“Your majesty,” muttered the senior councilor, addressing Hotak. “It might be best to conclude the matter quickly so that this… your guest can return to a more secure venue.”
Hotak signaled for attention. His audience, some forty of the empire's finest, included members of the Supreme Circle and other senior officials. They drew more closely together.
“First,” said Hotak, “the rumors of battle are true.” As angry murmurs arose and reddened eyes fixed on the ogre, the emperor quickly continued, “The villains, are traitors of the realm, renegades under the command of Rahm Es-Hestos.”
He went on to explain all that was known. Some of the rage against Golgren faded, but the warriors still watched the emissary, and their hands never strayed far from their weapons.
Satisfied that he had made himself clear, Hotak cleared his throat and indicated the ogre. “All the more important that, in such uneasy times, hard decisions be made. Old enmities must die. Warriors of the realm, I am proud to tell you that a pact of alliance has been agreed upon with the lands of Kern and Blöde.”
Eyes bulged; gasps of denial escaped gaping mouths.
“Your majesty! Ogres?”
“Better the human vermin!”
Hotak's one good eye stared his followers down. “Silence! I do not ask your permission for my decision! This is an imperial edict. I have honored you with my reasoning.”
Many quieted, but some still could not accept matters.
“How can ogres be trusted?”
“What guarantees have we that they won't betray us?”
The emperor drew himself up. “Do you think we go into this alliance blindly? This excellent emissary has risked his life coming here to sign the pact and prove their intentions.”
“But what guarantees do we have?” one of the generals persisted.
Hotak clamped his mouth shut, finding himself unwilling to disclose the terms by which the allies were bound. He was not helped by Golgren, who whispered, almost blithely, “They will know the truth soon enough. Speak, friend Hotak.”
Before a single word could escape him, the emperor was interrupted by shouts from outside.
Turning on his heel, he pointed to a guard. The guard rushed out to see what the commotion was about, and a moment later burst back into the chamber.
“Your majesty! Another galley's entered the harbor! It bears ogre markings!”
A renewed roar filled the room. One officer drew his sword and rushed toward Golgren. The ogre would have defended himself but Hotak drew his own weapon, deflected the other's blade, and trapped it point down. The stunned officer dropped his weapon with a clatter and knelt before Hotak.
“Forgive me, my lord! I didn't mean—”
With a snort of anger, the emperor dismissed the impetuous minotaur from his thoughts. He looked to Golgren. “Explain!”
“They were to follow behind your son's galley, great emperor, and were not to enter the harbor until my signal.” The emissary shrugged. “The journey was not an easy one. Perhaps the captain did not trust the weather. My apologies, but the ship is necessary for my return home. And is intended to carry vital cargo, yes?”
Hotak frowned then nodded. Sheathing his sword, he turned and shouted to the guard, “Have our horses ready! Warn the escort that they should be ready to fight!”
One of the generals who had protested earlier snarled with satisfaction, “Fight the wretched beasts, majesty? We will come—”
But as Hotak pushed past him, Golgren at his side, the emperor shook his head fiercely. “Fight them? I'm thinking we might have to fight our own people!”
*****
A single ogre in the capital almost started a riot. A crew of ogres arriving on an ogre galley—even under a flag of truce—was more than enough to ignite a bloodbath.
The port watch could do little to restrain the growing crowd of minotaurs. Recent events and rumors had stretched the nerves of the populace thin. Now, here appeared an historic enemy, and in numbers that suggested treachery.
Rocks, empty barrels, harpoons… whatever could be found, the furious mob threw at the ogre galley. Most of the objects landed short, the ogres not having docked, but a few struck the decks.
One harpoon even managed to thrust through a sail, which brought raucous cheers from the onlookers.
Doing themselves no favor, the ogres for their part enjoyed taunting the minotaurs. Cries of “Uruv Suurt!”—accompanied by other grunted words in the ogre tongue—fueled the mob's outrage. Few among the minotaurs understood much of the language, but they knew what names they were being called by ogres and guessed rightly that they were being vilely insulted.
But the minotaurs could not reach the ogre galley, and likewise the ogres could not escape. Two massive warships had slid in behind them, blockading the low-slung craft. Aboard one ship, a crew was already manning the catapult. The mechanism had been wound, and all they needed was word from the captain. At such close range on an unmoving target, they would strike hard.
Not content to leave matters in the hands of the imperial fleet, a few minotaurs clambered down into rowboats and set off toward the ogre galley. One watch officer who attempted to block them was shoved into the harbor.
Aboard the galley, an ogre cast a spear at the attacking rowboats. More out of luck than aim, it landed in the first boat and pierced the leg of a minotaur. That minor bloodletting opened the floodgates. As the one boat rowed back to deliver its wounded passenger, scores of other minotaurs armed with clubs, axes, and more crowded into any available craft. Someone with a bow began shooting at the galley. With a cry, one of the ogres tumbled over the rail, a shaft through his chest.
As he hit the water, the mob let loose with a roar.
As if on cue, the warship fired the catapult. Only the lurching of the galley spared it from terrible damage. By chance, the stone glanced off a rail, causing only superficial breakage, but the incensed crowd roared again.
The ogres moved to repel boarders. The crew gathered at the rails, heavy clubs and long spears at the ready. They looked as eager as the minotaurs for a fight.
At that moment, a contingent of soldiers on horseback drove into the rear of the crowd. Rather than attacking with axes or swords, they whipped at the rioters, cutting a path through them.
“Make way for his majesty, the emperor!” shouted a crested hekturian. “Make way!”
The crowd did not immediately understand, not until horns began blaring, and Hotak himself, helm on and cape flowing behind him, drove through their midst. The emperor's name spread like fire throughout the area. The mob faltered. The port watch finally began to make its presence felt.
“Commander Orcius, signal those ships to hold their fire!” Hotak shouted. “Hekturian, seize the weapons of any who refuse to lower them! Someone get those boats back to the docks!” Turning to the ogre by his side, Hotak said, “Gol-gren, you're with me. Stay close.”
Despite his calm demeanor in the face of possible catastrophe, the ogre emissary remained near to his minotaur host. The mob recognized that the emperor rode among them, but an ogre was still an ogre, and many pointed and glared at him. Golgren was within tempting reach. Two guards had to whip some ambitious minotaurs away before they could pull Golgren down.
With a wedge now formed before them, the pair—emissary and emperor—rode ahead of the rest toward the end of the docks. In the distance, the warships quieted, but the catapults remained aimed at their targets. Several of the boats intent on attacking the galley had turned away, but a few still were trying to board.
From the docks came new vessels, longboats filled with groups of soldiers. At the head of the foremost, a dekarian shouted at the rest of the boarders, commanding them to cease or suffer the consequences.
Either not understanding or purposely ignoring the turn of events, some of the ogres attempted to spear their rescuers . One lance buried itself in the side of the dekarian's vessel just inches from the soldier.
Hotak dismounted
and looked to Golgren. “Make it clear to your people that no minotaur is to suffer harm. I won't be able to stop my followers if that should happen.”
Nodding, the emissary dismounted. With the emperor and his wary guards protecting his back, Golgren marched to the water and waved.
One of the ogres onboard noticed him and alerted the others.
“Kreegah!” Golgren called. “Suru talan Uruv Suurt! Kreegah! Yarin suru ki f’han! Ki f’han!”
The ogre scurried away then, after tense moments, he reappeared, accompanied by a larger, duskier figure in a kilt and rusted breastplate.
“The captain?” asked Hotak.
“No. The first mate. A good fellow.”
Golgren repeated his commands. The first mate grimaced then nodded reluctantly. He barked orders to the ogres still defending against attacks. When that did not work, the mate began battering heads until the fighting stopped.
“Your galley cannot be allowed to stay,” the emperor informed his guest. “My people have not been made ready.”
“They will not return to Kern without this humble one. To do so would cause their heads to be removed, yes?”
Hotak rubbed his muzzle. “There's only one place for them to wait for you, then. Commander Orcius, I've a message for the captains of my two warships.”
The emperor quietly spoke to Orcius, whose eyes widened, but he refrained from any protesting remarks. “I have two good soldiers who can be trusted with this, majesty.”
As the messengers were rowed toward their respective destinations, Hotak's good eye fixed on Golgren again. “Now, emissary, I believe you need to send a similar message to your ship.”
“Are you ordering me to leave?”
“You know our task is not yet done here, Lord Golgren. Rest assured, when you depart Nethosak, you will do so as befits your status as my honored guest.”
The ogre grinned, displaying his filed teeth. “The great Hotak is too kind.”
“Give them their instructions, my friend. The sooner the galley is out of here, the better.”
With a slight flourish of his cloak, the emissary turned back to the vessel, where the first mate still waited. Golgren barked at the other ogre several times in his guttural language.
Hotak listened intently. While not completely fluent in the bastardized tongue of his ancestors, he understood well enough to know that Golgren spoke true.
The mate vanished.
The crowd had quieted now that it was clear that their emperor had the situation well in hand. What Golgren was doing with Hotak they still did not understand, but as the ogre seemed well-guarded, many took that to mean he was under some kind of arrest. Hotak did nothing to dissuade this notion.
The longboats began returning from the warships. Within minutes, the two minotaur vessels began to turn about, maneuvering to either side of the harbor and keeping a safe distance from the ogre galley.
With a groan, the ogre ship slowly rowed away from the docks. On deck, crewmembers worked the sails. A few onlookers jeered them. Some of the ogres appeared ready to restart the fight, but the mate and other officers moved among them, hitting them on the heads, even whipping them, until the sailors bent to their tasks.
Oars creaking methodically, the galley slipped in the waters between the two minotaur ships. The three sailed in unison, sails rippling in the harsh wind. Thunder roiled, but all three vessels had their orders and, as though part of the same fleet, sailed away.
As the last glimpse of them faded in the distance, Hotak and Golgren remounted. The emperor noted that most in the crowd now looked subdued, even puzzled at what had happened. Many clearly wondered if he intended to punish them for their actions.
Instead, he saluted them. A new cheer arose from the crowd. They called the emperor's name over and over, as if by his hand alone he had brought victory over their ancient foes. Golgren, surrounded by the crowd, couldn't contain his grin, even as most glared at him.
Horns blaring, the escort paved the way for the emperor and his companion.
“That was too close,” Hotak muttered under his breath. “A good thing we were able to get the people under control.”
“Truly they are yours to command, my friend,” Lord Golgren returned as they started off. “You could attempt anything with them and they would obey.”
The smile that Hotak gave to the crowd faltered imperceptibly. He knew to what Golgren referred, and it gave him pause.
“Yes, they would,” he responded. His good eye narrowed on the ogre. “Something to think about a bit, isn't it, emissary?”
*****
For the first time in months, Faros slept well. When the guards woke the prisoners that morning, he almost smiled. It took some effort to keep his expression sullen and not to appear eager. Even the slightest hint that something was amiss could send the entire enterprise to ruins.
Ulthar acted like his usual self, but with a glint in his eyes that Faros had never seen. Japfin was the worst of them, almost ready to sprint to work—and freedom.
They finished their bowls and waited for the horns. Only then did Faros whisper, “Shouldn't someone have signaled us by now?”
“Maybe there was some delay,” Japfin muttered.
Ulthar quieted them. “A guard approaches.”
They knew the coarse-furred figure walking toward them only by his face. Hand on the hilt of his sword, his expression the usual one of disdain, he said, “You've got new orders for today. You three are goin' on wagon number twelve. Understand?”
“Yes,” Faros replied.
“Make sure I don't have to tell you again, because I won't.” With that, he left them.
Ulthar rubbed the underside of his muzzle. “Only a few minutes left until the horns. Maybe time enough. Come!”
“Where're we going?” Japfin snarled.
“Back to barracks. Forgot something.”
As they approached the building, Ulthar nodded to the black minotaur. “Japfin, watch.”
Japfin took up a relaxed position near the door. Faros and the other prisoner slipped inside. Ulthar shut the door behind them then headed down the rows of bunks.
“What're you doing?”
Ulthar stopped and moved some of the bunks out of the way. Faros helped him. Together, they tugged at the floorboards underneath.
“The other. Hurry!”
In moments, they had a shallow hole cleared.
Ulthar bent down, looking past a pile of half-ruined trinkets saved by prisoners. Twisting his hand around, he reached far underneath the wooden floor.
“Must still be here!” Faros heard Ulthar say. “So long… but must be here. Aah!”
The tattooed minotaur struggled to free his hand. He held up a dagger, which even in the dimness appeared to shine.
The rusted blade was a good six inches long. Faros recognized it as the type carried by the guards.
“Found it on a body during a collapse. Hid it, then, when no 'un looked, hid it down here.” He bared his teeth in a savage grin. “Didn't know what to do with it. Thought about using it on good friend Paug.” Ulthar snorted contemptuously. “On Paug, in Paug, all over Paug. Never did, though.
Wanted better use… and have it now.”
The door opened, and Japfin leaned inside. “Aren't you two through yet? Let's go before we miss our chance!”
Ulthar started forward, but Faros pointed. “What about this gaping hole? We can't leave it here like this!”
“What's the point?” grunted Japfin. “By the time they notice it, we'll be gone!”
“But it'll get the others in trouble! They'll whip them all.” Even the slightest infractions earned punishment.
Ulthar shook his head. “Not enough time.”
Faros knew he spoke the truth. With one last, regretful look, he followed the others.
The horns sounded as they returned to the main yard. All around, workers rose and headed toward the wagons.
Itonus' wagon stood off to one side. As Faros and the oth
ers neared it, they saw five other prisoners—two of whom they recognized—along with the guard who had alerted them minutes earlier. Of Itonus there was no sign. The guard looked more nervous than the prisoners.
“That's all of you, then,” he said upon their arrival. “Now all we need is the patriarch, and we can go.”
“He'll be along, Harod,” snarled the prisoner who had stood guard for Itonus yesterday, “just be patient.”
“Patient? You know the risk I'm taking?” Ears flat, Harod continued to fidget. “You lot better get inside already. When Master Itonus appears, we'll be all the quicker.”
The prisoners obeyed. Joining them, Harod pointed at the twin sets of bars across the floor. The bottom one on each side had two-inch high teeth while the upper ones had drilled holes for those teeth, plus indentations on the lower side. “Link those chains over the spikes.”
After the prisoners had obeyed, he lowered the upper bars. Harod used a key to lock both sets of bars, then tested them.
“Once we're on our way, I'll get those unlocked.”
The guard slipped out of the wagon. The prisoners shifted uncomfortably, the locked braces reminding them of the life they detested.
Trying not to worry, Faros leaned back and closed his eyes. As he did, though, he heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Paug's coming with two others!” Harod hissed.
Faros peered through a small rip in the wagon cover. Sure enough, the Butcher led a pair of grim, sword-wielding guards toward them, his thick brow furrowed in a manner that made him look even more piggish.
“Unload that wagon for inspection! Right now!”
“It's almost time to leave,” insisted Harod, playing the loyal soldier. “My orders—”
“Your orders?” snapped the Butcher, cutting him off. He thrust his whip toward the insubordinate guard. “And what orders are those?”
One of the guards with Paug stepped up to the wagon. Glaring at the prisoners, he reached in and shook both sets of braces. With a grunt, he returned to Paug and announced, “They ain't goin' anywhere. They're locked good and tight.”
Some in the wagon grew nervous, fearing that the plan had been abandoned and they were heading for the usual slave labor. With the guards no longer looking, they started tugging uselessly on their fetters.
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