Paul Thompson - Nemesis

Up came the shield. With a sound like a thousand nails punching through a hundred tin plates, the pellets reduced Crovax's shield to a sieve. His tunic was shredded, and a score of pea-sized pellets buried themselves in his face.

Scored and blasted, Crovax threw down his ruined shield. He crossed his forearms, fists tightly clenched. A growl rose from his throat. It began low and guttural but grew louder and stronger as he focused his rage and pain. One by one, the flowstone pellets worked themselves out of his body, falling at his feet at a steady rate. Soon the floor around him was covered with hundreds of pellets.

Ertai tried to size up the situation. Volrath was an unknown quantity to him. He'd seen the ex-evincar's quarters, heard commentary from people in the Citadel who knew him. He was cruel, ruthless, shrewd, and a man of unusual appetites. Compared to him, Crovax was a machinesoulless, utterly devoid of guilt or feelings of humanity. Volrath would expect to win because of his superior skills; Crovax thought he could prevail through brute force and a willingness to do anything to win.

The battle would go on and on until sheer survival determined a winner. With his ability to renew himself with the lives of others, Crovax would ultimately win. Nothing Ertai could do would help Volrath. Once the former evincar was out of the way, retribution would inevitably fall on everyone else.

Crovax's two-handed stroke tore the shield from Volrath's grasp. The dented buckler caromed off the wall. Both fighters were reduced to swords alone.

Volrath assumed a sideways stance, the pose of a fencer rather than an infantry soldier. Crovax circled warily, trading occasional cuts and jabs. As he orbited outside of Volrath's reach, he glanced at Ertai and betrayed surprise as seeing the young sorcerer alive.

Volrath sidled forward a step when Crovax's attention strayed. His arm lengthened by two inches, and he carefully bent his elbow to hide the new growth. Volrath started his lunge. His arm straightened, and with the velocity of a striking viper, he drove his blade at the junction of Crovax's right arm and chest.

Crovax's eyes widened in alarm. He tried to backpedal out of danger, but his response was too slow. The nicked, dented blade flew at him. He brought his own sword up in a desperation parry, but the impetus of Volrath's lunge bore his hilt back against his own face. Thirty inches of tempered steel slid along Crovax's arm. Volrath's lunge had succeeded, and the startled usurper seemed paralyzed by the realization of his imminent defeat.

Time stretched out. The normal yellow gleam of the hall lanterns on the bright steel blade became purplish. Volrath's triumphant face fell. An unknown force was playing down the length of his onrushing blade. Someone was tampering with the fight, using old-fashioned magic to deflect his weapon. A horrified look on his face, Volrath watched the tip of his sword fall an inch, two inches, until it passed under Crovax's arm.

Everything came together with a crash. Volrath and Crovax collided chest to chest, Volrath's sword swinging uselessly behind Crovax's back. Crovax's own blade was bent backward over his shoulder by the force of Volrath's attack. He twisted, dumping the over-balanced Volrath and at the same time punching him hard in the face with his free hand. Volrath hit the floor. His sword bounced free and skittered away into the crowd.

Crovax threw himself on Volrath's back. He hooked his left arm around the man's chin and drew his head back, arching Volrath's back as if it were a longbow. The ragged edge of his sword came down to slice Volrath's taut throat. Volrath blocked the blade with his mailed hand.

The wall of courtiers and soldiers dissolved to reveal a captain of the palace guard, backed by a phalanx of his men. The captain's face was streaked with blood.

"My lords! The rebels!" he cried. "They've barricaded themselves in the Dream Halls!"

Belbe was on her feet. She flung a hand at the straining pair of fighters. "Hold!"

They continued to struggle. She appealed to Greven. The Vec warrior did not move.

"Declare a winner, or stand aside, Excellency," he said. "You heard the captain," she said. "We must defend the Citadel!"

"That is the job of the evincar."

It all came down to this moment. Belbe looked from face to face, searching for an answer. Greven was impassive. Ertai smiled weakly, then sagged to the black pavement. Courtiers avoided her, soldiers pretended to be busy readying themselves to fight the rebels.

Finally, she looked down at Crovax. He had Volrath down, his head locked and his throat vulnerable. Only four mailed fingers prevented him from cutting Volrath's jugular. "Do

… your… duty!" Crovax gasped. "Behold!" Belbe cried. "Behold, the Evincar of Rath! Crovax!"

The sergeants broke ranks and shouted their master's name. Most of the assembled notables joined in, though a good number quietly fled.

"Let him up," Belbe said above the roar of the crowd. "He must die!" Crovax replied.

"He's lost. His life is forfeit, but your first duty is to quell the rebels in your own fortress."

Crovax agreed. He ordered his men to secure the former evincar and place him under close guard.

"Wrap him in chains of good steel," Crovax said. "Hang him by his feet so that no part of his body touches the structure of the Citadel. Seat ten men with bare swords around him. If the floor so much as trembles, strike off his head!"

Volrath was buried under a pile of sergeants. He didn't resist, but they pressed him hard to the floor and wound chains around his legs. His hands were wrenched behind his back and chained together. A hood was cinched over his head.

By the time Volrath was securely bound, the hall was almost empty. Guards and soldiers under Greven's command had already marched off. The sergeants bore Volrath away.

Crovax turned to Belbe. "Excellency! This is a great day!"

He dropped his sword and enfolded her roughly in his arms. Though she resisted, Crovax kissed her hard, smearing his sweat on her face as she stained him with glistening oil still oozing from her injured hands.

Alone, lying on the floor a few feet away, Ertai smiled.

Garnan pressed his ear to the door. "It's quiet out there," he whispered.

Shamus listened too. "They didn't just go away!"

"They're there," Takara said flatly. "A company was left to watch the door while the rest retrieve a battering ram."

Shamus blinked. "Battering ram?"

"Do you think they'll try to starve us out?"

Medd filled the relatively quiet moment by inspecting Eladamri's injuries. He dabbed salve on his burns and rewrapped them in strips of cloth torn from their army cloaks. Eladamri was sitting on the cold black floor, leaning against one of Volrath's monumental pilasters. "Are you in much pain, Brother?" asked Medd. "No."

"The burns are superficial. I fear some of your nails are lost and won't grow back." Eladamri nodded. Medd tied off the last bandage and set the elf's arm gently into a sling. "Do you think we'll leave here alive?"

Eladamri opened his eyes. "I don't know. Are you frightened?"

"Yes."

"I'm not. Live or die, I've made up my mind not to fall into their hands again. I do have regrets, though. So many unfinished tasks…"

Kireno returned from reconnoitering the Dream Halls. Everyone but Shamus gathered around Eladamri to hear the Vec warrior's scouting report.

"This place is huge, but it's basically one big room," Kireno said. "At the far end is a transom, all glass. There don't seem to be any other doors."

"What can you see from the transom?"

"The windows look down upon the prison and map tower, O Eladamri."

"Could we climb down?"