Night of Blood

by Richard A. Knaak

  “It was very close, Bastion. The commander of the camp, Krysus, was slain early on. The audacity of the prisoners caught everyone by surprise. I did have warning from one of the senior guards, an otherwise disreputable fellow by the name of Paug.”

  “Paug's dead, my lady,” blurted a wounded camp guard. “I seen him fall—but not until he bravely slew the tattooed one!”

  “ 'Tattooed one?' ” Bastion said.

  “One of the insurrection's leaders. A giant of a fellow. There was another giant with him, very dark-furred. I killed him.”

  She looked at the guard. “What about the third one Paug mentioned, a younger minotaur?”

  “No idea, my lady.”

  “I'd like to see this 'tattooed one,' Maritia.”

  “Aye, I can show you,” the guard said.

  He led them to where the worst of the fighting had taken place. The mangled, gaping corpses of soldiers and prisoners lay intertwined. Unattached limbs littered the area. The ground had been soaked by blood and gore.

  They found Paug and his adversary close to one another. The dead guard's expression seemed bitter.

  Bastion leaned down to inspect the dead prisoner. “From the outermost islands,” he remarked.

  “Zaar, I believe. Exceptional sailors and fighters. Curious that he would end up in a dry zone like this.”

  “I would've much preferred that he had not, believe me. I doubt the rest of the prisoners would've fought half so well without such fanatic leadership.”

  “Minotaurs are all good fighters,” her brother returned, dryly. He stood, gazing around at the detritus of the struggle.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “This revolt makes my task a little harder. Vyrox would have been strained as it is by my new imperatives.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He eyed her. “The reason for my 'miraculous arrival' is that I came to this area to fulfill our new pact with the ogres.”

  She looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. “So they weren't satisfied with all that we offered? They want more raw materials as well?”

  Bastion's brow furrowed. “You do not understand. The ogres want proof of our allegiance. They've known treachery in the past. Golgren says we must pay our way into their trust.” His countenance darkened. “I do not like the ogres any more than you do, but…”

  “If Father is willing to pay the cost…”

  His gaze swept across the lines of kneeling prisoners. “Vy-rox must be shut down for a time, but that cannot be helped.”

  She nodded, understanding. “Then… we must do whatever is necessary.”

  Her brother turned away, stepping over the dead. Maritia followed. The fires, bereft of much else to burn, had begun to settle, causing the smoke to thin. Shattered towers and the skeletons of barracks greeted their eyes, along with endless mangled bodies. Already the burned stench of decay rose high above the camp, and the carrion crows gathered in large, hungry numbers.

  Bastion paused, his eyes shifting to one of the bodies at his feet. He touched the shoulder of one prisoner who lay face down.

  “This one lives,” Bastion informed a soldier. “Check to see how many others like him there might be.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “We will need every last slave.”

  “It'll take some time to get everything back in order,” Maritia murmured. “Eventually everything will return to normal, Bastion.”

  Her brother stared at her. Then, gaze shifting so as to take in all Vyrox—from the scorched walls to the ruined buildings, the numerous dead, and lastly the rows of defeated prisoners—he muttered, “You believe that, Mari? Do you really?”

  Chapter XXVII

  Of Things to Come

  General Rahm kept his appointment with Dragon’s Crest only an hour before she sailed. The first mate, Botanos, peered into the darkness, looking for the others, reluctant to leave.

  “Get underway, Captain,” Rahm commanded. The normally jovial mariner was silent as he absorbed his new title, and turned to his duties.

  Rahm retired to his cabin, his only order to have someone bring him food and, especially, ale or wine. He shut the door behind him then fell back onto the cot.

  A knock on the door interrupted the general's dark thoughts. To his surprise, it was the newly appointed captain carrying in his meal.

  “Bread, salted goat meat, and one of the captain's favorite wines,” Botanos announced.

  “You're the captain now,” Rahm snarled, seizing the bottle.

  “Did he die as a warrior?”

  “He died for a fool… but he died a good warrior, yes.”

  The mariner sat down without invitation. “I'm sorry your plan failed, general. If you'd been able to slay the emperor…”

  Rahm took a long drink then said, “I killed one of his sons. A start, at least.”

  “Well, that's fine, then. That'll weaken the throne.”

  “Pfah! I slew a boy in a warrior's body. I slew Kolot de-Droka when I really would have preferred to kill his brother, Ardnor.” Rahm stoppered the bottle. “I failed everyone. Perhaps this rebellion should have another leader—providing the others are not dead, too.”

  Botanos leaned back. “As to that, all went well both east and south. I'll let them tell their own tales when we meet up with them again, but I think you'll find that Captain Tinza performed well, general.”

  “Small victories.”

  “But it's a start.” Botanos took the bottle and put it on the table. “Best eat some food first, then sleep. Things'll look better in the morning.”

  Rahm toyed with his ring, finding something fascinating about the way it glittered. “Will Azak be alive in the morning?”

  Botanos clamped his mouth shut. Turning, he left Rahm to his contemplations.

  *****

  Shouts awoke the general as he struggled through a nightmare in which everyone around him turned into Hotak. Rahm rose and realized that the shouting augered trouble.

  Racing up on deck, he found Captain Botanos peering north.

  “We've friends, General. Imperial friends.”

  Barely noticeable in the dark, two shapes rose and sank with the waves.

  “Can we outrace them?”

  “We shall see, General. We shall see!”

  Dragon’s Crest coursed through the waters. Botanos barked orders at the crew, yet they could not seem to lose the two hunters.

  “Let's try something different.” To the sailor at the wheel, he shouted, “Head toward shore, but closer this time! I want to be close enough to count the leaves on the trees!”

  As Dragon’s Crest drew near to the shore, a groaning sound came from its port side.

  “Starboard!” roared Botanos, moving quickly toward the bow. “Starboard! That's good! Keep straight ahead! Now port! Port!”

  Rahm peered over the rail. Just visible above the water he saw several jagged mounds. Botanos might be able to safely steer his ship, but then his rash strategy might also accomplish just what their enemies desired.

  “Starboard!” shouted the captain. Again came a groan. “Forgot that one!” Botanos glanced back at the two pursuers. “Hope they forget, too.”

  “Would they even come after us here?”

  Botanos pointed at Mithas. “If we keep on this track, we'll be around the island long before them.

  Either they follow or they lose us.”

  Giving up appeared not to be an option for the hunters. With one taking the lead, they entered the dangerous waters.

  “Captain Azak once told me no one knew the waters of the empire better than he did,” Botanos commented. “And he taught me everything he could—hey! Hard to port!”

  As expertly as their vessel navigated the area, the pair giving chase seemed to be doing just as well.

  The second ship imitated the route of the first with precision.

  “That first captain's sailed here before,” grumbled the massive figure next to Rahm. “But how often?”

&
nbsp; “They're getting nearer.” Rahm considered. “The catapult. Could you hit the lead ship with it?”

  “Not very likely, even if the weather was better, and it was daylight out. Probably just stir up the water near their bow.”

  “Get it ready, anyway! Hurry!”

  Scratching his head, Botanos gave the command. The crew quickly had the catapult prepared for firing. The captain called for oil, but Rahm countered him.

  “I don't want them to have any forewarning.”

  “But if we hit them, the flames'll do extra damage.”

  “It should do damage enough without hitting. On my signal!” Rahm watched the first ship maneuver. “A little closer—now!”

  The huge ball went soaring into the night.

  “I can only promise that it'll land near, General!”

  “That's all I want.”

  The black waters exploded with the sound of the huge missile striking. The lead ship immediately lurched away from where the missile had crashed into the sea.

  Even from Dragon’s Crest the groan of wood against rock as the hunter ran aground sent shivers through everyone.

  “You tricked her onto the rocks!” roared Botanos merrily.

  The first pursuer seemed to stop dead in the water, her bow turned to the shore. The second vessel came in behind, gradually slowing.

  The crew cheered General Rahm. Botanos ordered them back to their posts.

  “Time to get out of these waters,” the captain rumbled. “Should be clear sailing from here.”

  Behind them, the stalled imperial vessels gradually vanished in the darkness.

  *****

  The next night, under cover of darkness, Dragon’s Crest met up with the other ships. Captain Tinza requested permission to come aboard. Several minutes later, she and Napol climbed onto the deck of Rahm's ship to cheers from the crew.

  “A wonderful adventure it was!” she announced. “All went as smoothly as can be. Not only have we struck a blow against the usurper, but we stocked each of our ships.”

  “Losses were minimal,” informed the marine commander, looking quite proud. “You should've seen it, General Rahm! We did as good as any of Hotak's legion—by the wild seas, better than that!”

  “I'm glad,” Rahm responded with less enthusiasm. “I'm glad all went well for you.”

  “Not all went well with you?” returned Tinza, her attitude becoming more subdued.

  “They slew Hotak's son, Kolot,” Botanos interjected. “The emperor himself proved to be too well guarded. I regret to say that my captain was killed during the mission.”

  “But he died a true warrior.” Napol looked around as if he intended to fight anyone who said otherwise.

  “What matters,” said Tinza, “is that the usurper has shown weakness. Now we should sail out of sight and begin the next phase.”

  They eyed Rahm with great expectation. He could not help draw strength from their confidence.

  “You heard Captain Tinza,” he declared. “We set sail for Petarka. Our first strikes have let Hotak know that we exist. The next one will teach him that we intend to endure.”

  The others cheered. Rahm kept his gaze steady, strong, the very image of a commander who believes that victory is ensured.

  Captain Tinza and Napol departed, leaving Rahm with Botanos. The heavy minotaur roared orders to get the ship underway.

  “How long will it take us to reach Petarka from here?” the general asked.

  “If all goes well and we sight no patrols, four days.”

  Four days. Such a long time. Rahm already dreamed of his return. He intended to bring the House of Droka down.

  The information Tiribus' former aide, Nolhan, had brought would prove useful. Hotak might sit on the throne now, but Rahm swore that the dynasty would end in blood.

  *****

  At Hotak's insistence, the unveiling of his statue had been delayed twice. The first delay everyone understood, for the emperor had commanded five days of mourning for his son, to be followed by a funeral ceremony such as those reserved in the past only for emperors.

  On the first day of mourning, horns throughout the capital sounded twice, then the bells in the central towers rang five times. At noon, the bells rang again and at that point all minotaurs stepped out of their homes and businesses and went down on one knee. There they knelt as riders bearing the warhorse banner rode slowly by. At intersections a trumpeter would blow two mournful notes, then the soldiers would move on.

  At the ninth hour of the sixth day, mourners filled the area surrounding the palace grounds. Four soldiers stood behind copper drums flanking the open entrance. In the wide pedestrian square, a vast, wooden pyre had been built.

  At the tenth hour, as the bells sounded, four legionaries carried out an oak platform bearing the body of Kolot. His axe lay propped in his arms. Blood stains still matted his fur. Sheaves of horsetail grass had been carefully arranged around him, and a shield lay at his feet. His fur glistened from the oils applied to make the body more flammable.

  After climbing a ramp, the legionaries set their burden atop the pyre, each afterward slapping a fist to their chest in homage. Once they had descended, workers removed the ramp. Nearby, more soldiers, these carrying torches, awaited the signal.

  At midday, the emperor's family stepped forth from the palace. Dressed as they had been for the coronation, they now also wore a dark red sash from their right shoulder to the left side of their waists, the honor marking the death of a leader. Escorted by the Imperial Guard, they walked to the beat of the drums to a position before the pyre, where Hotak would give his speech.

  The emperor solemnly surveyed the throng, nodding as if such a show of respect was expected.

  “Today, a great warrior passes from us!” he shouted. “Today, a worthy son leaves!”

  Nephera stood by his side, face utterly emotionless. She had already given a eulogy at the temple on the first day of mourning and had also hired Tyklo sculptors to do a special statue for the Forerunners, one that would be mounted in a place of honor.

  For once, Hotak had not argued with her.

  “Kolotihotaki de-Droka, warrior of the empire, officer of the Imperial Guard, beloved son, gave his life in the pursuit of his duty! He performed as we all hope to perform, sacrificing for the good of all! In his final moment, Kolot chose the ultimate course of action, and in doing so, he saved his own brother! “

  Ardnor, Bastion, and Maritia stood at attention behind their parents. Maritia's eyes were red.

  Bastion wore a look of calm, but his left hand remained tightly clenched throughout the ceremony.

  Next to Bastion, Ardnor, helm in the crook of his arm, glared almost defiantly at the crowd. He had sworn publicly that he would capture or slay his brother's killer. Some within the imperial circle thought that he spoke too publicly, as if he sought to deter any criticism for the chaotic actions leading to Kolot's death.

  Hotak turned to the pyre. “A warrior is dead! Let us sing of his victories, recall his glory! Let us now honor his passing—and pray that when our time comes, we are as worthy!”

  He signaled the four torchbearers. They bent down and lit the base of the pyre.

  The flames leaped up eagerly. They burst high into the air, snatching at the body.

  Falling to one knee, the emperor bowed his head. His family and the crowd followed his lead. The fire burned lustily, in short order enveloping everything. The bells sounded slowly.

  When the flames had reduced the platform and its contents to near ash, Hotak and his family rose.

  Accompanied by their honor guard, they returned to the palace. Only when the imperial family vanished through the tall doors of the imposing edifice did the crowd rise.

  For five days after, the warhorse banner hung upside down throughout the capital.

  *****

  As to the true cause for the second delay in the collossus' unveiling, many had their suspicions.

  Some suspected Hotak waited to make his anno
uncement about the empire's goals of expansion.

  Other rumors held that Hotak would announce his eldest son as heir, something once unthinkable.

  Only the emperor knew the real reason.

  The great square where Chot's titanic statue once stood was cordoned off. Able warriors, attentive eyes focused on the crowd, lined the rope barrier. Sentinels and archers watched from the rooftops.

  At the sound of the horns, Hotak led his wife into the square amidst cheers. Gone were the sashes of mourning.

  Behind the royal couple came Ardnor, followed by Bastion and a still-subdued Maritia. On this special day, the eldest son of the emperor dressed as an officer of the Imperial Guard. The suggestion that he wear such garb had come from his mother, who felt that any announcement of succession would be better accepted by the populace if he did not flaunt his position in the temple.

  The glittering Crown of Toroth atop his head and carrying the majestic Axe of Makel Ogrebane, Hotak nodded to his subjects as he and his wife made their way to the platform set up before the veiled statue where other dignitaries, including the Supreme Circle, waited.

  A hush swept over the crowd as Hotak raised the axe. Hotak nodded, quite satisfied by the adoration shown by his people. The bloody night of months before was a distant memory to most, the end of a long, bleak age of stagnation, and the beginning of a grand new era of conquest and glory.

  “Citizens of the empire!” Hotak said. “You come here today, I think, with the intention of saluting me!” He shook his head at this. “But in truth, it is I who must salute you!”

  He waved the axe high again, causing the crowd to roar.

  Ardnor led the cheering, waving his fist in the air and urging the people on.

  “An emperor leads, but he cannot lead without the people!”

  Hotak looked to a waiting officer. The latter signaled the soldiers holding the ropes of the massive tarps draping the huge statue to stand by.

  “Today we unveil a likeness of your emperor, but it is not displayed here to set the fear of the throne into your hearts! No, rather it will stand here to remind all that now an emperor rules who serves the wishes and dreams of his people, who will see that his people take their rightful place as the foremost power in all of Ansalon—nay!—in all of Krynn!”