Aakuta: the Dark Mage (47 page)

“You are bold for one so young,” chuckled Aakuta. “While I am capable of controlling the Jiadin, I choose to allow them the simple luxuries of life before they die, which will be soon. Continue to appease your people, young Yargot.”

* * *

“There are great armies heading eastward, Mirakotto,” reported Lord Garic. “The Walkan, Scratti, and Organila armies clog every major road. I think they are heading out to aid Lord Oktar.”

“You will address me as Emperor,” snarled Mirakotto. “Have you no respect for my position?”

“I am sorry,” bowed Lord Garic. “You are indeed the Emperor of Khadora.”

“And don’t forget it,” snapped Mirakotto. “It is not Lord Oktar that they seek to assist. It is Lord Marak. Something must be done about him.”

“I thought you had that taken care of?” questioned Lord Garic.

“Andretti was a fool,” spat Emperor Mirakotto. “We need someone who is close to the Torak lord. He must be caught off guard.”

“Just the mention of assassinating him to the wrong person will cause trouble,” frowned Lord Garic. “We dare not approach a member of the Torak clan. Who else could have close enough access to him to strike a fatal blow?”

“That is what you must find out, Lord Garic,” ordered the Emperor. “Find someone to deal with Lord Marak, and find him quickly.”

* * *

Lord Oktar joined Lord Marak on the tall hill overlooking the Balomar estate.

“There are so many of them,” frowned Lord Oktar. “We can never hope to hold them off. Marshal Berman said they began arriving a couple of days ago.”

“They must have had orders before the Assembly of Lords,” sighed Lord Marak. “It is as I suspected. You can see the Vessi coming in from the north and the Lejune from the south. There is little doubt to their intentions. They plan to annihilate everyone on the Balomar estate. It is time to move your people away from here.”

“How?” asked Lord Oktar. “And where will they go?”

“There are wagons arriving everyday with food from my estates,” Lord Marak pointed out. “Start filling those wagons with people for the return trip. The wagons will become more numerous now that we have convinced several other clans to send armies here. They must be fed as well.”

“I am still amazed that you managed to convince them to send troops,” Lord Oktar said. “When will they arrive?”

“Soon, I hope,” replied Lord Marak. “Great armies cannot move with the speed of a single squad. They should start arriving in a few days.”

“Will a few days be soon enough?” questioned the Balomar lord. “The Jiadin must be close to ready for their attack.”

“Army to the west,” announced Botal. “This may be trouble. It is not one that we are expecting.”

Lord Marak turned around and squinted into the setting sun. The distance was great, but he was able to make out the colors of their banner.

“Neju,” frowned Lord Marak. “What are they doing out here?”

“Lord Woton was a close ally of Mirakotto’s,” interjected Gunta. “We should alert our troops to be ready for mischief.”

“Lord Jamarat is easily swayed,” nodded Lord Marak, “but I did not think he would allow Mirakotto to use him again. I wonder why Latril has not given me some advance word of this movement?”

“Perhaps she was not able to,” frowned Botal. “Shall I ride out to meet them?”

“We all shall,” decided Lord Marak. “If he has come to aid the Jiadin, we are in grave trouble. I would prefer to talk him out of it before his troops are committed.”

“He could attack you instead,” warned Lord Oktar. “I think you going to meet him is not wise.”

“Lord Jamarat is simple-minded,” declared Lord Marak, “but I do not think his heart is black. He will not act dishonorably.”

Lord Marak gave the signal to head back to the mansion and onto the road to Khadoratung. Botal led the squad down the hill. His hand signals when he reached the bottom of the hill alerted the Torak troops there to potential danger. The word spread quickly as soldiers of each clan prepared for battle.

An hour later, the Torak squad halted in the middle of the road to Khadoratung. The vanguard of the Neju army halted. Lord Marak rode slowly forward towards the Neju. Halman and Gunta followed as visible shadows. Suddenly, the ranks of the Neju parted. Lord Jamarat, sitting proudly atop his warhorse started forward. Latril rode right behind him. The soldiers sat in silence as the two lords approached one another.

“Greetings Lord Jamarat,” welcomed Lord Marak. “What brings you to the eastern frontier?”

“You do, Lord Marak,” answered the Neju lord. “I understand that Latril has sworn Vows of Service to you. I wish those bonds to be broken.”

Lord Marak frowned as he tried to gaze at Latril, but she was blocked from his vision by the hulk of Lord Jamarat. Lord Marak raised his eyes and gazed into the face of Lord Jamarat.

“Her bonds to me are for her protection,” he declared. “Does she wish these bonds to be broken?”

“She does,” nodded Lord Jamarat.

“Then I shall absolve her of her vows on one condition, Lord Jamarat,” Lord Marak said. “You will vow to provide for her protection. Without your vow, I will not release her.”

“You are a wise man,” grinned Lord Jamarat. “Latril said you would do what you have done.”

“May I ask why you desire the vows broken?” questioned Lord Marak. “And why have you felt that an army was required to ensure that they were broken?”

“The vows were in the way of our betrothal,” grinned Lord Jamarat. “I cannot marry a woman who owes allegiance to another lord.”

“No, that would not be practical,” grinned Lord Marak. “I am very happy for both of you. May Kaltara bless your union.”

“I do not know this Kaltara,” frowned Lord Jamarat, “but your blessing will do. The army is not to force you into giving up Latril. It is our gift to you to help deal with the Jiadin. Treat them well and return them whole.”

“I shall do my best,” responded Lord Marak, “but that is not something that I can promise. A good many of your men may die.”

“I have brought twenty cortes with me,” frowned Lord Jamarat. “That is more than enough to even the odds against the Glamaraldi.”

“We no longer face just the Glamaraldi,” explained Lord Marak. “The Vessi and Lejune clans are gathering against us at this very moment. I suspect the Pikata will join with them soon. There will be between three hundred and four hundred cortes against us here.”

“Mercy!” frowned Lord Jamarat. “I should have brought more men.”

“There are other armies on the way from the Imperial Valley,” offered Lord Marak. “The Walkan, Organila, and Scratti clans are sending close to ninety cortes. We will give the Jiadin a battle that they will never forget.”

Lord Jamarat turned and waved Latril forward. Lord Marak saw the glow of love on her face, and he smiled at her. Lord Jamarat looked down at Latril and smiled.

“I cannot leave my men to battle against such great odds without me,” he said to Latril. “I know we spoke of returning home, but I cannot. I must stay and fight. I will arrange an escort to take you back.”

“I am not leaving,” Latril said adamantly. “If you are to stay, then I will stay by your side.”

“You do not understand,” Lord Jamarat shook his head. “This will be war. It is no place for women.”

“You promised that you would listen to my advice,” Latril said stubbornly. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself in battle. You lead your men, and I will battle as I know how to. We shall compare the piles of dead Jiadin when the battle is over.”

Lord Marak could not suppress his chuckle as he watched the lovers argue. “Let us get your men settled in, Lord Jamarat,” he interrupted. “Then the three of us can sit and discuss the need for you and Latril to go into battle.”

* * *

The merchant slipped away from his wagon on the Ronan estate. He slid around the corner of the mansion and pressed his back to the barracks that the two officers had just walked into. He hoped to hear the rest of the conversation they had been having as they waled past his wagon. He moved silently along the wall of the barracks until he was underneath one of the windows.

“I doubt the general will live up to his end of the bargain,” said the first officer. “The Omungans do not value honesty as Khadorans do. Theirs is a culture of deceit.”

“It is hardly our decision to make in any event,” responded the second officer. “Lord Garic has the final say in these things. He appeared to view General Didyk skeptically. I say we just wait and see what happens.”

“What have we here?” scowled a low voice from behind the merchant as a sword was extended towards the merchant’s neck. “Spy in the compound,” the voice shouted.

Suddenly, the air was rent with dozens of voices shouting and the trampling of many feet. Fisher soon found himself the center of attention in the middle of the Ronan barracks area. He knew that one day he would slip up. It was bound to happen to even the best of spies.

“Take him to Lord Garic,” commanded an officer. “Search him for weapons first.”

A dozen hands immediately converged on Fisher’s body. All of his weapons were found and removed. The searchers gave little care to being gentle, and Fisher ached all over as he was pushed towards the mansion door. Fisher’s mind worked frantically to develop a story that might cause the Ronan lord to spare his life. He knew that he must not let it appear as if he had loyalty to any one clan. The fact that he was a spy was not in question. No merchant would have been where he was found.

Six soldiers shoved Fisher into the meeting room of the estate. They stood guard over him while someone ran to summon Lord Garic. Several minutes later, the lord of the Ronan clan stepped into the room.

“I am told you were caught spying,” accused Lord Garic. “Your life is now in my hands. Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps I will spare you. Who are you working for?”

“I have no one client,” Fisher declared. “I sell information where I think it will bring the highest price.”

“And who is paying you to spy on me?” asked Lord Garic.

“Nobody,” answered Fisher. “At times I pose as a merchant when I have no pressing needs from clients. It pays enough to be worthwhile. My only fault is that I heard two officers talking about an Omungan general. I could not resist trying to get more information. Any talk of Omungans seems to bring a high price.”

“And who would pay for such information?” asked Lord Garic.

“Any of the clans along the border with Omunga,” shrugged Fisher. “They all live in fear that Omunga may one day cross the Kalatung Mountains. I would try to sell whatever I found out to each clan in the southern frontier.”

“Hmm,” muttered Lord Garic as he turned to stare at the wall map. “Have you done business with any clans down there recently?”

Fisher tried to think of something he could reveal without causing any harm. Lord Garic’s questioning seemed not as harsh as he had expected. He wondered why and decided to take a chance.

“Not in the spying business,” answered Fisher, “but I did have some lucrative business with the Torak clan. It did help me to establish a relationship there that would allow me to sell information.”

“And what lucrative business did you have with Lord Marak?” asked Lord Garic.

“I purchased his mother from the Situ clan and sold her to Lord Marak,” grinned Fisher. “He paid handsomely. I do think he has more gold than he knows what to do with. If I could learn about Omungans, he is the one I would approach first.”

“Would he grant you a visit?” Lord Garic questioned skeptically.

“Certainly,” Fisher nodded vigorously. “He could not thank me enough for getting his mother. Even though he paid a great deal, he acted as if he still owed me something.”

Lord Garic waved his hand to dismiss the soldiers guarding Fisher. He waited until they had exited the room and closed the door.

“Sit,” commanded Lord Garic. “I want to know more about you.”

Fisher sat as he was told to. He waited expectantly for Lord Garic to speak, but the Ronan lord appeared deep in thought for some time.

“Do you have any weapons skill?” Lord Garic finally asked.

“Of course,” frowned Fisher. “No man can survive for long without being able to defend himself.”

“What do you think of Lord Marak?” asked Lord Garic as he switched thoughts faster than the runoff from a spring storm.

“Think?” echoed Fisher as his mind whirled with questions of where this all was leading. “He is a lord. I treat him with respect as I would any lord. I seek to gain clients whenever I can.”

“I understand that,” Lord Garic snarled with impatience. “What do you think of the man? Do you like him?”

“Like him?” Fisher repeated. “I have no reason to like any man, Lord Garic. I seek only clients, not friends. What Lord Marak does is his business, and what you do is yours. I do not take sides in disputes. Politics is not my game.”

“That is good for you,” smirked Lord Garic. “A wrong answer to that question would have ended your life. What is your name?”

“I am called Fisher,” the spy admitted knowing that if he gave another name and was betrayed by anyone who knew him, he would die instantly.

“Well, Fisher,” asked Lord Garic, “have you ever killed a man?”

“On occasion,” admitted Fisher as he wondered if Marshal Chack had informed the Emperor of the details surrounding Andretti’s death. “I only do so when my life is threatened.”

“Would you kill a man if I could promise you riches beyond your wildest imagination?” questioned Lord Garic.

“I have a rather large imagination,” grinned Fisher as he began to see a way out of his predicament. “How well guarded is this man?”

“He is well guarded,” admitted Lord Garic. “I am not offering such a large amount for an easy task. You will be hunted down after the assassination. Of that I am sure.”

“I have many disguises,” offered Fisher. “I think I can do it and get away. Who is the man?”

“He is a powerful lord,” Lord Garic said vaguely. “That is all you need to know at this point.”

“I cannot kill someone who is unknown to me,” argued Fisher. “If this man is a lord, then I am anxious to accept the task. I will also forgive the large amount of gold that you are offering. Instead, I want the holdings of this lord.”