Nemesis mtg-2

by Paul B. Thompson

  She opened the squashed scroll Crovax tossed at her. "What do you recommend?"

  "Attack without delay."

  Belbe and Dorian exchanged looks. "Are you certain, my lord?" asked the chamberlain.

  "It's the course of action the rebels least expect."

  Belbe read Crovax's report in seven seconds flat. "How will you do it?"

  "I'll form a hard-hitting force, the cream of the garrison," he said, warming to the subject. "Nasser tells me Volrath had agents among the rebels who've provided maps of the Skyshroud Forest. I'll locate and destroy the village of Eladamri, the rebel leader." He tapped a finger against his forehead. "Take out the brains of the rebellion, and the rest are just carrion."

  Belbe quickly rolled Crovax's scroll closed. "How many troops will you need?"

  "Ten thousand should do it."

  "What support? Supplies?"

  "I'll take an equal number of moggs along as porters," he said. "No pack animals or clumsy machines-we'll move fast and strike hard." He struck the tabletop with a scratched and bleeding fist.

  "You have leave to try, Crovax."

  He stood and saluted. "I'll bring you Eladamri's head in a basket."

  Belbe blinked several times. "Why would I want his head in any container?"

  Crovax limped from the room, smirking. He'd taken some punishment and couldn't quite manage the swagger he'd come in with. On his way out, he deliberately stepped over Greven, still supine with remembered pain.

  After the doors closed behind him, Belbe called out, "What do you think of Crovax's plan?"

  Greven, white as death, crawled to a chair. "Eladamri will do what I could not," he said hoarsely. The emissary and the chamberlain looked blank. "He will kill Crovax. Unfortunately, he may also kill the best part of my army."

  *****

  Half a hundred humans and elves gathered in the silent night. Their meeting place was a small hummocky island in the swamp near the edge of the Skyshroud Forest. Here, freethinking Rathi rebels had come to hear the gospel of resistance. All the world's races were represented save the merfolk, who were blood enemies of the elves and would not seek their company even if it meant avoiding total extinction. Most of those present were Dal and Vec. A single Kor male lingered on the edge of the crowd.

  No torches were lit. Darkness was the rule for this gathering.

  "I don't like this," said a mature Dal man. He was richly dressed and wore a jeweled dagger on his belt. "Agents of the evincar could be here-our lives are at hazard, and for what?"

  "Why did you come, if you're so afraid?" This from an elderly Vec woman, leaning on a tall staff.

  "I'm not afraid," said the Dal. "Just cautious."

  "Caution is our enemy now, as much as Greven and his army," proclaimed a ringing voice.

  Into the milling circle of men and women came Eladamri and his lieutenants. The elves were well armed with captured weapons. They fanned out to the edge of the little island, watching the night for signs of an ambush.

  "Eladamri, hail!" said the old Vec woman.

  "Greetings, Tant Jova," said the elf leader. They clasped hands. "How flourishes the tribe of Jov?"

  "We are many, and there is metal in our hands, O Eladamri. In the past twenty days we have seen but few of the evincar's men. The skyship does not fly over us, and we have slain many moggs found wandering in our territory."

  "This is just the beginning, Tant Jova," said Eladamri. "As we grow stronger, you will see fewer and fewer soldiers on the plain and in the air."

  The rich Dal harrumphed. Eladamri turned to him. "Skeptical, Darsett?"

  "Yes, I'm skeptical. A raid is not a campaign."

  "All winning campaigns should start with a victory," said Gallan, Eladamri's friend and second in command.

  "Yes, but you have a long way to go," Darsett replied. The bulk of the Dal behind him murmured in agreement.

  "We have a long way to go," Eladamri said, raising his voice for all to hear. "The time is past when my people alone could resist the Stronghold with any hope but survival. Now is a chance for victory, for the overthrow of the evincar and his tyranny! We must forge an alliance of all free people on Rath to fight the evincar and his forces. Only then can we be truly free."

  "A pretty speech," Darsett said. "But speeches won't beat Volrath's army."

  "We'll build our own army," Gallan countered. "What about the airship? If we openly revolt, Greven il-Vec and Predator will come and destroy us," said Tant Jova.

  Mention of the terrible commander and his flying warship provoked a fresh round of unsettled muttering. Gallan tried to calm the Dal and Vec leaders, but they were plainly afraid of arousing the wrath of Greven.

  Darsett raised his voice over the noise. "Already those Dal in the Stronghold who resisted the evincar have vanished-Lady Takara, my cousin Sterba-"

  The lone Kor had gradually circled into the crowd until he was close to the elves. He caught Eladamri's eye. "I don't know you, friend. Who are you?" "Furah," he said in his odd, lisping way. "Of the Fishers of Life."

  All comment ceased. The Fishers of Life were a tribe that lived near the summit of the Stronghold itself. No one knew the peak as well as they. It was rumored the Fishers of Life even had access to the inner crater through secret fissures in the flowstone.

  "Speak," said Eladamri. "Tell us your mind, Furah." The whiskered, catlike Kor shoved his face close to the elf chieftain's. "Volrath is no more," he said.

  Four full seconds went by, then the assembly burst into spontaneous cheers. Eladamri alone frowned. "How do you know this?" he asked.

  "We know. The Fishers of Life see into the Stronghold, as you see into the water beneath your village. Volrath left Rath on the other flying ship, the one pursued by Greven ilVec."

  Gallan excitedly rattled his sword in its scabbard. "If this is so, our task is half done!"

  "There's more," said Furah. "Greven's flying ship lies in ruins atop the Citadel. I myself have seen it there."

  Without Predator, the evincar's troops have no long range reconnaissance and no ability to strike at great distances from their base in the Stronghold. There were small outposts stationed here and there on the plain, but without the airship, they would be easy targets for Eladamri's raiders.

  Everyone began talking at once. Furah's news changed the Dal and Vec leaders from cautious conspirators to fiery revolutionaries. Some actually wanted to storm the Stronghold at once.

  "I want Greven il-Vec's blood," Tant Jova said darkly. "For all the members of my clan who've perished at his hands!"

  "Wait! Be still!" Eladamri barked. "No offense to you, honorable Furah, but we must be sure of news of such importance. Gallan, I want confirmation of what the Kor says. Is Volrath gone? Is the airship out of action?"

  The young elf nodded. "It shall be done, Eladamri." He immediately sprinted into the night to carry out his orders.

  "This changes things," Eladamri said gravely. "We have an opportunity to strike a blow for freedom. In time, a new evincar will be chosen by the overlords-it may be happening even now. Before the enemy can reorganize, we must strike! If the leaders of the free Dal and Vec pledge their support and send warriors to fight with us, I'll take every royal outpost between the Stronghold and the Skyshroud Forest."

  Tant Jova whistled through her gapped teeth. "There must be thirty outposts in the territory you describe," she said. "How many warriors would you need to do such a thing?"

  "As many as I can get, my friend."

  "Where will you attack first?" asked Darsett.

  He pondered only a moment. "The block house at Chireef."

  "That's within sight of the Stronghold!"

  "Yes. Not a likely place for us to attack-so all the better a place to strike."

  Darsett and the young Dal fighting men began proposing various battle plans. Eladamri listened with half an ear, then he noticed Furah was no longer present. Damn him, he thought. He wanted to trust the Kor, but their ways were so strange, and they were s
o close to the Stronghold. Could Furah's news be a ruse to lure them into open battle? Gallan would find out the truth. Until then, they would plan for an attack.

  Tant Jova took Eladamri aside. "Your liege Gallan told me your daughter Avila is dead at the hands of a Stronghold assassin. I grieve for a father's loss."

  "Thank you. Volrath thought by such means to break me, but this foul murder only hardens my resolve."

  Tant Jova's copper-colored face softened. She was very, very old for a Vec. She'd seen many terrible things in her long life, all coming from the Stronghold.

  "I'll make a pact with you, O Eladamri," she said. "We shall never submit to the evincar, never cease to fight his forces, and never put down our swords until Greven il-Vec and all his minions have paid the price of justice."

  Eladamri grasped her ancient hand. No words were spoken, but even if faced with death, neither would break their solemn bond.

  *****

  After many hours, the pain had not subsided. His mind flickered in and out, seeking a place to hide from the terror. Solace was brief because his body would not let his mind go.

  Tormented by thirst, Ertai crawled across the floor of his cell to the flowstone spigot mounted high on the wall. The warders had teased him, pantomiming that Ertai had to speak to the spigot in order to get water from it. So he crawled from the filthy pallet on which Greven's moggs had thrown him, crawled despite the burns on his legs and chest, and despite the fact that most of his fingers were broken.

  "Wa-ah," was as close to the word "water" as he could manage. The spigot could not, or would not, understand him and remained closed. Ertai hated these machines. They were so inelegant and inefficient. Why duplicate the power of magic with crude artifacts? It was an old argument, one he remembered having with Hanna, Barrin's daughter, and Weatherlight's navigator. How he wished he could have an argument with the stubborn, serious Hanna right now.

  He yearned for a cool drink. He had to focus past his pain. Ertai called forth memories of water-the clay jar that stood in the corridor, outside the bedroom of his boyhood home, the one with the leaping fish painted on it… the waterfall at Jendary, all thunder and cold mist… the blue ocean around Tolaria, the rich, ever-changing basin on which the magical isle shimmered…

  A single cool drop hit his forehead.

  Water, water, water! he shouted with his mind. A trickle rewarded his effort but no more. What little liquid fell moistened his parched lips, and he croaked, "Wa-ter."

  The spigot opened with a gush. Eagerly, Ertai gulped at the silver stream. It had a hard, mineral taste, but at that moment it was finer than any rare vintage.

  "Enough," said a voice. The flow stopped.

  He wiped his eyes and discovered he wasn't alone. The green-freckled girl, the emissary, was standing inside the cell door, watching him.

  "You'll flood the room," she said, pointing to the spreading puddle on the floor.

  Licking his lips, Ertai rasped, "I have nothing to say."

  "I didn't ask you anything."

  "Oh." He tried to stand, but there was no strength in his limbs. "Forgive me for not standing." He straightened with difficulty. "What do you want?"

  "I observed you just now. You opened the valve using magic, didn't you?"

  "So?"

  "It shows considerable skill for an unaugmented person to have any influence, however small, over flowstone," Belbe said.

  "I have considerable skill," Ertai replied with futile dignity.

  Belbe came closer and squatted down. Ertai shrank from her until he realized she wasn't there to hurt him. She examined him with keen eyes. He felt a bit like a butterfly in a collector's jar. Her expression was without any feeling but curiosity.

  "I want to release you," she said. "Give me your word you won't try to escape, and I'll parole you."

  He could hardly believe it. At best he expected a quick execution after telling Greven everything he knew.

  "What's to become of me?" he asked.

  "I want you to work on developing your ability to influence flowstone."

  Ertai let out a short, high-pitched giggle. Then another. A moment later, he dissolved in a fit of coughing when he tried laughing with his broken ribs.

  "Water," said Belbe. She held her cupped hands under the spigot. They filled, and she said, "Enough." Kneeling beside the wheezing Ertai, she offered him water from her own hands. With trembling fingers, he guided her hands to his lips.

  "Thank you," he whispered.

  "If you can control the flowstone," she went on, unaffected, "great things await you."

  "Are you offering me a job?" asked Ertai wryly.

  Belbe separated her hands. The last drops of water fell to the damp floor. "I'm offering you a chance to become Evincar of Rath."

  CHAPTER 6

  ENEMIES

  With Volrath gone, the empty throne lent an air of uncertainty to every activity in the Stronghold. Crovax stepped into this maelstrom of confusion and doubt. Armed with Belbe's commission to strike at the rebels, he threw himself into the task. Troops of the Royal Army were marched out of the Stronghold and mustered on the plain by companies. Battalions of moggs, less disciplined and less intelligent, massed behind the soldiers and awaited their new commander. Crovax disdained the elaborate military ceremonies favored by Volrath and went on foot among his troops, followed by his newly formed personal guard, the Corps of Sergeants.

  The one thing missing from this gathering of martial might was Greven il-Vec. Since Crovax did not ask him to join the expedition against Eladamri, the erstwhile commander of all Rathi forces chose not to appear on the plain with the army. He remained in the Citadel, overseeing the extensive repairs being made to Predator,

  Crovax, hand on his sword hilt, approached the Corps of

  Sergeants. Nasser stepped out of line and saluted.

  "The army is mustered as ordered, sir."

  "Very good. Do you have the list?" asked Crovax.

  Nasser slipped a hand under his breastplate and pulled out a folded slip of parchment. Crovax studied it briefly, then walked to a spot in full view of the massed troops. He closed his eyes and extended his hands, fingers spread. The flowstone substrate humped up. A murmur went through the soldiery.

  The hump became a rectangular stage six feet wide and ten feet long. Crovax raised his hands, and the platform bulked higher. When the stage was a full six feet off the ground, he lowered his hands. Just before his boots touched the side of the platform, steps indented themselves, allowing Crovax to easily climb to the top.

  Only the front ranks had seen Crovax command the flowstone, but word filtered back through the assembled troops. They stirred restlessly, arms and armor clanking as they fidgeted and stretched to get a glimpse of their new leader. Far in the back, the moggs grunted and hooted and climbed on each other's backs to see Crovax.

  "Soldiers of Rath!" he exclaimed.

  One hundred companies of 200 soldiers each snapped to attention in unison. The moggs quieted.

  "I am Crovax of Urborg. The emissary of the overlords has appointed me to command an expedition against the enemy, the rebel Skyshroud elves. We will shortly undertake this expedition, but first I have some things to tell you.

  "An aerial vehicle came to Rath from a far-off place and lent support to an attack by the rebel leader Eladamri." He did not mention he came to Rath aboard that same vehicle. "The enemy airship has been dealt with and will not be a factor in our fight."

  More muttering rippled through the ranks. Crovax let them talk for a few moments, then held up his hands for silence.

  "Our own ship, Predator, is under repair and will soon be flying again. The rebels believe we don't dare move against them without our airship. They're wrong. Starting today, I will lead this force against the home village of Eladamri, whose location our spies have made known to us."

  He paused, expecting cheers. When none came, Crovax glowered. Nasser and the sergeants raised a shout, and the soldiers half-heartedly joined
in. Crovax waved for quiet.

  "We will exact revenge for the defeat the elves dealt Greven il-Vec. But first I have another task, a solemn and sacred warrior's duty." He unfolded the parchment Nasser had given him. "When I read the following names, I want the officers named to come to me."

  He cleared his throat. "From the First Company, Captain Thayer il-Vec; from the Third Company, Captain Ulan il-Dal; from the Seventh Company, Lieutenant Shirzod il-Vec…" The list grew until eighteen officers, all company commanders, stood nervously at Crovax's feet.

  "You commanded companies during the recent fight with the elf rebels," Crovax said. "All of you were either outfought or out-thought by your foes. Because of your dereliction of duty, cowardice, and incompetence in the face of the enemy, for your abject failure as commanders and as soldiers, you are hereby condemned to death."

  The officers milled around in shock. They had no place to run; on the right they were hemmed in by the Corps of Sergeants, and on the left by a band of moggs who'd been summoned by Crovax for just such an eventuality. Several of the officers fell to their knees and raised open hands to Crovax, who stood above them glowering.

  "Mercy, mercy, Great Lord! The fault was not ours!" they cried.

  With a nod, Crovax set the moggs on the pleading men. The shambling creatures dragged six screaming officers from the crowd and dispatched them with their heavy clubs. It was considered a great disgrace to be killed by a mogg, and the surviving twelve officers closed ranks and drew their swords, ready to slay any mogg that approached them.

  "Hold," said Crovax. The moggs lowered their bloody clubs. Crovax turned to the surviving officers. "For your last soldierly action, I've decided to suspend your sentences. You are reduced in rank to common soldiers and assigned to the scout battalion. You will lead our column into the Skyshroud Forest. If you distinguish yourselves in combat, you may yet be restored in rank."