A loud knock on the door of the Torak quarters in the Imperial Palace echoed through the small suite. Botal opened the door to see Marshal Chack and several Imperial soldiers laden with weapons.
“We are delivering your weapons,” the marshal declared. “The tainted star will not be returned.”
Botal opened the door wider to let the soldiers in. They deposited the weapons on the table and left. Marshal Chack lingered and Lord Marak walked up to him.
“I apologize for my earlier actions, Lord Marak,” stated the marshal.
“No apology is necessary, Marshal,” replied Lord Marak. “You were performing your duties as you thought best.”
“While that is true,” Chack frowned, “there has been no announcement of your guilt or innocence, nor will there be. We never make such statements. I am afraid that most of the other lords will still act as if you are the assassin.”
“Can’t you make a statement so that Lord Marak is not ostracized?” asked Botal.
“No,” the marshal shook his head. “Until we find the assassin, we will not rule anyone out. I am convinced that you are not the assassin that we seek, Lord Marak, but if I made a statement that you were not a suspect, every other lord would demand a similar statement. It is just something that I cannot do.”
“I understand, Marshal Chack,” smiled Lord Marak. “I will learn to deal with the suspicions of the other lords. Thank you for taking the time to explain it to me.”
The marshal smiled weakly and nodded before leaving the suite.
“That is not right,” protested Mistake. “Word sure spread rapidly enough when you were thrown into the cell.”
“I will deal with it,” Lord Marak snapped before sighing and shaking his head with regret. “We must not be at each other’s throats over this matter. While there will be no formal statement from the marshal, I will still be walking around freely. No objective person would believe that the marshal is letting an assassin walk freely.”
“But they will still treat you as a pariah,” Gunta pointed out.
“They did before this incident,” shrugged Lord Marak. “Nothing has changed. Do you need an escort to leave the palace, Mistake?”
“No,” beamed the small thief as she pointed to a white pin on her clothes that identified her as an Imperial guest. “The marshal gave me this pin to wear. I can go anywhere I want in the palace now.”
“They will take that from you when you leave,” declared Gunta. “It was only meant to allow you to visit the Emperor.”
“No!” scowled Mistake. “It is my treasure.”
“But it would allow you to reenter the palace,” shrugged Latril. “You will have to give it up.”
“Never,” Mistake said adamantly.
Lord Marak opened his pack and extracted a Torak pin that identified the wearer as a staff member of the Torak clan. He handed the pin to Mistake.
“Wear the Torak pin when you leave,” he instructed, “and use the Imperial pin when you enter. Never use the same door for both entry and exit.”
“Thank you,” beamed Mistake as she switched pins. “I will return to the inn and see what the people outside the palace are saying. I want to tell StarWind that the Emperor is unaware of the Omungan general being in Khadora.”
Marak smiled broadly as the diminutive Fakaran slipped out the door. “Latril,” he said turning to his mage, “let’s see how icy the reception is in the dining room. Botal, I want a man in this room at all times.”
The Torak squad leader nodded as Lord Marak and Latril exited the room. The Torak lord led the way to the dining room. Lord Marak felt as if he was being watched. With what appeared to be a casual look at Latril, he noticed an Imperial soldier following him. He looked again as he ushered Latril into the dining room, and the soldier was caught unprepared. The soldier dropped his eyes to the floor and continued walking past the dining room.
When Lord Marak and Latril entered the dining room, the conversation immediately died. Everyone turned and glared at Lord Marak. The young lord sighed deeply and escorted Latril to the only empty table, one designed to seat six. After they sat down, light murmurs of conversation started up again. Lord Marak did not need an air tunnel to know that everyone was discussing him. The ugly glares spoke volumes about how Lord Marak was to be treated. As he looked about the room, he saw the Imperial soldier, who had been following him, slip into the dining room and stand with his back to the wall.
In the far corner of the room, Lord Sevrin sat with several lords from the upper reaches of the Macara River. The Ragatha lord sighed with frustration as he listened to the vile comments his companions were making about Lord Marak. Finally, he stood up.
“You act as if Lord Marak is the most vile enemy in all of Khadora,” Lord Sevrin said loudly to the men at his table.
Everyone in the room turned to listen and see what was happening.
“I have news for you high and mighty lords,” steamed Lord Sevrin. “Lord Marak took one of my estates because the man that I chose as lord of that estate was a fool. He attacked Lord Marak without provocation and paid with his life. You might think that such a situation gives me the right to hate the Torak lord, and maybe it does, but I do not. Lord Marak was in the right, and I conceded Woodville to him. As I came to know Lord Marak, I found a Khadoran lord that puts the rest of you to shame. He is a man of impeccable honor and a compassionate conqueror. It is obvious from his state of freedom that he is not responsible for the death of Lord Woton, and yet you all act as if he is. When the rest of you are ready to measure up to the high standards that Lord Marak has set for honor among lords, I will once again sit at your table.”
Lord Sevrin turned and marched to Lord Marak’s table and sat down. A hundred conversations immediate split the air of the room. Lord Sevrin had been a member of the Assembly of Lords for over twenty years, and he was known personally by most of the lords in the room. Before the conversation had a chance to die down, Lord Rybak rose from his seat in the center of the room.
“I must say that I agree with Lord Sevrin,” announced Lord Rybak. “As a Situ, my clan has also been bested by Lord Marak in battle. While I am new here in the Assembly of Lords, I cannot remain silent while many of you disparage his name. I will just leave you with a question and an offer. Ask yourselves why a clan that had been defeated by Lord Marak would speak so highly of him. Answer that question, and you will be vying to sit at his table. As to the offer, I will follow Lord Marak’s offer of a discount to clans that relinquish slavery as the Situ clan has.”
Lord Rybak walked to Lord Marak’s table and sat down. The noise level in the room grew so high that it was impossible for some to listen to the people at their own tables. Lord Shamino and Lord Burdine rose and also relocated to Lord Marak’s table. Lord Marak looked at his lords and shook his head as he smiled.
“You have cast your lot quite early in this war,” Lord Marak stated. “I wonder if it would not have been better for them to think of us as adversaries for a while longer?”
“You do not have a while to think about it, Lord Marak,” answered Lord Burdine. “You were an outcast coming into this room. If we did not act now, your reforms would be dead. By us showing our support for you now, the other clans must come to grips with the fact that you are not an outcast. You are no longer imprisoned, and all of your neighbors are willing to make a defiant stand in your favor. That will cause all of the other lords to reconsider their attitudes towards you, even the ones who are your enemies.”
“He is right,” nodded Lord Sevrin. “We would gain nothing by remaining silent because if this shunning was allowed to stand, you would never be able to propose anything that we could get behind you on. You would never be allowed to speak. Now is the time for us to state our allegiance. It is a rare sight in Khadora to see all of a lord’s neighbors openly defy common sentiment and take a stand in favor of that lord.”
“I thank all of you for doing so,” smiled Lord Marak as he noticed the same Imperial soldier suddenly leave the dining room. “Nothing in your Vows of Service required this gesture.”
“You mean more to us than our Vows of Service,” declared Lord Rybak. “That is not the reason we spoke. We believe in what you are trying to do for Khadora. The others will eventually understand.”
“Even if you have to defeat them one by one,” grinned Lord Burdine.
The dining room eventually quieted down and returned to normal. While none of the other lords approached Lord Marak and spoke to him, several did nod to the Torak Lord as they left the room. After everyone had left, Lord Marak and Latril returned to the Torak quarters.
* * *
Lord Marak had wanted to go to the garden and make contact with Fardale before the morning session of the Assembly of Lords, but a storm had blown in overnight and the weather outside was foul. He paced the room with the nervousness of a caged animal. His mind processed thoughts in an erratic fashion, but one concern kept on reoccurring. He wondered about the Imperial soldier that was ordered to spy on him. He knew that either the Emperor or the marshal had ordered the man to spy on him, but he could not determine why. Did either of them continue to consider Marak as a suspect in the assassination? If the soldier was meant merely as a safety precaution, then why did he leave the dining room to report what had transpired there?
“Stop the pacing,” chided Halman. “You will wear a hole in the floor.”
“Would that be so bad?” quipped Lord Marak. “Were it a big enough hole, I could crawl into it, and everyone would be pleased.”
“What will happen,” retorted Gunta, “will happen. Remember what you spoke of in the Emperor’s office? Perhaps you should let your mind dwell on those types of questions rather than how much the other lords like you.”
“Do you mean about Kaltara?” questioned the Torak lord.
“I do,” nodded Gunta. “You thought he would guide you. Have you changed your mind?”
Lord Marak frowned with a puzzled look on his face as he stared at Gunta. Slowly, he nodded and walked into the small office. He closed the door and sat at the desk. Marak tried to clear his mind of all the troubling questions that were plaguing him. He tried to remember the tales that Lyra had told him of her god, Kaltara, and how he guided her. He recalled the trip to Angragar with Rejji and the Qubari tales of how only the Astor could open the gates that had been sealed by Kaltara. Lastly, he thought about the Chula and his father, Ukaro. The shaman had reinforced the others’ beliefs about Kaltara and stressed that the Torak could always call upon the god to intervene in a crisis.
For the first time in his life, Marak prayed. He asked Kaltara for guidance in uniting the Khadoran people and ridding them of slavery. He asked for knowledge to understand the evil that would try to annihilate his people. Lastly, he asked for strength to endure the barbs of the other lords, at least long enough to bring them together. Lord Marak received no answers from Kaltara, but his mind felt strangely calm when he had finished.
Full of a newfound determination to confront the other lords head-on with his proposed reforms, Lord Marak stood erect and inhaled deeply as he would just before a great battle. He opened the door to the office and strode out.
“I am off to the Assembly of Lords,” he declared. “Continue to seek information on the assassin and the dark mage, Aakuta. I shall return near the midday.”
Lord Marak left the quarters and strode along the corridor to the Assembly Chamber. He was the first to arrive, and the sight of the Imperial soldier following him did not dampen his spirit. As the lords started arriving for the meeting, Lord Marak resisted the urge to use an air tunnel to spy on them. He was quite sure that he would only hear vilification of his own character, so he was quite relieved when Lord Shamino arrived and sat in the seat next to him.
“You missed the morning meal,” greeted Lord Shamino.
“I did not have the stomach for much more of the shunning,” shrugged Lord Marak. “You might say that I feel that my first trip to the Assembly of Lords has gone on long enough.”
“Then you must get your attitude under control,” urged the Sorgan lord. “Last night you were the topic of gossip. Today is different. This morning everyone was talking about the upcoming vote to replace Lord Woton on the Lords’ Council.”
“Well,” Lord Marak said, “at least they are onto a more peasant conversation.”
“It might not be so pleasant,” declared Lord Shamino. “The Neju clan is now led by Lord Jamarat. He is not liked by those who know him.”
“Little will that matter,” shrugged Lord Marak. “He is the leader of the Neju clan. He will replace Lord Woton on the Lords’ Council. It has always been so. They say the members of the Lords’ Council are elected by the Assembly of Lords, but what they fail to say is that only one lord is ever nominated. That is not much of an election.”
“Not this time,” Lord Shamino grinned as he delighted in being the bearer of strange news. “The word is that someone will nominate Lord Faliman of the Aritor clan. There are many in the Assembly that viewed Lord Woton merely as one of Lord Mirakotto’s lackeys, and his brother Jamarat is even less liked. This should prove to be a momentous day in Khadoran history.”
“Really?” Lord Marak said as he perked up a bit. “It will be interesting to see who dares to break with convention. Whoever it is might be worth talking to. It is this attitude of having always done something a certain way that closes the minds of these lords to reason. If I can find a few lords who dare to think on their own, perhaps we can start to change things in Khadora.”
“Perhaps,” nodded Lord Shamino as the room began to fill.
Within moments the lords took their seats, and the horns sounded the arrival of the Emperor. Bagora walked to the center of the stage and gazed out at the assembled lords. He waited for the last murmurs of conversation to cease.
“Lords of Khadora,” began the Emperor, “it is with great sadness that I report what you already know. Yesterday, Lord Woton of the Neju clan was struck down by an assassin.”
Shouts of outrage rippled through the room and more than one lord turned to glare at Lord Marak. The Emperor waited patiently.
“Lord Woton will be missed,” continued Emperor Bagora, “as any member of the Lords’ Council would be. Marshal Chack assures me that the assassin who perpetrated this foul deed will be caught. We cannot, however, stop the business of government while the hunt continues. I have therefore instructed the Lords’ Council to use this morning’s meeting of the Assembly of Lords to fulfill their duty of electing a new member to the Lords’ Council. Without further rambling, I will turn this meeting over to Lord Garic, member of the Lords’ Council, and leader of the Ronan clan. Lord Garic.”
The Emperor turned and walked to his throne at the rear of the stage. Lord Garic nodded and stepped to the center of the stage.
“I open this meeting of the Assembly of Lords for the purpose of electing a new member to the Lords’ Council,” Lord Garic stated formally. “Are there any nominations?”
Lord Mirakotto immediately rose from his front-row seat. “I, Lord Mirakotto of the Argetta clan, wish to make a nomination,” he stated.
Lord Garic nodded and Lord Mirakotto climbed onto the stage. He faced the assembled lords and spoke loudly and clearly.
“Lord Woton was a dear friend and colleague of mine,” he began. “He will be sorely missed. The Neju clan has had a seat on the Lords’ Council for over two hundred years. They have contributed a great many distinguished lords during that period of time, and I know that fine devotion to Khadora will continue under the new leadership of the Neju clan. Lord Woton’s brother, Lord Jamarat, is now the recognized leader of the Neju. His placement on the Lords’ Council will ensure that the Council continues its course without the interruptions that might be introduced by a new clan. I nominate Lord Jamarat of the Neju clan for a seat on the Lords’ Council.”
A tremendous roar of approval rippled through the chamber.
“I suspect Lord Mirakotto caught wind of the competition,” chuckled Lord Shamino. “That is no doubt why he stressed the continuance of the Council’s work.”
“You suspect wisely,” agreed Lord Marak. “I wonder which lord will stick his neck out to nominate Lord Faliman.”
Lord Mirakotto returned to his seat, and another member of the Lords’ Council rose.
“I, Lord Kiamesh of the Scratti clan, also wish to make a nomination,” declared Lord Kiamesh.
“Another member of the Lords’ Council,” noted Lord Marak as Lord Kiamesh climbed onto the stage. “He is the leader of the Scratti clan. Do you think this means that there is squabbling among the members of the Lords’ Council?”
“It must mean exactly that,” nodded Lord Shamino. “I did not think they would ever allow their differences to be shown in public. The rift must be deep indeed.”
“I also want to extend my condolences to the Neju clan for their loss,” Lord Kiamesh began. “Lord Woton worked very hard on the Lords’ Council, and no one can dispute the long years of service that the Neju clan has given their country. Still, I think it is time for a change.”
Quite a few shouts of agreement ripped across the room as Lord Kiamesh’s supporters let their strength be known.
Lord Kiamesh grinned broadly at the interruption as he continued, “For many hundreds of years, the same clans have been called upon to serve on the Lords’ Council. Always the clans of the Imperial Valley serve, as it should be, but periodically individual clans come and go within that mix. The Neju clan, as Lord Mirakotto pointed out, has served on the Council for the last two hundred years. There are other noble clans in the Imperial Valley that have served loyally in the past, but have recently been refused a chance. I think two hundred years is long enough.”
Again the shouts rippled through the room, and Lord Mirakotto turned and glared at some of the more vocal lords.
“The Aritor clan dates back to the founding,” Lord Kiamesh continued. “Members of the Aritor clan have served for many generations on the Lords’ Council, but they have not been given the opportunity in several generations. I think this is rather unfair. I nominate Lord Faliman, head of the Aritor clan, for the empty seat on the Lords’ Council.”
Lord Marak observed the roomful of lords as Lord Kiamesh took his seat.
“Lord Kiamesh has more than a handful of supporters,” noted Lord Marak. “I think this Lord Faliman is quite popular.”
“Hardly,” laughed Lord Shamino. “Most of the people cheering hardly know him. The fact is, almost everyone hates Lord Jamarat. The man is a brutal animal. He beats slaves and animals alike as if it is his daily chore. He has never had a kind word for anyone, and worst of all, not one lord trusts him.”
“Except Lord Mirakotto?” interrupted Lord Marak.
“Not even Lord Mirakotto,” Lord Shamino shook his head. “The word is that Lord Mirakotto can control him. That is not the same as trusting him.”
Lord Garic returned to the center of the stage and cleared his throat loudly to get the attention of the chamber.
“If there are no more nominations,” said Lord Garic, “I would like to start the voting process.”
A sudden tapping on the floor of the stage caused Lord Garic to turn around. He stared questioningly at the Emperor. Emperor Bagora rose and walked to the center of the stage.
“It is unusual for the Emperor to interrupt a session of the Assembly of Lords,” the Emperor began, “but these are unusual times. For the first time in recent memory, we are about to have a vote on nominations to the Lords’ Council. As you are all aware, this is a rare day in the history of Khadora. While the Assembly of Lords has been endowed with the privilege of voting for the members of the Lords’ Council, it has been a long time since that privilege was actually enjoyed. How does it feel to be actually making a difference in the history of your country?”
The assembled lords roared loudly in a manner befitting young children. The Emperor grinned as he watched the childish behavior.
“Good,” smiled the Emperor. “It is about time that you flexed your muscles.”
Lord Mirakotto rose from his seat, his face red with anger. “For what purpose does the Emperor interrupt the proceedings of this body?” he demanded.
“You rise, Lord Mirakotto,” scowled the Emperor, “to challenge my right to speak, but I do not recall you being recognized to do so.”
Lord Marak watched intently as Lord Mirakotto faced the Emperor. The Argetta lord turned and glared at Lord Garic who was responsible for conducting the session.
“Lord Mirakotto has a valid objection,” declared Lord Garic. “While the Emperor is afforded the opening statement of the Assembly of Lords, we are well past that point. We are in the middle of voting here. By what right does the Emperor speak?”
“I am the Emperor of Khadora,” declared Bagora. “Under the law, I have the right to speak in the Assembly of Lords not only for the purpose of opening comments, but also to nominate, or second the nomination of, a lord to the Lords’ Council. I have already spoken to my legal scholar about this. If you wish to clarify my position, I will gladly wait while you do.”
Lord Kiamesh’s face erupted into a broad grin, but Lord Mirakotto kicked the desk in front of him. Lord Garic looked questioningly at Lord Mirakotto, but eventually he just shrugged.
“I recognize Emperor Bagora for the purpose of making a nomination or seconding one,” stated Lord Garic.
“Thank you,” smiled the Emperor. “Lord Kiamesh made an elegant speech a few moments ago. He pointed out the stagnancy of our Lords’ Council. I not only agree that those lords who represent us on the Lords’ Council should be rotated, but I think we should take things a step further.”
Lord Kiamesh frowned, and Lord Mirakotto sat up in his chair and stared at the Emperor.
“Since our founding,” continued the Emperor, “The Lords’ Council has been composed of the same dozen clans. They are all from the Imperial Valley, and for the most part, they all think alike. While this may be good for stability, it is not a sound scenario if we ever hope to progress into something better than we are today. Many of you have heard some strange and outrageous proposals floating around the palace the last few days. I think listening to strange proposals is something that we do not do often enough. How are we to grow as a nation if we continue to do things as we have done them for the last thousand years?”
Murmurs of agreement came from every direction of the chamber as the Emperor struck a familiar complaint of the lords. Each of them harbored some resentment to the chosen dozen clans who made all of the rules.
“What I am about to do,” continued the Emperor, “has not been done in four hundred years, and even then it was only done half-heartedly. It is time not only for a new clan to step up to the Lords’ Council, but it is time for a different region of the country to have a say in our future. Khadora is much more than just the Imperial Valley. It is with a keen eye to the future of our country, that I nominate Lord Marak of the Torak clan to the Lords’ Council.”