Paul Thompson - Nemesis

They seated themselves around the table, Belbe assuming the tall chair reserved for the evincar. She first asked for an account of the Stronghold's assets. Sweating, the chamberlain wedged a monocle in his right eye and began to read from a lengthy scroll in a sing-song voice: so many retainers, so many courtiers, so many men-at-arms resided in the Citadel. They ate so much meat per day, so many loaves of bread, so many gallons of water, beer, and spirits. Belbe listened attentively for the first half hour, but as Dorian drew a second scroll from a hamper that contained another five, her mind began to wander.

The doors flew open, revealing Crovax at the head of a band of soldiers.

"You're late," Belbe said.

He saluted rather than bowed. "Your Excellency set me to a considerable task. I did not wish to arrive with it incomplete."

Greven narrowed his eyes. The troops at Crovax's back were led by Nasser and included all the senior sergeants in the garrison-an unusual selection of men.

"You're not allowed to bring armed troops into the Citadel. Only the evincar rates a bodyguard," Greven chided, glaring at the newcomers.

Crovax strode in, a slight swagger in his step. "These fellows? They're not armed. Her Excellency asked me to inspect the state of the garrison, and who better to ask than the men who lead the men, the sergeants?"

Greven leaned on the table and growled, "You men are dismissed."

The doors closed behind the departing soldiers. Crovax took a seat opposite Greven. He sat down without waiting for Belbe's leave. Dorian gasped at his insolence.

"You sound distressed, chamberlain," he remarked, folding his hands in his lap. "Was it something you ate?"

"No, just something he can't swallow," Greven said.

Dorian made to resume his monologue, but Belbe stopped him. "I will hear from Commander Greven."

The imposing commander spoke without notes. "The captive, Ertai, was questioned by me for eighty-three minutes," he said.

"Is that all?" asked Crovax.

"No more was needed."

Belbe said, "What did you learn?"

"Until recently, he was a student at a school of magic run by one Barrin. He was recruited from the school by Gerrard Capashen to accompany Capashen to Rath for the purpose of rescuing the woman Sisay, a prisoner of Volrath's."

"The prisoner was freed?" she asked. Greven nodded curtly.

"I could have told you all that," Crovax said, bored.

Greven bristled.

Belbe held up her hand. "The essence of a successful interrogation is not always what you're told but how completely the prisoner gives up what he knows. Go on, Commander."

"It was Ertai's job to hold open the old valley portal, allowing Weatherlight to escape from Rath. His magical skills are considerable for one so young, as he will tell you given the slightest chance. During Weatherlight's escape, he was thrown from the deck of Gerrard's ship to Predator, where I captured him."

Greven put a tightly wound scroll on the table. "This record contains every detail Ertai told me about Weatherlight and her crew-construction, specifications, armament, everything." His enormous hands closed into fists. "Soon I'll know that ship better than I know Predator. Next time, I will crush Weatherlight"

"Yes, 'next time,'" Crovax said. "The refrain of the defeated."

Without any warning words or grinding of teeth, Greven reached across the table and grabbed Crovax by the throat. Crovax tore at Greven's thick forearm with both hands. Slowly he began to unlock the commander's powerful grip. Surprised, Greven landed a smashing blow to the smaller man's nose. Crovax flew backward, skidding several feet on the polished floor.

"Your Excellency, do something!" Dorian cried.

Belbe leaned back in the evincar's chair. "I am doing something."

Greven advanced, kicking Crovax's overturned chair out of the way. The would-be evincar was quickly on his feet, ignoring the blood streaming from his busted nose. His hand flashed to his armpit and out came a short dagger.

At this point Belbe said firmly, "No blades, Crovax."

He shrugged and tossed the weapon aside. Greven threw two heavy punches, left hand first, then right. They met only air. Crovax ducked under the bigger man's reach and kicked Greven hard in the gut. It was like kicking a tree trunk. Crovax, concern showing in his face for the first time, sprang away, avoiding his foe's massive fists.

"A little unfair, don't you think?" Crovax panted, circling nearer to Belbe.

"Why do you imagine combat has to be fair?" she replied.

Snarling, Greven snatched up an empty chair and flung it at his evasive enemy. Crovax leaped impressively, dodging the flying furniture. He executed a whirling kick that connected solidly with Greven's jaw, snapping the warrior's head back. Greven shook off the blow and climbed on the table, forcing Crovax to give ground.

Dorian whimpered and went to huddle behind Belbe. Her boredom had disappeared. She watched, fascinated, as the two men fought around the room-Crovax, wily and agile, Greven, impossibly strong and resilient. When one or the other connected, the impact sent a hot, fleeting pang through her. It wasn't like the pain she felt when Abcal-dro inserted the Lens in her chest. The sensation left a warm feeling in her face and belly. She found herself wanting Greven to hit Crovax again. That surprised her. What difference did it make to her who won?

A rake from the ring on Crovax's left hand opened Greven's scarred scalp, and the commander began howling with unconfined rage. He moved with a speed astonishing in so large a man, hemming his opponent into the doorway. Crovax stepped in, pummeling Greven's throat and face with blows. He paid for his temerity. Greven's backhand sent him crashing against the closed doors.

"Why don't you command the flowstone to save you?" Greven sneered.

Belbe was wondering the same thing. Crovax had been given enough psionic ability to control the nanomachines in a rudimentary way. He could have tripped Greven with the floor, or raised a shield like she'd heard he had done in the Dream Halls. Why didn't he?

Greven took the stunned man by the wrist. He intended to wrench Crovax's arm out of its socket, but even as he steeled himself for the effort, a low, unnatural laugh filled the council chamber.

Crovax raised his head. His eyes blazed with unfathomable mirth. "Do your worst, savage. This is the last time you'll ever lay hands on me!"

In the time it took Greven to draw his next breath, he understood what Crovax meant. The control rod in his spine awakened and began to shriek, pouring torrents of pain through even' square inch of his body. Wracked with agony, he released Crovax.

Belbe could see the livid implant between Greven's shoulder blades. To her enhanced eyes, the rod glowed with excess power that the Phyrexian mechanism converted to unendurable pain. She shivered. Her mouth went dry.

Crovax wiped the blood from his lips. "Strike me down, Greven. I'm right here."

Greven's knees buckled. He clawed at the rod, which he couldn't even reach due to the massive width of his own shoulders. Crovax lifted a foot and lightly pushed Greven's chest. The huge warrior toppled backward. Lights, scrolls, and chairs were upset by the force of Greven's fall.

"This is just a taste," Crovax said. "When I am evincar, you'll lick my boots every morning or know my displeasure."

Belbe came up behind him. Crovax's control of the spinal rod was not without effort. Sweat stood out on his face and neck, and ripped from his elbows. He trembled violently-from exertion or excitement? She could not tell. Belbe put a hand on Crovax's shoulder. His skin burned feverishly.

"You've made your point," she said.

"Have I?"

"Commander Greven is a valued member of our forces. I do not want him damaged."