The soldiers, buffeted by the noiseless blast, struggled to keep formation. Crovax's flowstone shield receded. Greven recovered his sword but stayed his hand. The tremendous displacement of air could mean only one thing-the emissary was coming.
Tumbling through the air down the center of the hall came a gray cube, turning successive faces toward them as it came. It grew rapidly in size. Only Greven and Crovax held their ground; the courtiers and soldiers, cowed by the enormous power confronting them, backed away. Once the wall of wind ceased, Ertai raised his head to see what was happening.
The cube stabilized, hovering a few inches off the floor. It was at least 30 feet to a side, and its boiling, misty surface revealed no details of its purpose or composition. Behind the veil of gray there was movement. Bumps rippled the facing surface of the cube.
The phantom gong tolled three more times, and a hand appeared through the cube-a lithe, slender hand, gloved in a black gauntlet. A knee and toe appeared, then the leg connecting them. In a simple, natural movement, the emissary stepped through the portal into the Dream Halls.
The emissary was dwarfed by Greven. Clothed head to toe in attenuated sable armor plate, the emissary was only slightly taller than Ertai. The closed helmet turned this way and that, surveying the scene. The emissary raised a hand, but not in greeting. A small device the Phyrexian held made a chirping sound, and the portal began to shrink. As it did, it spat out four large black metal boxes. The cube shrank to the size of a small nut, tumbling in the air as it hovered. The emissary's control device chirped again, and the tiny cube vanished. Back went the device into a pouch on the emissary's belt. Air rushed in to fill the space of the departed portal.
Soldiers and courtiers dragged themselves into some semblance of order. Ertai stood up, absently combing his tousled hair with his fingers.
The emissary stood motionless, and Ertai wondered for a moment if the Phyrexians had sent a mechanical creature like Karn, his former crewmate. Slowly the stranger raised its hands to its helmet. The headpiece slipped off with an audible hiss.
"It's a girl," Ertai said.
"Be silent!" Greven said. He went down on one knee. "All hail the plenipotentiary of the Supreme Master of Phyrexia!"
With much rustling of stiff cloth and squeaking metal, the delegation knelt before the emissary. Ertai was the first to stand. He wanted a better view of this girl from another plane.
Her features were sharp, like the elves of his world. She had high, pointed ears and the spatulate cheekbones of a pure-blooded elf. Her eyes, he saw, were identically hued. Incongruous freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Her armor fit as if a matte-black skin, and where it ended, her own pale complexion revealed strange dark crosshatching lines. In spite of the awesome presence of Phyrexia she bore with her, the emissary looked to be little more than Ertai's agethe human equivalent of nineteen years old.
Crovax bowed smoothly. "Greetings, Excellency. Welcome to Rath."
She looked at him blankly. "Who are you?"
Ertai sniggered. At a nod from Greven, two soldiers seized the young sorcerer in an unfriendly grip.
"I am Crovax, the new Evincar of Rath."
"I've heard of you," the emissary answered coolly. "You exceed yourself. I am here to appoint a new governor, and I have not chosen you yet."
Crovax visibly recoiled. Around him the flowstone floor rose in tiny peaks, like a tempest-tossed lake. It quickly subsided.
Greven stepped forward. "Greven il-Vec, commander of all Citadel forces and captain of the airship Predator, at Your Excellency's service."
"Commander."
What a flat, emotionless voice she has, Ertai thought. The members of the court, led by Dorian il-Dal, greeted the emissary in turn, each swearing undying loyalty to her and to the power she represented. She accepted their boot licking and toadying with the same indifference with which she received Crovax's arrogance.
"What about me?" Ertai called out. The soldier holding his right arm let go and gave the sorcerer a resounding rap on the back of the head.
"Who is that?" asked the emissary.
"No one, Excellency. A prisoner of war," Greven explained.
"You bring prisoners to me? Why?"
"Good question," said Crovax.
"This one has a certain talent for magic," Greven said. "I brought him along to witness your arrival, Excellency, as an object lesson."
"Has he been interrogated?"
Greven steeled himself for punishment. "No, Excellency."
"The first task of a captor is to extract information from prisoners," the girl said. "You will see to his interrogation, Greven il-Vec."
"At once, Excellency." He signaled the guards to drag Ertai away.
Ertai looked between the hulking soldiers and said, "You haven't told us your name!"
Greven was about to order Ertai silenced, but the emissary stopped him. "A logical question. My name is Belbe."
"My name is Ertai. I was first in my class-"
"Take him away," Greven said irritably. "I will question him myself."
Crovax extended his arm to lead Belbe from the hall. She ignored his pretense of gallantry and walked briskly on. Greven asked about the crates sent with her.
"Have them taken to the evincar's quarters. I will occupy them," she said.
This was mogg work, but the smelly brutes were forbidden to enter the Dream Halls. Greven moved as if he was about to order the guards to remove the crates when Crovax made a suggestion.
"Let the courtiers do it," he said. "The palace is their business, isn't it?"
Dorian blanched at the prospective exertion. "We're not laborers!"
Belbe said, "Do as Crovax says."
"But Your Excellency!" Dorian protested.
"This man is an intruder, as much an enemy as the wart Ertai," Greven said, pointing at Crovax. "By rights he should be in a cell, too."
"No," Belbe said. "This one has received the attention of the overlords. He's not evincar yet, but he stands in contention for the post. So long as his orders do not contradict mine, he will be obeyed."
Crovax's altered face split wide in an unpleasant grin. "What are you waiting for? See to the emissary's baggage."
Dorian and the others filed past Crovax. The metal cases were six feet long and half as wide. The pampered, in some cases elderly, courtiers struggled to lift the heavy containers to their shoulders. Crovax could not restrain himself from laughing when one aged Dal collapsed, bringing a crate down on himself. Dorian directed the rest of the courtiers to hoist the box off the fallen man. Blood stained the old man's gold-trimmed robe, and his face had gone the color of cold ashes. Dorian lifted the man's wrist. "He's dead." His voice choked. Crovax stood over them. "Useless parasite," he said. His brow furrowed, and a segment of the floor detached itself and formed a stretcher. Walking on short flowstone legs, the stretcher bore the body of the elderly courtier from the hall.
Dorian looked up at him with tears in his eyes. "If you command the stone, why don't you order it to carry the emissary's baggage?"
Crovax grabbed Dorian's collar and effortlessly lifted the corpulent chamberlain to his feet.
"Prove your devotion to the overlords by carrying Her Excellency's baggage! All of you!" he roared.
Ertai and his escorts had lingered, watching this scene unfold.
"This is bad," Ertai muttered. "He's gone mad, utterly mad." He was hustled away. Belbe, Greven, Crovax, and the honor guard stood by as the aged and soft-living members of the evincar's court struggled to carry Belbe's crates.
Belbe gestured to Dorian. "What is that on that man's face?" "Tears," said Greven.