Early in the rebellion, Greven il-Vec found the Eye from the air, and the site was badly damaged by bombs. The Eye was repaired, and a giant camouflage net was fabricated to cover the mound. Woven of living vines, the net blended in with the natural tree canopy, hiding the elves' sacred assembly site.
It was at the Eye of Korai that the elf tribes gathered to celebrate their most solemn ceremonies, to honor their dead (who were buried in tomb chambers deep in the mound), and to consult each other on important issues. It was only natural the Eye was chosen as the place Eladamri and his allies were to meet the most revered holy figure on Rath, the Oracle en-Vec.
No one knew her real name. She was incredibly old, far older than matriarch Tant Jova or any of her sisters. It was rumored the Oracle dwelt on other planes and could see not only the future of this world but the future of other worlds as well.
No one saw her arrive. Eladamri and his people went to bed one night after their arrival and awoke the next day to find a strange pavilion had appeared in the exact center of the Eye. The pavilion resembled a Vec nomad's tent-conical roof, sloping walls-but was larger and changed color constantly as light and shadow played over it. There was no obvious entrance. Eladamri was amused when Darsett walked around and around the pavilion, looking for a door and finding none. "It's a blasted trick," Darsett growled.
"Of course," Eladamri said. "What better way to preserve your privacy than to live in a house without a door?"
Tant Jova and her young female bodyguards joined the Dal and elf. She leaned on the arm of one of her proud granddaughters, the warrior Liin Sivi.
"Lady, how do we speak to this oracle of yours?" Darsett finally asked.
Tant Jova answered, "You can't, O Darsett. When the Oracle has something to say, she will call you."
They lingered by the mysterious pavilion for some time, half-hoping to be summoned into the presence of the famed oracle. When minutes turned into hours, Darsett grew irritated and left. Eladamri likewise had pressing matters to attend to and took his leave. Only Tant Jova remained. Sivi found a folding stool for her grandmother to sit on and stayed with her.
After his defeat of Crovax, Eladamri sent runners to every district bearing the news. As he hoped, new recruits trickled in, wanting to fight the disarrayed government forces. He established a number of recruiting camps on the fringes of the forest. There, trusted lieutenants weeded out the treacherous and the lazy from the stream of volunteers. Those who showed commitment and staying power would be taken deeper into the Skyshroud and begin training for war.
Daylight was failing when Eladamri and Darsett were alerted by Tant Jova that a door to the oracle's tent had appeared. The three allied leaders stood side by side outside the pavilion, gazing at the fluttering canvas opening. The oracle's tent was haloed by a faint greenish glow. This troubled the Vec matriarch.
"It's a bad sign," said Tant Jova.
"How so?" asked Darsett.
"To my people, green is a color of ill-omen."
"Among mine, it's a good sign," Eladamri said cheerfully. "Green is the color of our ancient trees. Perhaps she wears this aura to honor me." Tant Jova did not look convinced.
"I suppose we should go in," Darsett murmured. Eladamri nodded and took the lead. Darsett followed, and a worried looking Tant Jova brought up the rear.
Entering the tent was like walking into a fogbank. Every visible feature, including the entrance, disappeared once they were inside. The faintly greenish mist smelled strongly of incense and rare spices. The odors were strong enough to make Eladamri's head swim. He kept going straight ahead-at least he assumed he was-for several yards, which didn't make sense. The pavilion was no more than fifteen feet across as seen from the outside. Was he walking in some kind of dazed circle?
"Seeker, come. You are welcome," said a sourceless voice.
"Where are you?" said Eladamri.
"Here, all around you."
He fumed a little. Why were these mystical types always so obscure? "I want to speak to you face to face," he called out.
No sooner had he said so than a dark outline appeared in the mist. Eladamri approached cautiously. The silhouette resolved into a seated Vec woman, dressed in nomadic robes densely patterned with green and brown embroidered swirls. She sat at a tall, bowl-shaped table filled with a silver liquid. Her face was averted, her arms gripped the bowl on either side.
"Are you the Oracle en-Vec?" asked Eladamri.
"I'd hoped your first question would be more intelligent."
Startled by her impudence, the elf leader replied, "What is this? Did you admit me to snipe at my wits?"
"Peace, O Eladamri. Take no offense at my free tongue. When past, present and future exist in your mind at the same time, it's difficult to spare enough thought for manners."
She raised her head. Eladamri had heard the oracle was an aged crone, but the face he saw was as fresh as an open lily. He took her to be no more than fifteen years old.
"I'm much older than that," said the oracle. "What you see is an illusion I will you to see."
"You read minds?"
"When they're simple enough, I peer behind the thinker's eyes and read his words before they form on his lips."
"More insults! Why am I here, O Oracle?"
She blew on the surface of the bowl, and the silver liquid rippled to the edge and back. "Your cause is just, O Eladamri, and your triumphs genuine, but final victory is beyond your grasp."
"All things are possible with the gods' help," he said. "Are you telling me the rebellion is doomed?" "It will never succeed on Rath."
He didn't want to believe it. For all his invocation of the gods, Eladamri was a realist, believing first and foremost in Eladamri. It rankled him for this ancient oracle, this freak, to tell him flatly his cause was hopeless.
"Not hopeless," she said. "You will defeat your enemies one day, elf lord, and be hailed as the savior of a world not your own."
"Enough vagaries," he said. "Tell me something useful. What is Crovax doing at this moment?"
She pursed her brown lips and blew again over the silver pool. Though Eladamri could see nothing in it, the oracle peered closely at the bowl. She shuddered violently and struck the fluid mirror with the palm of her hand.
"Oh! Oh!" was all the Oracle could say. "What is it?" "Horrible! I cannot-" "What?"
"Blood and more blood… he feasts on their lives! Abomination!"
Eladamri leaned forward, resting his hand on the edge of the bowl. He thrust his face close to the oracle's and for a instant caught a glimpse of her true visage-deeply wrinkled skin the color of mud, sunken eyes, a nose little more than two holes in her face. He blinked and the impression was gone. The dewy eyed girl was back.
"Speak plainly," he urged. "I must know Crovax's doings." "I cannot speak it…" she whispered. He turned away in disgust. "This is useless! Can you tell me nothing of value?"
"Two things, O Eladamri. Your destiny lies in the Stronghold, not in the forest or on the plain. A door will be offered to you, and you must enter. To do otherwise is to doom all you cherish!"
"The Stronghold! Should I attack there before a new evincar is chosen? Is that what you're telling me?"
The oracle sagged in her chair, covering her face with her hands. "No… no attack on the Stronghold will succeed. It will fall to the quietest of all, no man, no elf. You must go there in chains, O Eladamri. Go in chains, go in chains. The Dead One will open a door for you, and you must go."
"I don't understand! Will I be captured? Is that what you mean?"
The mist thickened between them. He tried to reach through it and take hold of the oracle, but it was like seizing a shadow.
"Where will this door take me?" he cried.
Her reply was a fast fading whisper. "To a land of light and color. Go there. Go there and be the Korvecdal…"
The mist disappeared, and Eladamri found himself standing in the open atop the Eye of Korai. The oracle's tent was gone. Darsett and Tant Jova wer
e a few feet away, their eyes closed. Eladamri shook off the aftereffects of the oracle's intense illusions and called to his friends.
Both awoke at the same time.
"She's gone!" said Darsett.
"Was she ever here?" Eladamri asked, even though he knew the answer.
"I heard everything," Tant Jova said. "Her prophecies and her proclaiming you the Korvecdal!"
"I heard it too, but I couldn't see or speak," Darsett said, puzzled.
"Yes, yes," Tant Jova said. "The word must be shouted in every village and every tent-Eladamri is the Promised One. Eladamri is the Korvecdal!"
Rebels on the mound gathered quickly when they heard the Vec matriarch shout. They took up the refrain, "The Promised One! The Korvecdal!" and shouted it as loudly as they could, over and over. Liin Sivi and Gallan raised Eladamri on their shoulders. Despite his misgivings about the oracle's murky predictions, Eladamri was vastly relieved. All his life he had dreamt of this moment. So much had been sacrificed, not least by him-his wife, his only child, a safe and normal life-all lost to the dark forces of the Stronghold. Now the final fight could begin. He would be the Korvecdal, no matter what gloomy and ambiguous prophecies the Oracle enVec made.
They carried Eladamri around the perimeter of the Eye, shouting and singing war songs. They were about to start a second circuit when four weary, bleeding elves appeared at the edge of the mound. The triumphant parade abruptly ceased, and Eladamri was set back on his feet.
He greeted the harried new arrivals. "I know you, Brother," he said to the eldest elf in the group. "You're Raydon, of Moss-bridge village?"
"I am. Health to you, Brother." Raydon had a number of sizable sword cuts on his arms and visible blade marks on his breastplate. "My nephews and I are all that's left of a band forty strong. We were on our way here to join you, Eladamri, when we were attacked by the evincar's flying ship."
Alarm ricocheted through the crowd.
"What?" said Darsett. "Predator flies again?"
"It does, or its twin," said the weary Raydon. "We took a shortcut across the plain from Mossbridge, and the devils fell upon us without warning."
"You have hand weapon injuries," Eladamri said. "How did that happen?"
"It was their method, Brother," said the elf. "They did not rain fire and arrows on us, as in the past. The flying ship alighted, and a hundred soldiers came out. Greven iiVec led them."
Mention of the Rathi warlord provoked fresh outcries for vengeance. Eladamri quieted his friends and allies.
"This changes much," he said. "I had hoped to forge an army to meet the Stronghold's soldiers in open combat, but we dare not expose ourselves to destruction from the air."
"What can we do?" asked Gallan.
Eladamri pondered for a moment. "We must go on," he said. "We'll go back to the old ways-ambush, hit the enemy, and run. We'll steal their weapons and bide our time as our strength grows."
"We can't win by ambushing outposts," said Darsett.
"It's that flying ship," Tant Jova said, striking the ground with her staff. "Without it, the Stronghold would collapse like a rotten cask!"
The allies fell to arguing strategy. Voices rose as they disagreed on how to fight under the threat of aerial attack.
Gallan turned to Eladamri. "What is our best course of action, Brother?"
"Destroy the flying ship."
"You make it sound easy," Darsett said sourly.
"It won't be easy," Eladamri answered, "but it must be done."
"But how? Predator roosts inside the Stronghold," Gallan objected.
"Yes."
Darsett snorted, "Are you proposing we storm the Stronghold just to destroy the flying ship?"
"Not 'storm,' Darsett. Just pay a little visit, a few friends and I."
Tant Jova looked stunned. "You're not going to raid the Stronghold, O Eladamri!"
"No," he said. "I'm going to give myself up."
*****
It would have been faster to seek Crovax by air, but Greven had taken Predator to find the Skyshroud Expeditionary Force, so they were forced to rely on one of Volrath's old two-legged walkers. The Headless Turkey, as Ertai called it, lumbered across the undulating landscape below the crater. The walker made slow progress over this uneven terrain.
Opposite the Stronghold's main causeway, the plain was level and covered with knee-high yellow grass. As the Turkey climbed out of a shallow gully, Belbe's acute eyes spotted a smudge on the horizon-a crowd of people.
"Faster," she said.
Volrath's old machine covered the flat ground at an admirable clip, each sweep of the metal-toed feet tearing up a dusty divot. Ertai was at the controls, which consisted of two levers, one each for the right and left leg. He had them shoved forward as far as they would go, maximum speed. Belbe stood at the front of the car, hand to her brow, scanning ahead for obstacles. Bouncing in the back was Dorian, gripping the sides of the walker with white-knuckled hands.
When they were still a mile away from the evident crowd, Belbe stiffened and signaled for Ertai to slow down. He hauled back on the levers, bringing the Turkey from a gallop to a lazy lope.
"What do you see?" asked Dorian.
"People," she replied, puzzled. "They seem to be floating above the ground."
A far-off shriek reached out to them, a thin wail of pure terror and utmost anguish. Ertai dropped his hands, and the walker stopped.
"He's not-!"
"He is." Belbe vaulted over the side. It was eight feet to the ground, but she landed lightly on her toes and took off running. Ertai shoved the controls forward, sending the walker pounding after the fleet emissary.
Belbe covered the last eight hundred yards in seconds. What she thought were people "floating" was not that at all. Ahead the plain was thickly studded with sharp poles, formed from the flowstone substrate under the thin layer of topsoil. Impaled on the poles were the hostages-thousands of them.
Belbe stopped, frozen in her tracks by the scene before her. Crovax had commanded the spikes to thrust out of the ground, impaling the victims where they stood. Some died immediately. Others took time to find death, and a few still clung to life. Their moans were like a swirling wind, coming from every direction at once.
She didn't hear the walker thump to a halt behind her. It squatted, and Ertai got out. Dorian couldn't. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
Next thing Belbe knew, Ertai's hand was on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.
"How could he do this?" Ertai whispered.
"His power over flowstone is developing exponentially," Belbe said. "He's learned to fix the forms into permanent shapes. Impressive."
"Impressive? How can you say this savage is impressive?" Ertai took a step back, a horrified look on his face.
Slowly, Belbe walked into the forest of death. Most of the poles were eight to ten feet high, tall enough that the victim's feet couldn't reach the ground. The gray metal spikes were black with gore, and the air was heavy with the smell of blood. Ertai tried to follow Belbe, but within a few yards he broke down, nauseated.
Dazed, Belbe wound her way through the maze of spikes.
Since they'd sprung up wherever a person had been standing, there was no order, no pattern to their placement. Where a family huddled together for safety, a spike for each of them had erupted. Standing alone was no safer. Many victims looked as though they were caught in mid-stride. Age and gender made no difference-all had fallen to Crovax's insatiable vengeance.
A scream came from close by. Numbly, Belbe turned toward the sound. She saw a band of moggs manhandling a Dal man. Without thinking, she hurled herself at them, lashing out at the loathsome gremlins with her fists and feet. Bewildered, the moggs let their prey go and fled, whooping.
Belbe tried to help the man stand, but he was crazed with fear and kept trying to crawl away on all fours.
"It's all right, it's all right," Belbe said over and over. The man, mired in gore, looked up at her and started to speak.
Ertai heard her cry. Sick and shaken, he ran to her, calling her name. He dodged around a cluster of thick spikes, and they fell into each other's arms. Belbe was bathed in gore up to her elbows, and a thick spray of blood had at some point struck her in the face.
"Belbe! Belbe!" he shouted, shaking her by the shoulders. He raised a hand to strike her, but with her lightning reflexes she caught his hand long before it could connect.
"Hit me and I'll kill you!" she cried. To emphasize her point she squeezed his hand. Ertai bent his legs to relieve the pressure on his hand, and Belbe forced him to his knees.
"Don't hurt me," he said. "Haven't enough people been hurt today?"
Suddenly shamed, she released him. "Crovax. I must find Crovax."
Blood and dust made a dense brown mud that clung to Ertai's knees. "I'll go with you."
They wandered through what seemed like an endless field of carnage. Ertai kept his eyes on the ground, but Belbe gazed wide-eyed at every horror. The sights and smells of death assaulted her at every turn, and the relentlessly analytical mind given to her by her Phyrexian masters made her catalog each victim as she passed:
Male, Dal, estimated age, 60. Impaled through the chest.
Male, Vec, estimated age, 72. Impaled through thigh, abdomen, armpit.
Female, Vec, estimated age, 11. Impaled through foot, thigh, and head.
Female, Dal, estimated age, 44. Impaled through abdomen.
Female, Dal, 28. Impaled.
Male, Vec, 6.
Female, Kor.
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