Blaize

Blaize, son of Audrick and Laure, is a human Altem Guardsman of the Atlantis Guild and the main character of the Mage Knight novel Rebel Thunder by Bill McCay.

## Characteristic

Blaize had a handsome enough face, or so tavern wenches across the Empire had assured him. Regular features, calm brown eyes. His cheeks were a bit hollow. Blaize had scarlet hair, but when he passed off as a Caeronn his hair was brown instead - he used special ointment to make it grow brown after getting a clean shave.

After Karrudan implanted his sigil on Blaize it was added to his appearance. It didn’t run - apparently, it was ingrained in his skin. Blaize had no magical capabilities - at all, which made him a more likely candidate for a mole. Blaize had lived with the pain of not being able to cast magic for seven years now, since the examiners at the Academy rendered their final verdict. He was no late bloomer. There would be no sudden quickening of magical ability. He lacked even his father’s modest talents.  Despite Karrudan's sigil not appearing under normal means, it could be sensed by those who possessed magic - they couldn't discern what it was but they felt that there was a small trace of magic about Blaize. The magical tattoo had been blasted into his flesh with sufficient power to knock Blaize off his feet, but the geas implanted on his brain had been a more delicate business. Karrudan’s game had reduced Blaize to a mere pawn, without even the freedom to fight for himself. He couldn’t be sure how his body would react in any given situation or if he’d be in command. That bred a wholly unique fear for Blaize to wrestle with.

When fighting on the Atlantis Arena he and his squad wore practice jerkins while Blaize was also equipped with a crossbow. An Altem Guardsman was supposed to be able to master any weapon found on the battlefield, so Blaize had practiced with crossbows and everything else available in the guardsmen’s armories.

When passing off as a Caeronn, he had a shaved head, a worn leather baldric and a sheathed short sword, the wire wound around its hilt tarnished. The leathers fit well enough; his satchel went over one shoulder, the sword over the other. The crossbow hung from his back. His pouch of quarrels hung from one hip, his hand knife in his belt, and the moneybag was hidden close to his chest—right by Karrudan’s medallion.

Blaize knew the ways of the army’s engineering corps, having put enough sweat into some of their building projects - and since all Atlantean barracks were build in the same vein, he knew his way around each.

## Personality

Blaize was more mild than other Altems, thinking against physically punishing those below his rank that badmouthed him. He thought that it was never wise to argue with squadmates before combat — even practice combat. Blaize never questioned orders, though he pondered them often. When he started out his career as a soldier and all the way 'til he was appointed as Karrudan's mole he believed was fighting for a cause - for the Empire that unified humans and protected them from the other races. In his opinion, thanks to the Imperial law the diverse human tribes each had their place. Blaize’s time in the army had shown how a guilty conscience could turn to anger and then deadly action.

Over the course of his job as a mole in the ranks of Black Powder Rebels, Blaize developed an attraction to Rikka, a member of the Rebellion, and started doubting his allegiance to the Empire. Through all his years in the army, Blaize had trained his body to react quickly and decisively when needed. Having that control wrested away at the whim of some wizard - that made him deeply angry. Blaize had always balanced the dangers against what needed to be done and then steeled himself to do it.

Honeyed spice tea was Blaize's favorite drink.

### Opinion on the Major Factions

From childhood, even before he’d entered the Academy, Blaize had been taught to glory in the essential rightness of the Empire. The divine Tezla had mastered Elemental Magic and Necromancy, and then used his knowledge to create Technomancy—magic augmented and strengthened by the use of Magestone. With such power at his beck and call, he’d lead the Atlantis Guild—the most gifted human mages in the Land—into a new age of magic and supremacy. Then Tezla had turned to the ancient dream of uniting all the human tribes. Not only had the emperor-magus succeeded, he’d won new respect for humanity from the more magically powerful races. The result was a realm of peace and plenty for all. Of course, some factions had been unable to stand that. The bonesuckers — death-magicians — had abandoned the Empire, founding the Necropolis far to the north and incessantly scheming to bring others into their sect. The Elementalists, Elven magicians of life-energy, had tried to set their will over the Empire and been banished. But the glorious, glittering fact of the Empire made all their efforts look paltry. Subsequent experience had taken some of the shine off that burnished image of school days. Divinely inspired it might be, but the Empire depended on humans, who often proved all too fallible. Officers, especially mage-officers, could have little grasp of reality. Unfairness and misfortune were a part of life, although there was always a suspicion that those experiencing bad fortune had brought it upon themselves. Soldiers might grouse about the evident shortcomings of Imperial life, but they’d die for the Empire nonetheless.

Hearing Sigwold discuss the Imperial system as if it were a machine—and a badly operating machine, at that - disturbed Blaize. Especially since so many of the points Sigwold made matched Blaize’s own observations. The rich and powerful did twist the machinery to gain their own ends, just as Karrudan had twisted Blaize’s own brain. Where did the slaves in the Magestone mines fit into the Empire’s goal of peace and plenty for all? What about the farmers being forced off their land? Atlantis-in-the-Sky was a glorious achievement, but what about the starving Down Towners who lived on the ground in the Floating City’s shadow? Blaize had nonetheless stayed loyal to the ideals of the Empire, even when he could see actual practice not measuring up. Some things, quite frankly, he’d ignored. The unpleasant subjects of Magestone miners and starving farmers were far away from the outposts he’d defended in the outlands, or in the great city. Other problems he could look upon as diseases, where the Empire could heal itself. But Sigwold’s vision of overloaded machinery beyond repair - that frightened Blaize. It suggested Tezla’s Mills of Circumstance had gone horribly mad, grinding everyone and everything to powder. The Necros had created one, dark and nasty as it was. As a guardsman, Blaize had helped to squash a few of the Sect’s plots. What he’d seen had turned his stomach. And he had no desire to join the Elementalists. Their view of the world seemed to have very little room for farms, cities, and humanity in general. All he’d heard of Sarah Ythlim had concerned sedition and rebellion in the northern country. If she was truly building a better machine, perhaps he should hear more about it. But for her experiment to prosper, the machinery of the Empire, good and bad, must fall. That thought grieved Blaize. He had battled Necropolis pit-fighters, Orcs, wild Galeshis, and Mage Spawn. If the Empire ended, there would be no army. Who would defend the tribes of humanity?

## History

### Early Life

Blaize was born and raised in the "island-castles" of Atlantis' Lower Forum - in truth, those were neither islands nor castles, but large blocks of cramped apartments stretching fortresslike from one street to the next. Blaize's father, Audrick, was a government worker in the Lesser Ministries. He was educated through the secondary forms at the Academy and went on several tours in the outlands, west and north. Blaize had first ridden a horse patrolling the plains out west.

Blaize used to play in the Public Gardens from earliest youth. As a toddler he’d gone to these “woods,” holding his mother’s hand, running along the paths, snitching a flower for Mama when he could, marveling at the marble temple in the Gardens. Mama would always tell him how she and Fada had been married here. Young Blaize was fascinated with the sight of a groundsman pushing a wheeled barrel, dipping into it to water the plants. Once Blaize’s highest ambition had been to be the man pushing that barrel.

A teacher from the Academy had once taken Blaize’s upper-form class out to examine some of the more neglected monuments on the Golden Mile. He’d pointed out the massive stone structure spanning the street, calling it the Altered Arch. The schoolmaster explained that the arch had risen more than 250 years ago, intended as a triumphal memorial for Tezla’s attack on the Knights Immortal. That campaign failed at the Battle of South Pass, but the arch, covered with scenes of victory over the Elves, was already in place. Rather than tear the thing down, artisans had changed the carvings to show Wylden followers of renegade Elemental mages facing Imperial justice. But, as the teacher pointed out to the Academy students, the sculpted battle scenes still included many High Elves fighting in the ranks of the Empire’s enemies. The suggestion that even Tezla could be fallible had fascinated Blaize. A number of parents had complained about this lesson, however. And shortly afterward, the offending teacher had been dismissed from the Academy.

He was also an avid tower-climber in his youth. Blaize had climbed his first tower as an eighteen-year-old under the elevating influence of some winter wine.

### Altem Guardsman

In 419 Tz at breakfast, Blaize, along with Utem Guardsman Jacot, recruit Guardsman Colass and pikeman Machau were ordered to train at the Imperial Arena - a "practice" fight of the four Atlanteans against two Mage Spawn - a Werebear and a Werewolf. Blaize took down the Werebear with two crossbow shots but the Werewolf proved tougher, killing Machau and Collas before coming for Blaize. The Altem had to set in motion a gambit with a spear to kill the vicious Mage Spawn, which worked.

After that, the corpses of fallen guardsmen and Mage Spawn were taken away and Blaize was ordered to accompany a veteran Altem and report back upon arrival. The veteran guided Blaize through the Golden Mile, the Lower Forums and, finally, the Barracks, where they entered Magus Emillon's office and where Lord Scarbro was introduced to Blaize. Before this, Blaize only ever saw Scarbro - the commander of the Capital Defense Legion on parades. Emillon explained that today's practice was a test for Blaize and was dismissed by Scarbro.

After that, Prophet-Magus Karrudan entered the office through a break in the wall, which was covered by a tapestry previously. Revealing that he saw everything that transpired that day on the arena through a scrying stone, Karrudan decided to use Blaize as his mole in the ranks of the Black Powder Rebels, implanting his sigil on the Altem through magical means. This morning’s business had brought Blaize to rarefied heights, indeed. His examiner was a personage of real importance within the Atlantis Guild - and within the Empire itself.

Blaize didn't lose consciousness when Karrudan touched his forehead but instead entered a magical trance - when he woke up, Lord Scarbro instructed him in his mission and gave him a Magestone medallion that allowed him to show Karrudan's sigil on his flesh whenever he wanted. Scarbro explained that the Oracles of Rokos divined Karrudan's assassination  - Blaize's job was to infiltrate the ranks of BRP's in Khamsin and foil it. Lord Scarbro then ordered Blaize to report to him by the way of mage-writ, after which Blaize was dismissed - he was allowed to say goodbye to his parents and on the next morning he was to leave Atlantis for Khamsin.

Blaize went to the Public Gardens to reminisce and then to the marketplace to buy some supplies for the trip. After that, he visited the family apartments one last time - Audrick and Laure had one last family dinner with him and let Blaize stay the night at his old room before setting off for Khamsin. Blaize, however, didn't tell them of his mission, saying that he was just being transferred to a new unit. On the morning of the next day, Blaize left.

### A Mole in the Ranks

Before going to Khamsin Blaize went to Lord Scarbro's office, where Blaize was shaved clean - both scalp and face, to pass off as a Caeronn ex-soldier who deserted the ranks, and also got a new set of ammunition and armaments to boot, after which he set off on his pass.

The early days of his journey had been straight riding on the Imperial post-roads. Then, as he’d come to look more the part of a wandering sword for hire, he’d sought out traders heading north. Before his first week as an outrider was over, he’d blooded the short sword he wore, driving off a crew of bandits. The would-be reavers were hardly the hulking Orcs Father had spoken of—they’d looked more like scarecrows. At their first rush, Blaize had feared the caravan was under attack from Necropolis Sect Zombies - they smelled bad enough to pass as ones, at least. He’d gotten a bonus from the master-merchant in charge as well as favorable references at their destination. Nowhere along the journey had Blaize been forced to use his mystic tattoo for help. With the payment from his new caravan master, Blaize would just about double the collection of road-silver he’d set off with.

Upon reaching Khamsin, Blaize went around the taverns, pushing his made-up background to see if any BRP member bought it and decided to recruit him - and in one tavern he caught the attention of Rikka. She asked him about his military service, and Blaize answered with soldiers’ yarns he’d heard from various Utem Guardsmen he’d trained with—carefully played down. Rikka was especially interested when she learned that he’d been posted in Atlantis, asking questions about the city in the sky and about Down Town. Those, of course, were the easiest for Blaize to answer. The less lying he had to do, the easier it would be to keep up this illusion. After some talking, Rikka decided to believe Blaize and introduced him to the Rebel cause. Rikka led him through streets of yellow-gray brick buildings to a warehouse - a Rebel base, in an unprosperous but quiet enough Khamsin neighborhood. Blaize realized they were about two streets away from the caravansary where he was staying. It was nighttime by then.

Blaize followed her through cavernous, shadowy storage bays, toward a pool of dim illumination in the rear of the warehouse. The light came from a small oil lamp perched on a wood slab laid across a pair of barrels. It barely allowed Blaize to make out the faces of four people sitting round the table - a Galeshi, a shifty-eyed Khamsin folk and a Dwarf, Rikka's adopted father. The dwarf Eginhard decided to test Blaize's battle capabilities by pitting him in a practice fight against Tulwar Windfoot of the Galeshi - the fight was to a first blow that in normal circumstances would be deadly - a death-cut. Tulwar fought well but Blaize was able to get the upper hand, winning the duel and joining the Rebels. Blaize's first undercover assignment was getting rosters and listings - troop and patrol movements for the Atlantean garrison in Khamsin from Khamita Castle, he Imperial garrison’s headquarters. He had to get them by tomorrow night.

Next day, Blaize was guided by the shifty-eyed Khamsin native to the Khamita Castle - the guide told Blaize the place's history and how the Atlanteans despoiled this wonder of architecture. Since all Atlantean barracks were done in the same fashion, Blaize knew a safe way in, and, after bidding his guide farewell he went to the market to get the necessary items for his gambit.

While preparing for his daring climb, he found out that he was being followed, but didn't know who was following him yet. Blaize's plan was to climb the wall using the rope he bought, in which he succeeded, though not from first try. He was wearing the purchases he’d made at the market — nondescript clothing that would look enough like an Atlantean uniform at a quick glance. Keeping his pace to a stroll, he made his way along company streets, doing his best to stay away from the open verandas of the barracks. He then slipped into the main building but was caught by an armed guard - surrendering to him, Blaize asked the fellow Atlantean to take him to their leader.

Blaize wasn't taken to the office of the castle's leader, Lord Portarr, however, but was sent to Magus Gamelon for examination. The Magus was suspicious of him because of the magical trace Karrudan's sigil left, but when Blaize showed it to Gamelon, he was quickly taken to the office of Portarr. Portarr was caught off-duty and angry, but was convinced by Karrudan's sigil, just like his subordinate. Per request, he gave Blaize the schedules detailed unit sizes, routes, and timing for patrols in and around Khamsin for the next week. Blaize memorized the list, jotting down a few notes with a charcoal stick on a paper scrap just to make sure. Blaize then asked fot Portarr to report to Lord Scarbro via mage-writ of the brewing Rebellion in Khamsin, mentioning the Prophet-Magus in his plea - invoking Karrudan would probably ensure that the message was sent. Beyond that, Blaize could only hope that Scarbro would correctly read between the lines.

Blaize then was instructed by Gamelon on how to meet him again through a secret passage in the Street of Metalworkers and then was let off - outside the Castle he was met by Rikka and the shifty-eyed Khamsin, who were the ones who followed him earlier. They argued for a bit, and then Rikka used a metal box to send a bit of light into the sky, signaling for the the Rebels to create a diversion by singing crude songs about Atlanteans - this was made so that Blaize, Rikka and the Khamsin could get away from the Castle safely, without being spotted.

After getting away Rikka led Blaize to another Rebel base deep in the Warrens of Khamsin - this one was more shoddy and more like the ones Blaize was used to in Down Town. The ceiling in the base was low - perfect for dwarves, not-so-much for humans. Eginhard met him there, congratulating him on his first assignment and complimenting his skills - the dwarf let Blaize rest a bit and instructed Rikka to lead him to the Warrens' bakery, which was an actual bake shop but under the protection of the Rebels - there he was introduced to the Rebel cook Bruna, Rikka's son Kennet and had some food.

Throughout the meal, he’d watched Rikka with her boy, listening to Kennet’s report of his day - who had come into the shop, how he’d helped Bruna, the boys he had played with, etc. Rikka explained her and Kennet's past to Blaize - how they've been born in a mine under the Atlantean yoke and how Rikka was named after the dwarven midwife who saved her, as well how Eginhard adopted her when her mother died of Magestone poisoning.

### Minetown

Blaize had spent the last couple of days bunking with an extremely closemouthed Khamsin named Jorj. He never found out the fellow’s epithet-name. Perhaps it was “the Silent.” Blaize didn’t even find out about the “Jorj” part until the morning of the second day, when somebody happened to mention it at breakfast. The obvious suspicion was that Jorj was on the run from the Imperial authorities. Whether it was a criminal or a patriotic matter, Blaize had no idea. After two days, Blaize was sure of one thing—he would kill for a chance at some sunshine. All that kept him from going crazy were visits from Rikka. They had talked a little and eaten a couple of meals together. Blaize found it pleasant—if Rikka was a watchful eye, she was a much more attractive one than Jorj. So, when she entered the bunkroom a little before suppertime, Blaize greeted her with a smile. Rikka explained that they were setting off in the morning at they'd better prepare for the trip. Rikka remained aggravatingly vague about their destination. They were going out to meet some people and give them whatever help they needed with a mysterious shipment.

They followed the underground ways to Bruna’s bakeshop, where a veritable feast awaited. Blaize took in the roast fowl, grain salad, greens, fruit, and the steaming round loaf spread out on the table - there was even a jug of wine. Kennet also joined them for the farewell feast. It was while they were eating that he got the hint that this might be a longer - and much more dangerous - journey. While discussing matters at the table, Blaize and Rikka told Kennet that they were going out, which made the little boy riot, making Blaize promise to him that he'll protect his mom - while the two would be out of town, Bruna would take care of the youngster. It was at this moment that the seed of Rebellion inside started sprouting, spurring him further into allying with the Rebel cause - mostly because of his feelings for Rikka, of course.

When Blaize was left alone, he lost control of himself. Not mentally, but magically - as if enthralled - his body had apparently been stolen from his mind. Fury overrode his fears, driving his soul back up from the darkness. He became dimly aware of sensation, and his vision returned. His headache was gone, replaced with a tingling feeling, strangely familiar. Now he remembered—the sensations were dim echoes of those ghostly spider-legs that had danced along his nerves when Karrudan touched his forehead. The mage hadn’t just imprinted him with his sigil. Karrudan had planted some sort of spell, to take effect if and when Blaize encountered any direct threat to the Prophet-Magus!

Blaize tried to see where he was, but even his eyes defied his will. They stayed straight ahead, looking down a darkened street. He had no idea where he was, only entering the rear of the shop, and that from underground. His body carried him to a passerby, and Blaize heard his voice demand him point him to the Street of Metalworkers. It sounded as if he was doing a flawless impersonation of Karrudan. After receiving directions, his body set off at a stiff-legged march. Blaize strove desperately to regain some kind of control. Every once in a while, he lurched, more from irregularities in the paving than because of his own efforts. Passersby would probably think him drunk. The Street of Metalworkers turned out to be close enough, and Blaize easily found the statue Gamelon had mentioned. Blaize’s body approached it at a wobbly stalk, one hand fumbling up to touch a surprisingly shiny toe where the contact of thousands of hands had worn away the verdigris. And, although he tried with all his will to stop it, the other hand reached up to press against the statue’s left heel, tapping twice. Blaize’s senses couldn’t tell if the Technomantic call had gone out. Instead, he lurched toward a Khamsin peddler returning home with his stock, and Karrudan’s voice required directions to the Great Square. The peddler told him that the press-gangs were out in the area and it wasn't a nice idea to wander off there. He encountered the press-gang just a few streets away from the Great Square. Upon spotting that Blaize carried old legionary boots the press-gangers thought him a deserter and Armon, their leader, declared Blaize fair game - alas, since Blaize wasn't in control of his body at the time, he couldn't fight back properly and was knocked unconscious.

Blaize regained consciousness to find himself facedown in some sort of wagon. Every rattle and lurch of the unsprung vehicle sent another sickening jolt through the back of his head, which seemed about ready to burst. He tried to move his arms — and succeeded, in a limited way. Shackles encircled his wrists, and he was buried under at least one and maybe more layers of inert bodies. The wagon hit some obstruction with a major jolt, sending a lance of pain that Blaize could even see behind his tightly shut eyes. A groan escaped his lips. A muscle-corded arm casually dug among the unmoving forms until it touched Blaize, got a response, and hauled him up. Blaize found himself flung into a corner of the wagon, almost paralyzed by the new bolt of pain shooting through his head. He saw three figures sitting on the plank seat opposite him. They coalesced into one, named Armon, the leader of the press-gang who had blocked his way. Blaize painfully pulled himself up on a seat - planks ran around the inside of the wagon, offering ample if splintery sitting room. Besides Armon, two gang members flanked the driver, and four more rode horses surrounding the conveyance. About a mile farther along, another of the victims began stirring. He lurched up to his knees in a rattle of chains, looking around wildly - he started resisting, shouting, saying that he had family and children, but was knocked out by Armon, showing the rest of the slaves what would happen to them if they resisted.

By the time the sun was above the horizon, all the prisoners had revived and were lining the sides of the wagon. Blaize spent his time studying the landscape with a soldier’s eye. Blaize found out that they were being carried off to a Magestone mine - a newly dug place called Minetown. Armon and his assistants removed the manacles, and the prisoners were chivied into a rough line under the watchful eye of a squad of armed guards. It reminded Blaize of his first day in the army - although with a much lower class of recruits. The headquarters door opened and a mage-officer came out - from his dreamy eyes and the acrid, spicy smell that clung to his robes, he’d been busily inhaling some narcotic essence to beguile the tedium of his duty. It took him a moment to come down to earth and begin the inspection. Even then, it was actually the clerk that followed him who classified the day’s intake as five, four or three Imperial specimens. As the slaves headed to the infirmary for the medical exam, Blaize tried to show the mage-officer Karrudan's sigil but was backhanded - the Magus didn't allow slaves to talk to him.

After a medical exam by a Leech Medic Blaize was assigned to toting baskets, teaming up with Trav, the more experienced basket-man. Trav explained to him the rules of the Magestone mine and how harsh the work is in the mines, with slaves being treated as mere tools - this pushed forward Blaize's inner rebellion. They were halfway to the top when an older slave Trav had pointed out previously fell to his knees. Blaize went to help him, when an overseer came charging down, prohibiting Blaize from helping the old slave. This gave Blaize the idea to meet with the head overseer and show him the magical tattoo in hopes he would take him to the Magus and he would recognize it, but Blaize forgot that magic, including Magestone gizmos, didn't work in the mine - the fat overseer then snatched the medallion from Blaize.

Coming up with his last load of the day, Blaize moved like an older man than Trav. Again, it was like a horrible parody of his first days in the army - this time he was reliving his first hike with full gear. Muscles he never knew of screamed with pain at every step, but worse than the physical aches was the feeling of despair - he’d walked miles today, and gone nowhere. His armor and military pack had purpose; they might have been heavy, but they were arranged with movement in mind. Toting a basket loaded with earth and stone on one shoulder left his back and body feeling contorted and his soul feeling empty. Then, too, no matter how much heat the sun had pounded into the pit, Blaize spent the day wading through the cold suspicion of his fellow slaves - Trav had barely spoken to him after Blaize asked to see the head overseer. Trav didn’t ask what had gone on. It wasn’t his business, and he didn’t care. One thing was for sure - he had become careful with Blaize. And Blaize could understand that, too - Trav had to protect himself, he’d be down here for the rest of his life and so might Blaize - but his lifetime might turn out to be short indeed.

In this brutal little world, some other slave would probably convince himself that Blaize had informed on some sin or infraction. One day in the mines and he was already thinking of suicide, but he remembered that people had escaped from the mines - Rikka definitely did. He dumped his basket, stacked it where the others stacked theirs, and looked dully around. He’d be hatching no plans tonight. His brain was almost too tired to come up with coherent thoughts. Blaize could just about manage following the crowd to the cook-tents. He then had food, wolfing down his load of mystery meat and then went to sleep.

Some soldier’s instinct stirred Blaize awake at night. He opened his eyes to find Tulwar Windfoot standing over him, scimitar upraised, not sure if this was some sort of dream—or a nightmare. The Galeshi dropped to one knee, putting a light hand on Blaize’s mouth while he mimed for silence. Then he turned to face Blaize’s cuffed ankle. Pushing himself up on one elbow, Blaize saw what must have awoken him - Tulwar had stretched Blaize's leg chain across the head of a hammer. He raised his sword again, bringing it down in a swift chop. Blaize’s estimate of Galeshi swordsmithing rose sharply as the scimitar’s cutting edge sliced through an iron link as if it were butter.

Although Tulwar had done his best to keep the operation as quiet as possible, there was a little noise as the blade clashed against the hammerhead. It was enough to rouse someone two sleepers down from where Blaize lay. He immediately recognized the character who’d purposely bumped into him at dinner - the big, slope-shouldered slave had given him a look of challenge. Now, as Tulwar whirled to point his scimitar at the stirring figure, the man stared at Blaize with mute appeal. Then he glanced beyond Blaize, his eyes going wide with alarm.

Tulwar ducked down as Blaize turned on his side, still pretending to be asleep, to see what was going on. Light flooded the area as a man with a lamp came close. Blaize recognized the head overseer - the drunken man advanced unsteadily, and his eyes certainly weren’t on Blaize - they were on Rikka, who hastily slipped a knife under his ribs, trying to go straight for the heart. The overseer was already dead, but Blaize knew strange things could happen with wounds like these. Once he’d watched a man run a hundred paces after taking a blade in the heart. The overseer tried to shout an alarm. But Blaize was already vaulting up, reaching for the head slavemaster, silencing the fat drunkard as he was dying. Blaize caught the dead weight with his body, fighting to maintain his clumsy hold while making sure the lamp didn’t crash. Rikka joined him, and together they lay the dead man down.

Blaize found the master key on a chain around the dead man’s neck, and the medallion the man had taken earlier that afternoon. The chain was broken - Blaize cursed under his breath. Blaize then gave Rikka the master key and slipped the medallion under his shirt. Rikka and Tulwar made quite a team, working down the line - the Galeshi had awaken each slave with a hand on the mouth, ensuring silence while she undid the leg cuffs - tactically speaking, freeing as many slaves as possible was a clever gambit. Their unpremeditated, improvised attempts to break out would certainly keep the guards and overseers busy while Rikka followed her escape plan. On the other hand, introducing so many random elements might've served to wreck that plan.

Still, Blaize did not intervene - remembering the way she talked about the mines, he realized her root cause was a burning belief that no one should be in these places. By the time the whole coffle had been released, the freed slaves were starting to make noise. Some were already running off. Even Rikka realized it was time to go. As she came toward him, Blaize noticed Trav standing slack-jawed, looking oddly older than he had today on the line. Apparently, this late shot of hope had paralyzed the man who’d chosen to give it all up. Then Blaize spotted his aggressive chainmate kneeling over the dead overseer, coming up with the man’s knife and sword - Blaize threw the armed man the key. A cry of pain awoke the guards - the knot of unchained slaves exploded, some heading for the shantytown, some going for the walls, some just running.

Rikka surprised Blaize by heading along the rim of the pit toward one of the farther sections of the palisade. As they reached the ladder leading to the ramparts, a guard appeared, torch in one hand, spear in the other - Rikka shown her prowess with throwing knives by lodging onein the guard's eye, instantly killing him. Without missing a beat, Rikka, Blaize and Tulwar swarmed up the ladder. Moments later, they were mounted and pounding down the road. Behind them the walls of Minetown were coming alive with torchlight. They had a short talk, in which Tulwar explained wht he had come - during the duel, he almost killed Blaize, broke the rules and tattered his honor, but Blaize prevented him from doing so - this was his way of repaying the devt he owned to the Caeronn.

### Road to Caero

After they cleared the zone of devastation around Minetown, Rikka left the Imperial Road, turning onto a barely scratched trail through scrubland. From his glimpses of the stars when there weren’t trees in the way, Blaize judged they were heading southwest. Rikka continued to take the lead, and Blaize and Tulwar followed her along an intricate series of trackways and back paths. Some of them didn’t seem to be paths at all, just wider spaces between bushes - smuggler's paths. Blaize had to keep on guard to make sure he wasn’t struck in the face by errant branches. They continued on, sometimes in darkness, sometimes in moonlight, until Rikka reined in her horse.

The trail they were on intersected a larger road. All around them was second-growth forest, with thick underbrush cutting the view to a few yards. Rikka gestured to Tulwar, who gave her a flash of very white teeth, then pursed his lips and let out a low, warbling whistle - the call of a night-bird. A moment later, the recognition signal was returned from the bushes on the opposite side of the road. Rikka gently kicked her mount into a slow walk. Blaize and Tulwar trailed along behind her. A rider emerged from the shadows across the way, and they rode together along the road for a short distance, until what seemed like an impenetrable wall of brush suddenly shifted aside to reveal an opening. This was a larger, better-maintained secret road. There was enough room for people to ride side by side. But they continued on in single file along the shadowy path until they found an open space, a rocky gorge cut in the side of a hill. During the spring rains, it was probably a swift-moving stream. Now it was dry, providing a hiding place for Eginhard’s troop.

Blaize recognized a few riders - Jorj, Mikarl and Eginhard - they all joked around about Blaize's drunken adventure, gambling addiction and the thickness of his skull, unaware of the fact that it was Karrudan's sigil that made him do that. Blaize and Eginhard shook hands and started their horses moving. With that silent signal, the cavalcade moved out. The rhythmic, loping gait began to have a predictable effect—not surprising after unconsciousness, a day of forced labor, and a bare few hours of sleep. Blaize began to nod, then dozed in the saddle, leaving most of the navigation to the tough little northern pony he straddled. Luckily it was a smart little beast as well, keeping to the middle of the pack as the troop moved through the night-shadowed countryside.

When his mount finally came to a stop, Blaize almost fell from the saddle, but Rikka saved him from an awkward situation. They rode out ahead of the others, following the track as it curved up to a vantage point on a hillside. Eginhard was there on his horse, frowning at the vista below. A pair of larger roads met and crossed, creating an irregular clearing in the midst of another section of scrubland. Strung out along the road paralleling their route was an Imperial mounted patrol, a good dozen men on horseback plus a couple of crossbowmen on the six-legged mechanical Scorpems. Blaize remembered hearing that Portarr had established a riding ring in Khamita Castle. The Warlord was no fool - he’d worked to improve the garrison’s tactical weakness. This was all Blaize's fault. After receiving the signal for a meeting and not having Karrudan’s agent turn up for it, Gamelon and Portarr would doubtless think Blaize had been removed, or killed, by the Rebels. The commander and his lieutenant would change the patrol schedules. No sense in letting the Rebels enjoy any advantage at their expense.

The Rebel forces had to take out the Scorpem patrol - and Blaize was appointed by Eginhard to lead the charge. Wordlessly, he followed Eginhard as the rest of their party reached them. The pace picked up as they headed downhill, bursting onto the roadway behind the rear guard of the patrol. He felt emptiness because of fighting fellow Imperials - it was wrong for him. Tulwar yelled a Galeshi war cry. The tail end of the Imperial column had now reached the clearing ahead. Already, they were shaking out into a line formation while still on the move.

Blaize tried to get more speed out of his tough little pony - he knew the guardsmen weren’t retreating. They were trying to put a little more distance between themselves and the onrushing Rebels before they turned and unleashed their countercharge. If they succeeded, that could be very bad indeed. The numbers were about equal, but the Imperials were mounted on tall horses from the southern plains, while Eginhard’s people rode smaller northern ponies. The difference in mass would be felt in a shock attack. When the fight started, Jorj was the first one to die, killed by a Scorpem Crossbowman. That was when the volley of arrows sleeted from the brush behind the Imperials. The heavy fire concentrated on the Scorpem riders - in an instant, despite their armored cover, the two crossbowmen looked like pincushions, sagging lifelessly over their now-still mounts. Riders came tearing through the underbrush - Orcs, for the most part, with a scattering of humans and Dwarves. Snow rode in the lead. The surviving Imperial riders milled around, unsure which threat to meet. That marked them as novice cavalrymen. Veterans would have been forming up or at least riding hard to escape being encircled. Surrounded, bereft of the Scorpems, and outnumbered, the Imperials were now just dead men on horseback. The onrushing lines of attackers crashed into them.

In the midst of battle, Blaize targeted an Altem Guardsman that decapitated one of the riders and stole his mount - Blaize gave chase to him and soon caught up, killing the Imperial rider. Rikka rode up to him - she held the horses outside of battle before this moment. The battle was over. The shrill sound of Tulwar’s Galeshi victory-yell had Blaize hauling his pony around almost in embarrassment, realizing he’d turned his back on the skirmish. He raised his sword arm up, then let it fall down again. Rikka was right. No more Imperials remained astride their horses or Scorpems. The Orcs were already off their lizard-mounts, blades rising and falling to make sure none of the guardsmen were shamming. Snow rode through the Rebel lines, joined by Sigwold. Moments later, Sigwold and Eginhard were reunited, and Sigwold introduced Snow to his dwarven brother.

Blaize joined the others as the leader of the ambush, Snow, called everyone around, and then ordered everyone to start covering up the evidence of the ambush, digging up graves for the Atlantean corpses. Others had already begun the job of digging a pit, but with so much earth to move, they had to improvise, using horse blankets from the captured mounts. Even working in shifts, the men started complaining when they got about eight feet down. First, they dumped the Scorpems into the pit, they ended with two layers of stiffening bodies covering the mechanical beasts. Snow vanished over to the pack train and returned with a metal container, which Blaize quickly recognized. Somewhere in the Land, an Incendiary Golem was missing a fuel tank. Snow and Sigwold then broke the tank open, poured it's contents into the pit and set it on fire. Brief, intensely burning flames licked out of the pit, causing some of the watchers to make a quick retreat. The funeral pyre subsided quickly, throwing up little smoke. The top layer of dead had been incinerated to the bone.

The men then set to digging, shoveling, dumping blanketfuls of earth, even kicking the stuff into the pit. Sigwold called a halt when they’d created a small mound. Snow and a few of the northern drovers appeared, leading the pack animals and the men’s mounts. As soon as all the horses were reloaded, they set off along the other leg of the crossroad — the way at right angles to the path taken by the ill-fated patrol. And although Sigwold strove for speed, it was the progress of the laden horses that set the pace.

The rhythmic travel began to tell again on Blaize, especially after the last of the battle’s adrenaline ebbed away - Rikka must have sensed his struggle to stay awake and dropped back in the line of march from her father’s side. Joining Blaize, she got him into conversation as they rode along. Just light talk, but it was enough to keep Blaize conscious as his horse jogged away the miles. They traveled on in good spirits and joshing camaraderie. Sigwold directed the caravan off the road and onto a cross country run—probably to avoid the next town and any possible inquiries.

Their route hugged the edge of the hills, until Snow rode back, declaring a halt. Upon seeing the Roa Vizorr nearby, he men cheered, turning their final advance into an impromptu charge. They rode their horses right into the water, the hooves stirring up the bottom silt. The thirsty horses didn’t care, leaning their heads down to drink. When the riders started to join them, Sigwold’s voice cut across the scene, telling the Rebels that they'd have enough time to rest once they set up a camp.

Blaize was one of the few who hadn’t joined the general rush. He’d reined in beside Snow, Sigwold, Tulwar, Eginhard, and Rikka. Now he angled to take his pony a little upstream of the others, where the horse could drink clear water. After allowing a quick drink, he tethered his mount to a tree trunk and joined in the work. The packhorses were unloaded there, and the cargo then covered over with canvas. A couple of tents went up, too, for the leaders and for Rikka. Free at last, Blaize headed away from the developing camp, following the stream above all the activity until he found a section that was blocked by scored rock, forming a shallow pool.

There he removed his shirt, laving away some of the grime that had accumulated on him - after taking a deep breath, he plunged his head into the water. The bandage wrapped around his brow loosened, but the pad at the back didn’t come free. Karrudan's sigil appeared once more on his forehead, but this time slightly blurred - Blaize wondered whether the Magestone from the mines had disrupted the spell. Thoughts and doubts started filling Blaize's mind, facts coming against his allegiance to the Empire, his affection to Rikka also playing part in him doubting his own mission and all that the Empire stood for. Rikka then came along to help Blaize remove the bandage from his head.

Returning to the camp with a sleepy-eyed Rikka, Blaize resolved not to mention their discomfiting interlude. In fact, he decided to put all confusing thoughts aside and concentrate on the simpler aspects of life. He curried his pony’s shaggy coat, ate several pieces of stringy boiled salt meat wrapped in spiced waybread, and managed to get a pair of blankets. Then, stretching out on the hard ground, he slept like a dead man.

Eginhard and Sigwold had a little mercy, leaving Blaize out of the watch rotation. When he awoke the next morning, Blaize felt as if he’d finally reentered the world of the living - especially after getting himself a mug of herb tea and some unspiced waybread with honey. He was trusted enough now to hold some of the barrels as the packhorses were loaded, under the supervision of the remaining northern drovers. Snow was out with some scouts, off across the stream - there would be more cross-country riding today. Blaize wondered a bit about the cargo they were carrying, trying to discern its nature in his head, but to no avail.

Blaize mounted his pony and eased into the line of the march. Soon Rikka came to join him, and they killed many a mile talking. Blaize gave her army stories, especially some of the wilder things that happened along the western frontiers. They had the advantage of being true—more and more, he came to hate lying to Rikka. Better to tell her about the patrol where the Scorpem accompanying them had gotten stuck in reverse gear, rather than inventing any tales about his Caeronn boyhood. Rikka told her stories about her coming to Khamsin and suggested for Sigwold to fix Blaize's medallion, to which he declined.

Rikka cast sidelong glances at Blaize as they rode along in silence. Eginhard then rode up to them, saying that Sigwold wanted to see if Blaize's scouting is as good as his sword work, telling him to ride on ahead to yonder hills and find the easiest way through for the riders. Blaize nodded and picked up his pony’s pace, moving to the head of the column and beyond. Eginhard continued to ride with Rikka as they watched the young man vanish off toward the horizon.

After scouting ahead, Blaize spied on Sigwold, Eginhard and Snow to determine what the cargo they were carrying all this way was. Moving as silently as he could, Blaize slipped into the underbrush around the trees. He was lucky, finding a thin section of greenery that gave him a glimpse right to the banks of the stream while still screening him from sight. Snow, Sigwold, and Eginhard stood in the shade, but Blaize could see them well enough. He was still too far away to hear clearly. In any event, they seemed to be speaking in undertones. Sigwold was placing a cork in a small keg while Eginhard regarded a pile of black powder held in his cupped hands. He seemed to be addressing a question to Snow, who nodded vigorously while brandishing a strange-looking implement in his right hand. Not an implement—a weapon, Blaize realized as he got a better look - a fuser rifle, but Blaize didn't know of its power yet, thinking it was some weird smuggling armament.

Blaize had no more time for conjecture - Eginhard was handing the weapon back to Snow and they would be rejoining the pack train — and so should Blaize. He backed carefully through the underbrush, clear again, Blaize remounted his pony and rode back onto the plain. Then he swerved so that the trees no longer hid his approach. - he’d gotten his wish and seen what the caravan carried - a cargo of powder and expensive, fanciful implements of war that couldn’t stand up to anything already in the Imperial armory. At least, that's what he thought back then...

After turning onto the road, the pack train had encountered several deserted townlets. Blaize and the others had stopped at some of them, using the wells to water their beasts, sleeping in some of the less tumbledown adobes. Debt and failure had emptied the villages of peasants as their farms had been swallowed up by the growth of estates. This set of half-ruinous buildings, however, turned out to be near a gleaming new manor house. The steward had come out to berate them, waving his staff of office. Besides his dubiously useful sword, the steward had a gaggle of agricultural workers standing well behind him, armed with the usual farm-implement miscellany: sickles, pitchforks, and flails. They didn’t look very confident in their chances of success against the riders. She and the rest of the warriors could go through these farmers like wind scattering wheat chaff.

However, their job was to shepherd a perilous cargo to Caero and beyond, not to pick fights with local landowners while heading in the direction of the Imperial garrison those landowners would call upon. The head steward was unfortunate enough to insult Rikka in Eginhard's presence and a fight between the servants of Master Ramosi's estate and the Rebels almost broke out. Sigwold defused the situation, however, and the pack train lurched into movement. While on the road, Snow, Sigwold, Eginhard, Rikka and Blaize discussed how empty estates like these are made, with Sigwold telling them of Sarah's theory on the Empire's taxation politics that seep all the life off of these estates - Blaize didn't add much to the talk, mostly listening to Sarah's theory and trying to make sense of it in his head.

He was afraid to meet anyone’s eyes, not with the thoughts presently wrestling one another in his head. What he really needed was solitude while he tried to reconcile Sigwold’s matter-of-fact dissection of the Empire with everything he’d ever been taught. At least everyone had stopped talking. Apparently, they were also lost in their thoughts. Blaize thought of offering to ride on ahead, but decided that would only call attention to himself. Better to follow the old army adage—never volunteer.

Exerting a little pressure on his reins, Blaize got his pony to slow his pace almost imperceptibly. Soon he began to fall behind the leaders of the column. He was glad that Rikka apparently didn’t notice him lagging back - her conversation would be an all-too-agreeable escape from the thoughts he had to deal with. Away from others, Blaize sat deep in his thoughts, thinking of how Sigwold's analogy was all too true, yet again conflicting with his allegiance to the Empire. Luckily, Rikka rode up to him - he’d been so deeply preoccupied, he hadn’t paid any attention to his surroundings—a dangerous lapse for a warrior. Apparently, he’d still been reining in his horse, since he now rode just ahead of the caravan’s rear guard. They had a short talk but after a while Blaize was taking aback by the sounds ahead, a flashback from his childhood appearing - Imps were on their trail - but the Imps themselves weren't the problem, since they're just carrion feeders - something has been stalking them that was way worse - Blaize rushed to warn Snow and others.

After warning the Rebels, Blaize waited with Mikarl and Jon Bowman, discussing what the stalkers might be while imps were laughing at them from up the trees. Up in the front of the caravan a delay happened because of a dam breaking down and flooding the nearby areas. After proceeding down the road, they were attacked by a band of six Lizard-men - vicious, aquatic Mage Spawn. Snow joined in the fight to help, eventually driving off the beasts, but not before Blaize's mount and Mikarl died at the hands of the monsters.

When they were almost within sight of Caero, Blaize was surprised to see the pack train turn off the Luxor-Caero road, heading instead south and east toward the canyon city of Venetia. But long before they reached the flooded gorges and grottos cut by quarrymen centuries before, Snow detoured them off the road. Snow led the way toward the highest prominence, which obviously had been partially quarried. A slit had been hacked into the top of the hill, with several shattered blocks flanking it. Beyond the slit entrance, though, the quarry opened up, offering more than enough space to stable the packhorses. There was even a cavelike section cut into the rock.

Snow said that they don’t want some Imperial tax assessor pawing through the merchandise, so Sigwold and him will camp out here with the goods. Most of the rest of the riders went home, since from here on, a large group of Northerners and Khamsins would've trigger a little too much interest from suspicious Imperial minds - better to have this look like a Caeronn pack train with a few outlander guards. Snow kept four men on besides Eginhard and Rikka - Tulwar has shown himself good on the trail, Jon Bowman’s shooting is a definite plus, Harolt has been running the pack train from Varsfield, and Blaize, as a Caeronn, would blend well with the additions.

Blaize silently blessed all those tests he’d been put through. Snow then separated everyone into groups of two and bid them off. They packed the barrels into the farthest recess of the man-made cave, then Tulwar led off a party to get fodder for the horses. Blaize went along, working up a good sweat as he attempted to chop grass for the packhorses using a sword. Riding with a heavy load of cut grass, Blaize took his time riding back to the cave. He stopped beside one of the wrecked blocks, and took a moment to scan the horizon. Reaching the abandoned quarry had been a higher climb than he’d first realized. The hilltop gave a view all the way to Caero, with Rikka joining him whilst he was looking at the marvelous city.

Looking down at the city reminded him that he was returning to civilization, and much as he’d come to like his companions — Rikka most of all —he had to face his responsibilities as an Imperial Altem. Blaize had already made one decision. He wouldn’t attempt to contact the local Atlantean authorities until after he’d met this new set of Rebels. Hints he’d gleaned from conversation suggested that several important leaders would join them. The pendant tucked in his shirt no longer encircled his neck, but it seemed to have an even greater weight than ever before.

### Burning of Caero

The Rebel group created a little eddy in the gathering river of humanity making its way into the mouth of the Port Gate. Eginhard had led the reduced group of riders from the stone cave yesterday, pushing the pace against the declining sunlight. They’d even picked their way for two hours in full darkness before the Dwarf finally gave up, his grim insistence on speed had kept conversation to a minimum. Blaize was glad he’d had the chance to talk with Rikka before they left. By the time they set up a fireless camp, the riders were too tired to think of anything but sleep, except for the rotation of guards Eginhard established.

The Rebel leaders had proven remarkably thorough - they’d even given Blaize a little road-silver to show the gate guards he had the wherewithal for a week’s stay at a local inn. By sunrise, they were in sight of Caero’s walls. They also found themselves in the midst of a motley collection of people waiting to get through the gates. Eginhard and Rikka pushed into the mob scene, quickly disappearing. Someone out of the remaining group had to go next - in the end, they played a finger game, and Blaize and Tulwar lost to Jon Bowman. When they joined the line, true dawn had arrived - and the dustwinds began blowing in earnest.

When they arrived at the gate, they found several squads of Imperial guardsmen - most were searching incoming vehicles and pack trains, assessing taxes. Only one squad dealt with individual travelers, consisting of a grim-faced Altem Guardsman who let them through quickly enough. He passed them, though, and they walked their horses down Caero’s Ceremonial Way, the widest, longest street in the city. They quickly left the wide-open streets of aristocratic Caero for a city of tight, twisting alleys. Tulwar then took them to the shopping district, where they they found themselves facing a nondescript shop with bundles and dried greenery spread on the shutter. The owner was a wizened old Caeronn, his face wrinkled, the linen of his kilt yellowing. Tulwar said the password to the old contact, who, in turn, asked his servant to lead the way to the Rebellion's base in Caero.

Tulwar and Blaize followed the shadowed figure to a door standing ajar in the expanse of the opposite wall. Stepping through the entry, they found themselves in a fairly large kitchen, the smells of cooking reminded Blaize that breakfast this morning had been on the scanty side. Valerian then revealed himself to Blaize and they became acquainted. In the common room, they found Jon, Harolt, Rikka, and Eginhard seated around the ruins of a generous meal. Two strangers were also at the table - Sarah Ythlim and Affrem. The Rebels discussed their trip to Caero while eating and also assessing their next course of actions. After all was said and done, Sarah, Valerian, and Affrem then moved off to a table across the room, speaking in low tones. Blaize made no attempt to overhear.

When his time at the bathhouse came, Blaize found Tulwar still lolling in the other tub while one of the female bath attendants whipped up a good lather in a mug. There, Blaize was told about Valerian by Tulwar, hearing of how the forest elf came to be known as Woodsbane. After that, Blaize certainly couldn’t reject the bath-girl’s barbering services.

When they were finished, the attendants wrapped great towels around the men. Blaize went to put the medallion into his money pouch. It was the first time Blaize had lain in a bed since Khamsin, but he didn’t sleep. He lay alone in the upstairs room, considering the next part of their journey - whatever the mysterious cargo might be, it represented something very important to the Rebels, drawing their most important leaders here. After making bonds with all of the Rebels on his way here, Blaize couldn't bring himself to sell them to the local authorities - instead, he decided to kill Sarah Ythlim and behead the Rebellion this way.

Next day, Blaize rose with all the fatalism of a soldier before the battle. In the common room, he found a satisfied-looking Tulwar, Affrem had managed to get Eginhard, Jon, and Harolt into some sort of game. Valerian sat off to the side, watching them with an ironic smile. Blaize incquired about Roudi, the bath-girl, so that he could get his medallion fixed - Valerian let Tulwar accompany him. Roudi happily gave them directions - Blaize evensuspected Wensu, the local tinker, was some distant relative of hers.

The route wasn’t that complicated, taking them to a nearby neighborhood. Getting there took them out of the alleyways and across one of the wider streets. The display on Wensu’s shutter-counter ran to cheap brass objects— candlesnuffers and cookware, but beside the man sat a tiny dancing female figure. It wasn’t even as tall as Blaize’s thumb, but it was a perfect miniature. Blaize took out his chain and medallion and explained what he needed - Wensu examined them, complimenting the intricate work and thinking it was from Delphane at first. They haggled a bit -in the end, to spare Blaize’s purse, the craftsman agreed to take one link from the chain for repairing it. Wensu done his work masterfully and handed the medallion with the chain back, while also handing some road-silver to Blaize as spare change.

There was little enough to see in the neighborhood, so Blaize and Tulwar decided to return to the inn. A squad of Imperials came marching up just as Blaize and Tulwar crossed the wider thoroughfare - behind them, matching the soldiers step for step, came the hulking form of an Incendiary Golem. A second later, the Altem accompanying it gave a command to the machine and it set a row of shops on fire.

For one stunned second, the only sound was the screaming of the burning merchants and their customers. Then, as the Golem moved on to the next row of buildings, uproar engulfed the street. Bawling in terror, people began running, abandoning the relatively wide street for the back alleys. The thick afternoon crowds had no idea what to do; their surge was just a mass attempt to escape the fire, the soldiers, and the Golem. Blaize realized that he and Tulwar were dragged along in the panicked stream of people. The Golem moved on, firing its flamecaster. Now all the buildings on the far side of the street were ablaze. A wall of flame barred the way to the rest of the city - but it might be worse that both the inn and Sarah Ythlim were on this side of the fiery cordon.

Even for the Empire, this was high-handed behavior. The garrison commander wouldn’t send his troops on such an attempt unless he believed there would be a large reward. Blaize and Tulwar fought their way to the front of the torrent of runners, then they were ahead, making their way through the alleys where the fleeing mob dispersed. They reached the inn ahead of any of the refugees, bursting into the common room. Instantly, they faced a phalanx of suddenly drawn weapons and informed the residents that the Atlanteans are trying to set the city on fire.

Affrem tried to leap to his feet—but failed. Valerian’s foot pinned the Caeronn’s robe to the floor. The fat frog-face, beaded with sweat, all but shouted confirmation of Valerian’s subtle accusation - the tax collector—Ramosi—was going to ruin him. Valerian’s smile had gone completely feral as he seized Affrem’s head, moving so quickly - Blaize only got a hint of movement. An instant later, the Caeronn lolled in his chair, a red gorget of blood spreading across his robe from a slit throat. Wiping a knife on the dead man’s linen, Valerian headed for the stairs to get Sarah and Rikka.

The instant she got the news, Sarah was coming down the stairs, pulling a nondescript gray cape around herself. Valerian had also donned the floor-length hooded cloak he’d worn when Blaize first met him. Blaize could smell the first traces of smoke in the air as the group exited the inn. Along with smoke, flaming debris were already flying on the breeze, landing all over the neighborhood, setting new fires. Cries of alarm rang out as people’s homes went up. As the fugitives negotiated a kink in the narrow alleyway road, they finally saw why - a three-story house was well ablaze, thick smoke rising from the roof. No bucket brigade could stop the fire’s progress. Despairing wails came from the third floor as well, the window shutters had been thrown open, and a woman stood in the opening, holding two babies in her arms. Flames already flickered behind her, the mother’s voice was raw from smoke, screaming for any help. Sarah Ythlim stopped dead in the passageway, Valerian crashing into her from behind. Sarah was hellbent on rescuing the mother.

The Rebels formed a living ladder - on Blaize's idea - they lasted long enough for the trapped family to make their escape. The desperate construction came apart from the top down. Once the operation was done, Blaize nearly fell flat when he tried to bring himself upright. Rikka flung her arms around him in exuberance. The physical contact was a definite pleasure, but Blaize was just happy for the help in standing up.

But the Rebels’ flight was short-lived - they hardly got a block away down the alley before they ran straight into an Imperial patrol. The guardsmen stood five abreast behind a hedge of spear points - this was no arson squad - these guardsmen had been set out to plug this escape route. They were searching for something - or someone - Sarah, as the Rebels later found out. Fire, meanwhile, cut off the escape route from the back. Two guardsmen came forward to pull the females aside, grabbing their hoods. Sarah’s face and hair were revealed. The one who’d gone for Rikka stepped back, gurgling. Seizing the opportunity, Blaize tore his sword free and charged the line of spears, droppinng to bring himself under the shafts, rolling up to the guardsmen’s legs, and began slashing. Blaize guessed that the guardsman who’d gone for Sarah had met the business end of someone’s blade. Running footsteps told that the others were in motion - Blaize, however, didn’t watch. He was intent on getting through the line and at the Altem.

Blaize knew what he would do in a situation like this if he were the guardsman, but he was a second too late. The Altem got off one good blast on his brass whistle before Blaize’s blade punctured a lung. Returning whistles came from the distance — other patrols on their way. Blaize pulled his sword loose and ran. In staying to deal with the Altem, he’d put himself at the rear of the pack of Rebels who’d burst through the gap he’d created. As the battle-rush cleared away, Blaize suddenly realized what he’d done. Instead of quietly standing by and letting the Rebels be captured, he’d lashed out, opening the avenue of escape — through fellow guardsmen! Instant response had been drilled into him by his trainers, with their tales of warriors who’d hesitated and died, but his instinctive reaction had been for his companions and against his Imperial comrades.

He had no time to stop and contemplate - Blaize was hard-pressed to keep up with the tail end of the fugitives as Valerian led them on a wildly jinking course through the webwork of alleys. All around them, though, the running Rebels could still hear the whistles - the sound even came from behind them. Smoke grew thick in the constricted passage, and he could see the redness of flames up ahead. Blaize realized he had no idea where they were. He could only hope Valerian’s forest-trained Elemental senses were doing a good job of guiding them.

A shout rang out behind them -Blaize risked a quick look back. More Imperials came clattering in pursuit — a fresh patrol by the look of it, and they had a live Altem directing the chase. They followed Valerian through another set of zigzags, in the hopes of briefly setting back the pursuers - the alley they ended up in swerved through an almost right-angle turn. When Blaize and Eginhard came round, they found a pair of absolutely blank walls, smoke, and the rest of their party preparing to make a stand. Harolt, Tulwar, and Jon formed a rank across the passage. Harolt, the drover, looked scared, Tulwar looked eager, and Jon looked a little dubious. He’d had to give up his crossbow, leaving him with only a sword. Eginhard grinned wolfishly as he took his place in the line. When Blaize gently tried to push in along, the Dwarf nearly took the human’s hand off.

Blaize took his place at the far flank against the right-hand wall - he ran a palm against the dingy adobe, then snatched it back. The heat reminded him of Bruna’s ovens. They waited long minutes. Blaize’s concern began to grow. Valerian’s attempted evasion couldn’t have taken this long for the Imperials to figure out. Blaize glanced over his shoulder to see what the others were up to: on the left, Valerian spoke with Eginhard, bringing something out from under his long cloak and putting it in the Dwarf’s arms. In a swirl of black wool, Valerian then joined the women—or so Blaize figured. He could barely make out Sarah’s gray cloak in the distance.

Blaize could understand that. This was the sort of predicament where Atlantean generals, even mage- officers, would be clearing out while leaving a rear guard to distract the enemy. His thoughts were interrupted as a single Imperial leaped around the corner, appearing right in front of Harolt. The Prieskan jumped back, not striking. Neither did the Imperial, who vanished round the bend again even as Tulwar hacked at him. The Galeshi’s scimitar clashed off armor, and then the scout was gone. From around the corner came the sounds of a sizable mass of men organizing for an attack. The four men blocking the alleyway looked nervously at one another. The only good thing was that they were reasonably safe from any sort of Technomantic attack. A magical blast or even a Golem’s heavy tread would bring the burning warehouse’s walls down. From the front, the sounds of advancing men became louder. Blaize then heard a muttered command.

Now Blaize could see what the Dwarf held cradled - a lightning gun! That was a weapon for the pride of the Imperial Army. Harolt was already past, breaking into a run. So was Jon Bowman — prudence in this case obviously being the better course than valor. Blaize and Tulwar still faced the bend in the alley as a host of Imperials came roaring round, Altems in the front rank. They stumbled a little when they didn’t encounter the resistance they’d expected. Blaize wasn’t sure whether the words were directed at him or the enemy. Either way, Eginhard triggered the weapon - a spark of blue-white energy sizzled from the lightning gun, striking the wall Blaize had been standing beside moments ago. It wasn’t a full charge. But even so, it was enough to fill the narrow alleyway with the stink of ozone — and to fill Blaize’s eyes with dancing afterimages. He didn’t see the wall start to crack, but he heard and felt the shift. A rush of rubble and flame surged into the alley and, half blind, Blaize hauled himself away. Eginhard pushed Blaize and Tulwar ahead of him.

They were coming up on another intersection. Rikka and Valerian darted right into a cross-alley. Sarah, her pale hair streaming behind her, went straight. Still blinking, Blaize pounded after her, suddenly very aware of the sword in his hand. He was ahead of Tulwar and Eginhard and could strike without interference. Hoping they’d just run past was sheer wishful thinking, but the lightning gun was exhausted. Beheading Sarah would spare the Empire rebellion and sorrow, maybe even save the Prophet-Magus. He was a bare step behind the gray-cloaked figure now - Blaize was bringing up his blade when the figure before him glanced over it shoulder, revealing the face hidden by that flowing mane of white - the face of Valerian, the smiling devil.

### Escaping the Conflagration

Valerian batted away Blaize’s wavering blade with the back of his hand. Blaize now realized the gray cloak was a bit short on the Elf’s tall, rangy figure, but a quick glimpse after being dazzled by the lightning discharge had been enough to convince him he pursued Sarah. As amazement drained away, Blaize faced new surprise, finding himself relieved even glad that his wild plan had gone awry. Valerian's voice held a note of satisfaction, saying that the Imperials will believe their quarry, Sarah, is heading north. Meanwhile, Sarah is heading south to join Snow.

When Eginhard and Tulwar joined them, Valerian continued leading them north, apparently unconcerned about the encroaching fire. The smoke grew thicker as they continued on their way. Blaize could hear noises through the thickening murk—muttered curses, and then a crash. While the others barged in to a building to get some water to help with the smoke, Valerian searched the area until finally he stopped in front of a statue. He pushed against it, and the base suddenly pivoted, revealing the black maw of a hole - Caero has its tunnels that smugglers often use, and they were heading down to one. With that, Valerian swung himself around and began descending. Blaize found himself third, after Harolt. As he clambered downward, he could hear the sounds of flint striking steel. Then light blossomed below. The tunnel ran straight ahead. Blaize simply had to follow Valerian.

After Valerian handing everyone masks to avoid suffocating from the smoke, they continued on, Blaize now silently counting paces. Their light began to fade — the flame of the torch was guttering. Flame needs air to breathe. Harolt then stumbled, reaching to catch himself against the wall. He recoiled from the stone like a scalded cat. Hysteria quivered in the Northerner’s voice. Harolt sobbed, but continued onward. Eginhard was the next to trip, falling all the way to the floor. They made the last third of their journey on hands and knees, faces as close to the floor as they could bring them. Somewhere along the way, the heat began to decrease. They had made it beneath the raging fires. Everyone in the group was coughing now, a thick, disgusting mucus emerging to clog the masks they wore. Blaize began to wonder if they’d even make it to the far end. Valerian then snuffed out the torch. They groped along in blackness until the Elf finally croaked, finding a ladder! Eginhard and Valerian then forced the trapdoor at the top open.

They climbed up into a warehouse thick with smoke, but there seemed to be no flames anywhere near. Outdoors, the dustwind tasted like wine as Blaize pulled the wrappings away from his face. Valerian staggered over to a nearby horse trough, sluicing his face with a double handful of water. Blaize joined him, handing over the cloak he’d picked up from the tunnel floor, then he cupped his hands and threw water on his own face. The group walked through empty streets, disheveled, smoke-stained, and wild-eyed. Valerian had wrapped the cloak around himself, pulling up the hood to hide his telltale hair. Shadows were slanting across the streets. The remorseless dustwinds continued to blow in Blaize’s face - besides grit, it brought new traces of smoke. They continued on through streets grown dull with fading sunlight and clouds of smoke.

Warehouses gave way to tenements, and then, as they came to the first wide street, they suddenly found shining new mansions. One of them was afire, adding to the local smoke quota. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, and some were accepting work on a sketchy bucket brigade that was bringing water to the harried house servants. A couple of grounds servants had abandoned the fight to save the house, running for the stables. One of the menials threw open the door and began to lead horses out. Tulwar led the way to the far wall, grabbing saddles and bridles, passing some on to Blaize. As they headed out, Blaize spotted Harolt leading two horses. Whatever the Prieskan in personal courage, he made up for in concern for the animals. They moved as gently as if they were taking an exercise round. The horse Eginhard led, however, kept trying to bite him.

Blaize threw a saddle over a trembling mare and tightened the girth. Tulwar tossed his gear to Jon Bowman and took over gentling down the horse still trying to take a bite out of Eginhard. Harolt turned his two horses over to Valerian, then turned to run back into the burning building. All the horses they needed were saddled up when Harolt returned. With that chore taken care of, they mounted up and charged for the mansion gates. The crowd recognized immediately that the riders were not Ramosi’s servants and burst out in cheers. The Imperials turned, stared, and began pushing off from the wall where they’d been lounging. But before the troopers could block the way, the Rebels were past them, riding like mad for the Ceremonial Way and the Northern Gate.

This time, there was no polite waiting in line. They pounded along the street, and anyone who got in the way risked being trampled. From the dodging pedestrians, the gate guards would have to suspect something was up - very few Caeronns left the city just before the gates closed. Blaize could see helmeted heads turning toward him and the other riders. Altems began shouting orders, and their squads started deploying. One Altem stalked forward, his hand upraised - the arrogant fool couldn’t believe the riders wouldn’t obey. Valerian purposely swerved his horse to knock the Altem down. The other Imperials were caught flat-footed. They had neither blocked off the exit with troops nor closed the gates. Blaize drew his sword, ready to lash out at anyone foolish enough to try blocking them now. It was too late for the Imperials - the Rebels galloped through the open gateway. Safely outside, Valerian skinned back his cloak’s hood, letting the guards see that the white-haired Rebel they were supposed to be on the lookout for had escaped — northward. Blaize reined in his mount to a more moderate pace.

Valerian's plan of going for the pyramids to hide from the Imperials was foiled when he saw their forces gathering near the wonders of architecture. The troops had apparently been sent out to the Empire’s stone-stealing project at the smallest pyramid. Clustered around the scaffolding that surrounded the cut into the pyramid stood a group of Golems—Incendiary Golems. The hulking constructs dwarfed the robed mages who controlled them and made the Amotep Incinerators in the group look even odder. Disengaging and escaping would be a much longer, more difficult matter.

The Elf now led the group of riders for the edge of the pyramid farthest from the roadside. As soon as the Rebels left the road, the Imperial troops began deploying. Some moved to block the paved surface. Others formed a line to protect the mages. Several Golems began making their ponderous way to the far end of the pyramid. Blaize spurred his horse back to a gallop. The riders had the longer route to travel, but they could move faster than the Golems. The stony ground beneath them—necessary to support such titanic structures—allowed top speed.

It would be a close thing, but it looked as though the riders would win the race. Then another variable raised its ugly head - an Amotep Incinerator appeared, already at the end of the pyramid. The jet of flame he sent at the riders set their horses snorting and plunging, refusing to go onward. The Golems, however, continued advancing at their thundering, jogging trot. Jon Bowman snarled the order to halt. Blaize turned to see the crossbowman’s feet thud onto the ground. An instant later, he had his bow ready, and fired. The bolt caught the Amotep in the leg, bringing him down. Another jet of flame vomited out as the wounded man tried to fire back. Jon was just out of range - he pulled his bowstring back into position and set in another bolt.

The Amotep was clawing his way erect with the help of one of the uprights for the scaffolding when Jon fired again. This time, the bolt entered the Imperial’s shoulder, just outside his armor. The hand that had held the nozzle of the flamecaster hung uselessly as the Incinerator fell again. The riders tore through the danger zone. Blaize hung back, sword out, in case the Amotep made another attempt. Blaize glanced toward the Golems - they were coming very close. Blaize was distracted and didn't see the Amotep who tried to seize the opportunity from Blaize’s inattention, wobbling up with the nozzle in his good hand. Blaize went to stab, but was blocked as Tulwar brought his horse over the Imperial. A gout of flame rose up. The horse reared, screaming, then collapsed.

Tulwar flew from the saddle, his billowing Galeshi costume afire. He lived up to his “Windfoot” epithet, landing lightly and rolling to douse the flames. His mount, however, lay where it had fallen, kicking and giving bubbling screams. Scimitar in hand, Tulwar limped to the prone Amotep and administered the finishing stab. His handsome face was starting to blister as he glared up at Blaize, proclaiming that he would make his final stand here and now against the Golems. He aimed the nozzle at the nearest Incendiary Golem - flame poured forth to bathe the oncoming machine, searing Tulwar even as he fired. The construct raised its own huge flamecaster for a countershot and suddenly began to shudder. Tulwar laughed.

Realizing what was about to happen, Blaize urged his mount around the corner of the Pyramid. He’d just reached safety behind the monumental masonry when the Golem’s fuel tank blew up. Even so, the blast was enough to jar Blaize’s horse into a stumble. The blast did more than that. From around the corner, Blaize heard the scream of overstressed wood and then a crash as at least part of the scaffolding fell. Then came the grinding of stone against stone, a rumble, and finally a roar as the stone the Imperials had intended to steal collapsed in a sort of landslide down the miniature mountain. Maybe some of the Golems might survive that. But by the time they got themselves unburied, Blaize and the others would be leagues away.

### Karrudan's Assassination

If escape had been difficult, the swing around Caero was even worse. Valerian did his best to change their appearance—his own most of all. He hacked off his long hair and used some sort of nut oil to color it brown. The distinctive gray cloak was left where the Rebels had stolen and sunk several boats. With luck, the Imperials might believe their quarry had crossed the river and concentrate the search there. Even so, they had to go well west of the city to avoid enemy patrols. Valerian actually stood on his saddle, using the height of his horse to give him a better view of the surrounding country. Blaize would never try that trick, even with a horse he’d ridden for months. Attempting it on an animal of less than a day’s acquaintance seemed like an excellent way to get thrown on one’s head. But Valerian’s mount submitted meekly. Maybe the Wylden Elf had some special way with animals ,or maybe the Smiling Devil had already scared any defiance out of his horse.

Valerian leaped from the saddle to the ground and began leading the way through the stubble of a recently harvested field, a path going through that unharvested grain yonder. The stalks were high enough to block anyone from seeing the riders. Their circuitous route had some advantages. The depopulated countryside meant there were no villagers to see them pass, but it meant staying on guard for additional dangers besides Imperial patrols. Visions of hungry Lizard-men kept rising in Blaize’s mind when they had to ford a river. At last they reached the stony quarry region, and Blaize began to recognize landmarks. When they came to the vantage point on the side of the hill, he reined in for a look. He shifted his gaze farther north, to the pyramids. The wound made by Tulwar's last stand gouged into the smallest one had grown larger and more jagged. There was no trace of scaffolding to be seen.

At the quarry south of Caero the Rebel forces were reunited at last. Upon learning that Snow and Sigwold set off for Atlantis without Sarah, Valerian went past Rikka, ignoring the crossbow in her hands. Eginhard ran after the Elf. Rikka looked as if she’d had no time for sleep or even washing herself since they’d parted yesterday. Her red hair was a rat’s nest, she smelled of smoke and sweat. Unwillingly, Blaize told her the story of Tulwar’s final fight. Valerian emerged from the cave, telling Rikka to go get her rest - Eginhard and he would tend to Sarah tonight. Tomorrow, they’ll skirt Venetia, but leave Blaize and Rikka in the town of Ragusta - Valerian had a friend in face of a Mending Priestess called Themyskis in Venetia. While she gets Sarah back on her feet, Valerian will go on with the rest of the cargo. Eginhard appeared to shepherd his foster-daughter away. Left alone, Blaize shook his head and began to laugh.

Valerian spent the two weeks’ ride from Caero to Atlantis cursing lost time—and lost riders. He kept the pack train moving with solicitous concern for the load-beasts and absolute relentlessness toward his amateur drovers. They had enough horses to give twenty men a full day’s work. With only four companions, Blaize’s world quickly shrank to loading and unloading casks, heading off strays, watching for robbers and Mage Spawn, and tumbling into sleep whenever he wasn’t tapped for night-watch. Oddly enough, this hellish trip was Harolt’s time to shine. The Varsfielder might have been the weak link during the fighting and escape from Caero, but he made up for that on the weeks southward. Without his knowledge of load-beasts and how to shift them with only a small crew, they’d have lost days. Even Valerian deferred to him.

Blaize lost track of the date as he slogged through damp grayness. He could hear the noise of the Roa Vizorr, but the river was hidden behind a perpetual wall of fog. Tezla only knew what could be moving behind that. The only sign of passing time was that Valerian’s habitual smile grew thinner, until it disappeared. Their arrival at Down Town didn’t feel like a homecoming for Blaize. The Floating City looked grim rather than majestic up there in the sky. Was it just the weather, or had Blaize’s experiences in the outlands tarnished his whole view of the Empire? The line made its way briskly enough toward the guardsmen at the gates. They were going over the merchandise of a caravan, with an Altem assessing taxes. The riders saw another display of injustice with the Utem guards murdering a peasant for resisting - Blaize wanted to avenge the man and his wife but was stopped by Valerian.

Blaize moved along like a sleepwalker as the pack train reached the gate. At least they got a different team of guardsmen, who passed them through with only a desultory search. They had no interest in paint supplies supposedly destined for Lord Quintaine’s real-estate holdings. Blaize still felt numb as they entered the city. When they passed Tezla’s Pit, Blaize saw the heavy stone walls surrounding the reservoir were thick with guards. The shantytown in the park had disappeared, replaced with a tent city in military ranks. And it was all his fault — or rather, the fault of that first mage-writ he’d sent when he’d first arrived in Khamsin.

Pushing his guilty thoughts away, Blaize busied himself riding herd on the pack animals as they followed the Elf. Soon enough, they were in the square facing the Mills of Circumstance. A small figure who’d been lounging in front of the inn leaped up — it was Sigwold. The Dwarf disappeared inside, to return a moment later with Snow and a graying, thickset man who introduced himself as Perrin, the innkeeper. He was obviously more than that, Blaize suspected, as a group of young, tough-looking men joined them to help unload the packhorses. After the travelers had cleaned up, they joined Snow, Sigwold, and Perrin for dinner in the inn’s common room. Blaize noticed the rest of the place was full of hard young men eating almost silently. Perrin, Sigwold, Valerian, and Eginhard all exchanged grim, knowing looks. Harolt looked puzzled, while Jon Bowman maintained his usual imperturbable mask.

Blaize hoped his face didn’t show the frustration he felt. He’d all but decided to throw in his lot with these oddly assorted adventurers. The great day came with a watery but clearing sunrise - whether it was an oddity of the weather or some potent Technomancy, Blaize had no idea. Certainly, the masters of the Atlantis Guild wouldn’t want rain showers marring the program for the Grand Audience. All the great and powerful would be gathered to celebrate the Empire’s glory, as concentrated in the person of the Prophet-Magus. Karrudan would come forth to receive petitions, offer the words of Tezla’s Avatar, and accept the ovations of the ruling elite and as many common folk as could fit in Temple Palace Square.

The door then bursted open, and Blaize pivoted to grab his sword. He had it half out of its sheath before he recognized Sigwold, his face almost crimson, but upon receiving news that Sarah and Rikka are here he slammed it back into the sheath. Sarah might be tired, but she stood straight as she conferred with her chief subordinates. Blaize lurked at the fringe of the group, listening with only half an ear, given Rikka’s presence. She gave him a brief smile, but mostly devoted herself to the business of rebellion. Karrudan would come forth at 3'o clock for the ceremony - that gave the Rebels some time to act.

Sarah took Blaize with her to a room to talk about him trying to kill Valerian disguised thinly as Sarah, ultimately deciding to trust Blaize. She penetrated right through his disguise, discerning that he was, indeed, sent by Karrudan as a mole for the BRP's. Sarah then fully tipped Blaize over to the side of the Rebels with some careful talking. She then entrusted Blaize with the task of getting Snow out of the city after Karrudan's assassination. After leaving the room, Blaize confessed about his true role to Rikka, as well as his feelings for her. Rikka initially reacted with anger but soon they both embraced each other - after that, Blaize set off for his final task.

After a stiff walk, Blaize arrived at the nearest liftgate plaza to find it thronged with people. Most entrances to the plaza were blocked, and a line snaked down a side street as guardsmen examined those trying to get to the upper city. Blaize presented himself as Blaize, Audrick's son and Altem Guardsman in service of Lord Scarbro to the Altem examining those that passed - after a bit of talking, Blaize was let through. They ignored murderous looks while bypassing folk who’d obviously been waiting a considerable time for their turn at the gate.. A young mage-officer stood at the transport-circle—Emillon, Blaize’s former company commander. He added Blaize to the latest batch of traffic, and in moments Blaize found himself standing on the golden pavement of the Imperial city.

Another squad of guardsmen surrounded him, marching him to Scarbro’s office. The commander of the Atlantis garrison was strapping on full armor as Blaize entered. Scarbro dismissed everyone else from the room. Blaize stood at attention and gave his report, a bare but honest recitation of the facts—as far as Caero. Scarbro was very suspicious of the fact that Lord Tackett of Caero didn't send a mage-writ of Blaize's progress but nevertheless accepted the Altem's version of events, that most Rebel leaders died at the burning of Caero. Blaize then asked for a visit to his family and was allowed to do so.

When he knocked on the apartment door, Laure answered, looking at him in surprise and asking if Blaize could stay for a meal - Blaize replied that he's just there to get his uniform since he's being relocated to Down Town. Laure discerned that Blaize lost his confidence in the Empire and reassured him to fight for what he believes is right, giving her son her blessing. Blaize gave his road-silver to his mother in case he doesn't come back, hugged her tight and then went to the military zone to get weapons and armor.

Blaize kept his stride measured as he moved along the side street, passing a series of rear entrances much humbler than the gleaming fronts these buildings displayed on Throne Palace Square. Most of the attention in this area right now was focused on the head of the square. Even through the buildings, he could feel the roar of what sounded like a single mighty voice chanting - “Karrudan! Karrudan! KARRUDAN!” The Prophet-Magus must have appeared, because the noise turned into a babble of individual cries.

The noise died away just as Blaize reached his destination. He strained his ears, wondering if he’d catch any of Karrudan’s speech. Instead, he heard a great, rolling explosion - even as it echoed, the sound was overtaken by a vast collective gasp from the hidden crowd. Then a terrible, terrified wail rose from thousands of throats up to the heavens. Blaize faltered, the muscles in his trunk constricting as if a gigantic invisible hand were squeezing his guts to jelly. He fought to keep from collapsing in a retching heap. The deed is done, he realized.

### Escaping Atlantis

Blaize managed to stay upright, just reaching his destination as the rear door opened and Snow emerged. The big Northerner’s face was pale, and he actually recoiled when he saw Blaize’s uniform, one hand going for the knife in his belt. Then he took in the familiar face and forced his hand away from the hilt. No sooner had Snow made it to Blaize’s side than they saw a flood of guardsmen come pouring around the corner - they asked if anyone has come out of the building that Snow just exited and were trying to seal off the area.

Now they had a reason to hurry. Blaize and Snow moved quickly out of sight. In spite of their speed, though, word had preceded them to the nearest liftgate. A mage-officer barred their way, his authority backed by a line of spear-men. By order of Lord Jethren, none are to leave, the mage said. Blaize riposted that by order of Lord Scarbro they were to leave here and now. The officer guarding the magic gateway looked as if he’d give much to hear exactly what events Blaize was talking about. Blaize then used his medallion to show Karrudan's sigil, for the last time - the mage-officer let him immediately. All through their descent, Snow maintained a dazed silence, broken with nervous questions - Blaize said that it was too long a story - for now.

Even before they reached the ground, Blaize and Snow could hear shouts, cries, and sharp, barking explosions coming up from the streets below in Down Town. The folk in the square weren’t the only ones to find the Prophet-Magus’ death unthinkable. In the end, Karrudan himself hadn’t been able to take the threat seriously, even with the prophecies. They returned to solid earth to find an embattled Imperial company trying to improvise fortifications around the liftgate circles. The black powder pistols given to Down Towners made them a very competent enemy for the Atlanteans, and the garrison commander in Down Town even admitted failure.

He stepped behind the thrown-together wall and removed his armor and helmet - the last time he’ll wear Atlantean battle regalia. The two Rebels broke into a run for the edge of the plaza, hoping they wouldn’t be hit by fire from their own side. Reaching a street, they continued to pound along until they came to an intersection. They whipped round, and out of sight of the Imperials at last, Snow opened the oilcloth bundle slung across his back to remove his weapon - a fuser rifle.

Blaize and Snow whirled round to discover a group of men emerging from the basement of a building. A couple were similar to the hard young types Blaize had seen at Perrin’s inn, carrying pistols. The Rebel sympathizers explained that Sarah, Valerian and others ran from the inn to the Mills of Circumstance in Down Town, and Snow with Blaize were off with the group of gunners joining them as escort.

They set off through the streets, Blaize and Snow in the lead, a long, trailing procession behind them as those who couldn’t keep pace fell back. But before they’d gone even three blocks, they heard shouts — more like howls — rising from off to their right. Following the sounds, they came upon the remains of an Imperial patrol surrounded by a furious mob. The uprising had apparently caught the soldiers in the midst of a ramshackle market square. The Imperials had gone to ground among some of the stalls and tables, with benches and crates piled upon them as a barricade, using their crossbows to keep the crowd at bay.

If the whole horde of people jostling in the streets attacked, their numbers could have overwhelmed the defenders. But they were rabble, not trained soldiers. No one wanted to lead the way and die for it. So paving stones and bottles flew one way, and the occasional crossbow bolt winged the other. A young gunner aimed his pistol, shot down a crossbowman, and charged. His group followed, and then the roaring crowd joined in. Blaize stood where he was. They could just as easily have bypassed these bedraggled Imperials. He saw no reason to make the mob’s job easier. Snow, however, began manipulating his weapon, raising it to his shoulder. Snow’s long gun had a deeper, more bellowing roar than the pistols. His every shot was aimed, and each took down one of the enemy soldiers. The lighter popping of the pistols was more frequent, more hurried. When one of the gunners died to a crossbow bolt, Blaize took his pistol for himself.

They left the mob to its butchery and ran on toward the Mills of Circumstance. As they came closer to the inn, they heard growing sounds of gunfire. Thick clouds of smoke obscured the sky. Sudden shooting broke out almost ahead of them. Blaize and Snow ran forward, to find a group of Rebels huddling behind heaps of furniture blocking the street. The few Rebels with pistols crouched behind what cover they could find, reloading and rising to pepper shots farther down the roadway. About seventy paces away, a company of Imperials came forward at the double. The Utems’ spears were useless at that range, and their shields offered no protection from the bullets. Men cried out and fell to the pavement. The Utem crossbowmen were doing their best to lay down a
covering fire, but they were taking losses, too. Blaize checked his own pistol and advanced to a firing position.

The center of the barricade vanished with the impact of a magical blast. Blaize was knocked flat. He was up on his knees, blindly trying to reload, when he spotted a flash of gold and purple well behind the advancing Imperial battle line. Stepping to the side so he could better direct his next attack, the mage raised his arms. Blaize got to his feet, trying to aim his pistol, knowing the range was too great. The deep-throated blast of a rifle roared out from behind him. A neat hole appeared where the Imperial officer’s Magestone implant had been a moment before. The mage all but flipped into a somersault, revealing the red ruin the back of his head had become. Even without the officer’s help, however, the remnants of the company were too close, and that last blast had cleared a way through the Rebels’ defenses.

The resulting smoke gave Blaize a racking cough, but covered him so that he could get out of there. As he fell back along the street, Blaize found Rebels who didn’t have the new weapons breaking into more houses, dragging out the makings of another barricade. Trying to find out where the Rebel leaders were involved Blaize and Snow in a succession of swirling streetfights. Disorganized groups of Rebels tried and failed to stop the advance of Imperial flankers. Their defense line—if they ever had one—was being pushed back to the breaking point.

Somewhere in the confusion, Blaize got separated from Snow. He continued trying to reach the inn, sometimes getting involved in wild running combats over several blocks, sometimes managing to skirt the fighting. He reached the square fronting the Mills of Circumstance just in time for the last-ditch resistance. One end of the open space was packed with Imperials. Scarbro must have committed the bulk of his force to this spearhead, hoping to decapitate the beast of rebellion before it could rear up in full strength. Bereft of leadership from Sarah, Valerian, Eginhard, and Perrin, the uprising would undoubtedly degenerate into a simple riot.

The little knot of Rebel commanders stood behind a horn-shaped earthen breastwork piled up before them. They also had a flag of sorts—a bedsheet painted with a crude symbol. It looked like a shield intersecting a larger, darker circle. Blaize felt sick. The person holding the pole for this improvised banner was Rikka. Attempting to shield her and the others from the gathering Imperial might was a thin line of defenders sheltering behind yet another street barricade. At least the Rebels had been able to put some time and thought into this construction. They hadn’t gotten their materials from five minutes of hasty pillaging. Large barrels and crates had been moved from nearby warehouses. Heavy wagons had been overturned. Maybe some of the big tuns had come from the inn’s cellars. Blaize saw one group of defenders weakening their defense wall by broaching one of the huge barrels and drinking the contents. They’d even dug up the paving stones and heaped earth on their rampart, creating a sort of ditch or moat before the wall. Even so, Blaize could tell that it wouldn’t hold against the gathering force of professional soldiers.

He found an empty place on the wall and checked his pistol. The battle array before them comprised a spear wall in the middle with clouds of crossbowmen at the flanks. Heavy bolts flew through the air as the flank parties tried to provide cover fire. The return volley from the Rebels was more ragged—but also more deadly. The bowmen had to stand to restring their weapons. The pistol-armed Rebels could remain crouched under cover, barely exposing themselves to fire. They hurt the guardsmen, all but wiping out those with ranged weapons. Their galling fire slowed the spear line. The Rebels bloodied the advancing Imperials, creating gaps in the line. But those gaps were always filled by men from the rear ranks. Occasional blasts of rifle fire kept the mages too far back to make themselves useful. So it was down to the superb discipline of the infantry.

By the time they were close enough to hurl their spears, Blaize could read the faces on the oncoming soldiers. They were furious at suffering so horribly at the hands of the despised Down-Towner rabble. As they unsheathed their swords, the Imperials were determined to use them for slaughter. The popping of pistol fire grew even more rapid, more desperate. There was no longer a need to aim. They were facing a human wall mere yards away. The Imperials were in the trench.

Blaize fired another shot. Beside him, a gunslinger howled as a blade swung blindly over the wall amputated both hand and pistol. People were running now. A great noise came from the Imperials as they surmounted the wall - part victory cry, part animal snarl. Blaize found himself alone. Then someone was tugging at his arm - it was Sigwold, armed with an axe and a torch. A hasty shove sent Blaize staggering back while the Dwarf hurled the axe, not at the enemy, but into the middle of the defenses. The blazing brand followed, landing on a pile of strangely familiar barrels. One had been stove open, leaking a trail of black
powder...

There was a sudden hiss, and the world vanished in a sudden, brilliant glare. Blaize seemed to be flying, but not with the steady ascent of a liftgate - he felt as if he’d been caught up by a giant wind and flung away. Something soft suddenly impeded his progress. Then Blaize found himself tumbling along the pavement, finally coming to a stop just in front of the inn door. Bruised and dazed, ears ringing, he managed to get himself up on his hands and knees. Before him was a crater, blown deep into the surface of the earth. Around it staggered burned, blind, bleeding, and dismembered Imperials.

The Empire’s war machine had abruptly run out of momentum, and then a storm of lead sleeted into the face of the stunned warriors. Blaize could make out the lighter barks of pistol fire, joined with the deeper blasts of fuser rifles. There were more guns at work now than he’d heard on the firing line of what he’d thought was the Rebellion’s last-ditch defense. Sarah and the others had indeed been holding themselves out—not as a sacrifice, but as bait to tempt Scarbro into committing his forces. The Rebel leaders had also been regathering all the gunslingers they’d sent out to spearhead the uprising. Blaize couldn’t tell how much firepower had been assembled - there were riflemen even in the inn windows and on roofs of buildings overlooking the square. Young men with pistols were massing and moving forward, firing as they went.

The Imperial guardsmen, victory literally blasted out of their hands, tried to stand. They were the best-trained, steadiest human warriors in the Land. But human flesh can only take so much. As the withering fire continued, the Imperial ranks wavered, then disintegrated. Still firing into the running fugitives, the Rebels cheered a sight few had ever seen—an Imperial warhost in full retreat. The gunfire slackened, but voices rose in harsh argument. Some of the more hotheaded Rebels screamed for pursuit, eager to settle some more scores with the fleeing guardsmen, but Valerian stopped them before they ran to their death.

Sarah then made a big speech, congratulating the Rebel forces in Down Town and proclaiming the start of Black Powder Rebellion. There were cheers for that, but Blaize didn’t join in. It was enough of a job getting himself upright and into some sort of motion. The blast that had stopped the Imperials had sent him plowing right through the earthworks defending the Rebel command post. He moved forward, stumbled over something, and looked down. Blaize’s heart lurched. He was standing on the Rebels’ painted-bedsheet flag, torn and blackened from the explosion.

He broke into a shambling trot, his head down to look at bodies, afraid of what he’d see. Then Blaize crashed into Eginhard, doing the same thing. The Dwarf looked singed and bloody and his eyes were full of tears. Eginhard incquired about his brother, with Blaize telling that Sigwold sacrificed himself by torching the black powder barrels and winning the day. Perrin was also supposed to light them but he died on the way from the inn. When Blaize heard Rikka's voice behind him, in spite of bruises and scrapes, he embraced her fiercely. Blaize rested his cheek on Rikka’s red hair, which smelled strongly of black powder residue. They remained clasped together, silently contemplating a most uncertain future. At least they would face it together.

## Relationships

### Audrick

Audrick was Blaize's father, and since the first precept of Tezla tells that a man's duty is to obey the command of the father, Blaize didn't question him most of his life. After being enrolled with the Rebel lot, however, his view changed drastically - he began seeing Audrick for what he really was - a xenophobic, petty household tyrant and a slave to the larger Atlantean machine.

### Prophet-Magus Karrudan

Blaize thought Karrudan was almost a god when he was an Altem, but after the Prophet-Magus made him his personal mole in the ranks of Black Powder Rebels Blaize, with time, began to suspect that he’s just a man—and not a very good man, at that. He hated the spell that Karrudan put on Blaize since it made Blaze lose control of his own body, unable to do anything but watch as Karrudan channeled his will through his being.

### Rikka

Rikka was the recruiteer for Black Powder Rebels and the one who brought Blaize in - gradually over spending time with Rikka and her son, Kennet, Blaize came to like her, and to love her. Before setting off to help Snow deliver the killing blow to Karrudan, Blaize confessed his feelings for Rikka and his true role in Karrudan's plans - she was very angry at him for lying but accepted him nonetheless.

### Snow

Blaize owes Snow his life - during the Rebel's skirmish with the vicious Lizard-men of the Mage Spawn that ambushed the pack train when a dam of Roa Vizorr was flooded, Snow rushed in and put his life on the line to save Blaize from one of the aquatic monsters. Snow's selflessness when rescuing Blaize is what further pushed the Altem Guardsman to betraying the Empire for the Rebel cause.

### Sarah Ythlim

Blaize immediately identified Sarah as the commanding officer of the Rebellion upon meeting here - but she was that rarest of marvels, a beloved commander. There was no stiffness, as there would be with an Imperial Warlord - she even laughed and joked with Valerian and Affrem. The feeling of Rebels around Sarah was of veterans who’d fought long side by side, knowing one another’s strengths and weaknesses. And according to Sigwold, she was the creator of a machine that could come to rival the Empire.

***Atlantis Guild***

***Black Powder Rebels***
 Major characters

1. ↑ 1.0 1.1 1.2 1.3 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 1
2. ↑ 2.0 2.1 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 3
3. ↑ 3.0 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 2
4. ↑ 4.0 4.1 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 5
5. ↑ 5.0 5.1 5.2 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 10
6. ↑ 6.0 6.1 6.2 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 4
7. ↑ 7.0 7.1 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 8
8. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 12
9. ↑ 9.0 9.1 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 9
10. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 6
11. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 7
12. ↑ 12.0 12.1 12.2 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 11
13. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 12
14. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 13
15. ↑ 15.0 15.1 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 14
16. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 15
17. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 16
18. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 17
19. ↑ Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 18
20. ↑ 20.0 20.1 Rebel Thunder (Bill McCay), Chapter 19