Aakuta: the Dark Mage (49 page)

“Too rapidly,” agreed Lord Marak. “The mages were meant to eliminate a great many of the Jiadin, but we cannot afford to lose them to Lord Damirath’s lightning. Worse, when our mages are out of the way, he will be free to bring that lightning down on our armies. We must find a way of stopping him.”

“There are still two cleared areas that they must get across,” Lord Quilo pointed out. “Plus we have the trenches. We at least have some time to think of an alternate strategy.”

Lord Marak turned and signaled Botal to approach. “Take your squad out of here,” instructed Lord Marak. “Try to work your way around the Jiadin without being seen. Do nothing foolish, but if you see an opportunity to attack or distract Lord Damirath, do it.”

Botal nodded and gathered his squad together. Lord Jamarat frowned as he watched the small group of men leave.

“One squad cannot penetrate his defenses,” said Lord Jamarat. “Let me take my cortes out of battle and work my way towards this Lord Damirath.”

“A small group has the best chance of getting anywhere near him,” Lord Marak shook his head. “Besides, your men will be needed here shortly. As soon as the Jiadin clear the trenches, this will become a very bloody battle for us. Every man will be needed then.”

“Here they come again,” announced Lord Patel.

Lord Marak watched as the Jiadin raced across the area that had been a forest a few moments ago. Once again great logs from the cleared strip rolled towards them and took to the air. As soon as the first logs slammed into the charging Jiadin, the lightning strikes began anew. The Jiadin charge did not falter this time. The horsemen tried to dodge the flying logs and leap over those who had not been successful. They raced across the destroyed woodlands and the cleared strip. As the Jiadin entered the next band of trees, the air mages turned and ran, even as the water mages began to expand the tree saps.

The trees exploded in a rippling fashion starting at the far edge of the woods as the air mages tried to stay ahead of the destruction. Hundreds of Jiadin were struck down in the explosions and finally the charge halted and retreated.

“One more band of trees and it is time for the trenches,” frowned Lord Quilo. “They do not care how many men they lose. The next charge will not falter.”

“More Jiadin are arriving,” pointed Lord Jamarat.

Lord Marak’s eyes followed Lord Jamarat’s extended arm to the north. On the distant ridge that Lord Damirath occupied, thousands of Jiadin warriors were forming ranks near the north end.

“These ones have not even bothered to wear the uniforms of a clan,” remarked Lord Patel. “There is just something red around their necks.”

“The red scarves of the Jiadin,” commented Lord Marak. “How many do you estimate?”

“Too far to tell,” Lord Jamarat squinted into the rising sun. “Thousands at least, but I cannot estimate them.”

“It hardly matters how many,” sighed Lord Quilo. “There are already enough Jiadin to defeat us.”

“The battle has not yet started,” rebuked Lord Patel. “Lord Marak’s defenses are sound. Even after they clear the trenches, they will have a battle on their hands. Their horses will be no advantage then, and our soldiers are well trained.”

“This battle is far from over,” agreed Lord Marak. “My hope for few casualties appears to be futile, but we will prevail. We must.”

“Here they come again,” remarked Lord Jamarat.

Lord Marak focused on the charging Jiadin. He watched the horsemen charge over the destroyed woods, the cleared strip, and the newly destroyed woods before the flying logs once again began to smash into them.

“Look at the ridge,” urged Latril. “Something there doesn’t make sense.”

Lord Marak tore his eyes away from the charging Jiadin and focused on the far ridge. The red-scarfed Jiadin were racing along the ridge to engage the Pikata warriors.

“They are attacking each other,” remarked Lord Marak as he continued to watch in amazement.

The Pikata horsemen reacted slowly to the unexpected attack. The horsemen had been at rest watching their brethren below attack. They now scrambled to mount a defense even as the first of the Jiadin reached the closest Pikata soldiers. Lord Damirath spun and faced the attackers. He started to rain lightning down on them, but the ground at his feet erupted into showers of dirt as lightning struck all around him.

“There is another mage,” pointed Lord Patel.

Lord Marak’s eyes swept to the northern extreme end of the ridge. He could barely make out a figure dressed completely in black. The mage’s arms were extended upwards as he called lightning from the sky.

“Aakuta,” Lord Marak said under his breath. “What is the dark mage doing in all of this?”

“Whatever he is doing,” offered Latril, “he is aiding our side.”

“Perhaps for now,” nodded Lord Marak as he watched the red-scarfed Jiadin clash with the Pikata warriors, “but I cannot help but wonder what his real goal is. Mages, direct your air tunnels towards the center of the charging Jiadin below us. Maintain the spread that you currently have. I want my voice to be heard by as many of the Jiadin as possible. Everyone else remain quiet.”

Each air mage nodded when her air tunnel was properly positioned. Lord Marak glanced briefly at the Jiadin below as they entered the last forested strip and the trees began exploding.

“Jiadin,” Lord Marak said loudly into the air tunnels, “I am the Torak, ally of the Astor and the free tribes. Your cause is lost. Look to your leader on the ridge behind you. You are being attacked from the rear. You have but one chance to survive. Get yourselves over the Fortung Mountains and live. Stay in Khadora and die. You have one hour before our cavalry starts to hunt you down.”

Lord Marak watched as confusion rippled through the ranks of the Jiadin below. The charge had already faltered at the last strip of destroyed woodlands, and the Jiadin had started to regroup. Many of the riders turned and gazed up at the ridge. They pointed and shouted loudly. Lord Marak did not need to hear their words. He knew they were wondering what to do. They could continue to attack Balomar, go to the aid of the Pikata, or flee. At the moment, the red-scarfed Jiadin were destroying the Pikata. Lord Marak decided to help them decide.

“Do not waste your hour,” he shouted into the air tunnels. “Our armies are well rested and fresh. You are not. If we catch you in between our cavalry and our Jiadin allies, you will all die.”

Lord Marak made a motion for the mages to drop the air tunnels.

“Our allies?” questioned Lord Jamarat. “Do you mean those with the red scarves are on our side?”

“I have no idea who they are,” Lord Marak admitted, “but it doesn’t hurt to make these false Khadorans believe that they are in danger of dying. At the moment, the red scarves appear to be our allies. That is good enough for me.”

“What was that about the Astor and the free tribes?” asked Lord Quilo.

“That is a long story that I promise to share with you when this is over,” answered Lord Marak as he watched the milling Jiadin arguing with each other.

“Some are fleeing!” shouted Latril. “Look!”

Hundreds of Lejune warriors turned and started galloping away to the south. As their departure created a void in the milling Jiadin, others turned and followed them. Within minutes, thousands were leaving the battlefield. Lord Marak’s eyes rose to the distant ridge. The Jiadin and Pikata warriors were so intermingled that it was impossible to tell who was winning. The two mages continued their lightning strikes against each other, oblivious to the battles raging around them.

“Latril, open an air tunnel to Jarri,” commanded Lord Marak. “Lord Jamarat, I want you to organize your men as cavalry.”

The Neju lord nodded and when Latril had an air tunnel open to Lord Kiamesh, Lord Marak continued, “The Neju and Scratti will follow the retreating Jiadin to make sure they keep heading eastward. Do not engage them as long as they are heading to Fakara. If they try to turn north or south, attack them. The rest of our men will mount up and follow behind you. If you get into trouble, we will be there to bolster your forces.”

* * *

The Jiadin bodies surrounding Aakuta were beginning to pile up. He glanced briefly at them and inhaled deeply as his feelings of power grew. He gazed across the ridge to where Lord Damirath stood. He watched the wizard’s arms rise high and then felt the lightning bolt glance off his shields. Aakuta waited. He did not bother with returning a lightning bolt at his adversary. He waited patiently and timed his move perfectly.

As Lord Damirath’s hands started skyward again, Aakuta swiftly cast a different spell aimed at the Pikata magician. The move caught Lord Damirath by surprise, as the shields protecting him turned a frosty blue. Aakuta smirked as he cast the next spell. A loud ringing echoed across the valley as Lord Damirath’s frozen shields shattered. The Pikata mage looked with astonishment towards Aakuta as he saw the incoming lightning bolt. There was no time for Lord Damirath to react. The lightning bolt blasted into his body, smoke rising in a spiral above him. The uniform that Lord Damirath had been wearing fluttered in the wind and fell to the ground, the body that it had covered was gone.

The Jiadin in Pikata uniforms had seen the magical display of power. Shouts rang out as they began to retreat from the charging Jiadin. Aakuta watched without emotion.

“They are running from the fight,” reported Werner as he rode up alongside Aakuta. “Do we chase them?”

Aakuta looked down at the fields where the other false Khadoran clans were already fleeing the battlefield. He shook his head slowly.

“No,” Aakuta said. “This battle is over. It is time to retreat and plan for the next battle. Gather the men and return to the Valley of the Ram.”

“Not to the Kamaril estate?” questioned Werner. “You are going there alone?”

“The Kamaril no longer interest me,” shrugged Aakuta. “They should not interest you, either. Come closer to me.”

Werner moved hesitantly closer. Aakuta reached out and placed his hand on Werner’s forehead. Werner shivered with fear.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I am removing certain things from your mind,” Aakuta said dispassionately.

“Why?” trembled Werner. “I have served you faithfully. Have I done something wrong?”

“I have no further use for your services,” declared Aakuta. “Tell our Jiadin that their services are no longer required.”

“Then you are not coming back to the valley,” Werner finally realized. “Where will you go?”

“That is no concern of yours,” answered Aakuta. “Zygor has failed. That is what mattered to me. Lead the men directly to the valley with haste. Do not let the Khadorans catch you. If I have need of you in the future, I will let you know.”

Without another word, Aakuta turned and rode away.

* * *

Fisher straightened his uniform as they approached the Imperial Palace. He had wanted to pose as a priest so he could conceal a weapon, but Lord Garic had decided that a one-soldier escort would draw less attention. The Ronan lord had made sure that no weapon was available for the spy.

“Just stay three steps behind me and do not speak,” ordered Lord Garic. “If you embarrass me in the Imperial Palace, I will have your tongue cut out.”

“I know how to pose as a soldier,” promised Fisher.

Lord Garic mumbled under his breath as they approached the door to the Imperial Palace. The Imperial guards nodded politely and opened the door without a word spoken. The halls of the palace were deserted as dusk was several hours past. They marched through the entry foyer and the foyer before the Assembly Chamber. Lord Garic walked straight to the nearest staircase and started ascending the stairs. Fisher maintained the proper distance. He grinned broadly when the light of a torch reflected off of something metal in Lord Garic’s waistband. He focused on the area as they passed the next torch and saw the tip of a knife protruding just below the wide belt.

Lord Garic left the stairwell and marched along the corridor to the door of the Emperor’s office.

“He is expecting me,” Lord Garic stated without emotion.

One of the Imperial soldiers on guard nodded and opened the door to the Emperor’s office. Lord Garic swept past the two men and Fisher followed obediently. The door closed behind him. Emperor Mirakotto glanced up momentarily as they entered the room, grunted an acknowledgement of their presence, and then returned to his writing. Lord Garic continued walking across the large room towards the chairs before the Emperor’s desk.

Fisher smoothly closed the distance between himself and Lord Garic. Just before Lord Garic reached the chairs, Fisher made his move. He grabbed the hidden knife and pushed Lord Garic forward. Lord Garic stumbled into a chair and fell to the floor. Emperor Mirakotto glanced up with a look of annoyance on his face. His eyes barely had time to register the threat as the knife flew across the short distance and imbedded in his throat. The Emperor’s hands rose towards his throat and his mouth opened wide to scream, but the only sound was a timid gurgle. The Emperor’s head banged down on his desk. Lord Garic cursed and tried to untangle himself from the chair he had knocked over.

“I am so sorry,” apologized Fisher. “I didn’t see you stop. Let me help you up.”

“I didn’t stop,” snarled Lord Garic as he took the offered hand. “I warned you not to embarrass me.”

“I know,” Fisher said with a smile as his fist flashed forward and connected with the Ronan’s lord’s head.

Lord Garic collapsed and sprawled on the floor. Fisher swiftly hoisted the man’s body over his shoulder. He walked to the window and looked out. The city was dark, and he could see no guards on the lawn below. He maneuvered Lord Garic’s body to the window ledge and pushed it out. He waited until he heard the telltale thud of the body hitting the ground. He walked over to the desk and picked up the chair. He positioned the chair as it had been earlier and walked to the exit door. He listened carefully for any signs of activity on the other side and smiled when he heard none. He was thankful that the Emperor’s office had thick doors to keep outsiders from hearing what went on inside.