“General?” The voice belonged to Tovok, one of his volunteers.
“This way!” Rahm commanded. With Tovok close at his heels, he charged around the building.
Rahm saw one of his men in combat against two opponents. Sending Tovok toward one, Rahm charged the other.
The general's target turned at the last moment, barely deflecting the axe. Rahm brought the axehead up and struck a hard blow under the soldier's jaw. As his foe staggered back, he thrust the pointed tip into his unprotected throat.
The second attacker fell quickly to Tovok and the still-unidentified rebel.
“By that short stance,” the shadowy form chuckled. “It has to be you, Rahm.”
“Azak! Are you injured?”
“Some small cuts, but nothing to boast of.” The mariner's voice dulled. “But the lad who fought beside me… he perished after slaying their captain.”
Rahm did a quick count. “Is one missing, Azak?”
From without came the sound of horses.
Rahm whirled toward the front entrance. “We can't permit him to escape!”
They burst out of the building to discover the last of the militia squad just mounting his horse. He kicked at the other mounts, trying to move them out of the way.
With a prodigious leap, General Rahm managed to grab him by the feet. The rider tried to shake him off then decided that his best course of action was to spur his horse and drag his assailant along with him.
The horse careened over the rock-strewn path, but Rahm refused to let go. The other minotaur swatted at him, then pulled free his axe.
Rahm twisted sharply. The horse whinnied as it lost its balance. The fleeing soldier gave a dismayed shout as he slipped off. Both combatants went tumbling across the harsh ground. Rahm freed his dagger just as he landed atop the other fighter. His adversary, seeing the blade, released his hold on his own half-drawn weapon.
“I yield!” he gasped.
General Rahm drove the dagger deep into the other's throat. His companions caught up just as Rahm pulled the crimson-drenched blade free. Azak offered his friend a hand up.
To Tovok, Rahm commanded, “Get us three of the horses. Scatter the rest. Leave no clues.”
Azak glanced back at the house. “What about—”
“Leave him. By the time anyone comes, it'll be just one more body left for the carrion crows. None of us wore any markings.”
“As you say.”
Tovok rounded up the horses. The trio mounted, Rahm taking one last look at the darkened estate.
“More deaths to lay at Hotak's blood-soaked feet,” he murmured, his tone so chill that his companions glanced at one another.
Urging their steeds, the three rode toward the capital.
*****
Lady Maritia de-Droka had stayed for five days then departed with her retinue to inspect other facilities north of the camp. No one had expected to see the emperor's daughter again, and so it came as a surprise when, more than two weeks later, she returned. The reason for her second visit was a mystery to the prisoners.
“She should close down the processing station,” Faros muttered to Ulthar as they climbed into the wagons. “There has to be a better way. A gnome couldn't have designed worse!”
“Can be abandoned or dismantled easy with little cost,” replied Ulthar. “In case of eruption.” He shrugged. “But I agree. Gnomework. Definitely gnomework.”
Faros was thrust each day into the hellish abyss, and each day new screams assailed his ears.
Several times he assisted in carrying out victims, their bodies black on one side, blistered on the other. Most died quickly, but some few were put out of their misery even when it was determined that they might survive.
It had been a fairly safe day so far. Only twice the flames erupted.
One bin, two, three, then ten. Over and over the cycle went.
The ground shook. Pieces of rock dropped from above, pelting Faros. The rumbling increased, becoming thunder. The earth shook with such violence that Faros fell to his knees. A small crack opened where he usually stood, and the edge crumbled into the vast pit.
On his hands and knees, he squeezed himself against the wall. Most tremors faded away after only a few moments, yet this one grew worse, becoming a full, violent quake within minutes. Faros heard screams and shouts. Several prisoners headed toward the ladders, many stumbling because of their fetters. One prisoner lost his footing, reached for the worker in front of him—and with a cry both plummeted into the abyss.
Ore containers swung wildly about, often colliding. A downpour of dirt almost buried Faros.
Spitting dust, he abandoned the alcove, joining those converging on the ladders.
Ahead, a tall, graying prisoner fought to keep steady as he, too, edged to the ladders. However, as he put his foot down, the walkway collapsed, sending him slipping off the edge. The prisoner seized a handhold and tried to pull himself up. Reacting instinctively, Faros hurried forward.
“Your hand!” he shouted. “Give me your hand!”
The other did, almost losing his grip. Faros raised him up slowly until the latter could bring one leg up on the path. With further assistance, the elder prisoner climbed to his feet. As he did, Faros got a good look at his face and saw that he had rescued the ousted patriarch, Itonus.
Itonus nodded curtly then both hurried up the ladder.
As the pit workers reached the top, other prisoners bent to help the survivors up. The tremor began to subside, but no one trusted that another might not occur. Faros watched anxiously as Itonus moved up then took his own turn. Above, a strong, steady hand stretched out to Faros—a hand with tattoos.
Ulthar practically lifted the smaller minotaur up to the ground level. With a gasp, Faros fell into his arms.
“Had a cousin, Sardar,” Ulther muttered. “Sailed with me for family, then as pirate and brigand.
Everywhere I was, Sardar, too. Good comrade, good fighter.” He snorted quietly. “Sent to the pit with me and died first day. Couldn't catch him in time.”
Faros could say nothing but managed to nod. He stepped back to look at the pit, where the fires stirred up by the tremor had only just begun to drop back out of sight.
A hand touched Faros' shoulder. Too weak to be startled, he turned and once more found himself gazing at Itonus.
“You.” Calculating eyes the color of charcoal shifted to Ulthar. “And your friend. You will be summoned: Be prepared.”
He backed away, moving casually into the throng of prisoners. Faros glanced after him, but Ulthar quickly nudged his companion.
“Give no sign. It betters the chances.”
“What did he mean? What could he want with us?”
Before Ulthar could respond, a guard approached. “Everyone to the wagons! You'll wait there until we know what's going on. Rest while you can. You'll have to make up for the lost work later!”
As they obeyed, Ulthar quietly responded to Faros' question. “Why else would 'un as important as he want us?” For the first time in days, Ulthar allowed himself a full smile. “I think he has a plan to escape, this patriarch does, and from the likes o' him such a plan might work.”
Chapter XIX
Discovered
The apprentices working at the barrel maker's establishment on the northern edge of the imperial city had departed. Only Master Zornal, the chief cooper, remained, for he lived above his business.
Despite his lean form, the dark brown minotaur had severe jowls, so much so that they gave him what many thought a decidedly canine appearance.
Zornal bolted the entrance then headed to the nearest work bench. There he glanced at the efforts of one of his newer charges. Incredibly impatient, young minotaurs tended to work the wood as if in a combat with it. They did not admire the wood's strength, work with it as though it were a comrade.
As he doused the oil lamps, a soft rapping came from the door. Rubbing his hands on his apron, Zornal called out, “One moment! One moment!”
A compact but solid figure barged into him, pushing the barrel maker back into the workroom.
Another intruder darted in, immediately dousing the light. To Zornal's dismay, a third joined the others, shutting the door and quickly bolting it.
“Unhand me! I am a member of House Arun! You assault a good citizen of the empire! The State Guard will have your heads!”
“They would certainly love mine,” remarked the one who had collided with him. “But would you give it to them, Zornal?”
“I know that voice!” the cooper blurted. “Rahm?”
“Aye, Master Zornal, but please, speak quieter.”
“Of course, of course,” returned the barrel maker in much softer tones. “Step back further, so we can converse in safety. Have you eaten?”
“Not in some time,” Rahm admitted.
“Then come! I can certainly feed three worn, hungry travelers.”
They settled at a squat table in the rear where the apprentices ate their meals and, over pieces of goat and some ale, the general explained the situation. Zornal listened intently, never interrupting.
Only when Rahm had finished did he comment.
“You should've never come back! Assassinate the emperor all by yourselves? Better to have waited until you had an army behind you! I understand your reasons for wanting Hotak dead. I can even sympathize. But be reasonable!”
“Too many lives were put in jeopardy just to get us here, Zornal. I'll not leave. Not while the usurper lives.”
Ears flattening, the barrel maker sighed. “Very well. I may be foolish, but I'll do what I can to help you. No friend am I of the new emperor! Many a good customer I lost through him.”
“I'd hoped you'd help. That's why I came to you.” Rahm peered at the rows of barrels. “More than enough customers still, I see. Including the imperial throne, by chance?”
“Aye, we sell to the throne. Always have. My father and his father before him. Would look strange, not to mention be unwise and unhealthy, if I ceased to do so now.”
“So you still have access to parts of the palace, then?”
“What're you getting at?”
His good ear twitching, General Rahm stared thoughtfully at the darkness.
*****
Morning came. At the sounding of the seventh hour, the apprentices, already at their stations, took up their hammers and other tools and began the day's labor. Quas, the overseer, a hefty minotaur with unkempt mud-brown fur and thick, blunt horns, directed the distribution of materials. He stood watching the workers, a long, pale pipe with a slim downward curve sticking out of the side of his mouth. Long favored by mariners, the pipe was as close to the sea as Quas had ever come.
Master Zornal joined his cousin. “Quas, I need you to come upstairs with me for a moment.”
Removing his work apron but keeping the pipe in his mouth, Quas followed.
As they reached the top, the master cooper gestured to the empty rooms across from his own. Quas removed his pipe and paused, openly curious.
“In here,” commanded Zornal, pointing to one of the rooms.
With slight reluctance, Quas entered. However, when he saw the two figures standing within, the overseer immediately started to back out, a wispy trail of smoke in his wake.
Tovok, stationed behind the door, shut it, blocking his way.
“Be at ease, cousin. These are friends.”
“Zornal, that's… that's General Rahm Es-Hestos!”
“Then I need not introduce myself,” remarked the shorter minotaur.
“Zornal! How long—?”
“Only since last night. They came for help.”
Quas swallowed, then quickly recovered from his initial shock. He thrust the tip of the clay pipe back in his mouth. Expression calming, he finally said, “Of course! The honor of our clan wouldn't permit otherwise. Forgive me, general. They said you'd escaped overseas.”
With no furniture in the room, Rahm and his companions had slept on the floor using woolen blankets. The barrel maker had also provided empty cedar crates for them to sit upon. Rahm offered two of these to the pair.
Zornal sat, but Quas chose to stand, clearly unnerved despite his seemingly calm demeanor. He puffed on the pipe over and over, as if he hoped to fill the room with one vast cloud.
“Your cousin speaks well of you,” the general began. “He intends you to inherit the cooperage, I understand.”
“If I'm worthy of it.” The overseer's puffy, black eyes brightened. Despite his humble words, he clearly enjoyed hearing of his good fortune.
“He also says you deal with the throne. You even go to the palace on occasion.”
“Aye, but only the kitchens. Master Zornal has an agreement with the merchant Detrius. We provide the barrels, he the grain, and I deliver it to a cousin of ours who runs the kitchens.”
General Rahm stroked the ring. “Better and better. The old gods must watch over us. How soon before you make your next run, Quas?”
“Another week.”
“Would a few days earlier make a difference?”
Zornal answered for him. “Olia—she runs the imperial kitchens—might think us a little eager for coin, but she'll not have a problem with that.”
“Just what do you plan?” asked the overseer.
Rahm indicated the far corner of the room. There stood one of Master Zornal's largest barrels.
“You'll have some extra barrels with you this time and, because of that, some assistance. Say that Detrius sent the new grain because he discovered he charged too much on a previous shipment.
Have them placed with the others.”
“Y'mean to enter the palace yourself in one of them, don't you?”
Rahm's face grew grim. “It is better if you don't know.”
“A daring plan.” Quas fiddled with his pipe.
“Perhaps.”
Someone called from downstairs. Rahm and his companions stiffened, but the master cooper shook his head. “Just one of the apprentices. Quas, we'd better get back to work. General, I'll see to it that you get some food later on.”
“Thank you, Zornal. And you, too, Quas.”
The overseer shook his head, still dumbfounded. “A daring plan.”
*****
Day gave way to evening. Quas remained behind to work with Zornal on the barrels. Although the work went well, the pair did not finish until late into the night.
Quas straightened, groaning. “Cousin, I must go.”
“Go, and with my thanks.”
“And mine,” added Rahm quietly.
After Quas had gone, Zornal led them back upstairs. The master barrelmaker bid them a good sleep then departed for his own chambers.
So near to his goal, Rahm could not sleep. He lay staring at the ceiling for some hours then quietly rose, a slight unease touching him. The sound of snoring came from Azak's direction, but neither the captain nor young Tovok stirred.
The general crept to the lone window, feeling the sudden need to peer out. Shadowed buildings met his gaze, shadowed buildings on a street barely illuminated by one tired lamp. To the south, a faint aura radiated from one quarter of the city.
A flicker of flame below caught his attention. Rahm looked and saw a lone minotaur whose attention seemed to be focused on Master Zornal's facility. Under the pale light of the lamp, the commander recognized the face of Quas.
Someone stirred behind Rahm. Azak's voice hissed in his ear, “Is something amiss?”
“Look there. Before he vanishes.”
“Looks like… it almost looks like Quas.”
“It is.”
“What would he be doing here so late?” asked Azak. “Come to see Zornal?”
“When the barrelmaker's sound asleep?”
They continued to watch. At first it seemed that the overseer had left, but then Captain Azak caught sight of him, still watching. “There! See his foot? Jus
t barely out of the deepest shadows?”
Quas stayed for a few moments more then retreated. The pair waited, but the overseer did not reappear.
“What do you make of that, Rahm?”
“He plans to betray us.”
“But that would bring danger to his own cousin.”
“Aye. And it would bring Master Zornal's establishment to Quas.” A movement outside caught the general's attention. “Hold! He comes back!”
Sure enough, Quas not only had returned but now looked to be intent on getting inside. From below, they heard the slight creak of a door.
The two fugitives looked at one another. “We can't take a chance,” said Rahm. “We must find out what he is doing.”
Rahm led the way to the stairs. A dim light shone from the vast workroom. Oil lamp in hand, Quas was inspecting the barrels. He appeared to be looking for something.
Carefully Rahm descended, Azak close behind. The overseer, intent on his activities, did not even turn. The general approached him. Quas muttered something under his breath, then nodded.
Rahm, now only a few paces away, reached for the other's arm.
With a startling roar, Quas swung the oil lamp at the general's face.
The flames came perilously close. Rahm instinctively backed away, the only thing that saved him from the jagged knife that Quas drew from his belt.
Instead of following up on his advantage, Quas made for the door. Azak started after him, but the overseer threw the knife, sending the captain diving for cover.
Rahm leaped for the retreating figure. Quas gaped, and then the two collided. The lamp flew from the overseer's grasp, crashing to the floor. Oil spread and with it came hungry, eager flame.
Quas was a slippery foe despite his girth. He twisted around, putting Rahm within inches of the growing fire.
Azak ran to contain the flames as best he could. Quas struck Rahm on the jaw and broke the general's grip. The overseer put his calloused hands around his foe's throat.
“You've lost, general,” Quas growled. “You've lost your run, and now you'll lose your life!”
“And… you're losing… your inheritance,” Rahm managed.
Quas looked up, finally registering the fire. Seizing the advantage, General Rahm pushed with all his might, broke his adversary's hold, and threw the other off. Unable to control his momentum, Quas rolled to the side and nearly collided with Azak.
Night of Blood Page 23
