Dragonfly (33 page)

Ramil sat cross-legged on a crate, his commanders around him.

"Well, we've known all along we can't stay here. If I were them, I'd also attack from the sea, opening up a fourth front. We'll be squeezed to death if we try to defend this place. What would be the most defensible spot in Tigral?"

"That'd be the palace--it's got walls all the way around it," said a local man.

"Then I suggest we move headquarters to more comfortable

accommodations," Ramil said with a grin.

"But, brother," said one of the Brigardians, "we can't just go marching up there and knock on the door!"

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"Oh, I wasn't thinking of knocking. Remember, my friends, Fergox has sent his army to the border; the garrison here will be at its lowest for years. The city authorities will be demanding their assistance to crush us rebellious slaves. What I had in mind was something to force their hand and empty the palace of the fighting men. If we could bait them to attack us at the market, we could take advantage of their distraction and some of us can use it to enter the palace."

Melletin rubbed his chin. "But that would be suicidal for those left down in the market. Why not divide our forces and start lots of minor disturbances all over the lower city? Let's get the authorities chasing their tails. We can then, on an agreed signal, melt away and all make our way to the palace."

"I like it." Ramil rubbed his hands together. "Now I know why my father has counsellors--to do the thinking for him."

"I'm thinking like a bandit, Prince, not a counsellor," Melletin explained.

"But the success of this particular bit of banditry would depend on the discipline of our troops," Ramil pointed out. "It would be a disaster if they disappeared and never showed up again. I don't fancy trying to hold the palace on my own."

"Some of them will desert," said a commander from among the galley slaves,

"but the majority will stay with us--at least as long as they think you offer them a better future."

Future?
Ramil hadn't been thinking that far ahead,

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but the men needed to know he would see this through to the end. It was his duty to do so. He couldn't expect them to risk their lives as he did in the hopes of helping a distant Gerfal.

"You can tell them that if, with their aid and if God wills, we win the city, there will be no slavery, but neither will there be a bloody revenge. I'm not here to reverse matters so that slaves become masters and masters slaves. I'm here to rewrite the rules completely."

The galley man displayed the sores on his ankles where his chains had eaten into his flesh. "No man should be a slave. I hope, young Prince, you live to bring in your new order."

"So do I, my friend, so do I."

Preparations were set in motion to split Ramil's army into divisions charged with causing trouble in the different quarters of the city. Melletin and his Brigardians volunteered to take on the toughest assignment, the fort down at the harbor. Yelena and her volunteers chose the food markets. Gordoc said he would stay with Ramil and a party of a hundred hand-picked men who were going straight for the palace.

"We move out at first light," said Ramil, "so everyone get some rest."

"What about our guests?" asked Yelena, gesturing to the caged merchants.

"If we're abandoning this position, what shall we do with them?"

"Kill them," suggested a man from Kandar running his thumb down the edge of his knife.

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"Now, now," said Yelena, batting him playfully on the arm, "none of that.

After all, I've got quite fond of my pet master and wouldn't like to see him hurt."

"And neither do we want to start the day with revenge killings," Ramil added.

"If they are guilty of crimes against you, they should be given a trial, but unfortunately there's no time. No, I think the best thing to do is to leave them here. They have served their purpose. Once we move, either we'll be strong enough to defend ourselves or we will have failed and they become

irrelevant. Besides, I imagine we will have plenty of new hostages to handle if we get as far as the palace."

This comment met with a general murmur of assent.

The meeting was on the point of breaking up when Jules, one of Yelena's troops, entered the shed at a run.

"Prince, there's a man here who wants to speak to you," she announced breathlessly.

"One of the merchant families come to bargain, I expect," Ramil said with a groan. He had suffered these embassies repeatedly over the past week. "I swear they are trying to wear me down so 1 drop my price."

"That's merchants for you," said Gordoc with a shrug.

"He's not a merchant; he's--" Jules began.

"Let me through, let me through!" Professor Norling forced his way past the guard and marched into the shed. "Ah, it is you! I thought as much when I heard the rumors of a dark prince being in residence. What

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foolishness made you a slave, eh? See what happens when I leave you children to your own devices!"

"Professor!" Ramil leapt up and embraced the doctor. Then Gordoc thumped him on the back, Melletin shook his hand vigorously, and Yelena planted a kiss on his blushing cheek.

Smiling at this welcome, Norling looked round the room. "And where's our little princess?"

Melletin shook his head, trying to warn him off the subject. Ramil closed his eyes; in the tumult of the past days, he'd managed not to dwell too much on Tashi's fate. Yelena whispered in the old man's ear.

"I see." Norling coughed awkwardly. "I'm more sorry than I can say."

Ramil braced himself; he could not slide back into paralyzing grief again. If Tashi were dead, he would soon be joining her if he didn't focus on the task at hand, and she would never forgive him.

"I take it, Professor, this is not only a social visit?" he asked, his voice almost normal.

"No, of course not. I've come to ask why on earth you haven't called on me before now?"

Ramil took a step back. "Er . . . well, we've been a bit busy, Professor."

"I can see that for myself. I had a terrible job getting here: they've ringed you off with troops five men deep. I had to crawl through the tunnels and some of them are in a disgusting state." Norling sniffed his robe with a doubtful look.

"But why you did not

think to ask the

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resistance for aid is beyond me. We can be immensely helpful to you."

Ramil struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Stupid! I should have been drowned at birth," he muttered.

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," said Norling generously. "I don't think it's too late.

In fact, I'd say that you've managed very well without me."

"So, what can you do?" asked Melletin, pulling up a barrel for him to sit on.

"Firstly, I can move your men around the city for you undetected--that's if you don't want to fight your way out of here."

"I'd prefer not to," admitted Ramil.

"Then my people can show you the tunnels under the city. The resistance have been using them for years to pass unnoticed and to smuggle people in and out."

"Thank you, that is most timely."

"And there's more. I bring news that is both good and bad."

"Yes?" Ramil looked puzzled.

"Fergox is on his way back."

Ramil slapped his thigh. "Brilliant!"

"For Gerfal perhaps, Prince, but not for us," Norling said soberly. "He's pulled back two thousand men and is making for us at high speed. And you can bet that he will not be in a very loving mood when he gets here. It's not just you slaves that need to be worried: it's every man, woman, and child in Tigral now. You can expect him within a fortnight, maybe earlier."

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"Then we'll be ready for him. He won't recognize his capital when he gets back." Ramil stood up and shook each of his commanders by the hand.

"There's no time to lose. We're moving headquarters. Take your men out of here under the cover of darkness--the professor will show you the way. We attack at dawn. I'll see you all in the palace tomorrow night. Don't be late to the party or I'll have to start without you."

Ramil watched his men file out, wondering just how many of them he would see again.

At dawn, bells began to ring all over Tigral. The meat market was on fire, the smell of frying pork wafting enticingly over the lower city. Traders shut up shop and kept their families inside as the streets descended into an anarchy of looting and burning. The Guild Hall went up in flames. Next came the news that the fort was under attack; the Shoemakers' Street was reported to be a running battle between the watch and rebels, animals released from their pens adding to the confusion.

The officer in command of the troops surrounding the slave market waited for orders from the City Guild. In contrast to the rest of the capital, the market was eerily calm. Eventually, a messenger arrived from the city authorities.

"You're to take your men to restore order in the Cloth Market!" the man gasped. He'd run all the way from the burning Guild Hall and inhaled far too much smoke.

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"But what about the slaves?" the officer asked, gesturing towards the barricaded market. "You won't want them escaping and adding to the riots."

The messenger shook his head in disbelief. "They're already out. Surely, you realize you're guarding an empty cel ?"

The officer gulped, anticipating the court martial already. Knowing he would be blamed if this was a ruse to let the slaves escape, he decided quickly that he was not going anywhere until he had seen the evidence with his own eyes. He gestured roughly to his lieutenant.

"We're taking the slave market back and then proceeding to the Cloth Market," he announced, sounding more confident than he felt.

With a heroic cry, he led his men over the barricades, bringing much noise and swinging of weapons, only to be met with stony silence.

"You and you, search the buildings!" he barked, pointing at two of his most reliable officers. He could feel his authority ebbing away in the scornful looks of his men. "The rest of you, form up. We are going to teach those filthy slaves a lesson."

Yelena, lying on a roof top of a nearby house, grinned as the merchants were led out of their cage, blinking as they stepped into the sunlight. She blew a farewell kiss to her pet, then slithered out of sight.

The resistance network had a back door into the palace, thanks to the offices of a sympathetic cook in

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the massive kitchen complex. So many people came and went to supply the appetite of the court that an extra delivery was not likely to raise suspicions.

Ramil, Gordoc, and two men waited outside the walls, sides of stolen meat on their shoulders, their weapons hidden in the carcasses. A guard came to check them over.

"Delivery for kitchen, sir," said the cook, a little man prone to sweating when nervous, as he was now. Ramil wished the man would stop wringing his hands; he would give them away if he carried on like that. "I'm making the First Wife's favorite for a dinner party. She's particular about wanting it fresh."

The guard body-searched the butcher's boys before waving them through.

"Don't expect her party will be going ahead," the guard grumbled, "not with all that trouble down in the city."

"In that case, sir, I'll bring it to your mess," babbled the cook, rather too keen to please. "Must hurry. Lots to do."

He ushered the four rebels into a pantry and waited while they pulled out their swords.

"Thanks, my friend," said Ramil, shaking his hand. "Keep your head down.

It's going to get interesting in here."

They had chosen the northern gate. As most of the trouble was happening to the south, Ramil guessed all eyes would be turned in that direction. They ran swiftly and silently through the slave quarters. Though they were seen by many of Fergox's household, no one

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stopped them. Most just turned their eyes away, having learned that it was best not to notice, but a few more adventurous souls grabbed makeshift weapons and ran after the rebels, poised to defend their backs.

Ramil paused in the shelter of a doorway opposite the gate. He glanced out: there were five guards, armored and alert. He leant back, taking a pause before the plunge.

"Do you remember Tashi dancing before those guards at Felixholt?" Ramil asked Gordoc.

"Aye, Ram."

"Of all the stupid, brave things to do! I was so angry with her."

"So was I. She could be very stubborn."

"For her then."

"For her."

The two men launched themselves across the courtyard, unaware that they now had twenty slaves behind them in addition to their back-up of two. The soldiers grabbed their weapons but too late. Slaves smashed them over the head with logs, buckets, anything they could lay their hands on, as the rebels ran them through with swords. The skirmish was bloody but brief.

Clearing the bodies to one side, Gordoc opened the gate with a heave and the men waiting outside rushed in.

"You know your targets!" Ramil shouted, abandoning stealth. "Attack!"

Half the slaves swarmed up the walls, engaging the soldiers in close combat. Ramil led the rest towards the

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main palace buildings. Arrows whizzed overhead. A man on his right fell with a grunt. Surprise gave the slaves a huge advantage. Ramil took out the captain of the guard on the steps of the throne room while Gordoc saw to the man ringing the alarm. The big bell stopped tolling.

"Is that it?" Ramil asked, wiping his brow. It had all seemed so sudden. He had expected more resistance. Unknown to him, in the other buildings of the palace complex, word had gone out and slaves had quietly slit the throats of the men-at-arms. Few had been left to defend Fergox's throne. Like Tigral itself, years of abuse had made the palace ripe for picking.

Gordoc and Ramil shoved the double doors open.

"I never did like Fergox's taste," Ramil said with a curl to his lip.

The high hall was decked in red cloth, falling in swaths to the ground like rivers of blood. The ceiling was held up by black pillars rising out of a black marble floor. A gold throne sat under a canopy at the far end. But the hall was not empty. Standing on the steps to the throne was a grey-haired woman dressed in a gold silk robe. Three children clung to her skirts. Ramil glanced at Gordoc, who shrugged, as surprised as him. They expected everyone to have fled by now.