Chapter 5

Lady Emogen stood in the accused's box facing the Judicator. Her chin was held high, but her eyes betrayed the anger and resentment she felt.

The Praetor sat in the high throne, watching the proceedings, not speaking. His eyes ever moved over the assembled crowd. They were here to witness the trial, to see a noble brought low. Such was great entertainment for the commoners. Even if that noble was one very popular with most folk, always some few wished to see someone else's misery.

Vultures, he thought, one and all. How I love you fine folk.

Sendrus, despite his shortcomings in personal integrity was a fine orator, the Praetor had to admit. He presented his case against Emogen eloquently, and with much emotional impact. Several times, the crowd, enraged at the accusations and proofs he provided, rose up, screaming obscenities at the lady. A few even hurled rotten fruit and had to be removed from the courtroom, though they were usually let back in after a few minutes.

"Go on, Senator," said Justicar Ulanis, leaning on staff and eyeing the lady warily.

Senator Sendrus smiled, "Thank you, Justicar," he said. "As you can see, Lady Emogen used her position, as well as considerable mystical knowledge to manipulate the Senate and our illustrious Praetor into sending Primus Pilum Verus, into harm's way under the guise of an offer of peaceful resolution. A resolution neither she nor the Windy Islanders wished. They aimed to make Verus captive and use elven means to rip the knowledge from his mind, such a great leader of men he was. However, his heroism thwarted them and he fell fighting them to his last breath." He glared at Emogen with hatred and disgust. "He died a Hero of Abia, due to this vile woman's machinations."

The crowd growled again, the volume rising to the point that the Justicar had to pound his staff on the flagstones to silence them. "Severe charges, indeed, Senator," said the Justicar. He turned toward the accused as she stood stoic and silent.

"Have you words to say in your defence, Lady Emogen?" asked Ulanis, glaring at her.

She simply returned the hateful stare and set her jaw defiantly.

"An indefensable position, I see," said the Praetor, playing to the crowd. There was a ripple of laughter in the mass of people in the gallery.

The Justicar walked around from behind his podium and regarded her. "I have little choice, Lady Emogen," he said, with what sounded like true regret. "Despite the good works that have been done by your hands, deeds, and words, we must punish treason. Even if it be inspired by noble goals, such as you saw them." He was now feeding into the rumors that she was subverted by elven spies. "Therefore, I must pass punishment. As you know, a noble cannot be simply put to death, as we do commoners who commit a crime of such immensity. You are stripped of title, to be sold at the first opportunity in closed auction. You will live out your life the sole property of another, and live and die by their whim."

At those words, two guards stepped forward and ripped the gown from her back, leaving her nude before the crowd. Her lovely, slender body was exposed to the catcalls and more hurled fruit. A tomato splattered over her breast, red fluid sliding down her body like thin blood. She was then draped in a gray tunic that covered only to mid thigh, with no ornamentation and only holes for the arms and head. A collar was snapped about her neck, with a chain, like a vicious dog might be collared.

She was then led, with a sharp jerk of the chain, from the courtroom, the jeers of the crowd chased her down the narrow stair to the slave pens.

Emogen was hurled, unceremoniously, into the women's holding pen, rolling onto the dirt floor. Her chain was fastened to a loop outside the cell, then the cage closed. Other women were huddled in the room, some collared as she was, others not. After a moment, she looked up at one group of them. They eyed her dubiously for a moment then one approached, walking upright, rather than the slouch most slaves adopted in the cells.

"You are among friends here, firstborn, " the woman said, in elven. She knelt beside the disgraced noblewoman and held a wooden cup to her lips. It was stale water, but after many hours in the courtroom, with nothing to wet her lips, she welcomed it heartily.

The woman, a tall, heavyset Islander, from the look of her, led Emogen back to the knot of women she had been sitting with. "I am Aresia, " said the woman, still speaking accented, but passable elven. She gave a curt elven-style head bow. "I was a ranger, and these others were militia."

That the elven-speaking woman was a ranger was little surprise, they would be the most likely among men of the Windy Isles to speak elven, as most were trained in Windir. "I am named Emogen, " said the noblewoman. "But, I am not elvenborn, I am half-elven, " she explained, giving her own head-bow, with a small hand gesture indicating humility in her introduction. It was an older form of communication, and probably lost on the humans, but she felt she should do it.

"Your ears have points, and you are very beautiful. You are an elf in our eyes," the muscular woman said, and then laughed.

Emogen forced a smile onto her lips. "You honor me, " she said quietly. One of the Other slaves moved to their group from another and murmured a few words to the large, strong-looking woman, then scuttled off, casting furtive glances back at Emogen.

The large woman looked at her a moment. "She said you were a Syrisian noble," said Aresia.

"I was, but now they have branded me a traitor, and turned to your side of the war," explained Emogen, suddenly very much more worried than she was before.

"Did you?" asked Aresia, looking rather dubious.

Emogen decided that she had little to lose, the worst that could happen was that the slaves turned on her and killed her before that animal, Sendrus, could take possession of her and destroy her. All in all, I would rather die at the gentle hands of these folk. "I am on the side of ending the war, which was what I was doing when I was betrayed by the Praetor and Senator Sendrus, " she said.

The woman digested these words for a long moment, the other slaves just gave her hard, rather unkind looks in the meantime. "I believe you, " said the large woman, finally shifting to a smiling visage. "Anyone who has earned the ire of the Praetor must be someone I can trust." She reached out a meaty hand and patted Emogen's shoulder.

Verus stood next to the pilot's position on the Rethallin, he was receiving rather odd looks from the crew about the deck, human and elf alike. He supposed he could not blame them. He had issued a dozen odd orders since they had sailed around the eastern tip of the Island. Undria and his aide, Vendithan, were even looking at him a bit askance, but so far, they were willing to humor him.

Primary to their continued cooperation was Undria's confidence that he knew what he was doing. She had read extensively of his exploits of years past, and was confident, in her heart, that he was up to something clever. He only hoped he had not yet run out of cleverness, or more to the point, that his enemies had not come into a large supply of it.Rethallin

They were cruising under full sail, every yard of cloth on the masts, and making amazing time. The sliced the water like a sword, leaving roostertails behind the main pylons supporting the ship out of the water. When they had caught a bit of a tailwind, they had even done something called 'hydroplaning' as the elven crewmen announced, which was apparently something of a good omen among them. For a few hours, they had flown along, skimming the waves with the sponsons above the water, skittering like a hurled stone on a lake. It had felt terribly unstable to Verus, but the elven crew was exhilarated by it.

Less thrilled were they when they started being fitted with sailcloth slave outfits, designed to go over their mail vests. He had discovered Vendithan could maintain illusory disguises over about a score of men, but needed far more than that for what he wanted. The elven guardsmen would work well for that, were ideal, in fact, due to their innate speed and the shock value alone. The score of illusory disguises would be used on their 'guards', to make them appear as Abian Legionnaires. These would be played by rangers. Another twenty rangers would be among the elven 'prisoners, ' also dressed as slaves.

Undria approached him from across the broad deck. "We near Remless," he said to her as she approached. "How went your conversation with Ghurian?"

"He says that they have challenged and defeated two galleons, and that one of our galleons reported sighting the Amthallin moving southwards, they converge in the morning to intercept her as she nears port." She rattled off these words in a short tone, as if she were eager to discuss other matters.

Verus ignored her apparent urgency. "Do you think he suspects we're up to something?" he asked.

"No," she said, "he trusts me." Her hazel eyes turned to him. "I damn well better be correct in trusting you."

Verus' eyes grew distant, as if he could see Remless on the ribbon on coast to their right. "You are," he said. "Unless betrayed, my loyalty does not falter."

She sighed mightily then turned to follow his rightward gaze. "This is about more than just ending the war, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "it's about justice, too."

"Will the price be great?" she asked. "To our men, I mean."

"Perhaps," said Verus. "But for this price, justice will be served, and she's a woman who deserves men's loyalty even more than the honorable Ghurian."

Undria nodded.

"Less than an hour, Commander Undria, please ensure the men and elves are ready," said Verus.

"Yes, sir," she said, giving him one of those modified Abian salutes that he found so difficult to duplicate before trotting off the main helm deck.

Over the next hour, men were replacing the elven crew in the rigging and about the ship. The hastily-trained rangers were not nearly the sailors, and the ship slowed considerably over that period. Much sail was pulled in and she was only making a speed slightly greater than a galleon normally did.

Verus expected this, and figured that the Amthallin probably sailed like this, or only slightly better. An elven artisan murmured something to the captain of the Rethallin, and the captain relayed that the name had been changed on the prow and aft ends. A hastily but well-crafted Abian banner was hoisted up the mainmast to flap bravely in the quickening breezes. Soon, no elves were visible on the decks of the ship, only men, dressed as closely to sailors in homespun and borrowed garments as they could manage. All of them were rangers, and their gear of war was near to hand.

This plan would not work if they did not achieve near total surprise on the forces defending Remless.

The Praetor sat at the long banquet table with the justicar, Ulanis, and Sendrus. Sendrus was standing near the massive bay windown that overlooked, of all things, the bay. "The lady is being coddled by the other slaves, much to my chagrin," said Sendrus, glowering out at the glimmering waters of the scenic little bay.

"Don't begrudge her some last moments of comfort, Sendrus," said the Praetor. "You'll disabuse her of any notion of comfort, soon enough, I warrant."

Sendrus grinned at the reflection of the Praetor in the glass. "Yes, yes I will," he said, a distant and very unsettling gleam growing in his eyes. "I want to thank you, justicar, for a very well-run courtroom."

Ulanis shrugged. "It is how my courtroom is run, Senator," he said, humbly. "I trust this balances the ledger between us, Praetor?"

"Of course, Justicar Ulanis," replied the Praetor. Until I need your services again, anyway, he thought.

There was a lot of activity down, below on the streets of Remless, a ship was coming in, apparently. Watchtowers down the coast were signaling, using mirrors and fires, to the town's port master, and he would relay messages to those who needed informing as to what was approaching. Apparently, a large ship was inbound.

There was near silence in the room as they ate and drank, each tending to his own thoughts. "Ah, the Veria Prima makes her trips hastily, to be sure," said Sendrus, watching the captured trimaran slip into the port. "We will be able to move those legions in mere days with her, she but left day before yesterday, and already she returns."

Out in the bay, the Veria slid through the water toward the docks. People on the docks milled about, preparing for the unloading of booty from the Isles. Eagerly, slave traders were moving toward where the slaves would be marched past, to get a first look at the morrow's wares for the auction block.

The massive ship slowed, and nuzzled up to the longest dock, dropping her mighty gangplanks and slaves began to be hustled off the ship, over a hundred of them.

The Praetor nearly drooled in excitement over how much money he was about to make. The palace was barely a hundred yards from the docks, situated to give the governor or his guests, as now sat in the chamber, a commanding view of the port facilities. Sendrus smiled as well, watching the prisoners being prodded by their legionnaire guards and hustled into a long double file.

Verus stood on the deck, watching the elven High Guard being herded into ranks. The long slave shifts concealed their armor, and their warswords were tucked up underneath, tied to their armpits. He just hoped that no one grew bold enough, too soon, and grabbed one of them by hand, and felt the mail.

"As soon as they enter the slave compound next to the palace, you are to loose the hounds," said Verus. "Come hell or glory, we shall free those slaves AND capture that bastard of a Praetor." Undria nodded and moved off to where she could see the remaining three hundreds of rangers, waiting just belowdecks. Her second, Nolduro, was delaying the dock workers from boarding, explaining that some prisoners had to be killed and there was gore everywhere that was being cleaned up. It would not hold the eager folk on the docks for long.

Verus walked over to the three ballistae amidship. "Aim for the palace, I want men able to slide those cables directly into the palace itself." A clever system of pullies and gears would hoist the near end of a mooring cable to the top of the main mast, and allow boarders to slide down them and onto captive ships. He aimed to make good use of that feature to avoid the crowded streets between the ship and the palace, just as soon as the battle started.

Four legions were posted near Remless. One of them within the town itself. It would take time for the other three to get into town, and he hoped to be long gone before that. However, he had to stop the one in town overwhelming or pinning them down before they did. That was Undria's job. She was going to lay siege, in an instant, to the small fortress south of the palace, using her small army of rangers. At least, she was going to make the legion in that fort believe they were under siege. With Vendithan hurling fireballs, it should be an easy convincing.

The crowd pressing to the procession route of the slaves was going insane. Elves had been captured, in numbers. This was a first and very noteworthy. They cheered and clapped the legionnaire guards on the back as they marched past. The slave traders veritably salivated at the thought of having elves to sell tomorrow. A few of them were women folk, as well, and most men in the crowd salivated at that idea alone, much less selling them, or more importantly, owning one. The bidding on the morrow would be legendary.

The column reached the slave pens and moved under the arched entry gate. As the huge oaken doors closed behind them, one of the slave pen guards, excited by the appearance of the beautiful and exotic elven slave girls, stepped forward and looked at one closely. "The tides of this war finally have changed, for sure," he said, reaching out and grabbing her arm. He aimed to pull this one to the side and sample her wares immediately.

His fingers closed on hard metal chain, and the elven girl, turning cold eyes to him said, "It has changed, human, but not in your favor." A razor point was beneath his chin. She had magicked a sword from thin air and held it at arm's length, backing him to the wall. He looked about, panicked, all the elves and the men among them had weapons. He turned to the legionnaire who had been standing near him only to see a Windy Island ranger standing there, wearing a amused expression. The ranger shrugged just before the elven girl knocked the slave guard out with the flat of her blade.

The turmoil in the slave pens reached the ears of the three men in the banquet hall. "What is going on down there?" asked Sendrus, trying in vain to find a good vantage point out the bay windows to the pens. The flicker of uncontrolled fire could be seen coming from below and to the north.

The Praetor adopted a look of boredom. "Probably a little riot among the new slaves," he said. "They've not learned their place yet, the legionnaires will have them subdued quickly enough."

Sendrus turned from the windows, but what if Emogen gets killed?" he asked, worry on his face. "Then I'll not have my prize."

Both the Praetor and the justicar chuckled in amusement at his predicament. "It would be a shame if she died before you could kill her, no?" asked the Praetor.

"Damn right it would be!" yelled Sendrus, truly agitated. "I have many, many plans for that love..." His words were interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. An eight-foot barbed spear, cast entirely of cold iron, shot through the bay window. It smashed through the table, then skidded on the floor.

The three noblemen looked at it agape for a heartbeat, but then it sprang open, long spikes of iron extending in four directions, then it shot back toward the window. Sendrus was quick enough, as was the Praetor. The justicar, Ulanis, however, was not. He was pinioned between the iron spikes and the wall, the spike across his thick legs. A moment later, he fell to the floor, in three pieces. He groaned on the floor for only a moment before laying still. The other two men just looked at him with varying levels of interest.

"They're firing on us!" screamed Sendrus, stating the obvious to the Praetor. Out in the bay, more grappling harpoons sailed out from the ship toward the palace, there was screaming in the building. The Praetor looked down out of the broken windows and saw an organized force of rangers moving through the streets, driving a crowd of panicked people before them, toward the small fortress of the Fifth Legion. He ducked back as an arrow shattered against the stonework just inside the window.

Sendrus ran about the room, agitated to the point of near mania. "Not right!" he screamed and his hands clutched his head. "They're ruining my plans."

The Praetor shook his head and looked out again. Two legionnaires ran into the banquet hall. "My lord?" one asked.

"Stay with me," said the Praetor. "We are attacked by Islanders."

The two legionnaires looked at him oddly, but stayed put, as told. Sendrus, however, said. "I'm taking my prize," and ran into the corridor.

Fool, thought the Praetor, glaring after the errant Senator. More arrows zinged off of the stone ceiling of the chamber and ricocheted from the stonework around the shattered windows. He peeked around the window frame to see shapes sliding down the cables now, heading toward the palace. Some fell to arrows as they slid, while others were, just as assuredly, making it to the palace. They moved too quickly to be hit easily.

Sendrus skewered a man wearing ranger livery as he descended the narrow stair from the courts to the slave pens. He reached the bottom of the stairs and looked about himself. In his hand, he clutched a long, narrow blade, unlike most seen in this land. It had belonged to a Niliwander assassin, and was a very fine sword. Sendrus had long had the weapon and loved the feel of it.

He cut down a slave as she ran screaming past him. Unsure which way to go, he headed where she had come from, thinking that she may have been held in the same area as the Lady Emogen would be held.

The sounds of fighting was all about, and there were bodies of guards and legionnaires everywhere he went. He came to a narrow doorway with a barred door. Peering into the shadowy cell he saw several women on chains tethered through the door to the wall behind him. He fetched the keys from a dead guard and opened the door, stepping into the cell.

The women cowered away from him, pulling to the end of their chains and slinking aside as he neared. One, however, did not. She rose from among the others and stepped forward. "Come to take me early, have you, little man?" asked Emogen from the shadows. She stepped into the light coming in from the doorway.

Sendrus grabbed her chain and yanked, hard. She fell to her knees and grabbed the chain with her left hand, yanking it back somewhat. "You've lost, Sendrus," she said, sneering as she took to her feet again. "They've already freed most of us, and will be back for those of us with collars when they find a key."

The Senator glared at her and stepped forward. "You shall not live to enjoy that freedom, bitch," he grated out between clenched teeth. He raised the narrow straight sword and leveled it at her chest. "I wished to enjoy killing you slowly, but will take much pleasure, anyway, from doing it quickly."

There was some murmuring from among the other women. "Fear not, ladies, I've time to tend to all of you before anyone returns," he said, smiling at them.

Yanking the chain again, he lunged for Emogen's chest. A look of shock spread on his face when his blow was deflected. In her right hand, Emogen held a slender hyandai. The blade glowed faintly blue with magical energy. The lady smiled at him, a small smile. "Sendrus," she said, "I've wielded blade for nigh sixty years. You may wish to sit this dance out."

He lunged again. Emogen slipped nimbly aside, wrapping her chain around the point of his blade and twisting it from his hands. In the same motion, she sliced a deep rent in his shoulder, forcing his hand to open. The blade skidded across the dirt floor of the cell, at the feet of a small knot of women. It disappeared amid them.

As he gaped, she moved behind him, and almost as if pirouetting, she flipped the chain about his neck, once, twice, three loops of chain. His peril was suddenly very obvious to him. Three women took hold of the chain as she danced away. Pulling it taut. He stepped a few clumsy steps until the chain was bouncing tightly in both directions from him.

He felt pressure in his skull as the links around his neck bit into the meat. Then he started to see black creeping into the corners of his vision.

Two minutes later, the women loosed the chain and Sendrus collapsed to the floor. The keys jangled to the floor as his left hand opened.

Undria stood across the parade field from the little, compact fortress. The rangers rained arrows at its stone walls, and Vendithan would casually hurl a fireball from time to time, a small one, just large enough to make a scorch mark on the stonework. It was also enough to keep everyone behind that wall ducked down for cover. The panicked civilians in Remless had all fled the city, or at least to their homes. Right now, the streets belonged to the rangers.

Hundreds of slaves had been released from the pens and were filing back toward the Rethallin. Many were cheering and singing as they went, and not all were Islanders. No one bothered to ask if someone belonged on this journey, it was freedom for all.

In the palace, the Praetor was packing a few of his valuables in preparation for flight. The two legionnaires stood guard over his doorway, across the hall from the banquet hall. There was a soft cough from behind them.

Both turned to see a dozen rangers with drawn bows, with an old man standing before them. "My name is Primus Pilum Verus," he said. "I recommend you drop your weapons and surrender."

The guards looked at him a moment, then one dropped his spear. The other followed suit a half a heartbeat later. The rangers moved forward and hustled them off into the banquet hall.

The Praetor glared at Verus. "You old fool, you've truly raised the ire of the Empire now," he said.

"You think so?" said Verus calmly. "I think we've just won the war."

Two rangers moved up and grabbed the Praetor, binding his hands behind his back. "You are made arrest, Praetor," he said. "So far as I know, I still hold the rank of Centurion, and declare you a enemy of the people of both the Empire of Abia and the Windy Isles."

"You cannot arrest me!" screamed the Praetor, trying vainly to pull free of the two strong young men. "I am the Praetor of the Abian Empire!"

"You are a prisoner of war," said Verus, "and you will be tried for crimes against the peoples of the Windy Isles." Verus looked to the two rangers. "Get him to the ship, make sure none harm him."

They both nodded and all six of the rangers moved out of the room with the Praetor in tow.

Verus moved to the other side of the banquet hall and watched as the rangers who had been holding down the fort were pulling back, leaving only a few behind, ready to retreat should the legionnaires within discover the siege lifted.

Elves were moving in the rigging of the Rethallin, making ready to sail. Now that the actual fighting was over, the town did not look much worse for wear. It had been Verus' intent for as few as maybe to die in this attack, and he felt confident that he had succeeded. One of the legionnaires in the corner, hands and feet bound, said, "Are you truly THE Verus?"

Verus turned to him, smiling slightly. "Yes, legionnaire, I am Verus."

The legionnaire smiled back at him. "I don't feel too ashamed then," he said. The other legionnaire nodded in agreement.

"You should not, soldier," said Verus.

The rangers returned to the chamber and Verus left with them, making for the ship. A column had been sighted, marching for town from the nearest encampment of the legions. It was time to go.

As he walked up the gangplank, it was rising from the docks. Every other vessel in the bay was listing or under the water, only their masts poking up out of the placid surface of the bay.

Undria walked up to him as he took to the main deck. "We rescued more than a thousand slaves, Commander Verus," she said. There were many people crowding the deck, and, from the general volume of the murmuring belowdecks, many, many more down there. "I'm frankly amazed we're afloat."

Verus chuckled and watched as the elves in the rigging began playing out sail. The massive ship began to slip away from the docks. The watchman at the top of the mainmast announced that the column had reached the northern gates even as they slid out of the harbor and added on more sail, making for the Windy Isles.

Vendithan approached soon after they had reached open water. "Commander, the Praetor demands to speak to you of terms."

"I am just a soldier," said Verus, "he'll have to discuss terms with leaders."

Vendithan nodded. "I thought you would say that," he said. "There is also another matter. One of the freed slaves requests audience."

"Oh?" said Verus, raising an eyebrow. "Well, those honorable folk, I will take time to speak with."

The elven wizard smiles. "They were shown to your quarters. I also anticipated you would say that."

"You are truly foresighted, Vendithan," said Verus, patting the aide on the shoulder and turning for the stairs down to his quarters.

He entered his chamber and found no one in the conference area. He had expected the slave to wait at the table. He looked about, then toward the sitting area.

"I took the liberty of getting comfortable," said a feminine voice from his bedchamber.

A broad smile formed on Verus' lips as he walked to the doorway. "Milady, you are always welcome to be comfortable."

Emogen sat upon his bed, wearing a gauzy bit of cloth, obviously something that she had retained from an elven crew member. She looked at him with large silver eyes that were slowly darkening to iron gray. "I believe you owe me something," she said.

"I rescue you from certain doom, and I owe you?" asked Verus, removing his chain tunic and sitting in a chair. He noted a filled glass of wine on the little end table next to it.

She rose from the bed in a slow, graceful motion. The Lady Emogen was no young woman, even as a half-elf, but she was very well formed. Her curved body was accentuated by the flattering cut of the elven gown and her red hair gleamed in the lamplight of the chamber. She walked up to him, moving far slower than normal. Apparently much motive power went into the sway of her hips and back.

He put out a hand and touched the inward curve of her waist. Emogen put a hand over his, and gently moved it over the swell of her hip. "You promised to claim a reward from me, should we end the war."