"He's gone," Greven announced. "The evincar is not on this world." Having spoken the words, he made the leap of logic and deduced the truth. "Volrath was on Weatherlight!"
"What?" Dorian said tremulously.
"Gerrard might have captured the evincar. No, that's not right. Why would he flee if he had Volrath as hostage?"
"Then His Highness willingly went on the enemy ship?"
Greven fingered the control rod where it entered the base of his skull. "Yes, that's what he did." The fool! Greven raged to himself. He used his shapeshifting powers to stow away on Weatherlight! What did he hope to gain?
"Ah, Dread Lord?" Dorian was whimpering now.
"What is it?"
"What are we to do?"
"About what?"
"Everything. Who will rule in His Highness's place?" His pudgy face brightened. "You're the evincar's second-incommand. You must take over, Dread Lord! Let the people know a firm hand still holds the reins of Rath!"
The airship sailors cheered and loudly urged Greven to assume the governorship. He glared them into silence.
"This is not a robber band-we don't elect our chiefs here," he said. "There's an order in things that must be observed. Evincars have died before, and new ones were found. Our distant masters must be notified, and their will obeyed. I will consult them."
Dorian and the sailors blanched as one.
"Do we dare?" asked Nasser, Predator's veteran sergeant.
"You do not dare. I do," Greven said. Inwardly, he was not so eager. For the first time in many years he was free of domination. He could take the Stronghold as his own, but he knew he couldn't keep it. The overlords would not allow it, and his punishment at their hands would make Volrath's casual brutality toward him seem like a child's game.
He strode from the evincar's antechamber to the nearest lift. There were four of these large square platforms, each supported by a flowbot arm, passing through the many floors of the Citadel. Dorian and the airship crew followed reluctantly.
"Bring the prisoner," Greven reminded them. Ertai was carried along.
The lift lowered them smoothly to the throne room. The oval chamber took up an entire floor. The decor was a mishmash of earlier evincars' tastes, from the brutal efficiency of Davvol to the mechanistic fetishism of Burgess. Volrath had seldom used the throne room. He had preferred the larger convocation hall, deeper in the Citadel, for his state functions.
High above the throne of Rath hung a large, inverted, three-sided pyramid made of some translucent gray Phyrexian alloy. It was cradled by an intricate, multi-armed flowbot carriage. This was the "Window" to Phyrexia. A voice and image portal only, it could not send or receive artifacts or travelers.
Word of Greven's return and Volrath's disappearance brought out the evincar's court. Chosen from the cooperative families of the Dal, the Vec, and the Kor, the courtiers of Rath were servants, sycophants, and spies of the evincar. Their stock in trade was gossip and treachery as they jockeyed among themselves for honors and privileges. During the two-pronged attack by Weatherlight and the army of the elven rebel Eladamri, Volrath's collaborators had taken refuge in their Citadel apartments. The danger past, they emerged in their court finery, ready to be seen and counted when the Window to Phyrexia was opened.
Sailors deposited Ertai at the foot of the empty throne. Greven planted his fists on his hips and declaimed, "Overlords of Rath, hear me!"
The pyramid remained dim and inert. Greven repeated his summons. The surface of the pyramid began to sparkle.
Encouraged, Greven said, "I am Greven il-Vec, commander of the armies of Rath! Our evincar has left us, and we request that our overlords restore him to us or send another in his place."
A slender red beam lanced out from the mechanism perched atop the pyramid. It raked harmlessly across Greven's face, tracing every contour and comparing it to images of the warrior stored in its memory. When it was satisfied Greven was who he claimed to be, the flowbot flexed its limbs and lowered the Window. The brass-yellow machinery whirred and squeaked until the pyramid reached head height over the throne. The Window came to life with an ominous crackle of power, sending skittish courtiers shrinking back in alarm.
"Be brave," Greven sneered. "It's only a machine."
Dark colors ricocheted through the pyramid, corner to corner to corner. It stabilized in the center and assumed a bluish tinge. Greven squared his broad shoulders and awaited his masters' command.
"Greetings." The Phyrexian voice sounded slurred and mechanical. "Greetings, our loyal warrior, Greven il-Vec."
He knelt on one knee. "Humblest greetings, Great Lords. We have a grave problem-"
"The matter is known to us. The Hidden One is not pleased with the evincar's desertion or your soldiers' failure."
"Shall we track down Volrath and punish him, Great Lords?" asked Greven.
"That is not necessary. It is more important for you to strengthen your forces on Rath and crush the rebellion brewing among the elves."
"Yes, Great Lords."
"To this end, we are sending a special emissary who will find a new evincar, reorganize the government, and improve the schedule of flowstone production."
A murmur circled the room.
"Would it not be simpler to appoint a new governor to do all that?" Greven said. Fatigue made him more blunt than usual.
The red beam returned, but this time it was not harmless. It struck Greven in the chest, and the powerful warrior groaned and collapsed. He twitched on the floor several seconds until the beam relented. Courtiers at the rear of the room quietly slipped out lest the overlords' displeasure spread.
"Do not question, only obey," the pyramid intoned. "Expect the emissary in seven intervals. She will appear in the Dream Halls at that time. All will obey the emissary or be punished."
Greven winced as he stood. "We'll obey without question, Great Lords."
The light within the pyramid began to swirl and dart about again, then became inert once more. The flowbot retracted the device back to its former position near the ceiling.
Ertai hobbled on burned feet to stand beside Greven. "Seems we're in the same boat again," he said.
"How so, Runt?" the warrior rumbled.
"There's always someone bigger around who expects you to bow and scrape just to get along, isn't there?"
"Some of us are bigger than others."
"And some of us stand to fall from a greater height," the young man replied. "Now, where can I get some salve for my feet?"
Life is sweet.
This was Crovax's conclusion as he stood at the extreme end of the Dream Halls, gazing down on the royal laboratory and prison tower, the map tower, and the chaotic mogg warrens. Below, the minions of Rath scurried about their tasks like the residents of an anthill. Each life could be his, to take and savor. He smiled, and the dark face in the flowglass smiled back at him. Why not take them all eventually? The value of cattle was as food for the lion.
With a wave of his hand, the flowglass parted. Crovax stepped up to the sill and stood on the edge, hundreds of feet above the laboratory roof. He raised one foot and was amused to see the flowstone sill rapidly extend to support him. He lifted the other foot, and the nanomachines swiftly advanced under that one, too. Crovax repeated the process until he was standing on a spindly flowstone platform six feet out from the ledge. He stood with his arms outstretched and laughed at the absurdly great power that was now his.