“They’re among the highest.”
“Were there ever dragons here?”
Kaz snorted. “Oh, there were dragons here, all right! Mostly blacks, reds, and blues. This was a favored ground of theirs during the war. More to the north, though. That’s where the warlord Crynus kept the bulk of his army. Now there was a true monster, worse than any dragon. Remember what I told you about him?”
As Delbin nodded, Kaz recalled the story he had related to the kender. Until his death, Crynus, a human, had been the Dark Queen’s favorite commander. Under his command, her forces had brought desolation to much of the northern and eastern parts of Ansalon. If not for Huma, Gwyneth the silver dragon, and Kaz himself, Crynus likely would have crushed the knighthood and brought Ansalon under his lady’s sway. Huma, though, had cleaved the warlord’s head from his body in an epic combat … then had been forced to find another way to kill him when that had not proven sufficient detriment.
Kaz shuddered at the memory. It had taken a dragon’s fire to finally rid Ansalon of the undying Crynus.
“Do the mountains surround the kingdoms?” asked his companion, breaking the spell of Kaz’s memories.
“No, they mostly run across the western side and through much of the southern. There are breaks north of here, and to the east there are flatlands, but the journey takes much too long if we circle around to the east.” He recalled something from his childhood. “They say that it was Sargas who raised the mountains right after he took the worthy ogres and turned them into minotaurs. The mountains were to protect his children while they recouped their strength and worked to assume their proper place as lords of all Krynn.” Kaz thought of his years as a slave-soldier and how often in the past minotaurs had been the slaves, not the masters, of others. The mountains had not done their job very well. “Didn’t protect us very well, considering he is a god, did he?”
Weather slowed them by about a day’s journey, but two days later they left the mountains and entered the lands of the minotaur kingdoms. At first glance, the landscape seemed no different from where Kaz and Helati made their home. The only change was a definite hint of the sea in the air and a steady wind that seemed to blow from the east. The temperature was also slightly lower, and while this did not bother the fur-covered minotaur much, Delbin required more covering at night.
A day later, they sighted a vast city far to the east.
“What is that place?” asked the kender. He had taken to staring wide-eyed at everything, even though Kaz himself could see nothing remarkable about the area. Of course, a kender tended to find almost anything he saw new and noteworthy, even if he had seen it only a couple dozen times before.
“That’s Morthosak, the seat of power in the kingdom of Kothas. Other than Nethosak, it’s the greatest place in the twin kingdoms. It spreads all the way to the sea. The port is actually larger than Nethosak, but because the imperial government rules from Mithas, there’s more activity up there.”
“Are we going there?”
Kaz shook his head. “No, and be glad. Nethosak has its dangers, but Morthosak has a few unique to itself. We’ll have enough to worry about in the capital.”
Delbin could not completely hide his disappointment at not seeing the port city, but Kaz would not be swayed. He still held hope, fading, to be sure, that Hecar was alive and in one piece in Nethosak. It was still a few days there, and the journey would be further slowed by his having to pretend that his companion was a slave.
Soon the areas they traveled through grew more populated. Larger villages and towns sat nearly side by side as the pair proceeded north. Despite the numbers lost in the war, the minotaur population was by no means depleted. A race used to the rigors of constant battle generally worked to see that its losses were made up for as quickly as possible. Within two generations, the population would be almost at what it was midway through the war, when Crynus had begun recklessly pouring slave-soldiers into the forefront, not caring how he wasted them if it preserved his loyal personal cadre.
Yet, if what Kaz had heard was true, the emperor was not going to wait until his people had fully recovered.
Not all minotaurs lived to fight. It was necessary that there be food to feed the race, so Kaz was prepared for the farms that they began to cross. Minotaur farms were not like those of other races, however, for the state controlled their use. They were lined up next to one another in uniform fashion. A director oversaw the management of each segment of the farm community. Each farm competed with another to raise the best crop, be it vegetable, fruit, or livestock. Honors and promotions were given out to those who achieved the greatest results. There were many rules of order governing how farms were to be run and what allotment of resources each was to receive. All very organized and efficient.
All very much a part of the minotaur way of life.
Delbin stared bright-eyed at everything, but few workers paid attention to him or Kaz, intent as they were on seeing to it that their farm ranked tops in their district. Corn already grew higher and larger than most Kaz had seen during his years of travel. Sheep in one sector were so large that one might have mistaken them for cattle from a distance, save for their woolen coats.
“Everything’s so big, Kaz! Did you see that cow over there?”
“Quiet, Delbin!” Kaz nodded, proud despite his feelings toward those who ruled the empire. “The race is constantly in need of fuel. A healthy child becomes a mighty warrior.”
The kender watched the minotaurs working in the fields. “I thought all minotaurs were fighters.”
“They are. Even these, who some consider the weakest despite the fact that they keep our stomachs full while we do battle on the field. A minotaur fighter is more than equal to any human or elven fighter.” If his people ever did conquer the other races, Kaz suspected that the fittest of the new slaves would be brought to the farms to work, freeing up many minotaurs. There would have to be overseers, of course, but few minotaurs would choose a life of farming over expansion of the empire.
Most of the farms were busy with fieldwork, but now and then they passed areas where the land was barren and had been abandoned. Kaz grunted when he noticed the first of these small wastelands. “The price of too much competition. They’ve ruined the soil.” He noted other farms, lush and active. “The others had better learn from that if they hope to survive. Can’t conquer a world if you can’t feed your armies.”
Kaz avoided the towns and villages at nights, opting for wooded lands that hid them from view of the roads. He kept their fires low, enabling them to pass unnoticed. In order to keep his companion entertained, since a bored kender was an especially worrisome creature, Kaz again told him stories and history whenever possible. More than a few of the tales he told so mixed legend with fact that not even he was certain what was true and what had been inflated by earlier storytellers.
He told Delbin about the minotaurs’ supposed enslavement by the dwarves of Kal-Thax. The dwarves had kept Kaz’s race slaves for years, according to legend, until the minotaurs finally overthrew and destroyed them. Other races often discounted this version of events. Among the legends of that time was one about a minotaur, Belim, who killed a dozen dwarves and freed enough of his fellows to begin the final revolt before he himself went down under the axes of half a dozen more dwarven warriors. Such acts of heroism were grist for the favorite stories of Kaz’s people.
However, the kender’s favorites, perhaps because of the emotion with which Kaz recounted them, involved Ganth, captain of Gladiator. On Kaz’s first voyage, he had sailed with Ganth and Kyri and visited an island that seemed all golden. It was not real gold, which had proved a disappointment, but the voyage itself made everything worthwhile. What Delbin found especially exciting was an earlier adventure of Ganth, when he and his vessel, on one of its first journeys, had approached a mysterious island of giant snakes and great birds. Here Ganth and Kyri had supposedly met Sargas and his daughter, the tempestuous sea goddess Zeboim. Sargas had not wanted to le
t any of the minotaurs leave the mysterious island, but Kiri-Jolith had intervened and Ganth had killed a giant bird while battling to escape. He and Kyri had married shortly after. Ganth had claimed the episode as the main reason why he had rejected the Great Horned One and become a follower of Kiri-Jolith.
“They had children soon after that adventure. I was their firstborn,” Kaz concluded proudly.
“What were they like?”
“Ganth was a bit of a renegade, someone who always argued against the established way things were done.” Kaz chuckled. “Which is where I get my rebellious nature from, I guess. Kyri was more typical, a good partner in battle. Of course, she chose to make Ganth her comrade for life, so I guess she was a bit of a renegade, too. They raised us well, kept us fit, cherished us.” The minotaur stared off into the distance. “When Gladiator sank, I mourned them well.”
“Oh.” Delbin looked down, momentarily dejected. Then he looked up again, brightening. “But you said ‘us.’ Did they have more than you? You never told me you had brothers and sisters!”
“There were six of us. Four males and two females.” Kaz hesitated, not having thought about his siblings in years. Since he had broken away from his people, he had not contacted anyone from his past, neither friend nor relative.
“Will we meet up with any of them?”
Kaz drifted off. “I don’t know … not Raud … he’s …” He lowered his hand, touching the pouch that still held the medallion. “Not Raud.”
“Who’s—”
“It’s late.” Suddenly rising, Kaz began to gather things together. “We’ve got more traveling to do. We’ll both walk. You’ll have to wear the rope again, Delbin. I’m sorry.”
The small figure silently obeyed, sensing that Kaz did not wish to speak more about his family. There were some memories too painful to recollect even after years.
I was afraid you’d pop up in my mind if I came back, Raud, Kaz admitted silently to himself. I was afraid you would haunt me again.
It would have happened regardless of whether or not Delbin had asked him about his family. Nethosak was where he and Raud had last met. Nethosak was where one critical decision had forever changed Kaz’s life.
It was where Raud had died.
Far off in the heart of Nethosak, death was also on the minds of two weary minotaurs now awaiting an audience with the high priest. They had ridden like the wind after the final debacle, leaving behind the last of the ogres, who was likely dead by now from the loss of its limb. The other ogre had deserted one night and fled back to its own kind, not wishing to face the high priest’s wrath. In their hearts, the minotaurs knew they faced punishment for their absolute failure, but pride, so ingrained in most of their kind, had prevented them from simply never returning to the imperial capital. Now they were both regretting the tug of that pride.
The antechamber in which they waited did little to ease their minds. Tapestries depicting the glory of Sargas, especially his punishment of those who had strayed from the path, lined the walls between high marble columns. Carved on each of the columns was the face of Sargas in his manifestation as the Great Horned One. The faces were all set so that they peered down in judgment at those standing before the entrance to the high priest’s sanctum.
The huge iron doors swung open, and a solemn acolyte clad in the red-and-black robes of his calling stepped out to face the pair. “His Holiness will see you now. You will speak only when spoken to and answer all questions completely. Is that absolutely understood?”
Knowing that there was no room for argument, the two minotaurs nodded. The acolyte turned to face the open doorway. “Follow me.”
With growing trepidation, they did, one of them pausing only long enough to stare at the huge relief above the doorway. The carving, a great dragon, seemed to stare hungrily down at anyone who walked beneath it. The minotaur shivered, then hurried to keep pace.
The room they entered was the size of a small arena and surprisingly lacking in decor. There were no windows, and the only illumination came from two torches a few yards ahead of them, one on each side of the vast chamber. The ceiling, what they could see of it, loomed high above, adding to the newcomers’ sense of inadequacy. Here they were nothing but cogs in the grand scheme of Sargas, small parts that could, if necessary, be easily replaced.
“Come forward.”
The voice was strong, commanding, and echoed throughout the chamber. The acolyte stepped aside, indicating that the two should proceed alone.
They had taken no more than three or four steps when high flames rushed from each side, abruptly illuminating the chamber. A row of bright, suddenly flaring torches led to a wide dais more than twice the height of either minotaur. At the top of the dais sat a great stone desk, the front of which also bore the face of Sargas on it.
Behind the desk, quill in one hand, rested the High Priest of the State. His hood and robe were much like the acolyte’s, but decorated with a trim of gold along the hood and cuffs and down the front. Beneath the hood was a thin, studious face, one more appropriate for clerical work than the rigors of battle.
Neither of the pair felt any comfort about that. Everyone knew the high priest’s brutal power.
“We are not to be disturbed,” the high priest commanded the acolyte.
“Yes, Your Holiness.” The acolyte bowed, withdrawing. A moment later, the doors closed, leaving the two newcomers alone with the high priest.
“You were given a task.”
It took them a moment to realize that one of them was supposed to respond. The taller of the two nodded, then quickly added, “Yes, Your Holiness!”
“Your name?”
“Tosher, Your Holiness. This is Cinmac.” At mention of his name, the other minotaur raised a heavily bandaged hand in solemn greeting. Blood had turned most of the bandage red.
The quill did not move. “Where are the others?”
Tosher swallowed, unable to answer. Cinmac finally grunted, “Dead, Your Holiness.”
“All of them.”
“Yes, Your Holiness … except an ogre that ran off.”
At last finding his voice again, Tosher blurted, “They came from all around us, Your Holiness! We were outnumbered, and those damned ogres panicked! We would’ve been slaughtered. We—”
“Silence.” The high priest stared at both minotaurs. “It was not that way, was it, Cinmac?”
“No, Your Holiness.” Cinmac clutched his wounded hand. “I can’t explain it. He was everywhere. It was as if he knew we were coming. I never saw one warrior so effective.”
“And what of the item I supplied you with? Why did you not take him with that? Who decided to avoid its use? Tell me.”
The injured minotaur glanced at his partner before replying. “It didn’t seem right. Not magic. We’re warriors! We know swords and axes, not magical talismans!” Cinmac silently cursed himself for volunteering for the mission, but then, he had thought the favor of the high priest would be invaluable. What he and the others had forgotten was that the disfavor of the high priest was worse to fear. “The blasted ogres surrounded him with the nets, and then we closed in. Don’t know what happened next. Some of the ogres just never followed through.”
“The magic talisman …”
Tosher snorted. “I used it in the end, but he was still too tricky! I made the trees grab him, but he climbed over them and jumped me. He knocked the piece out of my hand. The trees didn’t seem to care who was in their way. They nearly got me by mistake. They probably got him.”
The quill came down hard on the desk. Tosher and Cinmac both stared as it snapped and the tip went flying. The high priest glared at Tosher. “That had better not be the case. I want him alive … at this point. You two have bungled things far more than I could have imagined possible.”
With Tosher silent again, Cinmac tried to explain their failure. “He’s a champion of the arenas, Your Holiness. You said so yourself. I’ve never fought a warrior like that. Give us more soldiers, thoug
h, minotaurs—not those untrustworthy ogres—and we’ll capture him this time. He’s got only a”—the warrior shook his head in disbelief—“a kender to help him.”
Tosher snorted. “What sort of minotaur is that who’d have one of those little buggers around?”
“An interesting minotaur,” the high priest unexpectedly replied. “An interesting one.”
“We’ll sneak up on them in the night,” Cinmac added, “but quieter this time. You still want him alive so—”
“Most definitely.” An edge of menace tinged the cleric’s words.
“Well, so this time it’ll be different, especially now that we know what to expect. You take that axe, for example! It had to be magic, too! I’ll swear by Sargas himself that he didn’t have an axe when he appeared, but did just before he cut down one of the ogres!”
“Aye!” dared Tosher again, caught up in the story. “Out of thin air it came, Holiness! An axe that gleamed even in the night!”
“Did it now? Most interesting.” The high priest scratched the underside of his muzzle. “Enough talk from both of you. Even with this axe, I still find it astonishing that one warrior sent both of you fleeing. Is this the way of the warrior as you were taught? I think not. You fled from battle when you should have been willing to die on your feet.”
Neither of the figures before the high priest dared to utter another word. They knew that what he said was truth. Even Cinmac’s terrible wound was not excuse enough.
“I sent you to find one minotaur, one whose presence I require, but whom I do not want others in the kingdom to see again. You cannot track him even though I tell you where he lives, and then you let this one warrior … one warrior! … lay waste to your ranks as though you were children just beginning to learn to walk.” The high priest rose. He was taller than either of his minions, albeit slighter in build. His eyes burned down at the pair. “You have failed me. That is the sum of all your excuses. Even with magic of your own, which I reluctantly decided you needed, you failed miserably.”
Land of the Minotaurs Page 8
