The sun had not yet cleared the Fortung Mountains to the east, and a light fog blanketed the land. Early workers on the Devon clan estate moved about unhurriedly as they readied for a new day of work. Some of the white and black clad soldiers were cleaning up in a large basin of water alongside the barracks. Others were stretching or doing their morning exercises. Several women were tending to the chickens. It was the start of a normal day for the Devon clan.
The first hint of trouble came, ironically, from a small boy playing with his dog. As he tried to teach his puppy to fetch, the dog began barking as it stared into the tall fields of corn. The young boy tried calling the puppy, but it was too engrossed with whatever was in the cornfield. The boy pouted and then walked towards the dog to carry him away. Suddenly, an arrow flew from the cornfield and silenced the barking dog. The little boy halted as confusion clouded his features. He looked at the dead dog and then stared into the cornfield. Something moved, and the young boy screamed. He turned and ran towards the mansion as fast as he could, but he could not outrun the arrow that slammed into his back.
The women feeding the chickens heard the boy’s scream. They turned and saw the boy fall. One of the women ran towards the boy, thinking he had just fallen. The other women watched in horror as the soldiers in blue and yellow streamed out of the cornfield. Several arrows sought out the first woman, and she tumbled to the ground before she ever reached the young boy.
“Vessi!” shouted one of the women feeding the chickens.
In seconds the call was repeated all around the mansion of Lord Hanold, but the warning was far too late. Hordes of Vessi archers rode through the front gate, easily dispatching the two Devon sentries. Hundreds of Vessi swordsmen charged out of the cornfields, the mature crop trampled under their boots. More Vessi cavalrymen charged through the small peach orchard on one side of the mansion, while Vessi archers rained arrows on the barracks area on the other side of the mansion. The Vessi attackers struck down anyone who moved in the early morning mist.
Within moments, thousands of Vessi soldiers were swarming over the small Devon estate. One rider, wearing the plumes of a cortain in the Vessi army, dismounted at the front of the mansion. Other Vessi soldiers soon dismounted near him.
“Nobody leaves the mansion,” the cortain ordered. “Round them up and bring them to the meeting room. Move!”
The Vessi soldiers threw open the door and charged into the mansion. After the long line of soldiers entered, the cortain casually walked through the doorway. He stopped inside the get his bearings and locate the meeting room. A young woman ran from under the stairs carrying a young boy. She tried to race out the front door, but the cortain was ready for her. He pulled his sword and caught her in the side as she tried to race by. She fell to the floor soundlessly, but the young boy began crying. The cortain grabbed the young boy by his arm and dragged him towards the meeting room.
“Somebody guard the front door,” shouted the cortain. “I said nobody was to escape.”
A soldier ran out of a nearby room and took up a position at the front door. The cortain kicked open the door of the meeting room and marched in. He dumped the boy on the floor and strode to the long table. He pulled at the chair at the head of the table and sat down where the lord of the Devon clan would normally sit. Within moments, Vessi soldiers began dragging people into the meeting room. One of the people shoved into the meeting room was recognizable to the cortain.
“Sit, Lord Hanold,” commanded the cortain.
The lord of the Devon clan pulled out a chair and sat down. “Who are you?” he asked. “And what is the meaning of this attack?”
“I am Cortain Skara,” answered the cortain, “and I will be asking the questions, not you. Who is your seneschal?”
Lord Hanold refused to answer. His eyes glared at the Vessi cortain, but his lips remained sealed. Cortain Skara looked around the room. His eyes came to rest on an old woman, and he nodded to one of his men. The Vessi soldier marched over to the old woman and ran his sword through her chest.
“Who is your seneschal?” Cortain Skara repeated.
Lord Hanold remained unmoved by the execution. He refused to answer. Suddenly, an old white-haired man stepped forward.
“I am the seneschal,” offered the old man. “What do you want with me?”
“I want to know the number of people authorized to wear the family pin,” demanded Cortain Skara.
“Fourteen,” answered the seneschal.
“Point them out,” ordered the Vessi cortain.
The old man frowned, but he walked around the room pointing to Lord Hanold’s family members. As he pointed someone out, a nearby soldier would push them towards the table and tell them to sit. The small boy that the cortain dragged into the room was the last to be seated. Cortain Skara counted the family members and smiled.
“Take the rest of them out of here,” ordered Cortain Skara. “Put them to work cleaning up this place. And have the morning meal prepared. I will dine in the lord’s suite.”
The Vessi soldiers shoved the people out of the meeting room, except for the lord and his family. Cortain Skara rose and walked to the door. He signaled for several of his men to return to the room.
“Kill them all,” he commanded as he pointed into the meeting room. “Then get someone to clean up the mess.”
Cortain Skara ignored the screams as he loped up the stairs in search of the lord’s suite.
* * *
The incessant hammering pounded in Lord Marak’s head. He rolled over and the sunshine lit up his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw that it was daylight out. He leaped out of bed and pulled his clothes on.
“It is about time that you got up,” quipped Botal as he stuck his head in the door. “Would you care for a morning meal?”
“Very much so,” answered Lord Marak. “What is all that hammering?”
“You wanted this house completed quickly,” replied Botal. “Norman has crews working on it from first light until the sun sets. I am surprised that you could sleep through that racket.”
“Not arriving until the middle of the night might have something to do with it,” groused Lord Marak. “Has Norman solved the problem of stabling our horses?”
“He has a great idea that he wanted to talk to you about,” nodded Botal. “There is enough room to expand the building if we are willing to give up the alley that runs between this house and the next.”
“I would prefer larger stables to an alley,” remarked Lord Marak. “Tell him to go ahead with it. Make sure he understands that I want to keep the number of Torak horses in the stables hidden from prying eyes.”
“He is well aware of you concerns,” smiled Botal. “Let me get you some food, and I will tell you the rest of the news.”
Lord Marak nodded sleepily. He was normally a rather light sleeper, rising before dawn, but the last few days running around to all of the Nordon estates to receive the Vows of Service had taken its toll. They had not arrived back in Khadoratung until the wee hours of the morning. He wondered what time it was and looked out the window to gauge the height of the sun. He blinked several times as he realized that half the morning was already gone.
Lord Marak cleaned up in a basin and ran downstairs. Construction debris was everywhere, as were the workers. The workers had been drawn from various Torak estates, and most of them greeted him as he ran by. He nodded silently and made his way to the dining room. Mistake, StarWind, and HawkShadow were already there.
“Morning, Your Highness,” grinned Mistake. “Had enough beauty sleep?”
“You are lucky my eyes are still filled with sleep,” grumbled Lord Marak, “or I would hit you with a Sakovan star.”
“I never thought I would see anyone grumpier than HawkShadow in the morning,” laughed StarWind.
“Don’t let them rile you, Marak,” chuckled HawkShadow. “None of us were awake an hour ago. It seems like a long time since we were in this city.”
“You sound homesick. Are you thinking of returning to the Sakova?” asked Lord Marak.
“Today,” nodded HawkShadow. “General Didyk has been gone for some time. There is no reason for us to delay any longer.”
“I understand,” nodded Lord Marak. “I will miss the three of you. I want to thank you for everything that you have done for me these last few weeks. Each of you has made a great difference here in Khadora.”
“Perhaps we will find a reason to visit again,” smiled StarWind. “We learned a lot while we were here.”
“You are always welcome,” replied Lord Marak. “I guess you will be taking the elf with you to the Sakova?”
“Hey,” grinned Mistake. “Behave or I will tell the Emperor on you.”
“Lyra has authorized it,” replied StarWind. “She thinks it is wise to meet with some of the Fakarans, and she is intrigued about the possibility of Mistake and MistyTrail being related.”
“I am sure that they are related,” grinned Lord Marak. “MistyTrail always gave me a hard time, too.”
The room fell silent as someone banged on the front door of the house. Lord Marak saw Gunta race past the open door of the dining room. He heard muted talking and then the door shut. Seconds later, Gunta entered the room with Botal right behind him with a plate of food for Lord Marak.
“That was an Imperial guard,” reported Gunta. “The Emperor would like to see you at your earliest convenience.”
“How in Khadora did he know I was back in the city?” Lord Marak asked as Botal slid the plate of food in front of him.
“He would be negligent not to have spies scattered all across the city,” responded StarWind. “Finding them will give your people something to do.”
“I am sure that it will,” nodded Lord Marak as he ate a few spoonfuls of food before rising. “I should not keep the Emperor waiting.”
“I will ready the squad,” Botal offered.
“Just Gunta and Halman will do,” Lord Marak shook his head.
Botal’s forehead creased heavily. “At least finish your morning meal,” Botal said. “You may be with the Emperor for hours. Do not expect him to feed you.”
Lord Marak frowned as he stared at Botal. The squad leader had never been one to make demands, but he did have a valid point. Lord Marak sat back down and started eating. Botal and Gunta left the room. StarWind and HawkShadow discussed the route they would take to the Sakova. As he ate, Lord Marak heard the front door close again. He looked expectantly towards the dining room door, but nobody arrived. He shrugged and continued eating. Several more times he heard the front door close. Finally, he stood up and started to leave the room.
“Sit and eat,” laughed Mistake. “Nobody is coming in.”
StarWind and HawkShadow stopped talking and turned to see what was going on.
“How do you know?” asked Lord Marak. “I heard the door close several times.”
“Of course you did,” grinned Mistake. “That is people leaving, not coming in.”
“Who would be leaving at this hour?” questioned Lord Marak. “The work day is far from over.”
“Torak soldiers are leaving,” explained Mistake. “You refused a proper escort, but you did not forbid sentries along the way. Botal has been sending men in pairs. I suspect that they will explore every nook and cranny between here and the palace.”
“You really should let Botal manage a proper escort for you,” warned StarWind. “You know they care for you.”
“I know,” sighed Lord Marak as he sat back down. “Each and every member of that squad has refused promotions. They would rather be part of the squad that escorts me than be Cortains or Lectains or Marshals.”
“You could not ask for better men,” smiled HawkShadow. “Let them do their job.”
“I will,” Lord Marak said decisively as he rose. “May Kaltara watch over the three of you as you journey to the Sakova.”
Lord Marak walked into the hallway. Gunta and Halman were waiting and Botal was nearby.
“Form up the rest of your men, Squad Leader,” grinned Marak. “We are going to the Imperial Palace.”
Botal’s eyes grew large with surprise. For once he was at a loss for words as he tried to figure out what to do. All of the squad had already been dispatched to watch the route that Lord Marak would take to the palace. There was no way that he could form a squad now if he wanted to.
“All right,” laughed Lord Marak. “We will pick them up as we go. Come on.”
“You knew?” sighed Botal as he joined the group.
“Actually,” grinned Lord Marak as he stepped through the front door, “a little elf told me.”
Botal led the small group along the street towards the Imperial Palace. He signaled for his men to join the group as they passed them. By the time they reached the Imperial Palace, the whole squad was in formation. The palace appeared deserted without all of the lords of Khadora and their escorts. Most of the people visible inside were Imperial guards. As they walked past the Assembly Chamber, Lord Marak glanced at the first door along the left residence corridor. There was a shiny gold plaque on the door inscribed with the Torak name.
“Look at this,” Lord Marak said as he detoured down the residence corridor and stopped in front of the door. “Check it out while I am with the Emperor, Botal. I will meet you back here.”
Botal nodded and Lord Marak turned around and headed for the nearest stairwell. Gunta and Halman stuck with the Torak lord while the rest of the squad entered their new quarters. Lord Marak ascended the stairs quickly and marched along the hall to the waiting pair of Imperial guards. They nodded to him and one of them immediately opened the door. Gunta and Halman did not hesitate and followed Lord Marak into the Emperor’s office.
“Lord Marak,” greeted Emperor Bagora. “Come, sit down.”
Gunta and Halman stopped at the door and stood to each side of it as Lord Marak walked across the room and sat before the desk. The Emperor frowned when he noticed the two Torak soldiers.
“You are safe in this room, Lord Marak,” stated the Emperor. “Even my own guards do not feel a need to be in here to protect me.”
“Unless their presence bothers you, Emperor,” smiled Lord Marak, “I will let them stay. They become nervous when I am not in their sight. I was fortunate to make it to your office without an entire squad following me.”
“Very well,” nodded the Emperor. “I am pleased that you arrived so quickly. I have had some rather disturbing news from Katzu about a matter you discussed with Lord Patel.”
Lord Marak frowned at the mention of the mediator’s name. He had trusted Katzu with a great deal of knowledge, and while he trusted the Emperor, it churned his stomach to think that Katzu would repeat his secrets.
“Is this about the Nordon?” asked Lord Marak.
“Oh goodness, no,” chuckled the Emperor. “Yes, I did try to squeeze out of Katzu what happened between you and Lord Patel, but he refuses to say. I did notice that the Torak clan now has a Deep Bend estate. Am I to assume that relations between you and Lord Patel are no longer dangerous?”
“That matter has been solved amicably,” answered Lord Marak. “What exactly did Katzu say?”
“You mentioned Fakarans taking up with clans in Khadora,” began the Emperor.
“Jiadin, actually,” interrupted Lord Marak. “The bulk of Fakarans are friendly to Khadora. The Jiadin are not.”
“I stand corrected,” nodded the Emperor. “These Jiadin worry me. They are being used by some lords to aggressively pursue their neighbors.”
“Their intention is chaos,” declared Lord Marak. “Grulak had planned to attack Khadora with a hundred thousand men. Had he succeeded, he would have destroyed most of this country. This is one of the reasons that I stress uniting the clans. Separated as we are, we can be picked off one by one.”
“That is exactly what is happening now,” declared the Emperor. “Three clans have ceased to exist in the last week. The latest was the Devon clan. They were attacked by the Vessi for no apparent reason.”
“Then it has begun,” frowned Lord Marak. “I had not expected it so soon. Should the Lords’ Council meet on this?”
“They could,” shrugged Emperor Bagora, “but there is nothing that they can do. No clan has asked for mediation. No clan has declared that they were attacked without provocation. In fact, no clan has complained. The reason for that, Lord Marak, is that there are no clans to complain. In each of the attacks, every living member of the ruling family was destroyed. There was nobody left with legal standing to file an appeal to the Lords’ Council.”
“And there will never be,” sighed Lord Marak. “These Jiadin will conquer one estate at a time until they are at our door. How then do our laws help us, Emperor?”
“I don’t know,” conceded the Emperor. “Katzu returned from talking to Lord Samert about the latest attack. He was basically told that no mediation was requested and told to leave. Never has a Lords’ Council mediator been treated so shabbily.”
“But Lord Samert was within his legal rights to ask Katzu to leave,” Lord Marak pointed out. “What does the Emperor propose to do about it?”
“I was hoping that you would have an idea,” confessed the Emperor. “You are, after all, the one noted for accomplishing things in a strange fashion.”
“Make it illegal to kill a lord,” suggested Lord Marak.
“We cannot do that,” the Emperor shook his head. “Too many laws allow for such a death or enslavement. Our basic structure of law is that the clan lord is responsible for the failings of the clan. As such, his life is forfeit if he transgresses and is defeated.”
“Well,” frowned Lord Marak, “your laws have a loophole in them. You are allowing foreigners to destroy your country. You could make a law that forbids the killing of the last surviving member of a clan, or one against using foreign mercenaries in your army, but none of that will work. Suppose you did have a law to use against these clans. How would you enforce it? You do not have enough Imperial troops to stand against even one of those clans.”
“You are right,” the Emperor nodded sadly. “The only solution is the one you mentioned the day we met. We must have a culture that allows our clans to fight together as one. We certainly do not have that today.”
“It is even worse than you know,” Lord Marak said. “I have learned that there is a fourth clan filling up with Jiadin warriors. The Pikata clan will be the next to be heard from.”
“Lord Damirath?” questioned the Emperor. “That is hard to believe. He might take Fakaran slaves in once in a while, but other than that, he would have nothing to do with that country.”
“I believe my information to be accurate,” insisted Lord Marak. “Two notorious Jiadin have been at the Pikata estate. One of them is a mage.”
“I will have that checked out,” declared the Emperor. “What would you do if you were Emperor, Lord Marak?”
“That is hard for me to imagine,” the Torak lord said after a long pause. “My first thought is a military one. I am quite sure that it would not be legal, but I would amass a great army and kick the Jiadin out of Khadora.”
“That is exactly what I would like to do,” agreed Emperor Bagora. “At least we both realize that it is illegal. I suppose I should call a Lords’ Council meeting on this issue. Everyone is close by now that you have returned.”
“When will it be?” asked Lord Marak.
“This afternoon,” decided the Emperor. “That should give you time to check out the craftsmen that infest your home.”
“Someday,” grinned Lord Marak as he rose, “I would like to discuss your spy network with you.”
“That will probably be the same day that we discuss your secret agreements with a growing list of lords in Khadora,” grinned the Emperor. “Stay safe, Lord Marak.”
Lord Marak gathered Gunta and Halman and returned downstairs. He briefly viewed the new Torak quarters before leaving for his house with his full squad.
“We could fit more than a corte of troops in the new quarters,” Botal said happily.
“Probably two,” nodded Lord Marak. “We should talk about stationing some troops permanently in Khadoratung. I need to contact Tagoro and find out how his recruiting is coming along. I would like another meal when we get back, Botal.”
The Torak squad entered the house. Lord Marak went into the dining room and saw Latril sitting with Fisher. He smiled at both of them and sat down.
“What news do you have for me, Fisher?” asked Lord Marak.
“No word on the assassin,” reported the spy. “I did some research on the Neju clan, though. Jamarat is the end of the line for the Neju. Woton had no sons and Jamarat never married. The man really has the mind of a child.”
“I noticed that,” nodded Lord Marak. “What is worse is how Mirakotto uses him. I would like to do something for him if I could. The Neju clan is a founding clan and rich in history.”
“Which makes their situation even more deplorable,” frowned Fisher. “Woton spent his time on affairs of the Lords’ Council. He did not bother much with the running of his estates. Jamarat does not have the mental capacity to handle the job, and most of the Neju advisors are ancient and feeble. The only good thing that could be said about the Neju is their army. They have a large army, and it is well equipped and well trained.”
“What about their finances?” asked the Torak lord.
“I had Kasa check that out,” answered Fisher. “They have numerous estates with fertile soil. Their herds are healthy. Their only problem appears to be mishandling their finances. Basically, Jamarat is like Woton in that he spends more than they make. If they had a good bursar, I think their estates would be quite prosperous.”
“Latril, didn’t you help Kasa with the finances when we merged the Situ estates into our own?” asked Lord Marak.
“I did,” nodded Latril. “It is fairly simple work. At least it is if you are good with numbers, which I guess I am. Do you want me to help the Neju? Would they accept such help?”
“I would not ask you to do anything that you didn’t want to,” replied Lord Marak, “but you would also have the benefit of being able to talk to Kasa whenever you needed to.”
“I would not mind,” offered Latril. “After traveling with you for a while and seeing what it is that you are trying to do, I am actually excited to be able to play an active part. Anything I can do to make Khadora the country you dream of, I would gladly do.”
“Would Jamarat accept help from the Torak clan?” asked Fisher.
“I don’t know,” admitted Lord Marak, “but I am willing to ask him. I did tell him that if he needed help, I would be willing to give it. I cannot go out there today, though. The Emperor is calling a Lords’ Council meeting this afternoon to discuss the Jiadin issue. The Khadoran clans hosting the Jiadin have begun gobbling up their neighbors.”
“I will take Latril out to see Jamarat,” offered Fisher. “I will play the role of a special emissary from the Torak clan and tell him that you were concerned for him and wanted to help. The worst he can do is not believe me.”
“Fisher,” laughed Lord Marak. “I cannot imagine anyone who would not believe whatever you wanted them to.”