac Una!”

  Several in the crowd who knew only the Common tongue repeated the litany that had been passed down to the minotaur race from the reign of Makel Ogrebane. “Hail the Ax of the People! Hail the Sword of the People! Hail the Ax of the People!”

  Hotak acknowledged the cries with waves. The sidewalks and wooden walkways in the shipyard were filled to capacity. Much of the rest of Nethosak was deserted this day

  “Magnificent!” Hotak uttered as they dismounted. “Simply magnificent!” Even Ardnor nodded in open admiration. No true minotaur could not be stirred by the vision.

  The horns called all to attention as Hotak neared the stand where several dignitaries awaited him. The crowd cheered again; the emperor waved. Soldiers arranged beneath the stand beat on large, set copper drums.

  Hotak and Ardnor stepped up to the platform. On the edge facing the harbor, the bow of the Stormbringer rested within arm’s reach. As he ascended, the emperor nodded to five brawny minotaurs standing ready below the sides of the flagship. All hefted huge, blunt mallets, and stood next to the removable wooden braces presently keeping the warship from slipping into the water.

  Horns blared the moment Hotak and his son reached the top of the platform. Lothan and the rest kept their horns low and to the side as the two passed. The dignitaries sat on long, curved benches, but near the Stormbringer herself had been set two plush, red oak chairs with black seats and high backs with the rearing warhorse symbol.

  But neither Hotak nor Ardnor seated himself. With Hotak’s arrival, the ceremony began. It was time for the launching, not only of the new fleet, but also of the future of the minotaur race.

  With exaggerated movements, Hotak turned to a group at the forefront of the crowd. Wearing smocks covered in wood dust, tar, and worse, these minotaurs had built not only the Stormbringer, but also her sisters. They raised saws, hammers, axes, horsehair brushes—the tools of their various trades—to their chests. Their ruler had asked of them something impossible, and yet they had accomplished it. Some bore scars, others missed fingers or even limbs. A few had died in accidents, too. Yet, despite all adversity, they had fulfilled their duty to the empire.

  Near where Hotak and Ardnor stood, another minotaur in a smock was busy keeping a large brass cauldron heated. The tip of a glowing brand lay buried among the bright orange coals within.

  In the days before the War against the Magori—during the time the lesser races often termed the Chaos War—such an event would have begun with a blessing by the high priest of the temple of Sargonnas. That blessing would have called upon the Horned One to imbue each grand new warship with a trace of his might, a slight favor from the deity. Without fail, every vessel ever built by minotaur hands had been so anointed by the temple.

  But the priests of Sargonnas were now diminished in number, and the few still preaching were little respected. A blessing from an absent god was no blessing at all.

  Despite Hotak’s ties by marriage and blood to the religion that had replaced not only the temple of Sargonnas, but also that of Kiri-Jolith and the other old deities, the high priestess of the Forerunners was not in attendance. A blessing from a sect that revered the dead would not be welcome to those assigned to sail aboard the Stormbringer. The emperor understood and even appreciated that. The Forerunners were absent today.

  The newly appointed captain of the flagship, the only one of the crew not to have already boarded, stepped up to Hotak as the drums beat and the horns blew. Seven gold rings dangled from his right ear, one for each ship taken during his long, admirable career. The captain knelt before the emperor then reached up to offer him a plain silver goblet. Hotak took the goblet, raised it up high for the crowd to see, and then brought it to his mouth. He took a brief sip, swallowed, and then tossed the rest of the contents at the gargantuan bow of the newly built ship.

  A faint greenish liquid splattered the hull, dripping down. The draught had been brewed with horsetail grass, the symbol of strength among the minotaurs. By his action, Hotak symbolically shared the strength of the throne with that of the flagship and, through the flagship, spread that might to the rest of the fleet.

  He handed the goblet back to the captain, who immediately stored it in a square, leather satchel at his side. The goblet would be taken aboard the Stormbringer, where a toast would be made with every captain from the armada partaking from the same container. The goblet would then be tossed into the water, originally as a gift of luck to the dread sea goddess, Zeboim—Sargonnas’s daughter—but now simply out of tradition.

  Hotak turned to face Lothan, who nodded, but remained seated. Then Ardnor rose and approached the cauldron, where the fiery brand continued to glow brightly. The attendant cautiously gave Ardnor the sizzling brand, which he in turn brought to Hotak.

  Accepting the fiery brand from his son, the emperor turned to the overwhelming hull and immediately pressed the burning brand against it. Hissing rose as the hot metal touched the wood.

  When Hotak pulled the brand away, it was to reveal that the warhorse symbol had been imprinted on the Stormbringer’s hull. The crowd roared lustily. The brand further bound the might of the emperor to this new warship and the rest of the new fleet. So long as both remained strong, so, too, would the imperium.

  Handing the brand back to Ardnor, the emperor turned to the crowd, shouting, “By the will of the throne, by the grace of the imperium, let the enemies of our people shudder at the might now arrayed against them! On this day, I hereby launch the Foran i’Kolot! The Fleet of Kolot! Let this flagship, Stormbringer, be the spearhead of a force worthy of my late son’s might!”

  The drums beat. The workers swung their mallets with all their strength.

  The force of their blows shattered most of the braces. With a mighty groan, the huge ship slipped into the harbor. Aboard her, the crew held tight to the rails. Their continued presence on deck was symbolic, if not entirely practical. A few almos
t lost their balance, but in the end, all held their positions. To those in attendance, it was a good omen for the future of the armada.

  And as the Stormbringer glided into the harbor, slowly coming to a rest, each of her new sisters launched their catapults. The crews had adjusted the weapons so that the contents flew high above, and not toward the capital city. Higher and higher many small barrels soared—and then exploded with a loud series of cracks.

  Awed cries arose at this unexpected highlight. The horns and drums picked up the staccato of the exploding charges. The stormy sky added its own percussion, seeming to affirm the destiny of the new ships.

  With a final salute to Hotak, the captain headed to where a long boat waited to take him to his new command. Aboard the ship, the crew and marine fighters repeated the earlier cries of the legionaries—“Hri Dirac Una! Hri Jesek Una! Hri Dirac Una!”

  Hotak saluted them, raising the ceremonial blade he wore and slashing it five times toward the Stormbringer before sheathing it again.

  Sails unfurled, and the flagship’s crew swiftly prepared for departure. Their first voyage was to Mito, to pick up supplies and await further orders implementing the master plan.

  Despite growing hoarseness, the onlookers continued their cheering as the flagship got underway. Taking its position at the lead of the new fleet, the Stormbringer belatedly shot off its own catapult. Again, the small barrel flew high then exploded. Thus the Stormbringer saluted its emperor and fellow citizens.

  As the ships departed the harbor, the emperor and his son descended the platform. While the throng continued to cheer them, Hotak and Ardnor mounted. The honor guard prepared to follow.

  “An excellent ceremony! A good precursor of things to come, eh, Ardnor?”

  “As you say, Father.”

  The captain of the honor guard indicated readiness. Hotak nodded then urged his horse into an appropriately regal pace.

  “This was a grand moment for the imperium, Ardnor, and a vital one for us. Your presence here meant much to me.”

  Ardnor nodded. “I could scarcely refuse.”

  “Too long have we been estranged. I want to make up for that neglect. I want you in the future to take a more active part in my government.”

  His son straightened. “I live to serve, of course, Father.”

  “I’ve been formulating a mission to the north of the mainland, which I need you to undertake on my behalf. I need you to seek and destroy a rebel base there, capturing any traitors you find.”

  A huge grin spread across Ardnor’s muzzle. “They’re as good as dead!”

  “Captured or dead, let’s not quibble. Excellent!” the emperor returned, also grinning. He reached up with the clear intention of slapping his son companionably on the back. “I knew that I could have faith—”

  At that moment, one of the emperor’s staff came riding toward the column from the direction of the palace. “Your majesty!” he gasped. “Forgive this untimely interruption, but the news has only just arrived!”

  Hotak froze. “Some dire report?”

  “Nay, my emperor! Anything but! The signal came from the outpost overlooking the southern sea! It shouldn’t be long before they’re visible in the harbor! It’s a wonder that they didn’t arrive during the launch of the others!”

  “Speak, then! What is it? Who is it who comes?”

  “Lord Bastion, your majesty! Lord Bastion’s flagship, the Donag’s Shield, leads the other vessels of his fleet home—and the outpost reports he flies the golden flag over your banner!”

  “You hear that, Ardnor?” roared the emperor, forgetting everything. “Bastion comes back—and the golden flag! That signals victory in battle! Rahm’s rebels must surely be in rout, if not already dead!”

  “Trust Bastion to do the job,” Hotak’s eldest said in a low, slow tone.

  “We must make haste! There must be a welcome prepared! Send someone ahead to begin arranging an appropriate display to honor my son!”

  “Aye, your majesty!” The officer rode off.

  “Such a day!” roared Hotak merrily, turning to Ardnor. “The launching of the great fleet to honor Kolot, and now the return of Bastion from a successful hunt!”

  “A momentous day, yes, Father.”

  “Forgive me, Ardnor. We’ll talk about your special mission very soon, but I want to make certain that all the details are taken care of for Bastion! He deserves a hero’s welcome!”

  Ardnor pulled the reins of his black steed tight, turning the animal away from the emperor. “I understand, Father. It works out for the best, anyway.” He bowed his horns, then added, “I need to make my own … arrangements for my brother.”

  “Splendid!” As he spoke, Hotak signaled the captain of the honor guard. “Ardnor, my sincerest wish is that the two of you would bridge the chasm between you, become brothers close in spirit as well as blood.”

  “I will be as my brother’s shadow,” Ardnor replied evenly. But Hotak did not hear much less understand him; the emperor was now engrossed in giving instructions to the captain. “Very much his shadow, Father,” the emperor’s eldest muttered as he urged his mount off. “There by his side, even when he least expects it.”

  The news spread throughout Nethosak within the hour. A hastily written imperial edict appeared shortly after, commanding that all be made ready for the heir’s triumphant return. The streets were to be cleaned, and the citizens would line up in front of all buildings leading from the harbor to the palace. The Imperial Guard would be on hand to escort Bastion through the capital, heralds preceding him to announce him to the populace.

  The people’s first glimpse of the victorious fleet brought confusion and consternation, not cheers, for at its head sailed the battered Donag’s Shield. It listed to starboard and was missing its aft mast. The fire had left it scorched, and, though the hull had been patched as best as possible, the initial impression was dispiriting.

  But the sight of the gold flag and the clear vision of the black figure standing near the bow swept away all concern. When the long, low ship limped into the harbor, pride swelled all the more in the hearts of the minotaur race. The ship’s determination, despite such savage wounds, reflected the doggedness and invincibility of the race that had built and sailed it.

  The crew and fighters waved their weapons and roared battle cries to the crowd. Ashore, a legion honor guard, at whose forefront rode the emperor, let loose with answering cheers.

  Bastion, wearily surveying the spectacle awaiting him, was perhaps the only one who would have rather he sailed quietly into Nethosak in the dead of night. He had been victorious, yes, and felt certain that General Rahm had breathed his last, but there was still a large number of defiant rebels. In his mind, he had not completed his mission. The rebellion was like grass fire, and he was beginning to wonder if it could ever be stamped out.

  Those ashore heard news of the engagements as called out by the emperor’s heralds. They heard of the decisive battles and the cowardly flight of the surviving rebels. They heard of Bastion leading the charge, boarding the enemy vessels first and killing the first adversaries. They heard how the imperium would soon be at peace within, the better to concentrate on its expansion into Ansalon.

  The Champion of the Courrain, as Hotak’s heralds were already hailing Bastion, was to be honored with many new titles, new ranks. While some were ceremonial only, others would reinforce Bastion’s claim to the throne. Already empowered as commander of the Imperial Guard, soon he would bear an admiralty title that superseded the authority of the highest-ranking officers of the fleets. Soon, too, Hotak’s heir would be named Imperator of the Legions, a role that effectively gave him absolute command over every role and function of the military arm of government. Only the emperor himself would be able to countermand his decisions.

  As the Donag’s Shield docked, the drums and horns started to bray triumphantly. The assembled twin ranks of legionaries now stretched beyond the port, completely flanking the road through which Bastion a
nd his father would journey to reach the palace.

  Despite the fact that most citizens adored Hotak’s heir, the Imperial Guard kept a wary watch. There had been rumors of late that Rahm’s troublemakers had been slipping into town, in ones and twos—and there could be a few rebel sympathizers among the crowd.

  As the Shield’s gangplank lowered, the cheers rose deafeningly. Many of the workers present had been without sleep for most of a day, for they had maintained their grueling pace on behalf of the military buildup, but the occasion energized them; a great battle victory was the ideal excuse for a celebration.

  The cheers drowned out even the rumbles of thunder overhead when Bastion finally stepped up into full view at the rail.

  Ax harnessed behind him, he waved to the crowd, acknowledging their adoration with simple nods; then he slowly descended. As he did so, the emperor dismounted and, tossing the reins to a subordinate, met Bastion as he touched the soil of Mithas.

  “Welcome, my son,” Hotak said grandly. “It is my honor to be your father.” The emperor looked his son in the eye. “He is dead?”

  “Though I did not see it with my own eyes, and cannot know for certain, Father, I feel in my heart, yes, General Rahm is no more.”

  “Magnificent! Come! We’ll talk more at the palace!” Hotak clapped his son on the shoulders, then, putting one arm around Bastion, guided him to where their steeds awaited them.

  Many onlookers tossed small sheaves of horsetail grass at the two as they passed. Bastion took note of this tribute, picked up one sheaf, and held it close to his chest. Horns briefly lowered, Bastion thus paid homage to those who paid homage to him.

  Bastion took the reins of his favored horse, briefly stroking and whispering to the beast before mounting. Hotak waited until his son was ready then climbed aboard his own prancing animal.

  Bastion waited for his father to take the lead, as he always did. This time, however, Hotak proudly indicated that his son should ride ahead. The crowd noticed this gesture, and cheered anew.