Night of Blood

by Richard A. Knaak

  The Protector smashed him across the muzzle with one gauntleted hand.

  “He shall hear of your traitorous activities, barrelmaker. Harboring enemies of the throne and aiding in their attempt to assassinate his majesty.” The officer turned to those warriors nearest to him.

  “Take him outside.”

  Several apprentices moved to aid the shocked and dazed Zornal. The cooper shook his head vehemently as he was dragged from his establishment.

  Outside, Ardnor, still mounted, awaited. “So this is Master Zornal?”

  “I am. The temple has no right to do this! You are usurping the power of the throne.”

  “I am the son of your emperor,” the First Master reminded him. “I do my duty not only as his eldest, but also as a loyal servant of the empire.”

  “I, too, am a loyal servant of the throne.”

  “So loyal that you not only let two known fugitives hide within your workplace, but willingly aided them in covering up the death of your own cousin, Quas?”

  As Ardnor uttered the dead minotaur's name, Zornal's expression changed. “I know nothing about any fugitives!”

  “What about marked barrels?” Ardnor pointed to the street.

  Zornal was forced to his knees. One of the Protectors removed a whip from his saddle then stood over the barrel-maker, waiting.

  The First Master glared at his prisoner. “How long ago did the wagon leave? What route did it take?

  Who drives it?”

  “There is nothing I can tell you.”

  Ardnor nodded. The whip tore into Zornal's back. The cooper grunted but did not confess. Ardnor signaled the officer to strike repeatedly. This time Zornal let out a short cry. The First Master leaned forward, waiting, but the prisoner remained stubborn.

  “Again!”

  This third time, Ardnor was rewarded with a cry of pain—but still no declaration of guilt.

  Someone tugged tentatively on the First Master's arm. Ardnor turned his baleful gaze on the young fool. “You dare touch my person? If you think to defend your master, I'll—”

  “Great Lord Ardnor, forgive me! My name is Egriv. I… I'm one of the faithful.”

  Ardnor had no time for fawning worshippers. “Be gone with you!”

  “But master, I helped send off the wagons this morning!”

  Now he had Ardnor's complete attention. The officer whipping Zornal paused, but an idle wave of Ardnor's hand returned him to his task. “Which way? How long ago? Who drives this wagon?”

  Egriv was decidedly uncomfortable. “I don't know. There's five wagons, master! I don't know which one it might've been!”

  “Do you know their destinations?”

  This Egriv did—at least in part. One had headed toward the north gate, two others to the east, and one each had gone to the southern and southwestern parts of the capital. He listed two clans that had been mentioned in his presence.

  Ardnor was furious. “It could be any one of those!” He considered further. “The assassins wouldn't go directly to the palace. They'd try a more roundabout trek. Aye, that's Rahm's sort of thinking.”

  “My lord?”

  He turned back to the officer who had been whipping the barrelmaker. Master Zornal sprawled facedown on the stone street, his breath ragged, and his back a crimson maze.

  “He finally confesses,” the Protector informed Ardnor. “And verifies what this apprentice said.”

  “Did he add anything else of use?”

  “Aye. The wagon we want will head to the west to pick up grain then turn south toward the palace.

  The barrels can be identified by the mark of a gryphon stamped on the top and sides.”

  Ardnor bared his teeth. “Clear a path! All riders tome!” “What about this one?” the officer asked, indicating Zornal. The First Master did not have to think long. “He's an enemy of the throne. You know what must be done.”

  The other Protector put away his whip and reached to get a sharp axe handed to him by one of his comrades.

  Urging his mount forward, Ardnor roared. “Follow me!” The black riders abandoned the cooperage, tearing through the streets. Only their lord shouted his eagerness. Ardnor already pictured his capture of the elusive Rahm and, after that, presentation to his father of the rebel's head on the end of a pike.

  *****

  The wagon moved too slowly. Tovok, dressed like an apprentice, drove the wagon, following a route that would avoid regular patrols and guard stations. Captain Azak, too old to look like an apprentice, rode a short distance behind the wagon. Rahm, clad as a cooper, lounged in the back, his attitude casual.

  Their route took them past smiths and glassblowers, the common houses, and then more stately villas. Everywhere markets abounded, crowds of minotaurs haggling for goods and services which slowed their progress. The delays frustrated Rahm.

  At last, the general saw the palace coming into sight. Soon they would be at the back gate, used for deliveries to the kitchens. There would be guards there, but they would be relatively relaxed, never anticipating a plot as desperate as the one Rahm had hatched.

  The cart jostled hard, shaking Rahm. He gripped the two barrels nearest him tightly, not wanting them to tip over. Their contents would aid his plan.

  Near the base of the barrels, a two-foot long coil of string was carefully secured. The cord extended to a bunghole that had been plugged up with wood-colored clay. When lit, it would burn rapidly, igniting a small amount of explosive powder that would in turn ignite the oil that made up the contents of the three barrels.

  The barrels would destroy the kitchens, killing many. The loss of innocent lives could not be helped. The explosions would distract from Rahm's true goal. During the chaos he would slip into one of the passages he knew, secreting himself until things had settled down. In the dark of night, when Hotak slept, Rahm would enter his chambers and repay him for what he had done to Chot.

  Chot… and Mogra and Dom.

  Of course, Rahm expected to die. Tovok and the captain, though, would flee as best as possible after lighting the fuse. They would wait at a designated location for two days, then, if he did not show up, they would rendezvous with Dragon’s Crest. The ship would not wait for any latecomers.

  Closing his eyes, the general touched the dagger hidden beneath his apron, thinking of the blood it would soon spill—Hotak, Nephera, and if he could accomplish it, also the two sons Ardnor and Bastion. Of Hotak's children, those two were the most dangerous.

  The wagon jerked, causing the contents in the back to jostle so harshly that Rahm had to struggle to keep from being crushed. His ring finger twinged. The general peered through a crack between the wooden planks near the rear, seeking a reason for the disruption.

  In the crowds behind them, an ebony wedge pushed toward the wagon. Minotaurs hurried out of the way as armored figures swinging maces struggled to catch up with the wagon.

  The Protectors had discovered him.

  *****

  “When everything is settled, you must depart, Golgren. Out of sight, out of mind, you see. It'll take the people a little time to reconcile themselves to our agreement.”

  Golgren made no reply, but studied the contents of his cup. The ogre had a propensity for strong drink that rivaled any of Hotak's own people, yet Golgren never seemed to lose control of his faculties.

  Hotak raised his goblet—only to be interrupted by an anxious officer barging into the chamber.

  “Forgiveme, my lord, but I have news!”

  Hotak winced and glanced at Golgren. “Excuse me, emissary. Once again, a matter of state.”

  The ogre poured himself more wine.

  Hotak stepped out into the hall then whirled on the messenger. “What news is of such import that you dare interrupt my meeting?”

  “My lord, I was ordered to interrupt. The Protectors are loose in the city!”

  His mate and son flashed in Hotak's mind. He frowned. “My son is leading them?”

  “So it seems. They've already brok
en into the establishment of one Master Zornal, a cooper.” The officer explained everything in detail, not only the cooper's supposed crime, but the punishment he had received for it.

  “The fool!” Hotak roared. “Zornal should've been put into custody so that we could render proper judgment. His clan would've understood that. They will never accept a summary execution!” The emperor's eyes blazed. “Where is my son now?”

  “In pursuit of the wagon. They were headed in the direction of the northern gate.”

  “Order the State Guard out. Get them after Ardnor and his band of fanatics before there's blood on the streets.”

  The officer saluted. “Aye, my lord! And General Rahm?”

  Hotak fixed his good eye on the warrior. “Run him down, of course! Make certain that the guard commanders know that I want them, not the Protectors, to have the honor of capturing Rahm Es-Hestos. Go!”

  The minotaur hesitated. “What if the Protectors resist? What if they disobey the Guard? Matters have always been bad between them….”

  “Use whatever force short of bloodshed—and use a bit of that, too, if need be. Leave my son alone, of course, but I want the Protectors off the streets.”

  The officer departed in haste. Hotak watched him go, aware that Ardnor was acting on behalf of the temple and Nephera. The people might misunderstand. He suddenly realized that he might have made a mistake dispatching the State Guard to deal with the matter. The throne had to take a hand in the matter.

  “Find my son Kolot!” Hotak shouted toward a sentry. Golgren waited for him, but the emperor had no time for the ogre now. Ardnor's recklessness had to be stopped.

  Moments later, the hulking warrior joined him in the corridor. “You sent for me, Father?”

  Hotak told Kolot the situation, emphasizing that the Protectors had overstepped their bounds.

  “Make your brother understand. Your presence will lessen any shame for him when he's forced to stand down. Tell him this is my command.”

  Kolot straightened. “You can rely on me, Father.”

  “And Kolot, bring me Rahm's horns. You hear me?”

  “It shall be done!”

  Snorting in frustration, Hotak turned to the sentry and commanded, “Now go to the temple and inform the Lady Nephera that I wish to see her. Immediately, Tell her I will await her in our quarters. She's to come without fail. Do you understand?”

  *****

  He sat waiting for her, hands steepled, good eye staring directly at the door. It occurred to Nephera as she entered that Hotak had slain Chot here. There were still stubborn traces of blood on the floor.

  “What were you thinking, my dear, sending your Protectors into the streets?” the emperor calmly asked the moment they were alone. “I'm curious.”

  “I was thinking of the empire's future. I was thinking about us, and of our eldest son, who shall be lord of the realm after you.”

  “You couldn't wait long enough to discuss it with me?”

  Nephera faced him, her manner befitting the mistress of the temple. He was speaking freely. Well, so would she. “How many times have your soldiers failed to catch Rahm? Who was it who finally dealt with Tiribus? How did we gather the intelligence necessary for you to make such a decisive strike against Chot on the Night of Blood? Who keeps an eye on those who might harm you?” She loomed over Hotak. “The temple has done much for you, my love.”

  “I'm aware of all you say, Nephera, but our history is against your religion being so closely involved with matters of state. I cannot permit even the temple that claims my mate as its high priestess to look as though it dictates law and new traditions.”

  She glared. “Am I to cease giving you counsel?”

  “No. But this incident goes beyond counsel.”

  “Rahm is intent on assassinating you, husband!” Nephera said. “He planned on slitting our throats while we slept.”

  “You want Ardnor to capture Rahm, so he can be hailed as a hero.”

  “You are in danger!”

  “Pfah! Not from Rahm. It seems I am in more danger from my son's ambition. And you! You want him on the throne so badly! More and more I question that….”

  Lady Nephera drew back in shock. “He must be able to show others he is worthy! How better to do that than by this noble service?”

  “Do you know what he did with one of the conspirators?” With a distasteful expression, he told her of Ardnor's actions against the cooper.

  She was unmoved. “Zornal was a traitor. Ardnor acted accordingly. Should we expect anything less from our own son?”

  Hotak turned to the balcony. “I've been forced to rectify the situation. The State Guard has been sent out to control the damage and turn back your followers, Nephera.”

  “You'll shame our son. In public! Your heir!”

  “I've sent the Imperial Guard led by Kolot to meet with Ardnor. One brother aiding another will seem quite appropriate. I wish it could've been Bastion, but he's away on important business.” The scarred emperor shook his head. “I sometimes wish it were Bastion who stood first in my shadow.”

  Paying his last words no mind, Nephera spoke sharply. “You must do something to keep Ardnor from being humiliated. There will be those who recall this episode when you name him your successor.”

  “You should have thought of that before you set him loose, my dear.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Go back to the temple now. I'll keep you abreast of matters. And I'll expect you to do the same, from now on.”

  Wise enough to pick her battles, Nephera bowed slightly and backed away. She had nearly reached the door when the emperor called her back. “Nephera, my love, you'd best pray that Ardnor redeems himself and captures Rahm. Pray very hard.”

  Chapter XXIV

  Vyrox in Chaos

  Maritia and the commander of Vyrox rallied their forces—roughly a hundred foot soldiers and two dozen on horseback, most of the latter from Maritia's party. Krysus had the reins strapped to his maimed limb. In his hand he wielded a, mace.

  “You don't need to kill 'em all,” Paug insisted. “Just the worst troublemakers. The rest'll mill around like lambs, then.”

  “You know which ones?”

  “Aye! A black giant named Japfin, a huge barbarian covered in tattoos called Ulthar, and a sneaky little one called Bek! Take them out, and you've got the rest on the run.”

  Maritia nodded and turned in the saddle to face her troops. “Keep your ranks intact! Don't be drawn out! Mounted fighters first, followed by the rest!”

  The soldiers listened. They knew the odds were against them but would follow her to the end.

  “All right, then!” Maritia shouted, intentionally imitating her father. “We fight for the empire!”

  With a roar, they charged.

  From the walls and towers, archers continued to plague the rioters, but they themselves had suffered losses. One tower was empty. Some enterprising prisoners had tied ropes to another tower and were using one of the wagon teams to pull it down.

  The prisoners began to torch various structures. The fires spread randomly, igniting the barracks.

  Maritia's riders plowed through the first line of rioters. Inmates screamed as sharp blades sank into them. Bodies fell in twisted piles. Blood splattered everyone.

  A ragged prisoner exchanged blows with Maritia then fell back as the foot soldiers swarmed.

  Stunned by the appearance of an organized force, the prisoners retreated.

  But then a black giant rose among them—Japfin armed with a huge axe. He swung the weapon in a shrieking arc. Roaring orders to those nearest, he pushed them back into the fight. Urged on by Japfin, many prisoners stood their ground and began to force the mounted soldiers back.

  The camp had become an inferno. The fires spread unchecked in every direction. Some of the prisoners abandoned the struggle and sought to climb their way to safety over the burning walls.

  Arrows stopped them.

  The mass of prisoners finally gave way to Mariti
a's steed. Emboldened by her push forward, some of the other riders swung closer to her, helping to create a wedge. Closer and closer she fought her way to Japfin.

  A shaggy figure darting in upon her from her left almost pulled her from the saddle. His jagged nails gouged into her leg, ripping flesh and drawing blood. Using the pommel of her sword, Maritia beat his hands off, then swung at him. He fell back into the wild throng.

  As she turned from him, Maritia found herself staring into the raging eyes of Japfin. He snorted furiously and charged toward her, pushing aside prisoners and soldiers alike.

  Holis stepped between them. The two dark-furred combatants threw themselves at one another. Axe struck axe with a tremendous storm, throwing sparks into the air. Maritia tried to reach the two, but the enemy line solidified to block her.

  Japfin caught Maritia's bodyguard in the side. Holis cried out as the axe bit him deeply, his lifeblood spilling out. He dropped his weapon and clutched the open wound but could do little to stem the flow.

  Japfin hit him again and again.

  Badly wounded, Holis slid off the right side of the saddle, landing amidst chaos. Prisoners swarmed over him, ripping with their bare hands. He cried out once then vanished beneath them.

  With a roar, Maritia saw an opening and urged her mount toward Japfin. The trained animal kicked at those in the way.

  Japfin waved his weapon in mock greeting. “Come closer, pretty one!” he roared. “Come taste the kiss of my axe!”

  Her horse reared. Japfin sidestepped the animal's assault, but as he did, Maritia swung, her sword cutting a shallow wound on his forearm. He laughed it off, swinging the axe still wet with Holis' blood.

  Maritia deflected a second strike then thrust. The tip of the blade fell just short of Japfin's jugular.

  He laughed again then attacked with more fervor. She twisted away, but Japfin's axe struck her horse.

  The stallion shrieked as the blade sank deep into its neck. Blood splashed its mane as the animal dropped to its knees. Disoriented, Maritia tumbled to the ground, trying to hold onto her sword.