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Circulation ceases in the hands. Shoulders slowly pull from
their sockets. Viscera stretch out the diaphragm. Chest
muscles grow so weary they can no longer force air outward.
Squee will eventually suffocate because he won't be able to
exhale. He'll suffocate though his lungs are full of air."
"You bastard."
Volrath blinked placidly at that. "If, however, you repair
the engines, you can use them to lower the masts and save your
friend. You see? I impose no time limit on you. Only Squee
does. And if you allow him to die, I'll simply have to bring
your friend Orim down here and do the same to her, and
Tahngarth, and Sisay, and Gerrard. It's up to you how many
crew you'd like to kill as you repair this ship-my ship."
"So, they are alive!" Hanna said, hope rising in her.
"For the time being," Volrath said. "Let Squee die, and
you'll see the others, one by one."
Karn's joints grated massively as he stooped to lift
Hanna. "Come. Let us do this quickly. We haven't much time."
* * * * *
"We haven't much time," Orim shouted to the vast assembly
gathered in another subterranean chamber.
It was a motley group-Ramosan rebels assembled by Lahaime;
Cho-Arrim skyscouts and water wizards who had arrived on the
night of the great storm; an elite contingent of Saprazzan
warriors sent by the grand vizier; a Rishadan ship crew
converted to the cause during Cho-Manno's sea crossing; and
bull-men, boar-men, griffins, and other non-humans and non-
goblins disparaged in Mercadia-a ragtag, rebel army. These few
hundred would hardly be a match for the Mercadian guard with
its cateran mercenaries-and its master Volrath.
"We have a new enemy," Orim continued. "This rebellion
began against the corruption of the nobles and the vicious
manipulation of the Kyren. We have felt ourselves mere pawns
in their great game. Now it is clear that even these great
enemies are pawns of a much more malevolent master. The
Phyrexian steward, Volrath, is here in Mercadia. He rules the
city through Kyren and nobles. He has captured the airship
Weatherlight, the national treasure of
Saprazzo, and the very Bones of Ramos. In mere days,
perhaps hours, he will combine these weapons and train them
upon us and slay us. We haven't much time."
A voice rose from among the Cho-Arrim skyscouts. "How can
we fight if the Uniter has not risen?"
Cho-Manno stepped up beside Orim and declared, "We can no
longer wait for the Uniter to rise. The Uniter is in the hands
of our greatest foe. We must be our own uniters, our own
saviors. If we do not fight now, the Uniter will rise to fight
against us."
A collective groan echoed through the stony cavern. The
Rishadan captain interrupted. "These allies have told that
their airship was hauled through doors at the base of the
city. I will lead my forces through those doors and find your
Uniter. Perhaps it'll yet rise-and fight for us."
Scar-faced Lahaime spoke next. "I will lead the Ramosans
into position to strike against the Magistrate's Tower and the
seats of government."
"My skyscouts and water wizards will produce another
storm," Cho-Manno pledged. "The water will empower us and the
Saprazzans to take the streets."
"What about the market?" someone shouted. "You can't win a
battle in Mercadia unless you can take the market." Among the
rebel leaders on the dais was a young man with tousled black
hair, a man who many of the folks in the chamber had taken to
be a mere page. His voice was still young, though he spoke
with a calm confidence that impressed them all. "I am Atalla
of Tavoot's farm. As with many other farmers, I have come to
Mercadia with this season's harvest of simsass fruit. As with
many other farmers, I am fed up with Mercadian rule. We
farmers are united with your cause, and we fill the markets. I
will lead my comrades to take the marketplaces, high and low."
"How can you, a mere boy, lead an army of peasants?"
someone asked.
Orim grasped Atalla's shoulders and squeezed them
affectionately. "He may seem young to you, but Atalla here is
the man who made Gerrard and his comrades into heroes of the
common people. Atalla is the man who made us into giant
killers."
Chapter 21
Behind them, the group of Jhovall traders kicked up a
cloud of dust that looked gray beneath the gathering storm.
The jingle of harness bells and the purrs that came from the
herd of several hundred mounts were accompanied by
discontented rumbles from the clouds above. In the marketplace
beyond the wall, tents flapped in rising winds, cold with
unnatural mist. Workers pounded tent stakes deeper to keep
canvas from pulling loose. The guards along the wall crouched
in surly array and glanced skyward with each distant growl of
thunder.
The fattest of the Mercadian guards approached the leader
of the traders. "How many beasts do you bring to market?"
Speaking the patois common to traders, his voice had a
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