Marshal Chack entered the office of the Emperor. He walked sullenly across the room and stood near the Emperor’s desk.
“We found the soldier,” he reported. “His throat was slit and the body was dumped into an empty cell. It was discovered by the workmen trying to assess the damage to the cell area.”
“A dead-end then,” frowned the Emperor. “What of Katzu? Has he returned to the palace yet?”
“He has,” reported the marshal. “He returned last night. I sent a runner to his quarters, and he should be here soon.”
As if on cue, a knock on the door echoed through the room. The marshal called for the person to enter and the door opened. Katzu stepped into the room and immediately surveyed the inhabitants. His face showed no emotion as he walked across the floor and stood facing the Emperor.
“Greetings, Katzu,” said the Emperor. “I am sure that you are familiar with Lord Marak?”
“I am,” Katzu said as he nodded to the Torak lord.
“I understand that you witnessed a certain occurrence near the Three Sisters,” stated the Emperor. “Please give me your report.”
A slight frown fell over Katzu’s normally emotionless face. He stole a glance at Lord Marak and saw the Torak lord nod his approval.
“A Torak caravan was ambushed,” reported Katzu. “The ambushers wore the clothing of gray warriors, but one of the Torak officers stated that one of the two prisoners had revealed that they were actually clansmen sworn to Lord Patel.”
“So your knowledge of the event is based upon the word of a Torak soldier?” asked Marshal Chack.
“Not at all,” Katzu shook his head. “I give little credence to a biased report. I demanded to interrogate the prisoner who had not been spoken to yet. I explained to him who I was before I questioned him. While he was reluctant to reveal the information, he did confirm that the ambushers were Nordon clansmen working under the direct orders of Lord Marshal Orik. He also stated the Lord Patel had direct knowledge of their orders and had been present when they were given their orders. He also described the location of their hidden uniforms.”
“And why did you not report this immediately to the Lords’ Council?” asked the Emperor.
“I gave my word that I would not until I had allowed Lord Marak to know of it first,” explained the mediator. “It was a most unusual request for silence, but the offense was grievous. If my knowledge became public, I felt the chance for bloodshed would be unavoidable. I had hoped to have a discussion with Lord Marak when I met him here at the Assembly of Lords. It is why I hurried back to Khadoratung.”
“An acceptable answer, Katzu,” nodded the Emperor. “Your logic is, as always, impeccable. You now have that chance to talk Lord Marak out of doing something foolish.”
“Before you speak, Katzu,” interrupted Lord Marak, “I would like to ask that you continue to keep this information secret until I release you from that vow.”
“But I have already reported to the Emperor,” protested Katzu.
“The Emperor had promised me that what is said here will not be used in a manner that would preclude my right of retribution,” insisted Lord Marak.
“Lord Marak is correct,” sighed the Emperor. “I did make that promise in an attempt to locate my assassin.”
“I will obey the spirit as well the actual promise of my Emperor,” declared Katzu, “but I still feel free to offer my advice. Lord Marak, to go against a sitting member of the Lords’ Council is suicide. I know in your short rise to power in the frontier, that you have had stunning successes. I have endeavored to find out the secret arrangements that you have made to avoid bloodshed and have not been able to. Still, going up against Lord Patel will be nothing like battling Lord Ridak. I implore you to assess the risks carefully. Your leadership has worked wonders in the frontier. I do not wish to see you eliminated so early in your life.”
The Emperor’s eyebrows rose as he listened to the mediator’s words. It was the first hint that someone truly appreciated what Lord Marak was doing, and Katzu was not just anybody to the Emperor. He was one of the few people that the Emperor confided in.
“I assure you, Katzu,” smiled Lord Marak, “that I do not intend to amass my armies and strike at Lord Patel’s army. I will seek my retribution in a bloodless way if possible, but I will not let his actions go unpunished.”
“May I ask what it is that you plan to do?” inquired Marshal Chack.
“I am not sure at this moment,” answered Lord Marak. “My goal is not to hurt the Nordon clan, if that is of any help. Lord Patel has been dishonest and underhanded. I plan to force him to abandon such ways in the future. What I can assure you is that I will do nothing before the end of the Assembly of Lords. I will not interfere in the running of this country.”
“That is sufficient to satisfy me,” declared the Emperor. “Katzu, thank you not only for coming so quickly, but for what you do for your country. Marshal Chack, you have your work cut out for you. Seek out our assassin. Do not concentrate so hard on Lord Patel that you ignore other possibilities. While there is no doubt that he is Lord Marak’s enemy, he is not the only one. Personally, I do not see Lord Patel as a suspect for assassination. It is not his style.”
The marshal and Katzu turned to leave the room. Lord Marak rose uncertainly and looked from the marshal to the Emperor. While no longer a suspect, he had not been given leave to depart.
“Stay, Lord Marak,” invited the Emperor. “As long as you are here, there are some other matters that I would like to discuss with you.”
Lord Marak nodded and sat back down.
“You intrigue me, Lord Marak,” opened the Emperor. “The rumors about you are among the most mysterious in the nation, yet you are but a minor frontier lord. Some say you rose to power by tricking Lord Ridak. Others say that you were favored as a son of Lord Ridak and betrayed him. Which should I believe?”
“None of them,” Lord Marak smiled. “Lord Ridak was a devious man. He sought to use me as a scapegoat for his failures. Fardale was a failing estate and its contracts were going to be defaulted. He set me up as Lord of Fardale so that he would have someone to blame for the failure. The only problem with his plan is that I did not fail. I succeeded, and he hated me for it.”
“That sounds typical,” frowned the Emperor. “I know of the Lords’ Council settlement that declared the Torak clan, but I understand that you were involved in a previous one. I believe it involved a dispute with the Sorgan and Litari clans. There was a settlement before the mediator arrived. Would you care to explain what happened?”
“With no disrespect intended, Emperor,” frowned Lord Marak, “I would prefer not to discuss that settlement.”
“It was embarrassing for you?” questioned the Emperor. “Young lords often make mistakes, Marak. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“While I do not claim any semblance of perfection,” clarified the Torak lord, “I am not embarrassed by the settlement. It was a good settlement for all concerned.”
“Now you have me more curious than ever,” chuckled the Emperor. “Why do I get the feeling that you came out the best in the negotiations?”
“That I cannot say,” smiled Lord Marak.
“Let me tell you something that I regard as a personal secret, Lord Marak,” the Emperor said conspiratorially. “As noble as many think the lords of Khadora are, there are only two men in this country that I truly trust. The Imperial Marshal Chack is one of them. The mediator, Katzu, is the other. Today I saw something in Katzu’s eyes that I have not seen in some time. He admires you, Lord Marak. That makes me want to know everything there is to know about you.”
“I feel honored,” Lord Marak stated. “Katzu has been efficiently honest in all dealings that I know of. He strikes me as the ideal Khadoran.”
“I would wager that he feels the same about you,” replied the Emperor. “I also believe he is wily enough to have learned most of your secrets, but do not worry. He would not even tell me if he had.”
“I am afraid that secrets are required at the moment,” sighed Lord Marak. “As you well know, I have more enemies than friends.”
“A most truthful statement,” nodded the Emperor. “That makes me ask why you do what you do. You are a lord at a very young age. You live in the frontier where few lords will bother you. Yet you campaign for the freedom of slaves. Why do you bother? You could have a relatively good life, instead of having all of the lords in Khadora wishing you dead. Why do you do it?”
“It is necessary,” shrugged Lord Marak. “I have heard that you are a student of history, Emperor. Tell me of the beginning of Khadora.”
The Emperor looked strangely at the young lord, but he said, “Khadoratung is the beginning of Khadora. Here is where the country started. Our founder Khador stood upon a hill overlooking the Imperial Valley and declared that it was where we would live.”
“What about before the founding of Khadoratung?” questioned Lord Marak.
“There are few records that predate Khadoratung,” declared the Emperor. “Why would they matter in any event?”
“Because Khadora is the last refuge of a fleeing army,” declared Lord Marak. “The indigenous peoples called the Khadorans invaders. Their histories tell of the massive armies that arrived in great ships. The scrolls tell how the invaders burned their ships so that they could never return to where they came from. They mention how the invaders set out to annihilate the indigenous peoples, not only here in Khadora, but in Omunga and Fakara as well.”
“How do you know what the Chula believe?” the Emperor asked skeptically.
“I have asked them,” Lord Marak stated. “I have spoken with the Chula, the Sakovans, and the Qubari. Their stories are remarkably similar. What does that mean to an historian?”
“You have actually spoken to these savages and lived to tell about it?” asked the Emperor with disbelief in his voice.
“The Chula do not seek to kill Khadorans,” Lord Marak said. “There are continual battles only because the Khadorans are still trying to annihilate the Chula. Ask yourself when was the last time that the Chula invaded any lord’s holdings.”
“They never do,” remarked the Emperor. “They know they would be destroyed.”
“Would they?” asked Lord Marak. “I consider myself a well-trained warrior. I must admit to you that I would be fearful of going up against the Chula. I would rather fight every lord in Khadora first.”
“What are you saying?” questioned the Emperor. “Do you really think they are that strong? Is there a threat to Khadora from these savages?”
“No threat at all,” declared Lord Marak. “If we do not try to destroy the Chula, they will cause us no harm. They want to be peaceful.”
‘Is that how you solved your problems in Fardale?” asked the Emperor. “You befriended the Chula?”
“That was one of the solutions,” nodded Lord Marak. “I was asked about my sword earlier, and I said it was a gift. I spoke the truth. The fact is that the sword was a gift from the Chula. They place a high value on a friendly neighbor. A higher value than most Khadoran lords do.”
“I am amazed,” admitted the Emperor. “Will they keep their word?”
“I trust their word with my life,” declared Lord Marak. “I have found them to be the most honest of all people.”
“Then why have we fought with them since the founding of Khadora?” asked the Emperor. “How could they have changed so much?”
“They have not changed at all,” Lord Marak insisted. “We never fought them because we could not trust them. We killed them because we could not trust ourselves.”
“What you say makes no sense,” Emperor Bagora shook his head. “Explain your last statement.”
“The invaders came to this land to flee from some great evil,” explained Lord Marak. “The evil was so great that the invaders burned their ships and magically seared their minds to forget what they fled. It was said that the memories of the great evil would only return if the invaders married the indigenous peoples in whose minds the memories were not blocked.”
“Why did they care if they remembered the great evil?” inquired the Emperor. “It would seem to me that to remember would be best.”
“Because remembering the evil would be to call it to their new land,” Lord Marak said. “That is why they seared their minds.”
“I remember reading an old journal of the founders of Khadora,” the Emperor said excitedly. “It made absolutely no sense to me, but I remember it used those very words. It spoke of a magical searing of the minds. This is most interesting to me. Can you share these old scrolls with me? I would love to read them.”
“I have one with me from the temple of the Qubari,” offered Lord Marak. “It is in my pack in my quarters.”
The Emperor rang a bell and an Imperial guard immediately entered. He instructed the guard to retrieve Lord Marak’s pack.
“So the Qubari still exist?” asked the Emperor. “Or did you find ruins of their lost civilization?”
“They still exist,” answered Lord Marak.
“This is very exciting for me,” frowned the Emperor, “but we are getting off the subject. I was asking why you continue to push this idea of freedom for the slaves.”
“The topics are related,” explained Lord Marak. “There is an ancient prophecy that states that one day the invaders will indeed intermarry with the indigenous peoples. When that happens, the great evil will be called to this land. It will be known as the Time of Calling.”
“All the more reason to extinguish the indigenous peoples, Lord Marak,” sighed the Emperor. “First you build a case for extending the hand of friendship to the Chula, and then you show why we cannot. I am confused.”
“I assume that you have heard of Grulak?” asked Lord Marak.
“Oh yes,” nodded the Emperor. “The savage from Fakara. I heard that he recently died.”
“He did,” confirmed Lord Marak, “but his death means nothing. It is his birth that is momentous. You see, Emperor, Grulak was a half-breed. His mother was Qubari, and Grulak’s birth began the Time of Calling.”
“Began the Time of Calling?” echoed the Emperor. “Are you saying that the great evil of long ago is supposedly going to come here to haunt us?”
“Not to haunt us,” corrected Lord Marak. “It is coming to destroy us.”
“You actually believe this, don’t you?” challenged the Emperor.
“I do,” nodded Lord Marak. “That is why I cannot sit on my estate and be happy to be a Khadoran lord. This country must be united. We must be strong and plan a defense against what is about to come. We must learn to stop squabbling among ourselves over matters that are really unimportant.”
“All of your actions now become clear to me, Lord Marak,” The Emperor said. “The problem is, I think your thoughts are based on some old tale meant to scare children. We cannot run this country on such wild assumptions.”
“Can’t we?” countered Lord Marak. “Suppose we do make all the moves necessary to prepare for the coming invasion, and it never materializes? What is the loss to Khadoran society? Would our loss be that we can now live in harmony with one another? Or that we no longer require slaves to have a prosperous economy? Would it be that the armies of different clans can work and train together? What exactly is the downside of preparing the country for this supposed invasion?”
“Well,” chuckled the Emperor, “for one, the people will think their leaders are crazy. Who could have faith in a leader who doesn’t have the intelligence to see through a children’s tale?”
“The people do not need to know why we are preparing,” offered Lord Marak. “There is no reason to announce the coming evil. In fact, it might be counterproductive. We want people to learn to work together. No reason need be given.”
The Emperor nodded as he dwelt on Lord Marak’s words. A knock on the door interrupted the silence and Lord Marak’s pack was delivered. Marak gently removed the old Qubari scroll from his pack and handed it to the Emperor. The Emperor read silently for a long time before he carefully placed the scroll on the desk.
“That is a scary document,” the Emperor stated. “It does confirm what you have said, but it could easily be the fertile imagination of a scribe who died a long time ago.”
“I am not sure that I can ever prove my theories to you,” sighed Lord Marak. “Even if I took you to the temple in Angragar, it would probably not convince you, but one thing will confirm what I have said. That confirmation will come when Khadora is overwhelmed with the armies of the great evil.”
“You know where Angragar is?” asked the Emperor. “Your stories get more outlandish by the moment.”
“I not only know where it is,” stated Lord Marak. “I have been there. I have read the scrolls that predate our ancestors’ arrival on these shores by a thousand years. These scrolls predicted the coming of the Khadorans. If that is what I must do to get you to believe the danger that we are in, I will arrange to take you to Angragar.”
“You are quite serious,” the Emperor said as his eyebrows rose. “You are either telling the truth, or you have gone quite mad.”
“I am not mad,” assured Lord Marak. “The ancient city of Angragar is guarded by spirit beings called hellsouls. The gates were magically sealed thousands of years ago, and nobody has been able to enter it, until now. As prophesied by the ancient Qubari, a man will be born in the Time of Calling. That man will be known as the Astor, and he will be able to open the gates of Angragar. I personally know this Astor. He allowed me to accompany him into the city of Angragar.”
“Another story?” quipped the Emperor. “How can you verify this?”
“There is a woman in Khadoratung right now that accompanied the Astor into Angragar,” declared Lord Marak. “It was not on the same trip as the one I took, but if you ask me to describe something in the city and then ask her the same question, would agreeable answers confirm that we have both been there?”
“It would,” nodded the Emperor, “but what can I possibly ask?”
“Without revealing the location of Angragar, which I have vowed not to,” suggested Lord Marak, “I will describe my journey through the city. Try to picture it and then form a question about one of the buildings.”
“Who is this woman and where can she be found?” asked the Emperor.
“Ask one of my soldiers to go get the Fakaran,” answered Lord Marak. “They will bring her back if you will offer assurances that no harm will come to her.”
The Emperor rang the bell and gave instructions to a soldier. He then asked Lord Marak to describe his journey. For half an hour, the Emperor listened intently to the tale of Lord Marak’s journey into the city that the world forgot.
“An excellent tale,” smiled the Emperor. “Ah, to be free of this office for a journey such as that. All right, Lord Marak, here is my request. I want you to draw me a map of that central square. Label the palace and the temple and indicate the street you came into the square from.”
Lord Marak drew what was requested and slid the drawing to the Emperor. “I cannot guarantee that she arrived using the same street,” Lord Marak said, “but she will certainly have entered the square from the same direction.”
“That will be good enough for me,” declared the Emperor as a knock sounded on the door.
The door swung open, and Gunta and Mistake were allowed to enter. Two Imperial soldiers also entered. The Emperor dismissed the two soldiers. Gunta looked around the room warily, and Mistake appeared ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Lord Marak stood and beckoned them both to the desk.
“I apologize,” frowned the Emperor. “It did not occur to me until just now that your people might think that you are still in danger. I commend them on following your orders without question for their own safety.”
“Gunta, Mistake,” smiled Lord Marak, “I would like you to meet Emperor Bagora.”
Gunta promptly bowed, but Mistake appeared confused.
“You are not imprisoned any more?” asked Mistake.
“He certainly is not,” smiled the Emperor. “I asked him to summon you so that he might prove a point to me. Shouldn’t Gunta return to his quarters?” the Emperor quietly asked Lord Marak.
“There is no need for that,” answered Lord Marak as he realized that the Emperor was concerned about revealing the existence of Angragar to a mere soldier. “Gunta goes everywhere with me. He has been there, too.”
“Very well,” nodded the Emperor. “If you will take Gunta with you and walk to the far end of the room, I will spend some time alone with this young Fakaran.”
Lord Marak and Gunta walked the length of the room to where the reading chair was, while Mistake sat at the desk across from the Emperor.
“What happened?” Gunta asked. “The last we heard you were imprisoned.”
“I believe it was the mage called Aakuta,” whispered Lord Marak. “He blasted a whole clear through the wall of the prison. They had no place to keep me so the marshal brought me to the Emperor. I think he expected a quick decision of execution, but that is not how things went.”
“Obviously,” replied Gunta. “Are you still in trouble?”
“Not at all,” smiled Lord Marak. “Bringing me here gave me the chance to explain my side of things. It took a while, but the Emperor and the marshal now know that I was not the assassin. I like Bagora. He is an honest and decent man. I wish all of the lords were like him.”
“I was not sure the message to get Mistake was really from you,” stated Gunta. “We were ready for trouble when we entered here. You cannot imagine the relief I feel knowing that you are safe.”
“I do think Kaltara is watching over me,” smiled Lord Marak.
“The Chula god?” questioned Gunta.
“Our god,” corrected Lord Marak. “He is known to the Chula, the Sakovans, and the Qubari. I do not think those three peoples can be wrong in their beliefs. Have you had any luck in locating the real assassin?”
“None,” frowned Gunta. “Torak soldiers are watched wherever we go. None of the other clans will even talk to us. If we walk into a room, everyone else walks out. It is as if we are contagious.”
“So everybody still assumes that I was the assassin?” inquired the Torak lord.
“There has been no announcement to the contrary,” shrugged Gunta. “Perhaps you could talk the Emperor into setting the record straight.”
Lord Marak heard laughing from the other end of the room. He looked up and saw the Emperor waving for him to return. He touched Gunta on the elbow and returned to the Emperor’s desk.
“Her drawing is much better than yours, Lord Marak,” chuckled the Emperor.
“Angragar?” gasped Gunta. “Why are you drawing that?”
“You have proved your words, Lord Marak,” declared the Emperor. “I want to have more talks with you on this subject and others, but today is not the time for it. Have you considered buying a house here in Khadoratung?”
“I have never given it thought,” confessed the Torak lord.
“Do so,” suggested the Emperor. “If you want to change this country, you must be accessible to the Imperial Valley. In the meantime, your quarters here in the Imperial Palace will be available to you. I will see that the Torak clan is moved to better quarters after the assembly is over. You should not travel with just a squad for protection.”
“I appreciate that, Emperor Bagora,” smiled Lord Marak. “If there is nothing else at this time, I would like to let my people know that I am safe.”
“Of course, of course,” nodded the Emperor. “I should have done so long ago.”
“I have one more question,” chirped Mistake. “Do you know an Omungan general named Didyk?”
“Omungan?” frowned the Emperor. “I have heard his name mentioned in reports, but I have never met him. I could not imagine an Omungan general coming here, and I have never been south of the Kalatung Mountains. Why do you ask?”
“I heard he was in Khadoratung,” answered Mistake. “I thought maybe he was visiting you.”
“He is not,” declared the Emperor as he rang the bell.
The door opened and a soldier entered the room. He held the door for the leaving guests. As Lord Marak left the room, he heard the Emperor asking for his legal scholar.