Land of the minotaurs

Chapter 1

Nethosak had obviously prospered in the past few years and yet to Hecar there was a hint of something poisonous in the air, as if the grand, imperial city of his people had somehow begun to spoil at the core.

Perhaps the stories are true, then, thought the tall minotaur. Perhaps the travelers were not exaggerating after all when they said that the empire had become corrupted, though even they had been at a loss to say exactly how.

The imperial capital of the minotaur empire had not only more than recovered in the eight years since the fall of the Dark Queen, it had swelled in both grandeur and might.

Even three years ago, when Hecar and his sister had last bid farewell to it, Nethosak had not looked so masterful.

Nethosak was a city of immense marble structures, great buildings whose entrances were flanked by columns carved in the shapes of triumphant minotaur warriors. Many of these were clan houses. The house of Orilg, to which Hecar belonged, was, fortunately for him, situated far on the other side of the city. The houses here were of lesser clans. Nearby were shops, trade buildings, and many smithies, for weaponry was in constant demand in an empire bent on expansion. All of the buildings appeared clean and new, though many were centuries old.

Minotaurs tall and short, dark and light, hurried along, ignoring the lone figure who stood to the side of the orderly, nearly unblemished street. The lane was covered in stone not unlike a pearly marble, so that it looked almost as though the structures around Hecar were melting into the path. Very little garbage littered the street and, even as he watched, a gully dwarf with a collar around his throat scurried to pick up what he could. Hecar's people had finally found a use for the dirty, childlike creatures.

The watcher's mouth curled into a sour smile. Such a wonderful folk his kind were. Three years away from them had made Hecar see the minotaurs as others did, and he was not pleased by this insight.

In the distance, other, taller buildings jutted toward the sky. The tall, wide edifice with the arched roof was the palace of the emperor. Up close, it very much resembled the clan houses, save for the great roof. Marble columns, a long series of wide steps, a few windows on the upper levels… and the same blank, colorless walls that marked nearly every building in Mithas and Kothas. Having lived in the woodlands, Hecar found his old home drab and emotionless in ways that had annoyed him only vaguely when he had resided in Nethosak.

Flanking the palace-but from a supposedly respectful distance-were two other large, even more utilitarian edifices. The rounded building was the central temple of the Holy Orders of the Stars, where the high priest of the state religion resided. Here acolytes were trained and clerics were given the word of Sargas, the Great Horned One. Humans continued to insist that the god was Sargonnas, the Dark Queen's consort, but even Hecar could not accept that. Whether true or false, he really did not care, for he was more inclined toward the smaller, less organized belief in Kiri-Jolith, the bison-headed god of just cause. The house of Orilg was that god's bastion, which oftimes meant trouble with the state priests.

On the other side was the plain, boxlike building that served as the central quarters of the Supreme Circle, the eight minotaurs who oversaw the administration of the empire. Each member of the circle claimed a great number of followers, subordinates, and personal guards. There were clans smaller than the numbers who obeyed the dictates of any one circle member. Even more important, all government workers, including the strong and ever-present State Guard, which policed not only Nethosak but the entire realm, acknowledged the superiority of the Supreme Circle. Of course, the circle and the priesthood were supposed to bow to the commands of the emperor, yet there were circumstances when both could not only bypass his authority, but dictate to him.

Overall, the system had always seemed a proper, efficient one to Hecar, until now. After hearing about the doubts and uncertainties of those who had departed the empire, he had to wonder.

A distant roar made him turn his gaze to the only structure in the distance that dwarfed even the palace.

The Great Circus.

It was as massive a colosseum as any built on the face of Ansalon, perhaps all of Krynn. Its architects had designed it with the thought that the entire minotaur race could be seated within, there to watch matters of justice and honor settled in hand-to-hand combat, as was the way of Hecar's kind. While the population had long ago outgrown the Great Circus, it still allowed a good portion of the imperial city's citizenry to enjoy the spectacles. There was no other building as important to minotaurs as the Great Circus, not even the palace, the central temple, or the headquarters of the Supreme Circle. The Great Circus was where the mightiest champions fought one another to prove their supremacy. It was where entire clans could be displaced from power.

It was where any minotaur who had proven himself worthy enough, who had risen in rank beyond all other champions, could challenge the present emperor and, if successful, succeed him as ruler. The imperial palace and everything within it would then belong to the victor. He or she would be the hand of the empire, guiding the race ever closer to its destiny. One day soon, so the priesthood kept proclaiming, a minotaur who would lead his people to dominate Krynn would sit upon the throne.

Hecar snorted. Of course, a challenger was just as likely to end up dead in the circus, killed by the emperor. Even when an emperor was replaced, which seemed to happen not very often these days, nothing much changed. The past few emperors, including the ones Hecar's father could recall, seemed interchangeably alike.

By the time we're finally ready to conquer the other races, he thought in some bitterness, the Last Day will have come and gone. We'll be masters of nothing.

From the distant, circular edifice came another roar of approval. There was a good match going on today, for which Hecar was grateful. That meant that a great many minotaurs he had no desire to see just yet would be at the circus, cheering and betting on the possible demise of their fellows. The traveler could go about his business and, with any luck, be gone from Nethosak before nightfall. Hecar did not want to stay even one night in the imperial capital. Simply setting foot in the city after three years of self-imposed exile was enough to make him realize how little he missed the politics and folly, both often intertwined in Nethosak, and how true had been the words of his sister Helati's mate, who had spoken to him just before his departure two weeks earlier. He had been warned that, having tasted freedom, neither he nor the other minotaurs living in the small settlement to the south would ever feel comfortable visiting the great city again. Hecar had laughed, recalling good memories, but those had paled even before the Minotaur had reached the city gates.

What is it, though? Why do I feel so ill at ease?

The gully dwarf suddenly hustled to a spot just in front of him, the creature's gaze riveted by a small piece of refuse. The squat, ugly little figure, a male, snatched it up as if it were gold, then glanced up at the looming minotaur. "Galump make clean, Master! Galump make clean!" There was such fear in the gully dwarf's face that Hecar, taken aback, could think of nothing to say. Galump took the silence for approval and rushed off to snare another bit of garbage. Rather than laugh at the dwarf's desperation, something he might well have done long ago, Hecar felt disgusted. There was something dishonorable, he believed, about mistreating such a weak and helpless race. The gully dwarves were pathetic, but did that make the minotaurs admirable simply because they could dominate the simple creatures and force them to do such menial tasks?

It's because we've failed to conquer any other folk, Hecar thought. There, in the form of an ugly, weak thing with the mind of an infant, stands the sum total of our national ambition for conquest.

The gully dwarf was not even a slave actually taken in war, Galump's people had no real home, not even much in the way of leadership or combat skills. Hecar could picture in his mind what had probably happened. Someone had likely spotted one of the tribes wandering through the hills and sent a small force to round them up with nets. Catching a gully dwarf was easier than catching a legless rabbit. They generally froze in terror at the sight of a minotaur on horseback.

It was amazing that someone had managed to teach them how to pick up trash in so careful and thorough a manner. Hecar suspected that the gully dwarf's training had included torture of some sort.

With great effort, he tore himself from the familiar area he had so often frequented and headed deeper into the city. The streets were wide and the buildings tall, something that made him feel uncomfortable after so long in the woodlands. Hecar already found himself longing for the soft earth beneath his feet and the sweet, clean air that he had not breathed since coming within a day's journey of the overcrowded capital. He was welcomed not only by the smell of the sea, which, as a veteran sailor, he appreciated, but also a rancid odor prevalent in most minotaur cities, and especially so here.

Hecar's path took him closer to the docks, where the scent of the sea was stronger. The minotaur sniffed, recalling adventures from his younger days when he had sailed off on his first major expedition aboard the Gladiator. There were times he wished he had remained with the ship after his first two years, but if he had, he would have gone down with Master Ganth's vessel during the veteran captain's special mission for the empire. No one had seen or heard of the ship again, save for a few loose articles found by another vessel. For more reasons than one, Hecar missed Master Ganth. The captain had been a good teacher and a prime exponent of minotaur honor and strength. As a member of the same clan house as his first captain, Hecar always felt proud to recall that he had served with the stalwart minotaur.

All memory of his sailing days faded abruptly as he drank in the sight before him. It was not by chance that he had journeyed near the docks. Some of the news he and his companions had picked up from minotaurs who had recently departed Nethosak concerned a new fleet being built. What those newcomers had failed to emphasize was just how great a fleet had already been completed.

There were ships and ships and ships. All of them were obviously new, the oldest little more than three years. In all his life, Hecar could not recall so many fighting vessels docked at the capital. Nethosak had always been the busiest port in either kingdom, but it was clear that most of the vessels here were moored for some grand strategy. They were being saved for what had to be a substantial sea assault.

While the effort it must have taken the empire to build so many ships in the past few years was both astonishing and admirable, the fact that so much work had gone on since his departure disturbed Hecar. There had been some build-up of forces in the first five years after the minotaurs escaped the servitude of the Dark Lady, but the incredible rate of the last three years spoke of obsession.

It's far too soon to be thinking of conquest, Hecar thought, shaking his head at the sight, far too soon. The empire will be heading for another downfall if this continues. "What mad fool has become emperor since I left? What're the priesthood and the Supreme Circle doing?"

His questions had been muttered quietly. When a voice behind him responded, it took the visiting minotaur by surprise.

"You should be careful what you ask around here, Boy."

The owner of the voice was a scarred, light brown-furred, weatherworn minotaur with only half a right arm. He carried a heavy sack in the other one and was obviously a dockworker. His snout was long and wrinkled.

"Lost the arm to a shark I killed after my ship went down, Boy," remarked the elder, noting Hecar's glance. "Ended up eating him instead of the other way around." The older minotaur chuckled, then grew serious. "Talking out loud's not good sometimes."

"Just mouthing a few harmless thoughts, Elder." Why was this other so concerned about what he had said?

"Suit yourself." The other peered at him. "Been away for a while have you? Far away?"

"Far enough."

"Come in on a ship?"

He had not, but for some reason Hecar decided to nod. "Long voyage."

"Was it? Probably you had better luck on your voyage than I had on my last, Boy… Which ship was that?"

"Gladiator," Hecar immediately replied, hoping his inquisitive companion did not know that the remains of that particular ship rotted away at the bottom of the sea. He shifted his weight, adding, "I've business to attend to. Elder. May your ancestors guide you."

"And may yours guide you, Boy."

The old minotaur seemed innocent enough, but Hecar did not relax his guard. He had the distinct notion that he had been questioned for some reason. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. He had, after all, spent several days of travel worrying about the rumors and rumblings of the minotaurs who had joined the settlement.

Yet, more than ever, Hecar was certain that something was different in the empire, something that had not yet come to fruition but which held the potential for disaster.

His quickened pace brought him to his destination sooner than he expected. The dwelling was of the modest type that a minotaur who had reached a respectable status would choose. Like most minotaur dwellings, it was little more than a cube-shaped structure, two stories tall and surrounded in front by a stone wall about three feet high. A wooden plaque bore the sign of that minotaur's clan house and his own personal marks.

Modest though it was, it was still more extravagant than the sort of dwellings lower-ranking minotaurs inhabited. Those dwellings, deeper in the core of the city and generally near the smaller arenas, were, more often than not, squat, single-room apartments of an unremarkable gray stone. They were stacked six high in some places, more than a dozen per floor, and were not as immaculate as the rest of the city. The inhabitants, usually striving to achieve better status, rarely considered those places permanent homes.

Hecar was glad that he had chosen to live in the barracks of the great clan house. In return for three years' guard service, he had been given a clean, small abode. Granted some of his bedmates had not been the friendliest of comrades, but he still considered those years better spent than if he had been forced to abide in squalor. Of course, many minotaurs had no choice.

The marks on the wall were the same ones that he recalled from when he had last visited. Hecar was pleased that the one he sought still lived here, but oddly disappointed at the same time. Surely Jopfer could have raised his status in three years. While more studious than some minotaurs, Jopfer de-Teskos, youngest son of the master of the Teskos clan, had been a favorite of one member of the Supreme Circle. In fact, when last they had talked, Jopfer had hinted that his master intended to groom him for a position as one of his senior aides.

By this time you'd think Jopfer would have risen to be one of the Eight, Hecar thought. Certainly if he knew anyone who fit the criteria for becoming one of the eight minotaurs overseeing the administration of the empire, it was old Jopfer. Yet an aide to a member of the circle would certainly not choose to reside in a place such as this. Such status demanded something larger and more impressive, nearer his master's quarters.

"Only one way to find out," he grunted. Marching to the tall, wooden door, Hecar slammed his fist against it. The sound against the wood echoed loudly. Anyone within would have to acknowledge such a racket.

Yet there was no answer. Hecar slammed his fist against the door again. He waited for what he thought a reasonable time, then snorted in annoyance. Either Jopfer's entire household had departed or everyone within was ignoring visitors. His short time in Nethosak made Hecar seriously consider the latter. Was there some reason that Jopfer would fear visitors?

"Come on, you bookworm!" he growled under his breath. "Answer!"

Still no one came. Stubborn as he was, the minotaur finally tired of waiting. If his friend was not available, then Hecar's only recourse was to go to his own clan house. He was not certain how the clan would greet him. after his and his sister's decision to stay away, but certainly, after all this time, they could not still be angry with the pair. The others of their party who had returned to Nethosak after that idiotic chase would have explained Hecar's and Helati's reasons for remaining behind. All except Scum, of course, but then he would have returned in shame. No one would have listened much to him.

The sun was already dipping downward. Hecar grimaced, realizing that if he visited the House of Orilg, he would be required to stay the night. It would be a dishonor to the clan if he appeared after an absence so long, only to leave again an hour or two later. The patriarch would certainly think ill of him, something Hecar did not desire. Orilg could not boast of an emperor on the throne in some seven generations-a point of great aggravation-yet Orilg was still one of the strongest clans. Falling out of favor with the present patriarch would have repercussions, especially where Hecar's immediate family was concerned.

His thoughts entangled over the proper way to present himself to his lord, Hecar did not at first notice the small form darting by. Only when it collided with him did the minotaur take notice of the gully dwarf.

"Sorry, Great One! Galump is sorry!" The dwarf bowed quickly, then ran off, his litter bag falling to the ground as he rushed away in near panic.

"You! Come back here!" His cry went unheeded. Hecar watched as the gully dwarf disappeared into the shadows. He was one of the quickest of the short creatures the minotaur had ever seen.

Hecar had more important things to concern himself with than chasing a gully dwarf whose only crime was carelessness. The dwarf would likely be punished for losing his bag, and in the process littering the very streets he was supposed to clean. But despite the compassion for unfortunate creatures that Hecar had learned from his sister's mate, the minotaur could do nothing to help save pick up the bag and place it neatly to the side.

He was just in the process of doing that when he heard the clink of metal. Tensing, Hecar stretched his hands around toward his back. Most minotaurs favored heavy battle-axes and many, including Hecar, carried them in back harnesses. All he had to do was reach a few inches more, and the axe would be in his grasp, ready to taste the blood of any adversaries.

"May Sargas watch over you, Brother," intoned a voice.

Hecar lowered his hands as he turned. He knew the imperious tone, as did all minotaurs. A cleric of the Holy Orders of the Stars. To humans, a minotaur cleric might seem a somewhat humorous sight, for, unlike Hecar and most of his kind, who wore kilts and armor but little else, a cleric was usually clad in a solemn black robe covering him or her from foot to head. The hood and shoulders of the robe were crimson. Both colors were said to be favored by Sargas himself.

Only the cleric's muzzle was visible, the rest of his face shadowed by the hood. His hands were clasped together and, as he walked toward Hecar, there was the faint clink of metal, indicating that under his garment the robed figure was both armed and armored.

Behind him trailed a pair of warriors with the look of the guard on their cold features. Members of the guard were generally recruited from the more fanatical warriors in the armies. This pair carried long swords as opposed to axes and looked ready to run Hecar through if he dared resist.

And what is it I'm supposed to resist? wondered the traveler. "May your ancestors guide you, Brother."

"You have business with Jopfer de-Teskos?"

"I sought out an old friend, Cleric. He wasn't home."

"So I know. How do you know him, Brother?" The cleric reached up and pulled back his hood. The cleric was surprisingly gaunt for a minotaur and much younger than Hecar would have guessed. However, the chill eyes warned that it would be a mistake to cross him.

"He's an old friend. I've just arrived here and thought I would visit since I was close by."

"Did you come by ship?"

A slight sound behind him warned Hecar that the three figures were not alone. He gave no sign that he had heard the others sneaking up behind him, but shifted so as to get his hands as close to his axe as he dared without giving his movements away. "Aye, I came from a ship. Been away for a while."

The cleric nodded, mouth set. He neither smiled nor frowned. "The Gladiator, wasn't it?"

Hecar twitched before he could control himself. He had given the name to the old male on the dock, not long before. "Aye, Gladiator."

The cleric nodded, closed his eyes, and a moment later uttered, "The Gladiator, lost at sea more than a decade ago. Nearly all hands lost with it." He opened his eyes and stared without emotion at the tense Hecar. "Therefore, you could not have just arrived on it."

Hecar said nothing. His hands were close to the handle of his axe. Any nearer and he would be committing himself to battling a cleric of high standing in the orders, not to mention several members of the guard. Yet, what could he do? He was not as clever as Helati's mate. Not nearly as clever as Kaz.

"What is your name?"

He was still debating how he should answer when one of the warriors behind him announced, "His name's Hecar, of the clan Orilg, Holiness. I thought I recognized him earlier."

The voice was so familiar that Hecar dared peek over his shoulder. There were three minotaurs behind him, one with a sword and the other pair with axes. It was one of the latter who had spoken. The tall, scarred figure grinned at him.

"Your house, is it not, Captain Scurn?" the cleric asked.

"The guard is my clan now, Holiness."

"Scurn?" When last he had seen the disfigured minotaur, Scurn had been an object of pity, defeated in combat by Kaz. The other minotaurs had been forced to lead their companion by hand from Solamnia all the way back to the empire, so broken was he by his loss. This incarnation, however, did not look at all defeated. In fact, he looked even uglier and more vicious than Hecar could ever recall.

"We are always happy to welcome a lost one back into the fold," commented the cleric. "Come with us, Brother Hecar."

Scurn and the other minotaurs closed in.

Hecar reached for his axe… and found that something held it firmly in its harness. The minotaur pulled harder but, despite his great strength, the axe remained stuck fast.

The gully dwarf? He was the only one who had come within touching distance of Hecar. Had he done something to the harness when they had collided?

Hecar glanced around, judged the expressions on the guards, and decided that he was surrounded and defenseless.

What, he wondered, would Kaz do under these circumstances? Of course, being far more clever, Kaz would not have made such a journey in the first place. He had warned Hecar from doing it, but the latter had been too curious and headstrong.

What would Kaz do in his position? There was really only one choice. If Scum was the captain of this lot, going voluntarily with them did not vouchsafe Hecar's continued well-being.

Snarling, he charged the cleric. The robed figure was surprisingly swift, so much so that he was easily able to dodge his attacker. The two guards beside the cleric moved in to seize Hecar, as did the three others. Hecar swung a fist wildly and succeeded in catching one guard on the underside of the jaw. His attacker stumbled backward, but did not fall. The other guard who had stood with the priest seized Hecar's arm and twisted it viciously.

Roaring in pain, Hecar still managed to keep his footing. He brought one foot up and struck his adversary in the back of the leg, just below the knee joint. The guard fell to his knees, losing his grip.

"Alive!" shouted Scum. "Alive!"

A heavy foot caught Hecar in the small of the back. He fell forward. Something hard and flat struck him on the head just behind the horns. The world spun.

"Not too hard, Captain. Save something for the circus."

Darkness began to creep over Hecar. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, thinking, What's happening? What by Kiri-Jolith's axe is responsible for this madness? I've done nothing!

Then he was struck hard again. Oddly, the last thing he heard was a voice, a calming voice, say, "There is a balance to maintain. I am sorry."