Then it was gone, and Greven gave his orders. "Deliver him to the Citadel guards on the factory concourse."
"But Dread Lord," Teynel said. "What will happen to him?"
"Is it any concern of yours, Soldier?"
"Yes, Dread Lord," Sivi interjected. "As his captors, we want a reward for taking him."
Some of the civilians in the crowd gasped at her impertinence. The genuine Rathi soldiers listened for the telltale grinding of teeth, but none came.
"Everything you've earned will be yours. This is the word of Greven il-Vec."
He stood aside and let Teynel lead his team through. The dark, brooding bulk of the Stronghold lay ahead. Eladamri lifted his face to the sky and took what he hoped was not his last look at the turbulent gray clouds of Rath.
The tense atmosphere in the Citadel had reached an unbearable level. Every minute was like the hour before a storm, when all is still, but the threat of an upheaval is clearly in the air.
Belbe sensed things were about to break. She donned her close-fitting armor for the first time since the day of her arrival. To her logical mind, the danger came from the thousands of Dal and Vec people living in the crater. These were the people Crovax had wronged by murdering their loved ones, and despite the relative calm of the past two days, Belbe felt certain a revolution was bubbling just beneath the veneer of normality.
Armored, with her helmet tucked under one arm and a slim Phyrexian sword on her hip, Belbe went forth to find the other residents of the Citadel. She had little luck. Ertai was missing, probably buried in some forgotten library. Dorian il-Dal was nowhere to be found. She went to his private chambers and found the door open. Dorian's rooms were a shambles. Bedclothes were torn off the bed. Broken pottery littered the floor. His chamberpots were full and reeking.
When she emerged from Dorian's rooms, the hall was full of people-courtiers, some of whom she hadn't seen in a week, and members of the palace guard. Even off-duty guards in their padded jerkins were milling around in the corridor. Belbe stopped an elderly Dal.
"What's happened?" she said.
"Tremendous news, Excellency!" said the courtier. "They say the elf lord Eladamri has been taken! He'll be here in minutes!"
"Eladamri? Taken?" If the man had told her Greven had changed sex, she could not have been more surprised. "How did it happen?"
"I know not how the rascal was caught, only that he is coming here in chains."
He hurried away after bowing numerous times. Belbe, a bit dazed, stood motionless in a river of moving, chattering people. Eladamri captured?
The ordered tread of guards in formation awakened her. Turning, she ordered them to stop. The twelve guards halted, and their leader saluted.
"We have orders to convey the rebel Eladamri to the palace prison," the senior guard said. "We're to meet Lord Greven on the factory concourse and take custody of the prisoner."
"I'm changing your orders," she said. "You will bring the prisoner to the convocation chamber. I want to see him." The captain of the guard saluted again and continued on his way.
Belbe ascended the stairs to the convocation antechamber. At midday she was scheduled to announce her choice for the next evincar. In preparation for the ceremony, the antechamber had been polished and decorated with banners and martial flags. Guards in black-enameled dress armor already stood by the iris doors. They presented arms when they saw her.
"At ease," she said. "A state prisoner will be brought here shortly. You will admit him, his escort, and anyone that follows, is that clear?"
"It shall be done, Excellency."
She stepped between them. The circular panels hissed apart. "Until then, admit no one," Belbe added.
"Yes, Excellency."
The hall was decked out with a wide semi-circle of crimson and gold banners, each one bearing the heraldic arms of a past evincar. Each company of the Rathi army was represented by a battle flag. The governor's throne, stripped of Volrath's insignia, had been brought down from the upper throne room just for this occasion. Flanking the tall chair were two flaming braziers.
She walked slowly down the aisle, surrounded by symbols of Rath's past and present might. From the odor, she realized the flames she saw were real, not flowstone simulations. The braziers were the size of warrior's shields, mounted on black metal tripods.
Her footsteps were loud in the stillness. She felt strangely numb.
Belbe mounted the shallow steps to the dais and sat down on the throne. Her back had just touched the rear of the seat when she heard a voice say, "How does it feel?"
Crovax walked out of the shadows directly above her.
"Don't you get tired of walking around upside down?"
"An amusing trick of the flowstone, sometimes useful," he replied, walking down the wall. "But you didn't answer the question."
"It's a chair, like any other."
Crovax stepped down to the floor. "Not so. That's the seat of the Evincar of Rath, the sole arbiter of the lives of millions."
"I thought the power resided in the ruler, not the furniture."
"You have so little appreciation of the trappings of power. Anyone who sits there, no matter how base, gets a taste of ruler-ship. That doesn't happen with ordinary bar stools or kitchen chairs."
"On Phyrexia, such trappings are unnecessary. Power comes from knowledge and control, not flags and furniture. My own master…" her voice trailed off as she remembered the formless mass of Abcal-dro. "He has no need for chairs."
Crovax descended the dais. "You're here early. Have you come to a decision?"
"Yes."
"Care to share it with me?"
"Not yet."
"Then why are you here, Excellency?"
"Haven't you heard? Eladamri's been captured. Greven's bringing him here even as we speak."
Crovax was electrified. "You jest! No, you never doEladamri captured!" He clapped his hands and smiled broadly. "A fitting prize to begin my new era on Rath!"
Noise swelled in the antechamber, and the iris doors scissored apart. Leading an enormous crowd was Greven ilVec, still clad in his battle armor. At his heels came ten nondescript soldiers with muddy feet in battered, rusty armor. Next were the palace guards in a box formation, four abreast. In the center of the box walked a lone figure in gray rags, his hands bound by heavy chains. Courtiers in their baroque finery filled the hall behind the guards, and a motley collection of off-duty soldiers, servants, and the odd mogg or two filled out the crowd.
Belbe craned to see the famous rebel leader, but with Greven and a wall of guards in the way, she couldn't get a clear view of him.
Greven halted the procession. A few onlookers coughed nervously.
"Your Excellency!" Greven boomed. "The soldiers of the army of Rath bring you tribute!" He stepped to one side.
Crovax stood at the foot of the throne, arms folded. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were stillborn when Belbe rose from the evincar's throne and descended the steps.
The hall grew deathly quiet. Her boots clicked on the mock-marble floor. She felt as though she was confronting a great mystery, a lost wonder of nature.
Teynel, Sivi, and the rebel raiders held their breath. They never imagined they would get so close to the seat of the enemy's power. The vast Stronghold impressed them. The flow-stone factory puzzled and frightened them. Rank upon rank of tough, professional soldiers worried them. Now, in the very heart of the Citadel, they were face to face not only with Greven il-Vec and Crovax, but the personal emissary of the dreaded Phyrexian overlords.
She was a girl. A young elf girl.
"These are the soldiers who brought in Eladamri," Greven explained.