Nemesis mtg-2

by Paul B. Thompson

  They retreated to the point where the guards had stopped.

  Sivi called out, "O Captain! Hear me!"

  "What do you want, Rebel?"

  "That beast has no eyes-I wonder if your men taste as good to it as mine do?"

  "What's your point?"

  "I'm just wondering what happens after we're dead? How're you going to stop it?"

  More mutterings from the Rathi soldiers, made all the more urgent as the gellerac rolled rapidly down the passage after them. Sivi and comrades ran right at the guards, who lowered their sword points. The gellerac hit the line of guards and caught two in its tentacles. They yelled and hacked at the creature with their swords. Some of their comrades joined in. A few at the rear turned and fled.

  "This is no warrior's fight," Sivi said. "Your master cares nothing about your lives!"

  The Rathi captain watched, a loathsome look on his face. One of his men vanished underneath the gellerac, his screams muffled by flabby flesh.

  "Fall back!" shouted the captain. "Fall back to the bridge!"

  The Stronghold troops broke and ran. The captain tried to corral the rebels, but Sivi warned him off with lightning cracks of the toten-vec. The gellerac had slowed its advance while digesting its first catch.

  Sivi, Medd, and Garnan backed down the left hand passage.

  "You can't escape," the Rathi captain said. "Surrender to me, and I'll protect you from the monster!"

  "You'd better worry about your own hide, O Captain," Sivi said. "We'll take our chances elsewhere!" She slapped Medd on the back and they ran down the open passage.

  Halfway around the tower, they waited and listened. The heavy sliding noise of the gellerac wasn't evident.

  "Liin, what happened to Teynel?" Garnan asked. In few words, she described the bizarre trap they'd fallen into, and Teynel's death. Garnan covered his face and wept quietly.

  Medd looked to Sivi. "When did Greven il-Vec become a shapeshifter?"

  "Why ask me? Anything seems possible in this mad fortress!" Soft scraping sounds filtered down the dim corridor. "Time to move on."

  They arrived at the opposite side of the tower and noticed another gate. It was standing open, so they reconnoitered carefully before going through. There was no sign of Greven or anyone else.

  Medd examined the gate. "This lock's been forced."

  "Why would the Rathi force their own lock?" said Garnan.

  Sivi narrowed her eyes. "They wouldn't. Come."

  They burst onto the bridge. Two Rathi soldiers stood guard halfway along to the next tower. When Sivi, Garnan, and Medd appeared, the sentries drew swords and blocked the path.

  "Wait," muttered Sivi under her breath. "We're still friendly soldiers until somebody tells them otherwise."

  They approached slowly. The sentries had the visors down on their helmets.

  At a distance of six paces, one of them shouted, "Halt!"

  Sivi saluted sloppily. "Greetings."

  "What's the watchword?" said the sentry.

  "Eh?"

  The sentry flung out his arm, pointing his sword at Sivi. "What is the watchword?"

  Sivi glanced helplessly at Medd and Garnan. They dropped their hands to their sword hilts.

  "Tell this stupid soldier the watchword!" the sentry barked.

  The second sentry replied, "Tant Jova!"

  Tant Jova? "Who are you?" Sivi demanded. Up went the visors. "Kireno! Shamus!"

  There was much back slapping as the rebels were reunited at last. Sivi cut short the celebration,

  "Teynel and the rest are dead, and our presence is known."

  "We heard the alarm," Shamus said.

  "We came to find Eladamri, but we didn't."

  "He's with us," Kireno said. "He got himself out, and rescued another prisoner from the cells. They're hiding in the map room, yonder."

  "Take me there," Sivi said. "I have much to tell him."

  *****

  The hall filled with dignitaries, court functionaries, and idlers. The array of banners was still in place, but so great was the demand for space, the flags were pushed back to the walls by the steadily growing crowd.

  Belbe stood on the dais beside the empty throne, watching people arrive. Still in her Phyrexian armor, she fixed the rococo emblem of the Hidden One in the plume holder of her helmet. She'd been unable to find Ertai all morning, and a cold clutch of fear gripped her inside. She could think of nothing else to do but hide the plasma discharger behind the vacant throne. A fresh powerstone glowed within it.

  It was an hour past midday. The incoming crowd thinned. From beyond the open doors came the tramp of men marching in parade step. Onlookers scampered out of the way as a column of men in bright steel armor and white mantles, four abreast, marched straight into the convocation hall. It was the Corps of

  Sergeants, two hundred strong. In accordance with tradition, their scabbards were empty, but Belbe knew the two hundred toughest men in the army of Rath didn't need swords to intimidate their opposition.

  The leading sergeants, led by Nasser, halted the column at the foot of the throne. No orders were shouted, but the outer two files of men made quarter turns to the right and left respectively. The assembly shrank from the line of sergeants, who thus formed a glittering lane through the crowd.

  Nasser bowed to Belbe. "Excellency, my lord Crovax is coming," he said. Belbe did not reply. She nudged the Phyrexian weapon with her toe and felt its reassuring weight.

  A tall figure came walking across the antechamber. Belbe's pulse throbbed hard until she recognized the broad shoulders and towering height of Greven il-Vec. He bowed to her from the doorway, then tried to find a way outside the human aisle. In the end, he pushed his way through the crowd and took a place at the wall, on Belbe's right.

  Someone else approached, a smaller person this time-too small to be Crovax. Belbe made out his face at a long distance. It was the Kor, Furah, garbed in gray leather. He moved with sinuous grace between the stern, unmoving sergeants. He took his place beside Greven and never took his eyes off the young emissary.

  The timepiece behind Belbe silently flickered through some abstruse Phyrexian equation, then displayed Rathi time: one hour, one minute past midday.

  She saw him a hundred yards away, striding confidently down the central corridor toward the antechamber. He was wearing his white ensemble again, the one Belbe would forever associate with the hostage massacre. Her recognition must have shown on her face, for the entire hall fell hushed long before Crovax reached the outer chamber.

  His footsteps were loud against the hard walls. Belbe licked her lips and tried to swallow.

  When Crovax reached the top of the steps, Nasser raised his right foot and stamped down hard.

  Steel and stone rang together as he cried, "Lord Crovax!"

  "Crovax!" shouted the sergeants.

  With the skill of an actor, Crovax waited at the door until his men stopped cheering. Then, in utter silence, he ascended the aisle, his gold-trimmed mantle rippling with the wind of his passage. Greven switched his gaze to Crovax, but Belbe noticed Furah was still watching her. Crovax halted at the foot of the throne.

  "Your Excellency sent for me?"

  She nodded, slowly. Crovax turned and faced the hall.

  "People of Rath," she began. "I, the emissary of the overlords, the Lens of Abcal-dro, the chosen representative of the Hidden One, greet you."

  "All power to the Hidden One!" Crovax exclaimed.

  "All power to the Hidden One," answered the crowd.

  "Since arriving here, it has been my mission to find a new governor of Rath. I was charged by our masters to put the crown on the head of the strongest candidate, to insure the rule of Rath was given to the most powerful, most intelligent, and most loyal servant of the Hidden One."

  Belbe lowered her hand behind the throne, feeling for the tip of the plasma discharger. She found the smooth prongs, but before she could finish her ritual declaration or pick up the weapon, a small disturbance broke
out at the rear of the hall.

  She stepped away from the throne. A small, bright object, about the size of an apple, flew into the room. People at the back shrank from it or swiped at it with their hats. In neither case did anyone touch it.

  Crovax was livid. Without moving, he tried to snare the flying object with flowstone pincers called up from the floor or nearby columns. The spiny sphere easily dodged the clumsy claws, and the only ones caught by them were unfortunate courtiers near the center of the crowd.

  The object danced down the aisle. The sergeants watched it, but they were unsure whether to break ranks and seize it or not. The ball flew past Crovax's head and hovered in front of Belbe.

  "A friend of yours?" asked Crovax icily.

  She held out her hand, charmed by the playful sphere. It ran its soft spikes gently over her palm, and she was seized with a desire to have this object and keep it with her always.

  It darted away, and Belbe ran after it. The crowd dissolved in frantic gossip. Crovax grabbed Belbe's arm as she passed.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  "I must have it…"

  "What about the ceremony?"

  "I'll come back-I will-as soon as I catch this thing."

  He shook her, none too gently, saying, "You can't leave until you discharge your duty! Say the words, you stupid little-"

  Greven interrupted. "She cannot say anything now, my lord. She's under a magical compulsion."

  "What! Who dares-?" He must have answered his own question, and he shut his mouth. Releasing Belbe, he spoke in Nasser's ear. Crovax went to the steps leading up to the throne and sat down, casually crossing his legs.

  Nasser shouted for quiet. "People of Rath!" he said. "There will be a minor delay in the ceremony. Lord Crovax has asked that no one leave the hall until the emissary returns."

  To make sure of it, the sergeants locked arms to keep people away from the doors. Belbe ran out, chasing the glowing ball. Nasser spoke hastily to the seated Crovax, then hurried after her.

  CHAPTER 19

  SURVIVAL

  The cavernous Map Room was the scene of a somber reunion. Sivi broke the melancholy news to Eladamri that they had failed to destroy Predator, and half their force, including Teynel, was lost. This was countered by Eladamri's survival and the addition of Takara to their group.

  They shared their simple rations with Takara. She recovered her strength rapidly after eating and drinking, and willingly lent her knowledge of the Stronghold and its workings to the rebels' cause. Medd, who knew something of the healing arts, tended Eladamri's injuries. The rebel leader's left arm was broken at the wrist, so Medd made splints from seats in the Map Room, bound Eladamri's arm with them, and fitted him with a sling. His knee, though badly bruised, did not seem broken.

  Sivi described Teynel's death to Eladamri. "The man in the torture chamber looked exactly like you, O Eladamri," she said. "It was only when he began to change that we suspected the truth."

  "You say he turned into Greven?" asked Takara thoughtfully.

  "Yes. I saw Greven il-Vec when we first arrived, and it was definitely him."

  Eladamri studied Takara closely. "What does it mean? Is Greven a shapeshifter?"

  "Not unless he's acquired the gift since I've been imprisoned."

  "Then who killed Teynel?"

  Takara traced a line on her face with a single finger, down her nose, across her lip to her chin. "There is a possibility…"

  "Never mind that!" Garnan said. "We must get out of here!"

  "Agreed," said Eladamri. "Takara, what's the best way? Takara?"

  She looked up from her frowning daydream. "What? Out? Why, we have to go through the Citadel."

  The young rebels groaned. "Can't we keep going in this direction?" said Shamus, pointing away from the fortress.

  "That direction is the mogg warrens," Takara said. "A maze of tunnels, shafts, and mogg nests, infested with thousands of ugly, bad-tempered creatures. We wouldn't get a hundred yards inside before we were attacked, lost, or eaten."

  The map room fell quiet.

  At length Eladamri said, "We got in by stealth and disguise, so it's only natural we leave the same way."

  "Our disguises are wearing a bit thin," Sivi said.

  "We'll change them. If they're looking for an elf and five soldiers, we'll become something else."

  "My face is known," said Takara.

  "You could become a man," Sivi suggested.

  Takara smiled thinly. "I don't think I could carry it off as well as you, My Dear."

  Sivi reddened and was about to utter a sharp reply, but Eladamri cut her off.

  "Our strength lies in staying together and going as quietly as we can. I've never run from a fight in my life, but there are some odds a wise warrior doesn't test. Seven of us against the entire Stronghold is not a battle, it's a prolonged execution."

  They did what they could to change their appearance. Those in Rathi uniforms discarded their mantles and tore them into rags to polish their helmets and breastplates. Kireno, slimmest of the rebels, took off his breastplate and gave it to Eladamri, turning his backplate around to wear on his chest. Medd wrapped Eladamri's head in makeshift bandages to obscure his elven features.

  Takara watched this with considerable amusement. "You should've been actors," she said. "You look like a touring company of bards."

  Sivi reached across Garnan's waist and drew his knife. She advanced on Takara, holding the blade in a threatening manner.

  "Call her off, Eladamri. I'm your valued guide, remember?"

  "Liin Sivi-"

  Sivi swung the knife in a wide arc. Takara tried to block by grabbing Sivi's knife hand. The Vec woman was far stronger, and Takara had to use both hands to hold off the knife. Sivi's free hand darted in. She snatched hold of Takara's long red ponytail and spun her around by tugging on it sharply. With her comrades shouting "No! No, Sivi!" she slashed Takara's hair off right where it was tied.

  Sivi tossed the heavy hunk of hair on the floor and returned Gaman's knife.

  Takara knelt by her shorn locks. "Why did you do that?"

  "You need to change your appearance too, O Takara," Sivi said. "Without that hair and with a little dirt on your face, you can be a charwoman."

  "Enough," said Eladamri sharply. "I won't have this bickering."

  Medd was nearest Takara. She went to him and wordlessly demanded his knife. Sivi stood back and let the toten-vec drop from her hand. Medd wouldn't give the woman his knife, so she took it herself. Sivi flipped the lethal end of her weapon back and prepared to cast it.

  Staring at the Vec woman with hollow eyes, Takara used Medd's knife to saw off even more of her hair. When he saw she didn't mean to attack Sivi, Medd gently took the knife away from Takara and offered to even up the horrid haircut.

  "Your problem," Takara said to Sivi, "is that you don't go far enough."

  Laughing, Sivi recoiled the toten-vec. "I'll try to remember that."

  From being five soldiers, an elf, and an emaciated woman, they were now six reasonably tidy soldiers and a crop-haired, emaciated woman. They cleaned up the map room to hide the fact that they'd been there and left the tower by the upper bridge to avoid the gellerac still loose in the prison.

  There were no new sentries on the bridge, so they hurried across.

  "Don't like it," Sivi declared.

  Takara pushed past her to take the lead. "They don't expect intruders between the Citadel and the mogg warrens," she said. "No one's that crazy."

  "No one but us," Kireno said.

  Medd and Shamus shrugged at each other and followed her. Kireno and Garnan went next, leaving Eladamri to shoo Sivi along.

  "1 don't know if I like that woman or hate her," Sivi muttered.

  "Make up your own mind," replied Eladamri. "But until we're free of this place, don't turn your back on her."

  *****

  Just inches to go.

  Ertai could hardly see, his eyelids were so swollen, but w
ith his mind's magical eye he could see the cube now extended over the edge of the furnace cone. In another twenty minutes, it would be over. His last hope, the retriever, apparently failed. Belbe had not come.

  Facing death, he had the odd thought that he would be contributing to the composition of Rath in a very literal way. All bodies returned to the soil, but his would disintegrate in the furnace and be whirled into the flowstone matrix. His component atoms would mingle with the substance of Rath, pass through the factory, and be pumped onto the surface along with billions of pounds of flowstone. Would there be a little patch of Rath that was Ertai? He wondered if his consciousness would survive. If so, he hoped Crovax would walk over him someday. He'd be sure to trip him.

  Ertai.

  He recalled a book he'd read in one of the royal libraries about the death pits of Rath. Past evincars had used the black tarry residue left over from the making of flowstone to fill in gaps in the Stronghold cavern. As it was poisonous and corrosive, some evincars had taken to tossing unwanted prisoners into this muck. As a result, the book claimed, the death pits had achieved a kind of collective sentience, melded from the souls of the people who died in it.

  "Ertai!"

  It was a real voice calling his name. He managed to open his right eye to a tiny slit.

  "Belbe!"

  The retriever worked after all! She looked splendid in her black diamond armor and Phyrexian headdress. She was tearing at the cube with her hands, but the surface was too hard and smooth. She could make no impression on it.

  "Tube," he said. "Break the tube."

  *****

  She jumped down and found the feeder tube on the back. No thicker than her little finger, she easily snapped it. Semi-liquid flowstone spilled across the platform until she crimped the tube shut. Tiny silver spheres danced around her feet.

  She heard feet pounding on the ladder coming up the furnace cone. A man in bright armor appeared-Nasser. The narrow ledge between her and the ladder was speckled with spinning globules of flowstone, still not solidified. She guessed the radiance of the energy stream was keeping them liquid longer than normal.