"Crovax killed them all?" asked Sivi, voice rising.
"All but the Fishers of Life. Our chief was friend to Lord Greven, and so we were spared the great lord's wrath."
Teynel again ordered the Kor to move along. The women and children stood, and the bearers hoisted the body of Furah to their shoulders. With much churning of dust and no speaking, the Fishers of Life moved on.
When they were far enough away not to hear, Sivi exploded.
"The butcher! Six thousand people-his people, from his own cities-killed at once! What kind of devil are we fighting, Eladamri?"
"Apparently one with great bloodlust," the elf replied. He divided his gaze between the retreating Kor and the distant cone of the Stronghold. "I thought Volrath ruthless and cruel, but this Crovax can only be pure evil. My overtures to the people of the crater have been roundly ignored, you know. I thought them too afraid or too comfortable to fight their oppressors. Now Crovax and Greven have slain six thousand. The Oracle en-Vec saw it happen, but she couldn't describe it to me, it was so horrible. It's a monstrous crime, but it may yet rebound in our favor. If I send agents to the crater again, this time the response should be favorable to our cause." He folded his chained arms. "Do I sound callous?"
"A little," Teynel said. "Finding advantage in a catastrophe seems cold."
Eladamri remounted his sleepy kerl. "A revolution is not a country dance. We can't save those already dead, but we can pay back their murderers for their crimes.
"See clearly what we're doing, all of you. This isn't a game or a contest of honor. It's bloody, vicious business. The difference between us and Crovax or Greven is that we do what we do to put an end to oppression and bloodshed. For them, violence is a way of life and always will be."
He directed the team to follow the Fishers' track back to the Stronghold. It gave them a clearly trodden path and helped obscure their own footprints should Predator or a Rathi patrol discover them. News of the massacre put new strength in their step. When Teynel proposed they walk all night to reach the Stronghold by the next morning, no one objected.
Dorian il-Dal left his chambers for the first time three days after the hostage massacre. He'd not slept in all that time. Hunger finally drove him out, and he roamed the halls of the Citadel in his dressing gown, trying to remember where the kitchens were.
He found no one but guards in the corridors. The first dozen he asked gave him directions to the dining hall, but each time he moved on a few yards, he forgot what he was told. One soldier took pity on him and gave him two salty biscuits from his ration bag. Mumbling profuse thanks, Dorian wandered on, nibbling the hard bread and leaving a trail of white crumbs on the polished black floor.
Once he'd eaten his biscuits, Dorian was thirsty. He drifted aimlessly into one of the less used areas of the palace, the storerooms clustered outside the bridge to Volrath's laboratory and the map tower. Dorian knocked on faceless doors, saying, "Water? Has anyone a cup of water for Dorian?" The storerooms were sealed, and he encountered no helpful soldiers in the hall.
He started to cry. Tears wore tracks through the flour on his lips and chin. Sniffing, he shuffled along, shaking door handles and muttering hoarsely for water. After trying more than thirty sealed rooms, his hand fell on a door handle that turned. Dorian brushed the tears from his eyes. Someone in here would give him a drink.
The room beyond was short and wide, with a low, ribbed ceiling. Dorian went in, and he was roughly grabbed by the front of his robe and jerked into the room. He stumbled and fell to his knees. The door slammed shut behind him, and a light flared on.
He was surrounded by burly men in rough clothes. Arms were piled on the floor-swords, scabbards, breastplates, helmets. As he lifted his head, he saw who held the lamp.
Crovax.
"Ah! Help! Help!" Dorian shrieked. Lips curled in disgust, Crovax indicated he wanted Dorian silenced. A callused hand clamped over the chamberlain's mouth, and fists pounded his back and belly. Gasping, Dorian sank to the floor and whimpered.
"Be quiet, and no one will hit you," Crovax said. "What are you doing here?"
"I want a drink of water."
The sergeants exchanged puzzled looks. Nasser and Tharvello lifted the rotund Dorian to a kneeling position and shoved a stool under his rump. The chamberlain's face was streaked with fresh tears.
"What's the matter with him?" Tharvello wondered aloud. "The old fool's never been a hale warrior, but I've never seen him wander about the place weeping."
"He seems distressed," Crovax said, rising. Dorian shrank from Crovax's slight movement. The latter smiled, sharp highlights growing on his face from the lamp in his hand.
"It's me, isn't it?" he said. "Do I frighten you, Dorian?"
He shut his eyes and shook his head furiously. "May I have a cup of water?"
Nasser looked to Crovax, who shrugged. A sergeant handed Dorian a bottle. The chamberlain drank greedily, water flowing down his chin.
"Enough," said Crovax. "He's revolting." The bottle was taken away. Dorian grasped at it and cried when it was taken beyond his reach.
"Be quiet!" Crovax snapped.
"I'm sorry," sniffed Dorian. "Why are you hiding in here?"
"Who says we're hiding?" asked Nasser.
Dorian pointed to the heap of arms. "You're not supposed to have those in the palace."
"Your mind hasn't completely left you, I see," Crovax said, setting the lamp on the table. "Too bad. As an idiot, you were harmless. As a witness with his wits, you're a danger."
Whatever else was wrong with Dorian, he knew when he was in peril. He struggled to rise, but six strong sergeants forced him back on his stool. He tried to scream, but someone shoved a rag in his mouth. Gagging, Dorian lost his recent meal of biscuits and water.
"Hold him," said Crovax. He drew a double-edged dirk from his belt.
Dorian's eyes widened in terror. He fought feebly to stand.
Crovax pressed the needle-sharp point of the dirk into the fleshy underside of Dorian's chin. The chamberlain lost all his color and ceased struggling. Crovax looked down at the helpless man and stayed his hand.
He turned to Tharvello and then tossed the dirk to the young sergeant. "You do it."
"Why me?"
"Because I told you to."
Tharvello put the edge of the dirk to Dorian's flabby throat. Just as the blade was about to cut the chamberlain's skin, Crovax shouted.
"Stop!"
All eyes were on him. Crovax held out his hand for the weapon. Tharvello laid the dirk pommel first in Crovax's hand.
In one swift motion, Crovax closed his hands around the handle and slashed horizontally with the dirk. He cut a throat in one clean stroke, but it wasn't Dorian's. Tharvello reeled back against his fellow sergeants, blood pouring down his chest.
"Traitor!" Crovax snarled. "You meant to sell me out to Greven and that worm Ertai!"
"What?" said Nasser. His question was echoed by every man in the room.
Crovax shoved his hand into the crumpling Tharvello's tunic. Out came a percher, its legs and wings tied with strips of ribbon. Crovax held it up and bade it speak.
" 'I serve Rath, not any one man,'" the creature repeated.
"Your words?" Crovax asked Nasser.
"Mine, but I said more than that," the senior sergeant said calmly.
"You're right." Crovax gave the percher a little shake, and it spoke again.
"'If you think Crovax is finished, you're badly mistaken. Defeat or no defeat, he'll be back stronger than ever. Mark what I say.'"
Crovax crushed the percher to a bloody pulp in his hand and threw the remains on the dying Tharvello.