Ertai heard her cry. Sick and shaken, he ran to her, calling her name. He dodged around a cluster of thick spikes, and they fell into each other's arms. Belbe was bathed in gore up to her elbows, and a thick spray of blood had at some point struck her in the face.
"Belbe! Belbe!" he shouted, shaking her by the shoulders. He raised a hand to strike her, but with her lightning reflexes she caught his hand long before it could connect.
"Hit me and I'll kill you!" she cried. To emphasize her point she squeezed his hand. Ertai bent his legs to relieve the pressure on his hand, and Belbe forced him to his knees.
"Don't hurt me," he said. "Haven't enough people been hurt today?"
Suddenly shamed, she released him. "Crovax. I must find Crovax."
Blood and dust made a dense brown mud that clung to Ertai's knees. "I'll go with you."
They wandered through what seemed like an endless field of carnage. Ertai kept his eyes on the ground, but Belbe gazed wide-eyed at every horror. The sights and smells of death assaulted her at every turn, and the relentlessly analytical mind given to her by her Phyrexian masters made her catalog each victim as she passed:
Male, Dal, estimated age, 60. Impaled through the chest.
Male, Vec, estimated age, 72. Impaled through thigh, abdomen, armpit.
Female, Vec, estimated age, 11. Impaled through foot, thigh, and head.
Female, Dal, estimated age, 44. Impaled through abdomen.
Female, Dal, 28. Impaled.
Male, Vec, 6.
Female, Kor.
Female.
Female.
Male…
Ertai was clutching her hand. She ceased her macabre catalog and said, "Do you still want the job?"
"How can I defeat a man who does things like this?" he said. "How can you allow a monster like him to rule this entire world?"
"I must choose the best candidate for evincar," Belbe said faintly. "I exist to make this choice."
Belbe heard voices ahead. Ertai dropped her hand and went on. Belbe followed, methodically counting the dead.
At the epicenter of the death field was a clear space twenty yards wide. In the midst of the clearing sat Crovax at a long rectangular table covered in a spotless white tablecloth. His back was to them. Assorted moggs armed with axes and clubs stood idle around the edge of the clearing. Others in weirdly comic livery-fancy velvet uniforms and wigs-bore silver trenchers laden with food to the table.
"Welcome, Excellency," Crovax said, keeping his back turned. "Is my rival, young Ertai, with you?"
"Bastard," Ertai spat, starting forward. Belbe restrained him.
"Are we having lunch?" she said. Some coolness had returned to her voice. The sight of Crovax gave needed focus to her outraged senses.
"A light repast. It's been a busy morning. Please join me."
Ertai's face purpled, but Belbe cautioned him with a glance. "I do not eat, but thank you," she said. She motioned Ertai to follow her.
They circled the end of the table Crovax had raised from the ground. Two high-backed chairs bubbled up and solidified across from Crovax. Belbe slid gracefully into one chair. Ertai fell heavily into the other.
It was an extraordinary scene. Crovax had discarded his customary black garb and was clad instead all in whitebloodless, sterile white, without a speck of gore or dirt on him. A white mantle, edged in gold, draped across his shoulders, and on his head he wore a plain circlet wrought in gold and white enamel. He'd cut off his long pigtail at neck length and let his hair hang loosely. Had he not been backed by a panorama of violent death, Crovax would have been the epitome of a peaceful, civilized monarch.
"Wine?" he said. A mogg, in an ill-fitting white cravat, hopped to Belbe's elbow and held out a silver urn. "It's one of Volrath's vintages. He drank it for pleasure, I'm told." Belbe said nothing, so the mogg filled the heavy crystal goblet by her plate. The wine was brilliantly scarlet and smelled faintly of flowers.
"Give some to the boy, too. I assume he can drink," Crovax said. The mogg waddled to Ertai.
"Why have you done this?" Belbe said. "Why slaughter these innocent people?"
"You surprise me, Excellency. Didn't the overlords teach you that the most valuable tool of rulership is fear? This small exercise will insure the loyalty-or at least, the compliance-of the civil population during the coming campaign against Eladamri."
"Small exercise?" Ertai shouted. His goblet overturned, spilling bright red wine over the snowy tablecloth. Before it lapped the undersides of the heavy silver dishes, the scarlet liquid vanished, as did Ertai's cup.
"No more wine for you," Crovax said.
"Five thousand, eight hundred sixty-eight killed hardly qualifies as a 'small exercise,'" Belbe said.
"It's more than a thousand," he said, tweaking her for her lie. "But they were expendable. Dorian chose only the old and the weak."
"You're a monster," Ertai said flatly.
Crovax sawed off a bit of rare cutlet and forked it into his mouth. "This from the boy who would be evincar! I'm told the hostage idea was yours."
"No one was supposed to get hurt."
"You're sentimental, Ertai," Crovax said. "There's no room for sentiment on Rath."
"What you call sentiment, I call prudence," Belbe said. She could see her reflection in the empty silver plate before her. The wild, blood-smeared face could hardly be hers. "Your actions are precipitate, Crovax. There's no evidence the people of the Stronghold intended to rise in rebellion against us. It is you who've given them common cause with Eladamri by murdering their families."
"With all respect, Excellency, you don't know what you're talking about. I was with the army when we were ambushed by the rebels. There were Dal and Vec warriors with the Skyshroud elves."
"So you avenge your defeat on helpless old people and children?" said Ertai.
"Yes." He sipped wine. "As evincar, I will brook no resistance to my rule. The only law of the realm shall beobey, or die."
"You're not evincar yet," Belbe said.
Crovax slammed down his goblet, snapping the stem. "Then declare me so! Now!"
"There are other factors to consider."
"What? Him?" Crovax whipped a knife off the table and thrust it at Ertai. "I can kill him without leaving my chair!"
"We've seen what you've learned to do," Belbe replied. "Your mastery of the flowstone increases daily, but you lost a battle and a sizable part of your army with it. You show little understanding of how people should be governed, relying on naked force instead of statesmanship. In short, Crovax, your methods are inefficient, and as far as I'm concerned, the issue of who will succeed Volrath is still unresolved!"
He sat back. "You constantly amaze me, Excellency. Of course, you're right. We'll see in the coming days who the best man is, won't we?"
CHAPTER 12
Beneath the main causeway leading into the Stronghold, the remnants of the Skyshroud Expeditionary Force marshaled, awaiting the orders of Greven il-Vec. Predator droned overhead, searching the wide plains for the enemy. The airship had attacked several bands of rebels the previous day, landing troops beside (and sometimes among) the startled foe. These small actions had done much to restore the army's morale, and Crovax or no Crovax, they were marching into the Stronghold as an army, not a defeated rabble.
A percher landed on Greven's shoulder. "Urgent from Predator! Urgent from Predator!" it squawked.
He hated the raucous, leathery creatures. "What now?"
"Unknown intruder! Unknown intruder-" Greven grasped the irritating creature by the neck. The percher's heart fluttered wildly.