Kyril's body was brought before his emperor. With a . glance to the dead minotaur's superior officer, Hotak rose solemnly from his seat. An attendant handed him a small sheaf of horsetail grass.
Hotak held the sheaf high so that all might see it, then with horns blaring, he tossed it respectfully down onto the prone form.
Again, the crowd roared approval. The honor bestowed upon Kyril restored to the officer his place among his people. His failures were erased from memory. The stain that had reflected upon his emperor was no more.
The bearers held the stretcher and body over their heads as they circled the perimeter of the field once. Small banners and more sheaves alighted onto the corpse, signs of admiration for the passing of an honorable warrior.
Their circuit completed, they vanished with Kyril through the main gate. Orcius had already made arrangements for the remains with his young protégé's clan.
“Not as expected,” Hotak commented to Orcius, as he seated himself again, “but still a glorious end for Kyril. His name will be spoken of by all for some time to come. He will be a model for those who follow him.”
“As you say,” Orcius responded.
“Consider this, too, commander,” Lady Nephera added. “He now becomes a guide to his kin and loved ones. He takes on a mantle greater than any in his mortal life.”
“As you say, my lady. I am not of the Forerunner faith, though.”
“Perhaps with time.”
Hotak quieted them both. “Let us be content to honor young Kyril. He even saved the lives of his foes. He lived and died well. Truly, a symbol of minotaur honor.” He leaned back, awaiting the next event.
Chapter VI
Dreams and Nightmares
As his grip on Nethosak tightened, so did Hotak's demands over the empire. From rocky Kothas to lush Selees, from wheat- and corn-rich Amur in the northeast to wooded Broka at the heart of the realm, imperial units took over the local government and placed the colonies under the absolute control of appointed military liaisons, the provost captains.
On Mito in the port city of Strasgard, the militia commander stepped into the provost captain's office. The three gold rings he wore in each ear—symbolizing his authority—jingled as the beefy minotaur went down on one knee.
Behind the desk of the late governor, the brooding gaze of Provost Captain Haab swept over the local commander. Born in the capital, the slim-snouted Haab was a soldier dedicated to his emperor.
“What is it, Commander Ryn?” the provost captain asked, tapping his long fingers on the desk.
Haab accented almost every statement or question with tapping of his fingers.
“The shipwrights've gathered supporters. They're marching through Strasgard, demanding that their masters be released and management of the facilities be returned to local sovereignty.”
Three days earlier Hotak's legionaries, in conjunction with the imperial fleet, had marched in, seizing the port operations. Mito was not only the third largest island in population, but also third largest builder of ships. To have its autonomy revoked had created Shockwaves throughout the colony.
“I warned them that the emperor would brook no opposition,” Haab responded with a tap.
“ 'Tis hardly a rebellion. Mostly a show of raised arms and shouts, provost captain. My… the people are upset. This is not how the empire works!”
“This is the way it works now, Ryn.” Haab leaned forward. “The realm will be put in order. This latest edict by the emperor is meant to help that happen.”
Keeping his horns very low, Ryn suggested, “If the ship masters were set free … with new restrictions placed on them perhaps…?”
He let his words sink in. If the masters swore to uphold the new edicts, things could go back to normal. Ryn liked normal. Dramatic change unnerved him.
Haab tapped the desk. When he spoke, it was in a tone that made the fur on Ryn's neck stiffen.
“Your desire to keep Mito stable is commendable. The emperor looks, to this colony as one of the vanguards of expansion. Mito's ships will supply our forces with transportation, defense, and supplies. It is essential that Strasgard, the largest port, be up and running at full strength.”
At that moment, a messenger entered. He handed Haab a small scroll, then departed. The provost captain read it.
“Right on schedule.” He tossed the message aside and leaned back, quite satisfied. “Our worries are over, Commander Ryn.”
“Sir?”
“Reinforcements from Broka and Dus have just arrived. They're coming to shore south of Strasgard, as we speak.”
A sick feeling swelled in Ryn's stomach. “For what purpose, provost captain?”
Haab bared his teeth in a smile. “For the purpose of putting our house in order.”
The stunned militia officer could say nothing, understanding exactly what his superior meant. He lowered his head and tried not to think of his friends among the protesters.
*****
The new arrivals joined the units stationed on Mito and quickly beat back the surprised protesters.
Scores of colonists perished under the unforgiving onslaught, and soldiers dragged away dozens more, now identified as enemies of the state even though they had borne no love for Chot. Packed aboard a vessel built in Strasgard itself, the chained losers were sent off to—as Haab put it— “serve the empire in the only way fit for such as them.”
Although the rebellion in Mito proved rare, the changes led by Hotak shook the empire. Ships laden with salted goat meat from Kothas, wheat from Amur, or breadfruit from Tengis were now under a special tax to aid the reorganization of the state. All foodstuff—whether fish, goat, grain, fruit, or even wine—was to be distributed under guidelines drawn up by the emperor. A portion of the profits of each shipload would go directly into the coffers of Hotak, there to be distributed to his chosen projects.
Several elders from clans who had looked with favor upon the coup now added their voices to the dissent—until the first of their numbers were led away in chains.
Emboldened, Emperor Hotak made his next move. All minotaurs received combat training from almost the time they could walk, and a good portion of those later served in the military. But few served for very long, most leaving to pursue their own destinies. The legions and the fleet were constantly in flux, their strength erratic and, especially during the past decade, general readiness declining under Chot.
Hotak intended to reverse all that. He envisioned a race of trained soldiers, a grand force consisting of every male, female, and adolescent, capable of organizing at a moment's notice. Thus came down the edict declaring that all young minotaurs would be conscripted. Every corner of the realm was expected to contribute their finest prospects, even though for some remote colonies this diminished their entire labor force. On major islands like Mithas, squads from the State Guard raided unsavory establishments and pressed into military service all the revelers. The game houses, considered another foul legacy of Chot, were then burned to the ground.
In just a few months, the new emperor declared to his loyal staff while signing the conscription edict, the imperium would boast a force twice as large, twice as well-trained, as any that served in ages past. A force to be reckoned with across all of Krynn.
*****
Lady Nephera glided through the towering, stone corridors of the temple. To either side of her, set in marble block alcoves, huge figures three times her height stared down at her. Ephemeral forms clad in shroudlike garments, they seemed to take an intense interest in Nephera as she headed to her chambers.
Rounded, brass oil lamps whose flames arose from a curved spout hung suspended over the heads of the statues. Little other light illuminated this corridor. The horizontal slits near the outer ceiling were designed for ventilation.
Revealed in light and shadow by the flickering lamps, the huge stone figures represented the ghosts, the forerunners of the present minotaurs—those for whom Nephera had named her sect.
Acoly
tes in white robes with red trim from the shoulders to the cuffs bent low in homage. Two female attendants, their manes tied tight, prostrated before Nephera. Protectors in full black and gold regalia kept to their positions near the walls, eyes straight ahead, multi-barbed maces held ready.
The shadows and wind shifting around Nephera represented a force beyond the mortal plane. When the priestess passed by, the statues seemed—just for the briefest of breaths—to stir. A rustling of cloth here, the shifting of a masked gaze there. Even the fanatical Protectors peered anxiously over their shoulders when passing through.
Two brawny, female guards, chosen from among her own priestesses, raised their axes in salutation as Lady Nephera approached her quarters. Clad as the Protectors save for helms, they lived to serve her and no other.
Falling to one knee, her horns pointed down and her ponytail pulled to one side so as to bare her neck, the senior guard announced, “Mistress, your son awaits you within.”
Nephera hid her displeasure at this news as she entered. Even after many days, Ardnor had been unable to forget his disappointment at the coronation.
Clad in gray robes and slung over the curled arms of an elegant oak and leather chair, Ardnor had a bottle of temple wine in one hand. In his other hand, he held a half-crumpled parchment that the high priestess immediately recognized as having been taken from her desk.
Nephera's dark eyes widened, and her shoulders stiffened.
“Stand up! What sort of mockery do you think you make of yourself when you appear in such a state?” She ripped the sheet from his hand. In truth, Nephera cared not so much about her son's drunken appearance, but that he had dared go through her papers.
“So old Nymon's found himself on one of your lists, has he?” Ardnor rumbled, the smell of fermented fruit washing over his mother. “What's he done?”
She turned from him, returning the precious paper to her desk. “Nothing, but his character has come into question. He is being… observed.”
“Observed.” Ears twitching in mirth, the massive minotaur let loose with a short, barking laugh.
Her hand pressed against her chest, Lady Nephera turned on him. “Put that bottle down, and act your station! Do you want to exasperate matters? What would happen if your father saw you?”
“Father'd never step foot in this room, and you know it.” Ardnor pushed himself to his feet, then tossed the empty bottle on the chair. Drops of wine dribbled onto the leather. “Father's ashamed of this place… and us!”
Nephera slapped him.
Their gazes did battle, and Ardnor looked away.
“Speak not like that again.”
Sullen, he nodded. Nephera saw that wine had stained his gray robes.
“Forgive me for my words, Mother.” Ardnor took a deep breath, then exhaled. The high priestess tried to ignore the new wave of sour fumes. “They were rash and unfounded.”
“And dangerous, too. I've just come from the palace.”
All trace of sluggishness vanished. Ardnor leaned toward her like an eager puppy. “Did you speak with him? Did he explain why he shamed me?”
“I spoke to your father, yes. He explained quite reasonably why he chose to do what he did. He needs a bit more time to solidify political support and to prove the stability of his rule. You'll be declared heir yet, my son, but the announcement will have to wait a little. That's all.”
“How long? A few days? A week?”
She grew exasperated. “Not long. You must learn to live with that answer, Ardnor. Trust in your father.”
“I trust in you, Mother. If you believe him, then so do I.”
He still raged inside, but Nephera could see that the fight had started to go out of him. Still, she would be happy when Hotak announced Ardnor as the next emperor.
“It's late, my son,” she said softly. The same hand that had struck so violently now caressed Ardnor's muzzle. “I've work still to do.”
Ardnor took the hint, bowing before her and responding, “Then I wish you good night, Mother.
Thank you for everything.”
“I do what is right—as does your father.”
With reluctance, he nodded. “I know.”
As Ardnor turned to leave, his mother recalled something else she and Hotak had discussed. The high priestess gritted her teeth, knowing this would prompt another battle.
“Ardnor, I want you to pull the Protectors from the searches.”
A snarl escaped him. “He told you that?”
“I agree with him.” With some reluctance, but she did.
The veins in his thick neck grew taut. Ardnor's grip on the door handle tightened, the wood groaning. In the end, though, he simply nodded, then silently departed, leaving in his wake two unnerved guards who quickly moved to shut the door.
Lady Nephera clapped her hands. “I require two attendants. Summon them.”
Within seconds, a pair of anxious priestesses knelt before Lady Nephera and raised their slim, folded hands toward her.
Staring down at the two awed faces, Nephera commanded, “See that the meditation room is prepared. Then alert all Protectors that under no circumstances am I to be disturbed once I enter. No matter what they hear. Is that understood?”
“Yes, mistress!” they piped in unison.
While the two scurried off, Nephera stepped past her desk, past the vital lists that Ardnor had disorganized, and into her most private rooms. Darkness enveloped her as she entered.
The high priestess whispered a single word. A candle near her bed sputtered to life.
A slight shifting in her eyes represented Nephera's only pleasure at this achievement. She had progressed far beyond basic skills and, if her hopes held true, tonight she would cross yet another threshold.
When the temple had served the followers of Sargonnas, this room had been reserved for their high priest. Polished, silver-gray marble tiles covered the floors. Each piece had been cut into the shape of a five-inch wide square and inlaid with design by skilled workers. The import costs for such fine-quality stone would have paid a legion commander's wages for a year.
Built into the floor of the adjoining chamber and decorated in the same prime marble, was a vast bath. Servants did not have to tote buckets of cold or hot water to it; instead, in a separate portion of the building, they kept a set of giant cisterns—one heated, one not—filled to the brim with water.
Through a set of pipes, Nephera herself could manipulate the temperature she desired, filling the bath-eight feet in width and double that in length—whenever she so desired.
The bath called to her, but the high priestess could not rest. She turned to the wall closet, carved, just like the wide bed beside it, from cedar imported from Sargonath, and reached in for a garment never seen outside of the temple. Utter black, almost shroudlike, and with a voluminous hood lined at the front edges in silver thread, the floor-length robe made its wearer resemble one of the dead.
To further the effect, a black, shimmering veil of silk obscured the wearer's features.
As she dressed, her eyes drifted to the savage condor symbol, set in the wall across from the bed, which seemed to glare vengefully at her. The artisans had created the fiery bird from special marble, then touched it up with paint resistant to the constant scrubbing by her attendants. Eventually Nephera would have to have the wall replaced, but for now this last vestige of a lost god would remain.
Mistress.
Nephera glanced toward the bed, where a flickering shadow had separated from the others. With each dancing movement of the candle flame, Takyr's cadaverous, green-gray form faded in and out of sight. The tattered mariner's cloak billowed as if caught in a great gale. A faint scent hinting of the open sea and rotting vegetation touched the priestess' nostrils.
“I've a spell to cast. I'll need you.”
Aye, mistress.
Lady Nephera adjusted the upturned collar of her robe then departed the room. As she passed her desk, the high priestess paused to pick up the parchme
nt her son had been perusing earlier.
“What of Itonus? Anything observed?”
The mistress is not mistaken.
She reached for a quill, quickly adding the name to the parchment. Her expression grew triumphant.
“The emperor will be very surprised. He didn't believe me. Now, he must.”
The ghost said nothing.
With immense satisfaction, the high priestess returned quill and sheet to her desk then departed for the meditation room. .
The two brooding Protectors on duty slapped their right fists on their breastplates then opened the doors. Nephera gave both an approving nod then stepped inside and waited for the doors to close behind her.
Once a place of secret rites, the high, arched chamber had fallen into empty ruin before Nephera had claimed the building ten years earlier. With the vanishing of the old gods, the great temples had been abandoned. Only a few small temples of Sargonnas and his rival, the bison-headed god of just cause, Kiri-Jolith, still remained here and there throughout the empire.
The tenets of the Forerunner faith had been inspired by the dream she had one night while her mate was away winning battles and glory for his undeserving master. Lady Nephera had no name for the mysterious power she wielded. Perhaps it had to do with this One True God she had heard of, perhaps not. Her only guidance came from dreams—and the voice that still spoke to her during her slumbers.
In the first dream, Nephera, clad in the robe she now wore, had found herself in a vast white nothingness standing upon a misty path composed of tiny bones. The path led into forever. An endless line of gray, shrouded figures made of smoke trod the path—the dead on their journey after life.
More curious than afraid, Nephera had dared join that monstrous line. The dead had paid her no mind. When she reached out to touch one, her fingers passed through shadowy mist. Her ethereal companions made no sound; they simply trudged along to their destiny.
Then, suddenly, the unearthly trail had ended, and Nephera had discovered herself at the wide steps of a gleaming, ivory temple. The gargantuan bronze doors, covered with the symbols of an ascending bird hovering over an axe of gold, opened readily. Lady Nephera stepped forward—
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