Nemesis mtg-2

by Paul B. Thompson

  Dorian swallowed the bile in his throat and croaked, "Crovax, victory."

  "Oh, yes, the chamberlain. I almost forgot you."

  He grabbed Dorian by his thick throat and hoisted him into the air. The portly chamberlain weighed easily as much as two normal-sized men, but Crovax lifted him with one hand. Dorian's eyes bulged, and froth formed on his red lips.

  "I can't trust you any longer," Crovax gritted. "You've always been a fool, but at one time you had enough sense to keep your mouth shut. Losing your wits has cost you your life."

  He threw Dorian against the flowstone door and it held him fast. The door panels flowed outward, gripping Dorian's head, arms, waist, and legs.

  Crovax twirled the dirk between his fingers. "Observe," he said. "I'll show you the stroke I used on Tharvello was no fluke."

  CHAPTER 14

  PRIZE

  The pile of discarded scrolls spilled off the table and covered the floor. A good third of the bookshelves were empty. Ertai slumped over the latest treatise, head propped on one hand. He couldn't read anymore. For sixteen hours straight he'd labored in this obscure annex where some past chamberlain had stored all the books he found too old or too esoteric for the palace's main collection. The technical information he gleaned from the scrolls was straightforward enough. The tiny machines were highly resistant to normal magical influence because it was artificial. Flow-stone existed on the molecular level. In order to survive programming and recombination, flowstone molecules were extremely well balanced harmonically and therefore resistant to any sort of energy input. In a natural substance-wood, for example-matter was balanced statically. At rest, under normal conditions, wood was wood. Add heat to it, and its balance broke down-burning resulted. No fire in the world could burn flowstone because adding heat to the harmonically stable substance had no effect. Trying to ignite flowstone was like trying to boil an ocean by adding a teakettle full of hot water.

  The secret of flowstone manipulation lay in focusing magic or mental energy on individual molecules of the stuff. Ertai imagined it this way: start with a tall brick tower, solid and level. A man could not topple the tower simply by shoving against it or even by battering it with a sledge hammer. But with a chisel and mallet, he could loosen bricks around the base of the tower. When the foundation became unstable, the tower could be toppled with a single finger. The real skill was in trying to make the resulting rubble into something useful.

  Evincars were given this psionic ability by the Phyrexians during their physical metamorphosis. Unaltered minds could influence flowstone only through absolute concentration or conversely by a massive outpouring of directed magic. Ertai's effects came from the latter method. His magical skills got him started, and the infusion therapy he'd been taking boosted the available power for him to tap. Now, however, his method was at a dead end. All the natural magical power present on Rath wasn't enough to enable him to raise up a table or turn the floor to putty as Crovax did.

  Ertai's candidacy was, in a word, doomed. The trick was to make certain he himself wasn't doomed along with it.

  He considered going to Crovax and abdicating his chance to become evincar. Surely the relieved Crovax would spare him, maybe even allow him to depart Rath via the old Phyrexian portal in Portal Canyon?

  Of course. Crovax was such a kindly, forgiving fellow.

  Ertai shoved the remaining scrolls off the table. The small flowstone lamp overturned, and for a moment he feared it would start a fire among all the loose manuscripts. The yellowish wick kept glowing inside the glass shield. There was no fuel as such in the lamp. Commanded to glow, it glowed. In time the nano-machines in the lamp would break down, disintegrate, and the light would go out. It would take several hundred years at least.

  Ertai put his head on the table and stared at the light. It reminded him of Belbe. Bright, purposeful, untiring, and single-minded. What did she think of their solitary encounter? He tried to understand what it meant to him. Since he was a small boy, Ertai's life had been centered on the practice of magic. For nineteen years it was the first thing he thought of in the morning, and the thing he dreamt of at night. At Barrin's Academy he'd been too busy for romance-if something didn't advance his knowledge of magic, what use was it? He could laugh now at his own arrogance, except he didn't feel like laughing.

  With thumb and forefinger, he tried to pluck the glowing wick from the lamp. It winked out, throwing the cluttered room into darkness. He took his fingers away, and the element resumed glowing. No flame, no heat. More than ever it reminded him of Belbe.

  She had her own portal, she said. If so, she must go and take him with her. As Ertai saw it, they had common cause to leave Rath together. Once Crovax was in power, no one on Rath was safe. Everyone would be fodder for his appetite, his own private herd of two-legged cattle. As a defeated rival, Ertai's life was obviously in danger, and he could see Belbe's would be, too.

  Yes, Belbe would be number two on Crovax's "to do" list.

  Where to go? Dominaria? It was home, but very soon it would be the scene of a horrible war. Gerrard and the others had told him this, and Belbe confirmed it. In their private moments, Belbe explained how Rath and Dominaria would intermingle, the landscape of one becoming part of the landscape of the other. Once the Rathi overlay was in place, the legions of Phyrexia would pour forth in all their awful, technological efficiency, and life on Dominaria would be either enslaved or extinguished.

  Ertai considered himself a realist. Gerrard, Hanna, and company couldn't prevail against the hosts of the Hidden One. He'd thought it possible once but no longer. They would be faced with an army of a hundred thousand Crovaxes, utterly ruthless and totally without mercy. His homeworld was doomed.

  Belbe's portal could take them anywhere. There must be a million worlds or more out there populating the void. Even the Phyrexians couldn't reach them all. Perhaps he could find some peaceful world of magic to inhabit, where machines were made of wood and didn't think, where floors existed only to be walked on, and a man and woman of talent could live a good life together until time mingled their souls into the great firmament forever.

  Go out, he willed, and the lamp obeyed.

  *****

  Clouds were piling up in high black drifts over the Stronghold as Eladamri and his team approached the foot of the main causeway. Teynel had gotten on their lone kerl, as befitted his senior rank among the "Rathi" troops. Eladamri walked behind, his manacles tied to a long rope. Teynel looped the other end around his saddle ring.

  The causeway rose from the plain, a massive raised bridge of solid masonry. Usually busy, traffic up and down the road was today only a trickle. It soon became clear why: a heavy cordon of soldiers patrolled the end of the road, and guard posts along the bridge were fully manned.

  Teynel waved Sivi and the others forward. They lined up and stood at attention. Eladamri came alongside the Dal corporal and got down on both knees, trying to look downtrodden.

  "Why all the soldiers?" Teynel asked. "Do they know what's up?"

  "No," said Eladamri, his head hanging low. "If they suspected us, they would have swooped down on us long ago. There's something else amiss."

  "It can't hurt to ask," said Sivi. "We're all one army, aren't we? We've been lost more than a week, so it won't be strange if we don't know what's going on."

  "True enough," said Eladamri. He raised his head. "Look out-we've been seen."

  The buff stone barbican at the end of the causeway was a small fortress in itself. A sentry, standing in the open arched doorway, spotted the rebels and hurriedly called his superior. A Rathi captain appeared, eating a bright blue pear. He shouted an order, inaudible from where Eladamri sat, and 40 soldiers poured out of the barbican, fully armed. In ragged order they ran at the waiting rebels.

  "Now is the time for cool heads," Eladamri said. "Remember, you're all Rathi soldiers. Those men coming are your comrades."

  The soldiers fanned out and encircled the little band. Teynel leaned nonchalantly acro
ss the neck of his kerl. Liin Sivi stuck the stem of a long blade of grass in her teeth.

  The captain arrived, still clutching his half-eaten snack. "Who are you?" he said sharply.

  Teynel saluted. "Corporal Elcaxi of the Fourth Company. It's good to be home!"

  The captain squinted at him. "Fourth Company, eh?"

  Teynel smiled. "That's right, the Fearsome Fourth."

  "Not many of you fellows made it back." The captain extended a hand. "Welcome home."

  Teynel shook the man's hand with genuine relief. "We have a prisoner to turn in."

  The captain stood over Eladamri, hands on his hips. "Why'd you bother? I'd've cut his throat and left him on the plain."

  Sivi stepped forward. "Oh, no," she said. "We caught us an important rebel. This is Eladamri!"

  The fruit fell from the captain's hand. "Stuff me with stone! The rebel leader himself? Are you sure?"

  "That's who he says he is. Can't think why anyone would claim to be Eladamri unless he was. I mean, knowing what's gonna happen to him, yes?" Teynel said.

  "On your feet!" The captain signaled his men to come forward and take the prisoner. Sivi and the rebels closed around the elf, blocking the soldiers.

  "He's our prize," she said. "We caught him, we'll take him in."

  The captain burst out laughing. "You're the Fourth Company all right! Nobody else has such brass!" He waved his men back. "Come to the guardhouse. I'll give you a token that'll get you through the other stations, and I'll send a percher to Lord Greven with the news."

  "Lord Greven hates perchers," Teynel said boldly. "Send a runner instead. We're not in a hurry, and this elf ain't going anywhere without us!"

  Flushed with excitement, the captain readily agreed. A runner was dispatched with the startling news of Eladamri's capture. The rebels strolled to the guardhouse amid the admiring looks of the Rathi soldiers. Eladamri dragged his feet and did his best to look dejected.

  The captain gave Teynel a pass, an engraved metal disk four inches wide with the Citadel seal on it. Teynel hung the cord around his neck and let the token fall across his chest.

  "This is wonderful," said the captain. "Tell me, how did you capture him?"

  "It was tough," Sivi said. "Our battalion charged through the burning camp when we saw this band of elves cross in front of us. We chased 'em into the swamp, losing half our number on the way. We killed twenty or thirty rebels and caught this one about to skewer himself. We tried to find our way out of the Skyshroud, but we got turned around in all the trees. The rest of the battalion was lost to potholes, snakes, and fever. We got out eventually, but the army had moved on. We made our way back as best we could."

  The soldiers hung on Sivi's every word. When she finished, they cheered lustily. Sivi couldn't help but grin.

  "This is the best news we've had since Predator was repaired!" said the captain. "With their leader gone, the rebels won't have the stomach to face us again!"

  Surrounded by waving, cheering troops, the team herded Eladamri forward. When the barbican had fallen behind them, the elf spoke.

  "Nice work, Teynel."

  Teynel grinned and nodded. "I was doing my best to sound like an insolent soldier."

  "What about my performance?" Sivi asked.

  "Splendid," said Eladamri. "You have the gifts of a bard." He trudged on, his arms weighed down by the heavy shackles. "It's one thing to fool common soldiers at the gate, but Greven ii-Vec will turn up soon and so will Crovax, for all we know. So keep your heads."

  "I'm not worried," Teynel said. "Once word gets around we're bringing in Eladamri, no one will look twice at us."

  And so it proved. At each guardhouse they passed, soldiers turned out to hail them and to stare at the captured rebel chief. Not all their looks were baleful, however. Many were simply curious to see the famed Eladamri, the elusive guerrilla leader who'd evaded them for so long. Popular rumor made Eladamri a wizard of elven magic, which accounted for his many miraculous escapes. It was disappointing for the legend lovers to see the fabled elf turn out to be a slight, middle-aged fellow wearing rags.

  The runner must have had a busy tongue, because everyone they encountered along the causeway knew Eladamri was coming. Soldiers and civilians alike lined the bridge, and more arrived every minute. Civilians from the crater settlements came out to see the procession. The disguised rebels were almost overwhelmed by the hordes of curious Dal and Vec who wanted to see Eladamri.

  Suddenly, the crowd in front of them melted away. Kerlmounted cavalry were cantering down the bridge with lances leveled. People scrambled to avoid the troopers. Behind them came a battalion of heavy infantry in tall, conical suits of armor. In their midst was Greven il-Vec, decked out in fearsome battle gear. Eladamri checked the faces of his young comrades. More than one rebel's face lost color at the sight of the towering warlord. Of all the rebels, Liin Sivi was the calmest. Hip outthrust, she casually rested her hand on the handle of her toten-vec.

  "Dread Lord," Teynel said, his voice cracking. "Corporal Elcaxi and men, reporting for duty. We have a prisoner."

  The heavy infantry parted ranks, and Greven stepped out front of them. "So you do." He was a good two feet taller than the manacled elf, yet as they sized each other up, a kind of equality existed between them. Not respect, but recognition that each was a formidable warrior.

  "If you're not Eladamri, you should be," Greven said.

  "Do you doubt it, Dread Lord?" said Sivi.

  He eyed her as if she were an insect crawling across his dinner plate. "Doubt keeps a soldier alive," he said. "You should cherish it as closely as your sword."

  He said, "I am Eladamri, son of Kelimenar. Are you going to leave me standing here?" For a moment, a fleeting fragment of a second, he saw indecision on the other warrior's face.

  Then it was gone, and Greven gave his orders. "Deliver him to the Citadel guards on the factory concourse."

  "But Dread Lord," Teynel said. "What will happen to him?"

  "Is it any concern of yours, Soldier?"

  "Yes, Dread Lord," Sivi interjected. "As his captors, we want a reward for taking him."

  Some of the civilians in the crowd gasped at her impertinence. The genuine Rathi soldiers listened for the telltale grinding of teeth, but none came.

  "Everything you've earned will be yours. This is the word of Greven il-Vec."

  He stood aside and let Teynel lead his team through. The dark, brooding bulk of the Stronghold lay ahead. Eladamri lifted his face to the sky and took what he hoped was not his last look at the turbulent gray clouds of Rath.

  *****

  The tense atmosphere in the Citadel had reached an unbearable level. Every minute was like the hour before a storm, when all is still, but the threat of an upheaval is clearly in the air.

  Belbe sensed things were about to break. She donned her close-fitting armor for the first time since the day of her arrival. To her logical mind, the danger came from the thousands of Dal and Vec people living in the crater. These were the people Crovax had wronged by murdering their loved ones, and despite the relative calm of the past two days, Belbe felt certain a revolution was bubbling just beneath the veneer of normality.

  Armored, with her helmet tucked under one arm and a slim Phyrexian sword on her hip, Belbe went forth to find the other residents of the Citadel. She had little luck. Ertai was missing, probably buried in some forgotten library. Dorian il-Dal was nowhere to be found. She went to his private chambers and found the door open. Dorian's rooms were a shambles. Bedclothes were torn off the bed. Broken pottery littered the floor. His chamberpots were full and reeking.

  When she emerged from Dorian's rooms, the hall was full of people-courtiers, some of whom she hadn't seen in a week, and members of the palace guard. Even off-duty guards in their padded jerkins were milling around in the corridor. Belbe stopped an elderly Dal.

  "What's happened?" she said.

  "Tremendous news, Excellency!" said the courtier. "They say the elf lord Elad
amri has been taken! He'll be here in minutes!"

  "Eladamri? Taken?" If the man had told her Greven had changed sex, she could not have been more surprised. "How did it happen?"

  "I know not how the rascal was caught, only that he is coming here in chains."

  He hurried away after bowing numerous times. Belbe, a bit dazed, stood motionless in a river of moving, chattering people. Eladamri captured?

  The ordered tread of guards in formation awakened her. Turning, she ordered them to stop. The twelve guards halted, and their leader saluted.

  "We have orders to convey the rebel Eladamri to the palace prison," the senior guard said. "We're to meet Lord Greven on the factory concourse and take custody of the prisoner."

  "I'm changing your orders," she said. "You will bring the prisoner to the convocation chamber. I want to see him." The captain of the guard saluted again and continued on his way.

  Belbe ascended the stairs to the convocation antechamber. At midday she was scheduled to announce her choice for the next evincar. In preparation for the ceremony, the antechamber had been polished and decorated with banners and martial flags. Guards in black-enameled dress armor already stood by the iris doors. They presented arms when they saw her.

  "At ease," she said. "A state prisoner will be brought here shortly. You will admit him, his escort, and anyone that follows, is that clear?"

  "It shall be done, Excellency."

  She stepped between them. The circular panels hissed apart. "Until then, admit no one," Belbe added.

  "Yes, Excellency."

  The hall was decked out with a wide semi-circle of crimson and gold banners, each one bearing the heraldic arms of a past evincar. Each company of the Rathi army was represented by a battle flag. The governor's throne, stripped of Volrath's insignia, had been brought down from the upper throne room just for this occasion. Flanking the tall chair were two flaming braziers.

  She walked slowly down the aisle, surrounded by symbols of Rath's past and present might. From the odor, she realized the flames she saw were real, not flowstone simulations. The braziers were the size of warrior's shields, mounted on black metal tripods.