Nemesis

CHAPTER 7

The army marched all night around the edge of the flowstone sea. By daybreak, the men were dragging spears and shields in the dust behind them. Moggs, normally hardier than humans, were staggering under the burdens Crovax had imposed on them. Disciplined formations broke down. Gaps appeared in the long column, and still Crovax led them on.

Crovax's hand-picked aides galloped the length of the column, cajoling and threatening the men to close ranks and move forward. Soon they were faltering too, reeling in their saddles like the exhausted cavalry screening the army's flanks. Perchers took over their job, relaying Crovax's increasingly shrill orders to the rearmost elements of the force.

Crovax's outriders spotted a band of elves on the open plain some miles from the forest. They weren't rebels, just a hunting party, but the Rathi cavalry rounded them up and herded them back to Crovax.

Tired, his sable armor coated with gray dust, Crovax was in a foul mood when the elf prisoners were brought before him. They did not cower or beg for mercy from him. That annoyed Crovax. Without even asking any questions, he ordered five of the eight elves beheaded on the spot.

The remaining three hunters, ashen-faced, huddled together in a circle of Rathi lancers. Crovax willed the flowstone up around their ankles, both to restrain them and to demonstrate his mastery of the nano-machines.

He dismounted and walked over to the eldest elf. "Where is Eladamri?"

The elf, whose white hair was turning amber with age, shook his head. "I do not know Eladamri."

Crovax clasped the elf around his waist and thrust a long dagger through his ribs. He held his blade there, staring into the eyes of his victim as the elf's blood coursed over his feet.

Crovax withdrew his dagger with a swift jerk, releasing at the same time the elder elf's feet from the flowstone. The hunter folded like a candle held too near a flame.

Crovax wiped the blood from his blade with two fingers. He stood close to the next prisoner and flung the dead elf's blood in his face.

"Where is Eladamri?" he asked again.

The second elf held his chin up and shook his head, unwilling to answer. Crovax, dagger in hand, crossed in front of him. The elf shut his eyes, dreading the thrust he thought was coming. Crovax circled behind him while his eyes were closed. He put the dagger in his teeth and leaped into the air, kicking the elf in the small of his back. Because his ankles were held by the flowstone, he couldn't fall naturally, and when Crovax bore down on his back with all his weight, the elf's legs snapped at the knee. He screamed as Crovax stood on his back, unmoved by his agony.

"My lord-" began one of the troopers.

"The next man who speaks will be given to the moggs," Crovax said quietly.

He squatted on top of the moaning prisoner and asked his question again. The elf could only choke in the dust. Crovax took the prisoner's head in his hands and, in one powerful wrench, broke the elf's neck.

The third prisoner was the youngest, and he openly trembled when Crovax approached.

"Eladamri lives in the village of Sweetwater!" he said, unconsciously tugging at his captive feet. "He left there five days ago to meet Dal, Kor, and Vec chiefs, to convince them to join the rebellion!"

Crovax's face shone with pleasure. Everyone around him assumed he was pleased to finally be getting information, but in fact he was in the throes of ecstasy after imbibing the life-forces of the two elves he'd killed. He smiled at the third elf in a dreamy, languorous way.

"Where did this meeting take place?"

"I don't know. I don't know, great lord! Spare me, please spare me!"

Crovax, still smiling, laid a hand on the young elf's cheek. "What's your name, boy?"

"Valin, merciful lord."

Crovax nodded. He drew back his hand and struck the prisoner hard on the jaw. With a crunch of bone, the youth fell to the ground unconscious.

Crovax released the elf from the flowstone. "Chain him, and put him in with my personal baggage. He may have more information to tell us."

Hidden among the "waves" in the flowstone sea, the rebels watched the gradual disintegration of Crovax's army with satisfaction. Years of soft living inside the Stronghold had taken the iron out of the soldiers' legs. Eladamri's ardent young followers urged him to make a spoiling attack on the column before it reached the Skyshroud Forest.

"Not yet," the elf leader said. "It's a long march to the forest, and a lot of useful obstacles lie in between."

"But our homes-our families!" Gallan and the others protested.

"Send word for them to retreat to the tree tops, deeper in the forest."

Word was sent, but the hotheads around Eladamri continued to seethe with pent-up frustration. Their anger was fanned when they heard about the capture of the hunting party. Eladamri's scouts saw the whole episode and reported it to their chief. Eladamri received the news impassively.

"We must save the survivor," Gallan urged.

"He's lost," said Eladamri. "He was lost the instant the riders took him."

"But he lives!" said Cardamel, another of his youthful followers.

"What would you have me do, lose ten to save one? That's what our enemy wants us to do."

"Our people are dying, and we're doing nothing!" Gallan said.

Eladamri swept the remains of their meager lunch from the stone around which they sat. "1 shall destroy their army. Isn't that enough?"

"But when?"

"In less than a day the enemy will reach Skyshroud. By then the column will be stretched out halfway back to Chireef. We'll hit them before dawn, when most of them will be asleep." He threw down a snakeskin scroll and added, "Two thousand warriors from Skyshroud, the Dal and the Vec, will combine for the attack. If the gods favor us, Crovax and his men will be snake food by this time tomorrow!"

The elves cheered fiercely and clasped each other's arms, pledging their lives to victory. Eladamri did not join in, but silently left the rock crevice where they'd been eating. When he was gone, Cardamel took Gallan aside.

"Some of the lads want to do something about the hunter held by Crovax," he said, his voice low. "His name's Valin. He's Firanu's grandson, did you know that?" Gallan shook his head. "There's four of us ready to take Valin away if you give us leave."

"I won't go against Eladamri's orders," Gallan replied. Car-darnel's face fell. "But if you four should happen to slip away tonight, I may not be able to remember where you've gone."

The elves clasped hands. "May the gods bless your faulty memory," Cardamel said, grinning.

On the underside of the Citadel, near the lava inlet to the great flowstone works, Greven il-Vec was supervising the repair of his airship. Workmen, mogg labor gangs, and flowbot machinery swarmed over the broken hull, slaving around the clock to rebuild the ship.

Greven applied himself to the task at hand. He tried to forget his humiliation at the hands of Crovax, tried not to think about the fact that the insolent usurper was leading the army-his army-against the rebels even now. Greven had hunted Eladamri for years, and he respected the elf's cunning. He sensed, deep in his much-altered chest, that Crovax was courting disaster. Ruthlessness was no substitute for experience, and in his own brooding way, Greven welcomed the day when Crovax would meet defeat.

Overhead, a hull frame slipped from the grasp of a flowbot crane and crashed to the floor, crushing a pair of moggs loitering there. Greven threw down the blueprints he was holding and stormed out onto the dock.

"Dung for brains!" he bellowed. "Don't you know you can't hoist a hull frame with just one crane? Use two, you worthless worms!" A second flowbot arm lowered and grasped the fallen frame. "Now you see, you've bent it!" Greven raged. He ordered the damaged frame to be returned to the foundry and pounded straight again.

Greven retrieved the fallen plans. When he straightened, he found a slender, ethereal Kor standing not two feet in front of him.

"How did you get in here? What do you want?"

The Kor pressed a hand to his chest, a gesture of respect Kor performed instead of bowing. "Greetings, Dread Lord. My name is Furah, of the Fishers of Life."

Greven knew the tribe; they lived outside the Stronghold crater. They were harmless, almost invisible people who never troubled the authorities.

"What is it?" Greven asked impatiently. "I'm quite busy, as you can see."

"Certain information has come to me, information of value to you, I believe."

"About what?"

"The activities of a certain resident of the outer lands-the Skyshroud Forest, perhaps."

Greven's teeth began to grind. Talking to a Kor was like trying to swat flies with a broadsword-things never seemed to connect.

"Speak plainly before 1 have your legs broken!"

"I speak of the elf Eladamri, Dread Lord."

"You have news of Eladamri?" Greven tried to take the Kor by the arm, but he missed somehow-his hand swept through empty air. Furah stepped back just beyond his reach.

"Forgive me, Dread Lord, but I dislike being touched-a quirk common to my people."

"Get to the point!"

Furah pressed a hand to his chest again. "Eladamri has been trying to enlist the cooperation of the Dal, the Vec, and the Kor in his war against you," Furah said. "I myself went to a conclave in the forest on behalf of my people."

"And how was Eladamri's message received?"

"With great enthusiasm, Dread Lord."

"But not by you? Why are you informing on them, Furah?"

Behind Greven, a trio of moggs overturned a crucible of molten flowstone on their way up a ramp into the airship. The liquid stone, immune to commands or programming, formed into legions of tiny silver spheres and skittered in all directions. Workers who stepped on the flowstone slipped and fell, all over the dock. With a snarl, Greven left the Kor man and roared for all work to cease. The tumultuous airship dock fell silent, save for the hiss of the waiting flowbots.

"Everyone stand still!" Greven shouted, and he was heard throughout the dock. "When the stone solidifies, it will be safe to move again."

A tiny silver bead whirled in place at Greven's feet. As it cooled, the flowstone slowly flattened into an egg, then a disk, and finally spread itself as thin as paper. It lost its silver color and took on the patina of whatever substance it was lying on.

"Resume work!" Greven called. The dock exploded with activity all over again.

He turned around, expecting to find the Kor waiting for him, but there was no sign of Furah. What should he make of this information? If Eladamri had forged an alliance with restive elements among the outland Dal and Vec, then the simple, annoying elf rebellion could turn into a full-blown civil war.

Crovax… Crovax had taken half the army on a mogg's errand into the worst swamp on Rath. He was expecting to trample over a few hundred elves, when in fact he was facing an unknown force of much greater size.

He shouted for his Vec foreman and ordered him to keep the repairs going no matter what.

"Where are you going, Dread Lord?" asked the foreman.

"To see the emissary."

He found Belbe in the evincar's suite. She was sitting in one of Volrath's grand chairs, watching Ertai wash himself in the evincar's ornate bath.

"Hello, Greven," Ertai said breezily. He sat in steaming water up to his hips while a jointed fleshstone appliance scrubbed his back with a sodden rag.

"What in the overlords' name-?" Greven spotted Belbe in Volrath's chair, observing Ertai's ablutions.

"It's called a 'bath,'" Belbe said. "Evidently a custom among humans. The ritual serves both as relaxation and hygiene."

"I know what a bath is, Excellency." Greven's molars were ready to pulverize iron at that moment. "Why is this enemy of Rath, this prisoner, in the royal bath?"

"Because I was dirty," Ertai replied. "It's hardly fitting for a sorcerer of my skills and a candidate for evincar to go around smelling like one of your moggs."

Words failed Greven completely. He spread his powerful hands and looked to Belbe for enlightenment.

"It's true," she said. "Crovax, while presenting excellent qualifications, cannot be the sole candidate. It wouldn't be efficient to award the position to him without competition. Since Ertai has demonstrated outstanding magical ability, including some untutored influence over flowstone, it's efficient to offer him a chance to try for the job as well."

Belbe descended from the high chair. She was clad in a large, belted scarlet tabard that flowed from her shoulders like a cape and swept to the floor. Against the monochrome decor, she blazed like a flame.

"Which reminds me, Lord Greven. Would you like to be considered for evincar as well? You have many years of effective service on your side and manifest talents for the job."

There it was, plainly stated at last. Greven had pondered this possibility since Volrath's departure, and he knew what his answer must be.

"Thank you, Excellency, but I must decline," he said.

"As you choose, but why?"

"I'm content to remain a loyal servant of the throne."

"It would mean the end of the control rod."

"I've considered that. I served Volrath for many years, and I've seen firsthand the effect unfettered power had on him. I would rather be the blade than the hand that wields it."

Ertai plucked the washcloth from the fleshstone scrubber's soft claw. He wiped his face with it and said, "Why is that?"

He could not explain his past to these-children. Greven had once been en-Vec, a leader of a great warrior nation. Treachery and jealousy cost him his position, his clan, and his life. With no other recourse but ignominious death, he fell into the hands of Volrath and became il-Vec, the hated outcast.

He said simply, "Because the victim curses his killer, not the blade that cuts him."

"Blades have no choice who they cut. Men do," Ertai replied.

"I have given my answer!" Greven thundered. He struggled for calm in the presence of the emissary. "Excellency, I have news of grave import." Greven recounted his odd conversation with Furah. Belbe listened while walking around the edge of the tiled bathing pool.

"You believe Crovax has led his army into a trap?" she asked after some contemplation.

"I do, Excellency."

"How would you remedy this situation?"

"I doubt I could reach Crovax with a relief force before the rebels strike," Greven said. "Worse, Crovax would probably commandeer any companies I brought, enlarging Eladamri's bag of killed or captured."

"That sounds like him," Ertai said, digging at his ear with the washcloth.

Greven ignored him. "I can, if Your Excellency desires, puttogether a force and go to Crovax's aid," he said. "I can have a scratch force prepared in two hours."

"No," said Belbe.

"No?" Greven and Ertai asked together.

"This expedition is Crovax's audition, his way of proving he is strong enough to be evincar. Very well, let him prove it. If your informant is correct, Crovax faces a more skillful enemy than he imagines. This is his chance to prove his mettle."

"Cold," muttered Ertai. When Belbe asked him to repeat himself, he said, "The water's gone cold."

"Then get out," snapped Greven.

Ertai looked from the hulking warrior to the gamine emissary and shook his head. "I can wait."

Greven gritted his teeth, then he continued. "We may lose many soldiers, Excellency."

"Yes."

"And valuable arms, and a host of moggs."

"Quite possibly."

"Does any of this concern Your Excellency?"

"What matters in a test of strength is who wins," Belbe said. She paused, looking into the pool where Ertai sat. Her crimson-draped reflection wavered with every ripple of the water. "Victory belongs to the strong."

"Don't forget luck and brains," Ertai added. "The strongest wrestler may fall if he slips up-and a smart fighter provides his own bar of soap." So saying, he squeezed the cake of soap in his fist. It squirted free, landing at Greven's feet. He kicked the perfumed bar back into the tub.

"So, I am to do nothing?" Greven asked once the metaphors had settled down.

"Put the garrison on alert," Belbe said. "And try to trace this Furah-if he spies on his friends, he may be spying on us as well."

"I fear insurrection should Crovax be defeated," Greven said gravely. "There are thousands of Dal in the crater city, and thousands more Vec and Kor below the Citadel. I don't think the shorthanded garrison could defend the Citadel in the face of a general uprising."

"Hostages," said Ertai.

"What?" Belbe and Greven questioned in unison.

"Take hostages from the leading families of the Vec, Dal, and Kor," Ertai said. "That way they'll not be inclined to act up, should the worst happen."

Greven was inwardly surprised. This cocky boy, not long ago his helpless victim, had hit upon a real stratagem. Was he a serious contender for evincar after all?

"A useful idea. Dorian il-Dal knows the people in the Stronghold. Have him work out who will be taken and how many from each race," Belbe looked up from the tub. "Lord Greven, you will round up hostages as Ertai has suggested. Be firm, but don't rough them up. Hold them in a secure place until Crovax's fate is known."

"It shall be done, Your Excellency." With that, the stalwart warrior departed.

Once Greven was gone, Belbe sat down on the edge of the bath and dipped her bare feet in the water. She smiled with delight at the sensation, swishing her feet back and forth in the suds.

Suddenly she stopped. "This water's still warm."

Ertai slipped carefully through the shallow pool until he could lean on the edge beside her.

"Belbe," he said confidentially. "Whatever happens, don't let anyone hurt the hostages."

"Why? If no threat is perceived, taking hostages has no strategic value."

He laid a damp hand on her knee. She froze, shocked by the sudden, intimate contact. "If you hurt the hostages, you really will have a civil war on your hands."

"Then why did you suggest it?"

He looked around furtively. "May I speak freely?" She nodded. "It's part of my plan to become evincar."

"I don't understand."

Ertai lowered his voice further. "Past evincars ruled by fear, yes? Fear of death, fear of soldiers, fear of the overlords and their machines? I won't rule that way, Belbe. Should I become evincar, it will be with the support and acclaim of the people, not through terror. If Crovax wins his battle, I want to present the hostages their freedom. If he loses, I want to save them from Greven's revenge."

There was no sound but the drip, drip of water from the flow-stone spigot. The humidity was such that Belbe's hair relaxed, and dew formed on her cool skin.

"Rulership is imposed, not granted," she recited, as if reading a text.

"Tyranny is imposed," Ertai countered. "Freedom is the will of the people."

"Freedom-a lack of political or social control. Also known as anarchy, democracy, or mob rule."

Ertai pushed away. He waded to the opposite end of the pool where a heap of towels and a dressing gown lay. He glanced back once out of self-consciousness, then climbed out of the bath. Belbe did not look at him. She stared blankly at the lapping water.

"I forget who you are, where you come from," he said, even though she wasn't listening. "You don't understand anything but brute force, do you?"

On a hunch, he read her aura. To his surprise, she was not so dark as Crovax or Greven. Belbe had a streak of violence in her makeup, but radiating outward from her physical self were the bright coronas of other attributespassion, intelligence, reason. The strongest force at work in Belbe was curiosity-an interesting discovery.

Ertai tied the sash of the gown tightly around his waist. His fingers twinged from the effort, as if from rheumatism. Not fully healed, he mused. Perhaps he should visit Volrath's laboratory later for another infusion. That would make his studies in magical flowstone manipulation go much easier.

"Good night, Belbe," he said.

Still pondering, she didn't answer.

Night fell, and Crovax allowed the army to halt its headlong advance. The Hub had completed a half-revolution that night, and wind from its motion whipped through the camp in heavy, humid gusts. On the horizon, the dark profile of the Skyshroud forest beckoned. Tomorrow the army would penetrate the forest.

In his tent, Crovax received the reports of his scouts. Of the twelve condemned officers, only eight had returned from the forest to relate what they found. The other four entered and were never seen again.

"Large sections of the forest are impassable, my lord," said one scout. He was coated head to toe in sticky gray mud. "The ground below the forest canopy is very swampy and entirely unpredictable in depth. I walked for a mile in knee-deep water, then without warning, stepped in a hole deeper than my head."

"So the swamp is a swamp," Crovax said dryly. "Thank you for that valuable information! How do the elves traverse the Skyshroud? The hunting party we captured hadn't a speck of mud on them."

Another scout saluted. "They use the trees, my lord. I saw bridges made of vines connecting tree to tree."

"They may use trees for small groups, but I can't believe they use them exclusively," Crovax said. "There must be dry paths built up above the level of the swamp. I want them found." A jingling sound from the next compartment distracted him. He glanced that way and added, "Find me a way into the forest. I don't care if it takes all night, you hear? Find it!"

The filthy, fatigued soldiers saluted and filed out. When they were gone, Crovax dismissed the guards from the door and sent his aides to inspect the camp. Once alone, he went to the large brass-bound hamper in the corner of the tent and threw back the lid. A thin scrap of tapestry inside squirmed. Crovax slowly lifted the cloth.

"Hello," he said.

He reached in and dragged out the elf prisoner, Valin. The youth's hands and feet were chained, and a strip of rag gagged his mouth. Crovax sat down on a pile of carpets and regarded his prisoner.

"Do you believe in curses, boy?" he said. Valin could only grunt in reply. "You should believe-they're real. Somewhere in the distant past, my family was cursed by the gift of an amulet. My ancestors thought it was just an heirloom, but it held a captive angel inside, who served our family for generations."

His tone was so measured, so reasonable, Valin regained his composure. He sat up with his back against the hamper, cradling his shackles in his lap.

"Her name was-well, it doesn't matter. Suffice to say, I destroyed the amulet out of anger, and the angel was freed because of me. She fell under Volrath's spell and fought for his cause until I was able to find her again. We fought. I killed her… As my family's heir, my soul was bound to hers, though I didn't know it. When she died, part of me died with her. That was the curse, you see-that my life should continue only by the death of others,"

Crovax poured wine into a heavy silver goblet. "At first I was devastated by her loss, but I know now that Selenia's death was a necessary part of my evolution. The overlords instructed me. They changed what seemed like a foolish tragedy into the source of my strength. I know now the path of greatness is strewn with corpses. I'll pave my way with as many dead bodies as it takes."

He downed the wine in a gulp and let the cup fall to the carpet. The flowstone lanterns in the room dimmed. Crovax stood, his eyes glowing pale red.

"They blotted out my feelings to cure me of my weakness," Crovax said flatly. "Funny, the changes carry over to so many small things… wine has no taste anymore. Eating is just exercise for my jaws. The only food I crave now is the life inside other living things. So far, I've only tasted life from the dying. Tonight I'll dine on the living."

Valin's eyed widened in terror. He struggled to stand and run, even though he was hobbled by thick chains. Crovax watched him thrash toward the door. In two steps he caught the elf and seized him by the back of the neck.

"It's an honor, really," Crovax whispered in his ear. "At least I know your name, Valin. The thousands who follow you will be as anonymous as cattle."