Paul Thompson - Nemesis

"Where is Eladamri?" he asked again.

The second elf held his chin up and shook his head, unwilling to answer. Crovax, dagger in hand, crossed in front of him. The elf shut his eyes, dreading the thrust he thought was coming. Crovax circled behind him while his eyes were closed. He put the dagger in his teeth and leaped into the air, kicking the elf in the small of his back. Because his ankles were held by the flowstone, he couldn't fall naturally, and when Crovax bore down on his back with all his weight, the elf's legs snapped at the knee. He screamed as Crovax stood on his back, unmoved by his agony.

"My lord-" began one of the troopers.

"The next man who speaks will be given to the moggs," Crovax said quietly.

He squatted on top of the moaning prisoner and asked his question again. The elf could only choke in the dust. Crovax took the prisoner's head in his hands and, in one powerful wrench, broke the elf's neck.

The third prisoner was the youngest, and he openly trembled when Crovax approached.

"Eladamri lives in the village of Sweetwater!" he said, unconsciously tugging at his captive feet. "He left there five days ago to meet Dal, Kor, and Vec chiefs, to convince them to join the rebellion!"

Crovax's face shone with pleasure. Everyone around him assumed he was pleased to finally be getting information, but in fact he was in the throes of ecstasy after imbibing the life-forces of the two elves he'd killed. He smiled at the third elf in a dreamy, languorous way.

"Where did this meeting take place?"

"I don't know. I don't know, great lord! Spare me, please spare me!"

Crovax, still smiling, laid a hand on the young elf's cheek. "What's your name, boy?"

"Valin, merciful lord."

Crovax nodded. He drew back his hand and struck the prisoner hard on the jaw. With a crunch of bone, the youth fell to the ground unconscious.

Crovax released the elf from the flowstone. "Chain him, and put him in with my personal baggage. He may have more information to tell us."

Hidden among the "waves" in the flowstone sea, the rebels watched the gradual disintegration of Crovax's army with satisfaction. Years of soft living inside the Stronghold had taken the iron out of the soldiers' legs. Eladamri's ardent young followers urged him to make a spoiling attack on the column before it reached the Skyshroud Forest.

"Not yet," the elf leader said. "It's a long march to the forest, and a lot of useful obstacles lie in between."

"But our homes-our families!" Gallan and the others protested.

"Send word for them to retreat to the tree tops, deeper in the forest."

Word was sent, but the hotheads around Eladamri continued to seethe with pent-up frustration. Their anger was fanned when they heard about the capture of the hunting party. Eladamri's scouts saw the whole episode and reported it to their chief. Eladamri received the news impassively.

"We must save the survivor," Gallan urged.

"He's lost," said Eladamri. "He was lost the instant the riders took him."

"But he lives!" said Cardamel, another of his youthful followers.

"What would you have me do, lose ten to save one? That's what our enemy wants us to do."

"Our people are dying, and we're doing nothing!" Gallan said.

Eladamri swept the remains of their meager lunch from the stone around which they sat. "1 shall destroy their army. Isn't that enough?"

"But when?"

"In less than a day the enemy will reach Skyshroud. By then the column will be stretched out halfway back to Chireef. We'll hit them before dawn, when most of them will be asleep." He threw down a snakeskin scroll and added, "Two thousand warriors from Skyshroud, the Dal and the Vec, will combine for the attack. If the gods favor us, Crovax and his men will be snake food by this time tomorrow!"

The elves cheered fiercely and clasped each other's arms, pledging their lives to victory. Eladamri did not join in, but silently left the rock crevice where they'd been eating. When he was gone, Cardamel took Gallan aside.

"Some of the lads want to do something about the hunter held by Crovax," he said, his voice low. "His name's Valin. He's Firanu's grandson, did you know that?" Gallan shook his head. "There's four of us ready to take Valin away if you give us leave."

"I won't go against Eladamri's orders," Gallan replied. Car-darnel's face fell. "But if you four should happen to slip away tonight, I may not be able to remember where you've gone."

The elves clasped hands. "May the gods bless your faulty memory," Cardamel said, grinning.

On the underside of the Citadel, near the lava inlet to the great flowstone works, Greven il-Vec was supervising the repair of his airship. Workmen, mogg labor gangs, and flowbot machinery swarmed over the broken hull, slaving around the clock to rebuild the ship.

Greven applied himself to the task at hand. He tried to forget his humiliation at the hands of Crovax, tried not to think about the fact that the insolent usurper was leading the army-his army-against the rebels even now. Greven had hunted Eladamri for years, and he respected the elf's cunning. He sensed, deep in his much-altered chest, that Crovax was courting disaster. Ruthlessness was no substitute for experience, and in his own brooding way, Greven welcomed the day when Crovax would meet defeat.

Overhead, a hull frame slipped from the grasp of a flowbot crane and crashed to the floor, crushing a pair of moggs loitering there. Greven threw down the blueprints he was holding and stormed out onto the dock.

"Dung for brains!" he bellowed. "Don't you know you can't hoist a hull frame with just one crane? Use two, you worthless worms!" A second flowbot arm lowered and grasped the fallen frame. "Now you see, you've bent it!" Greven raged. He ordered the damaged frame to be returned to the foundry and pounded straight again.

Greven retrieved the fallen plans. When he straightened, he found a slender, ethereal Kor standing not two feet in front of him.

"How did you get in here? What do you want?"

The Kor pressed a hand to his chest, a gesture of respect Kor performed instead of bowing. "Greetings, Dread Lord. My name is Furah, of the Fishers of Life."

Greven knew the tribe; they lived outside the Stronghold crater. They were harmless, almost invisible people who never troubled the authorities.

"What is it?" Greven asked impatiently. "I'm quite busy, as you can see."

"Certain information has come to me, information of value to you, I believe."

"About what?"

"The activities of a certain resident of the outer lands-the Skyshroud Forest, perhaps."

Greven's teeth began to grind. Talking to a Kor was like trying to swat flies with a broadsword-things never seemed to connect.

"Speak plainly before 1 have your legs broken!"

"I speak of the elf Eladamri, Dread Lord."

"You have news of Eladamri?" Greven tried to take the Kor by the arm, but he missed somehow-his hand swept through empty air. Furah stepped back just beyond his reach.

"Forgive me, Dread Lord, but I dislike being touched-a quirk common to my people."

"Get to the point!"

Furah pressed a hand to his chest again. "Eladamri has been trying to enlist the cooperation of the Dal, the Vec, and the Kor in his war against you," Furah said. "I myself went to a conclave in the forest on behalf of my people."

"And how was Eladamri's message received?"

"With great enthusiasm, Dread Lord."

"But not by you? Why are you informing on them, Furah?"

Behind Greven, a trio of moggs overturned a crucible of molten flowstone on their way up a ramp into the airship. The liquid stone, immune to commands or programming, formed into legions of tiny silver spheres and skittered in all directions. Workers who stepped on the flowstone slipped and fell, all over the dock. With a snarl, Greven left the Kor man and roared for all work to cease. The tumultuous airship dock fell silent, save for the hiss of the waiting flowbots.