The gates remained closed. Hekturian Goud did not even bother to reply.
Napol signaled for the assault to begin.
Three rows of twenty archers lined up, their ash bows pointed toward the southern sky. They fired the moment the marine officer waved his axe. The rain of arrows arched up, then descended toward the garrison.
Cries arose as bolts pierced throats and buried themselves in shoulders, legs, and torsos.
“Res!” Goud shouted to the Second Dekarian, now positioned up on the wall. “Return fire!”
The defenders replied. Not nearly so many in number, the imperial archers managed to pick off only a handful of the invaders.
Napol brought ladders into play on every side of the fort. The archers above responded, slaying a few attackers, while other soldiers pushed off the ladders.
Napol signaled a second volley, which caught the defenders in the open. Many fell.
Several long ropes with hooks on the end were tossed up on the walls. Hands gripped the lines, and armed climbers began their ascents.
“Let's go!” the marine commander shouted. “Get up there! You archers! Give them cover!”
Inside, Hekturian Goud removed his helm to wipe his forehead while he considered what to do. A third of his force had been slain, and the walls were becoming impossible to defend.
“Res!” he called. “Tighten up the port side!” More whistling filled the air as he relayed his desperate commands. “Send three to the west wall! Get—”
Four arrows struck the hekturian, one through the calf, another in his shoulder, and two plunging into his neck. Eyes already glazed, the commander crumpled to the ground.
The first marine fighters poured over the top. A few perished, but the rest held their positions.
Pitched duels took place along the walkway.
The port wall fell first. Napol's fighters descended, attempting to open the main gates. Arrows rewarded the first two with quick deaths, but under the protection of shields, two more removed the brace.
With Napol leading, the attackers poured into the stronghold.
A few minutes later, Second Dekarian Res, Varga's acting commander, surrendered. Horns low, he knelt before the marine officer, holding his axe up for Napol to take. In all, the Battle of Varga had lasted only three hours.
As the prisoners were herded into the warehouses, Captain Tinza rejoined Napol.
“A battle well fought!” The captain congratulated him. “Not even noon! I hope the others have as much luck.” She referred to the other ships that had separated from Dragon’s Crest. The attacks by both forces had to come within only a few hours of one another.
“They'll do it, Tinza. They'll do it.”
She nodded and watched her crew bring supplies aboard the ships. “We should be done before long.” She rubbed her jaw. “Did you account for everyone? Did anyone escape?”
Napol lost some of his good humor. “Aye, at least three or four riders fled. Maybe more.” He clutched his axe tighter. “They'll go and warn who they can.”
Tinza's gaze narrowed. She stared toward distant Nethosak and bared her teeth in satisfaction.
“Good. Then everything's gone just as planned.”
Chapter XXI
No Escape
Word came quickly that Varga had been attacked, but no earthly messenger delivered the dire news.
Instead, Lady Nephera, in the midst of preparing for the reception for Golgren, suddenly stared off into space.
“Varga… Varga…” she whispered. “You are sure? Northern port… four ships? Fleet banners!”
Though the rounded eyes of her two imperial servants could see no other, the high priestess gazed at the deepening shadows swirling before her.
“Leave me!” she commanded her attendants. As they gratefully exited, Nephera wrapped her arms around herself.
“Ships in the east, Varga to the north… what is this?” she snapped at those who had brought her the information. “Piracy or rebellion?” Whirling, the high priestess swung open the door through which the servants had fled, crying, “Hotak!”
Through the lofty halls of the palace Nephera raced. The high priestess' spies flew before her.
Nephera went straight to the throne room, where Hotak had brought Golgren to flaunt the grandeur of minotaur power. The pair turned in puzzlement as Nephera burst through the great bronze doors.
“My dear—” began the emperor.
Her steely gaze cut him off. “Hotak, my love, we must talk. Now.”
Sensing her urgency, Hotak bowed slightly to his guest. “If you will excuse me for a moment, Lord Golgren?”
The ogre nodded, pretending indifference. Only a slight narrowing of his eyes indicated his curiosity.
The emperor led his consort out. Neither spoke until they had entered the planning room, and Hotak, looking around, had made certain that no one else was near.
“Tell me,” he ordered her. “Tell me.”
“Varga fell barely an hour ago. The ships are still in port, loading imperial supplies aboard. They fly the banners of the Eastern fleet!”
He ground his fist into his palm. “The four that fled. It has to be them!” Hotak rubbed his jaw. “I expected something, but nothing this audacious! What can those fools hope to accomplish?”
“They've stripped a port on Mithas itself! Think of what the people will say!”
“This can't be allowed.” He swung open the door and shouted at a startled guard, “Summon Captain Gar!”
Gar appeared a moment later. The dusky warrior went down on one knee.
“My lord?” he grunted.
“Vagra has been attacked. Send a detachment of my personal legion there. Alert the Flying Gryphon Legion. Have one naval contingent set sail for the port. Watch for four vessels bearing banners of the Eastern fleet. I want those ships!”
Gar nodded. “Most of your legion,” he said, “is already spread out over southern Mithas and one contingent was, by your order, shipped to reinforce General Xando on Kothas.”
“Then take what's needed from Nethosak.”
“It will leave the capital in the hands of the State Guard. For your own protection you'll only have the Imperial Guard, my lord.”
“Do what must be done. Control of all security in Nethosak will be in the hands of the Imperial Guard, then. Bastion will not be available, but Kolot will serve well in this capacity. Any threat pertaining to the capital should be reported to him.”
“Aye, my lord.” Captain Gar rose and backed out of the room.
Lady Nephera approached her husband. “If there are any disruptions, you can be assured that the Protectors will be available.”
“I'd prefer to keep them out of this. Nethosak is secure.”
“As you say.” She frowned. “It might be wise to hold off about Golgren and the pact for the moment—at least stall before making any announcement—until we know more about these matters.”
“This must be Rahm's doing. Strike here, strike there! Harry my legions everywhere, trying to find my weaknesses!” Hotak snorted, a hint of crimson touching his eyes. “A fatal mistake. There is no weakness in my empire.”
Lady Nephera patted his breastplate. “Well put, my husband. Now, might it not be best to return to the ogre, lest he wonder what terrible fate has befallen the empire?”
“You're correct as always, Nephera.” They touched the tips of their muzzles together. Hotak inhaled deeply, taking in the lavender scent of his wife. “Thank you for your quick action.”
“The temple exists to support you. I exist to aid you.”
She watched as he left to placate Lord Golgren. “You may be right about Rahm, my love,” she murmured, “but I fear you may also be wrong. This is too direct for the general, too rash.
Something else is brewing, and I must find out what it is.”
*****
A pockmarked prisoner found Faros and Ulthar as they ate their morning meal and, with a nudge of his foot, indicated they shoul
d follow him. He led Faros and the mariner around several barracks, beyond the wooden watchtowers, and past parties of occupied prisoners. A few pairs of eyes glanced at the trio with dull curiosity.
They slipped around another corner, passed an unsuspecting guard in one of the towers, and suddenly confronted a sinewy, narrow-eyed prisoner who looked each of them over, then let them inside the barracks behind him.
Two figures stood in the shadows at the far end. To Faros' surprise, one proved to be Japfin, who had found reason not to eat with them this morning. The other was Itonus.
“You know who I am,” Itonus said. “Once master of a powerful House. A foolish mistake has robbed me of that role, but not of friends on the outside. I have waited, and now they have acted.”
Itonus leaned toward them. “Arrangements have been made. I will escape this foul pit, but the way requires some trouble, some strength, and certainly some allies. I think you two fit my needs.”
“Heard plenty of plans before,” Ulthar said. “None worked.”
“Mine shall. What do you say, both of you? This one you evidently know, he says I can trust you.
He has already agreed.”
“What about the Butcher?” Faros asked. “I've seen you rub shoulders with him. Is he a part of this conspiracy?”
“The—” Itonus chuckled. “Oh, good Paug.” He waved his hand, dismissing the question. “Useful enough for keeping the trash from disturbing me, but certainly not a part of this scheme. Too volatile, too untrustworthy.”
Escape. It had seemed such an impossible goal, but if anyone could succeed, it had to be the patriarch. Faros dared not turn down such a precious chance. “I'll do it.”
Beside him, the tattooed mariner slowly nodded. “Also me.”
“I had hoped to wait until the treacherous Lady Maritia left. However, I have to act in concert with the outside. Tomorrow morning, he prepared to travel in a different wagon. The choice will be clear.
Do not hesitate, and once you are inside, look under the benches. Tools will be hidden there that can unlock our manacles and fetters. I will tell you nothing more, but act boldly. These steps must be followed without hesitation or error.”
“What do you need us for?” Faros asked.
“To be blunt, as decoys. The wagons are the only way out of here, but if I try to ride alone, someone will notice. One prisoner is too obvious, but a wagon almost half-full, they will not bother to scrutinize. If there is trouble, I want comrades who'll follow orders. I expect you to obey me to the fullest. Now, if there are no more questions, this discussion is ended.”
Itonus leaned back, eyes closed in thought. Japfin joined Faros and Ulthar, and the three departed the barracks.
Horns sounded, summoning the prisoners to the wagons. For once, Faros moved with some energy, some optimism. None of the three spoke. The key to freedom had been offered them by one in whom they could all believe.
As they neared the wagons, however, a sharp stinging blow suddenly sent Faros to his knees. While Ulthar moved to help him up, the Butcher wound up his whip. “Get a move on, you scum! The wagons aren't going to wait forever!”
Faros gritted his teeth, reluctantly obeying. He could not afford to show his emotions. Just a little longer and all Vyrox would be nothing more than a fading nightmare, and that included Paug.
*****
Maritia stared at the departing prisoners, seeking one in particular. She stood alone in the room save for her bodyguard, the towering charcoal-colored Holis. “Are you certain of this information, Holis?”
“It came from a reliable source.” Holis stood as still as a statue.
“I hope so. I wouldn't have lingered in this miserable place otherwise. I'm looking forward to seeing the last of it.”
Maritia finally noticed the one she was seeking. Itonus glided toward the wagons as if still walking down the carpet toward the ornate chair he had used as patriarch. He did not look at all like a minotaur who had lost all his power.
“Father was wrong not to have him slain outright, Holis.”
“As you say, my lady.”
Maritia stepped away from the window. “I understand his reasoning, but he should've acted decisively.”
“The political landscape can be a dangerous battlefield, my lady. Circumstances warranted imprisoning the elder, leaving open a possible use for him as a bargaining chip.”
“Well the time for such concerns is past.” She turned, her hand stroking the hilt of her sword. “If what your source says is true, Itonus might vanish from this place if we are not careful. That cannot be allowed, Holis.”
“Your order, my lady?”
Her hand slipped from her sword to his chest. “No order. More a suggestion of duty to your master.”
Holis bowed his head. “Tell me what must be done, and I shall do it, my lady. For the emperor, the realm… and you.”
*****
More shadows accumulated about the high priestess as she leaned over her desk, but Nephera paid them no mind, her attention completely fixed on her task. When she needed them, they would still be there. They had no choice but to wait.
Her words fell onto the parchment like water tumbling down a waterfall. Nephera's raven eyes wore a fanatical look, and the hand that held the quill moved as though another guided it. Names, places, and phrases erupted from the rich red ink. Varga, Tinza, Napol, Jubal, others.
The renegades had made a terrible blunder by returning to Mithas. They had given her the opportunity to identify them. She had new names, many names. More important, she could now follow their movements, for the ships departing Varga carried with them unseen passengers. Each rebel named would be attended to by one of the shadows serving her.
Nephera had so many under her command. She could monitor the thoughts and actions of anyone serving her husband to make certain they were as loyal as they claimed. Even Hotak had ghosts who attended him—a safety precaution in Nephera's mind. That he did not know of these sentinels was beside the point.
Pausing, the priestess exhaled then surveyed her quarters, her sanctum. Here in the temple her authority was absolute. Her acolytes followed her every word. The faithful knelt at her feet. The ghosts obeyed her commands and fed her power beyond the emperor's imagining.
Lady Nephera glanced at her list again. Before long, Nephera would be able to present to Hotak details of the rebels' organization, including the locations of their bases and those giving them valuable support.
Then… then finally, her husband would have to acknowledge the contributions of the Forerunners.
“What of Rahm?” she demanded of the air. “What of Rahm?”
His name had been mentioned, but his exact location was still unknown to her. She suspected that he worked at some goal separate from the attacks—and that made Nephera all the more wary.
“Takyr!”
Immediately, the hooded shade appeared. Mistress.
“General Rahm continues to be elusive. Why?”
Some force, some power must protect him from my view, mistress.
Nephera frowned.
He is as the dead are to the living___
“In life, you were rare among our kind, for you dabbled in magic.”
I was… touched by magic, mistress, the hooded phantom said. He raised his right hand, and for the first time Nephera noticed that two fingers were missing and the rest had been scalded. And that touch led to my… alteration.
He did not explain further. Ghosts either tried to forget their demises or went about proclaiming their stories to any and all who would listen. Some of the first shades to swear allegiance to the high priestess after the Dream had wailed endlessly of their downfalls until she had commanded that they never again speak unless so ordered.
“So you can tell me nothing at all?”
Nothing, mistress.
With undisguised irritation, Nephera turned on the deathly throng, looking down at the milling shades contemptuously. “Useless! None of you can tell me anythi
ng! None of you can find the worst traitor!”
Whatever they had been in life, at this very moment they were less than the dirt beneath her feet.
Even Takyr had the good sense to retreat, his expression shrouded by his hood.
“No one?” Nephera sneered. “No one can tell me where General Rahm might be?”
They moved about in uncertainty, faces passing through faces, bodies through bodies. Their numbers filled the room.
Then one lone shade drifted hesitantly toward her. He had died violently, judging by his blackened, blistered flesh. Most likely he was a victim of fire. The odor of ash permeated him.
“You have something to say?” Lady Nephera urged. “You have something worthy of my time?
Come closer and tell me.”
In life, mistress, I was called… Quas, the ghost managed to emit from his charred mouth. Despite the savage damage to his face, he also managed an expression that the high priestess thought resembled hatred. And I may know… where General Rahm might he.
Chapter XXII
Revolt
An ogre in their midst.
Rumor had it that there had been an invasion up north, that hundreds of minotaurs had been slaughtered by unknown villains. Who else but their taskmasters of old would dare such a vile, cowardly strike?
The minotaurs summoned by Hotak stared warily at their emperor's unwelcome guest.
“Dress it up like a doll,” muttered one general, “give it a hundred baths, and it'll still look and stink like an ogre.”
“Would look a lot better with his head off and decorating a pike,” replied a companion, fingering the hilt of his sword.
“Could keep old Chot company there, eh?”
The group of officers laughed harshly, but they stilled when Golgren glanced their way. The emissary nodded at them, then gave the minotaurs a strangely cheerful grin.
The officer who had been fingering his hilt shook with anger. He gripped his sheathed blade and would have stepped forward if not for quick, restraining actions by the others.
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