Myka circled high over the second trench until the Khadoran infantry and mages were safely beyond the third and final trench. The Torak spoke briefly, and the dragon banked away to the northwest. Emperor Marak gazed down as the Khadoran soldiers waved at the dragon overhead. He smiled inwardly and wondered what the ramifications might be when others heard about the dragon and the emperor mage that rode her. Both were secrets that Marak had held closely, but the time for such secrets was over. Marak sighed anxiously as Myka headed for the Khadoran city of Sintula where the armies of the Imperial Valley were gathering.
Sintula, the third largest city in Khadora, was situated at the convergence of the Lituk and Khadora rivers. The skies around Sintula were already thick with smoke as the Khadorans burned their fields to prevent the food from falling to the enemy. Whatever crops could be harvested were already on their way to Khadoratung to feed the refugees and fill warehouses for the armies to draw from.
Myka flew into the thick smoke, seemingly unconcerned with the lack of visibility. Marak’s eyes teared with irritation, and his lungs felt taut as he inhaled the heavy smoke. The time in the clouds of smoke seemed to last forever, and Marak inhaled deeply when the dragon flew out of the smoke. He looked down at Sintula, its white buildings contrasting with the dark green forests and brown fields surrounding it. He wiped the tears from his eyes and coughed to clear his lungs as Myka turned into a spiraling descent. As the dragon dropped lower, the citizens of Sintula noticed her. Fearful shouts rose up to greet the Torak as people scurried through the city streets to find shelter from the huge beast.
Marak gazed beyond the city to a sea of tents in a newly cleared portion of the forest bordering Sintula. Colorful banners flew from long poles outside the tents, and the Torak sought out the colors of the clans that formed the Lords’ Council. Near the center of the makeshift camp he saw the purple and yellow of the Neju clan. Nearby were the banners of the Organila, Nordon, Scratti, Walkan, and Aritor clans. A large open rectangle sat in the center of the six encampments.
“Head for the large rectangle in the center,” the Torak said to the dragon. “The soldiers do not know of you so be careful. And try not to frighten them,” Marak added with a chuckle.
“Bah,” snorted Myka as she turned her snout downward and dove at the troops. “I am a dragon. Humans are supposed to fear me. Hang on.”
Officers shouted orders and soldiers scurried to defend themselves as the dragon approached. Arrows started flying upwards towards the dragon long before she was within range. Myka responded by belching long flames towards the ground, and some of the soldiers ran for cover, but most of the Khadorans held their ground.
“Hmmph,” scowled Myka. “Are they so foolish to stand there when I can burn their flesh before they hurt me?”
“Not foolish, Myka,” smiled Emperor Marak. “They are brave men. They understand that you can bring death upon them, but they are standing for their country and their loved ones. I advise a gentler approach.”
The dragon suddenly shot upward to stay outside the range of the Khadoran arrows. Marak drew the Sword of Torak and held it high. It was a gamble that immediately paid off. While some soldiers saw the sword as threatening, others recognized it for what it was. As Myka circled over the encampment, a resonating chant rippled through the Khadoran armies. It began in the Nordon camp and spread outward as bows were lowered and swords were held high as a form of salute. The sound drifted upwards and brought a smile to Marak’s lips.
“Torak! Torak! Torak!” chanted the soldiers.
Myka continued to circle, basking in the chant, as the large rectangular area was made clear of soldiers.
“They love you,” the dragon remarked.
“As they will come to love you,” grinned Marak. “Be on good behavior. These people are our people.”
Myka did not respond as she spread her wings wide and glided towards the ground. The chanting continued until the dragon was on the ground and then wild cheers erupted as Marak slid off of Myka’s back. Waiting at the edge of the cleared area were the members of the Lords’ Council. They bowed in respect as the emperor approached. Other clans’ lords gathered around to hear the words of the Emperor.
“There are still secrets that you keep from us,” greeted Lord Patel of the Nordon clan.
“A few,” smiled Emperor Marak. “Perhaps it is time to end the secrets. I am glad that you recognized me up there. I would hate to see a battle between friends. The dragon is named Myka. She is a formidable foe.”
“Actually,” offered Lord Jamarat of the Neju clan, “we did not recognize you. Latril used an air tunnel to let the armies at the trenches know of the danger presented by a dragon behind their lines. They told us of your attack on the enemy.”
“Then you already know more of my secrets,” sighed the Torak.
“That you are a mage?” asked Lord Kiamesh of the Scratti clan. “How is that possible? For generations all Khadoran mages have been female. Now all of a sudden, male mages appear. It makes no sense.”
“The Chula have male shaman,” replied Marak. “The Qubari and elves have male mages. So do the Omungans and Sakovans, and obviously the Motangans do as well. Why should Khadora be any different?”
“Because for generations we have closed our eyes to the truth?” proposed Lord Chenowith of the Walkan clan.
“Precisely,” nodded Marak. “There is one more secret that I have held from you,” he frowned. “Perhaps now is the time to reveal it.”
“I advise caution,” warned Lord Chenowith. “Perhaps there are some things that are best kept concealed.”
The other lords looked at Lord Chenowith questioningly, but Emperor Marak suddenly saw the Walkan lord in a new light.
“You know?” he asked softly.
“My father discovered it,” Lord Chenowith nodded. “I read it in his papers.”
“And he said nothing?” frowned the Emperor. “Why?”
“I cannot answer that question,” replied Lord Chenowith. “He did not confide in me regarding such things.”
“What is it?” demanded Lord Quilo of the Organila clan. “What drastic thing could be so terrible that you would not tell your friends?”
“It is not us that Marak fears,” interjected Lord Patel. “It is the reaction of our Khadoran brothers and sisters that he fears, and maybe his fears are justified. Perhaps Khadorans must be fed the truth slowly. Our ways have been ancient and barbaric. Only time can heal such things.”
“You know as well?” Marak asked in surprise. “How can this be?”
“Am I the only one in the dark?” asked Lord Faliman of the Aritor clan. “I demand to know what is being discussed. There must be no secrets between us if we are to defeat the Motangans.”
Lord Patel sighed and nodded at the Aritor lord. “Faliman is right,” he said softly. “It is hardly a secret to anyone who has been paying attention to events around them. We have been told about the Time of Calling. We know that it is heralded in by mixed marriages. We also know that the Astor is half Qubari, and the Star of Sakova is half Sakovan. Your secret, Torak, should be a surprise to no one.”
Marak smiled tautly and nodded. He inhaled deeply and said, “I am half Chula. My father is Ukaro, head shaman of the Zatong tribe.”
Silence and shocked faces surrounded the group after the Torak’s announcement. While the members of the Lords’ Council nodded with understanding, the other lords gasped openly. It was an awkward moment, but Marak felt unburdened that the truth was finally known. Unexpectedly, Lord Kiamesh started laughing.
“That’s it?” chuckled Lord Kiamesh. “Your big secret is that your father was a Chula? For a moment I thought you might reveal that you were a mage or rode a pet dragon.”
“Or that you were the first Emperor of Khadora to unite all of the people of this continent in a common cause,” grinned Lord Chenowith.
“Or that you were the most accomplished warrior ever to walk the fields of Khadora,” smiled Lord Quilo. “It is no small wonder about your Chula heritage. I have learned to appreciate the Chula after witnessing what they are capable of. They did, after all, take Alamar with only a thousand men.”
The other lords lost their expressions of shock and started nodding in agreement. Lord Patel ordered ale for the lords and led the group in a toast to the Torak. When the short moment of merriment was complete, the Lords’ Council and the Torak retired to Lord Patel’s tent.
“Thank you for what you did out there,” Marak said quietly to the members of the Lords’ Council. “I know that your public reactions will soften the shock when the rumors spread.”
“I do not know about the shock,” replied Lord Quilo, “but our words were heartfelt. We Khadorans have lived too long under false pretenses. We should never be afraid of the truth. We are, after all, a people who have claimed to highly value the truth. We should not run from it when it stares us in the face.”
“I agree,” nodded Lord Chenowith. “Let there never be secrets between us again.”
“Speaking of secrets and magic,” frowned Lord Faliman. “There is something that has been bothering me about this war that we are waging.”
“Speak,” the Torak responded.
“You have pioneered the use of battle mages,” Lord Faliman continued. “I have heard glowing remarks about their use at the Battle of Balomar, and I know that we have thousands of mages at the trenches, yet all they do is get in the way of the retreats. Why have we not used their magical abilities?”
“A fair question,” nodded Marak, “and it does fall under the category of closely held secrets. Not even the commanders in the field understand what the mages are out there for. Perhaps that is wrong of me, but I will explain it to you now.”
The other lords nodded and waited anxiously for the explanation.
“My mother, Glenda, is a mage,” stated Emperor Marak. “She is currently leading the mages at the trenches. The instructions that I gave her were to aid the field commanders in any way that they could, but not to unleash their full fury until the appropriate time.”
“And when is the appropriate time?” frowned Lord Kiamesh. “We have large losses at the trenches. Soldiers are dying to ensure the safe retreat of the mages, and yet the mages do little to warrant their being near the front. It would seem prudent to me to utilize every weapon at our disposal.”
“The mages could be used to kill more Motangan soldiers,” admitted Marak, “but I think there is a more important use for them. We know that the Motangans have a large contingent of their own mages, but we do not know what their capabilities are. I have instructed Glenda to use the full fury of our mages as soon as the Motangan mages make their move. It is extremely important to eliminate magical threats to our armies.”
“So Glenda will act on her own when the time comes?” asked Lord Patel. “The commanders will not know that it is coming?”
“Precisely,” nodded Marak. “I cannot describe to the commanders under what circumstances our mages will attack because I do not know. Only an experienced mage will know when the time is right.”
“Isn’t there another mage who could handle that duty?” asked Lord Chenowith. “Putting your mother on the front lines is an extreme sacrifice. Your whole family is likely to die in this war.”
“We may all die,” shrugged the Torak. “Besides, I did not appoint Glenda to her task. She was chosen by the other mages to lead them. I trust in their judgment now, as I always have.”
* * *
HawkShadow and StarWind approached the Motangan encampment in the Sakovan heartland. Once again, HawkShadow carried the large makeshift white flag. There was no bantering from the Motangan encampment, although archers immediately took up position as the Sakovans approached. The Sakovans halted where they had the day before and waited silently. The minutes passed by slowly, but eventually Premer Doralin and General Valatosa came into view. They walked to the perimeter of the Motangan encampment and waved the Sakovans closer. HawkShadow and StarWind exchanged nervous glances, but they eventually nodded and walked forward.
“You should have come forward to meet us halfway,” frowned HawkShadow when they were close enough to be heard.
“There is no half way,” replied Premer Doralin. “Inside this perimeter is Motangan land; outside is Sakovan. Therefore, the perimeter is half way. Speak your piece.”
“We have come once again to request a truce and meeting between Premer Doralin and the Star of Sakova,” declared StarWind. “Will you agree to such a meeting?”
“Define your terms for a truce,” countered the Motangan premer.
“There will be no fighting between us,” replied HawkShadow. “Your people will not leave the encampment, and ours will not enter it.”
“That would prohibit us from having scouts,” frowned General Valatosa. “And what about supply deliveries?”
“I should think yesterday’s delivery is evidence enough that you will not be receiving any more,” retorted HawkShadow. “As for your scouts, keep your men inside the perimeter where they will be safe.”
“You arrogant pup,” growled General Valatosa.
Premer Doralin raised his hand for silence. He glared at HawkShadow, but he spoke softly and calmly.
“I will meet with the Star of Sakova,” he declared, “but only on my terms. The truce will begin when the Star of Sakova comes into view, and it will end when she disappears from view. If you intend to continue to interrupt our supply caravans, you will do so at great risk to your forces.”
“You want the Star of Sakova to stand here in range of your archers?” gasped StarWind. “That is unacceptable.”
“The meeting will be held in my tent in the center of our encampment,” replied Premer Doralin. “I am sure you remember the way there, StarWind. Regarding my archers, I will personally guarantee the safety of the Star of Sakova and her party, which must not number more than two others. That is my offer. Take it or leave it.”
“You are mad,” spat HawkShadow.
StarWind gently placed her hand on HawkShadow’s arm as she watched the Motangan premer shake his head and begin to turn around.
“Your terms are acceptable,” StarWind said loudly, “but I will hold you personally responsible for her safety, Doralin. If harm comes to the Star of Sakova, your life is forfeit. You know that we are quite capable of infiltrating your encampment. We have done it before, and we will do it again.”
The premer turned and glared at StarWind, but he nodded slowly before turning and marching towards the center of the Motangan encampment.
* * *
“There are three ships on the horizon,” General Santiock declared as he stood before Vand’s disciple in the atrium of the temple in Vandamar. “They appear to be ours.”
“Any idea where they are coming from?” asked Xavo.
“From their approach,” replied the general, “I would suggest Fakara, but I cannot be sure.”
“We have had no word of their arrival,” frowned Xavo as he looked over at Lady Mystic.
“I will contact them,” offered Lady Mystic as she rose and hurried up the stairs to the roof.
“Has there been any more word from the other armies,” Santiock asked with concern.
“Last I heard,” Xavo said with apparent unconcern, “is that the elves were on the run. I am sure our armies will return victorious in a day or two. I would not concern yourself.”
“Xavo,” frowned the general, “we have known each other for some time. You can level with me. I fear that something is amiss.”
Xavo gazed into the eyes of the man who had dragged Xavo from the fire when Aakuta died. He knew Santiock as a decent man, but telling him the truth was not an option. Santiock was now the last remaining general on the Island of Darkness, and his ten thousand men were defending the city of Vandamar. Within a day the elves would attack and the last fight for control of Motanga would begin. The luxury of personal feelings could not be allowed to intrude into Xavo’s planning.
“You worry too much, Santiock,” smiled Xavo. “The elves do not have enough ships to bring a large force to this island. Surely twenty thousand men can hunt them down and kill them.”
“I guess it is the lack of news one way or the other that bothers me,” admitted Santiock. “We have only had the capability of air tunnels for a short time, but it has changed everything that we do. Had this occurred last year, I would have no concerns at all, but with air tunnels, we should have had word by now.”
“We have had word,” countered Xavo. “Lady Mystic spoke to them not an hour ago. As I said, they are chasing the elves southward. Motanga is a large island, Santiock. Give the armies time to do a complete job.”
“I guess you are right,” nodded the general, “but this city seems so empty. There is no one in the temple besides you and Lady Mystic. Even the other mages are absent. It seems like we are guarding a ghost town.”
“There are still thousands of citizens to protect,” smiled Xavo. “As for the mages, I cannot discuss their mission. They will return when the time is right. Go and relax with your men. Perhaps you should hold a feast to take their minds off things. I will authorize it if you wish. It will do wonders for the spirits of the men.”
“Perhaps that would divert them from their worries,” nodded Santiock. “Idle soldiers are never a happy lot. I wish my army had been chosen to fight the elves. At least that would make us feel like we are contributing to the war effort.”
“You will get your chance to fight soon,” smiled Xavo. “I understand that your army is soon to be rotated to Khadora, but do not let on that you know. It is supposed to be a secret.”
“Really?” brightened Santiock. “That will make the men feel useful. Perhaps a celebration festival is in order after all.”
“Just don’t let them know the real reason for the celebration,” grinned Xavo. “Begone. Go and enjoy the company of your men while you can.”
Santiock smiled broadly and left the temple. Moments later Lady Mystic raced down the stairs from the roof.
“There are twelve mages on the ships,” she reported. “They are indeed from Fakara. They have been sent to discover the nature of the air tunnel failures.”
“This is not good,” frowned Xavo. “If they can communicate with Fakara, our secret will be discovered. We will have ten thousand angry soldiers and a dozen mages against us in a hurry. We must stop them from communicating with Meliban.”
“I already have,” grinned Lady Mystic.
“How?” asked Xavo.
“I used an air tunnel to talk to them,” explained Vand’s daughter, “but I told them that it must be the last communication they make before we speak to them personally. I explained how the Khadorans had tricked us into using air tunnels and warned them not to use the spell any more.”
“I do not understand,” Xavo shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“I am talking about the compulsion spell that travels inside air tunnels,” grinned Lady Mystic. “I told the mages that the Khadorans were utilizing our air tunnels for nefarious means, and that every time we cast one, there was a chance that it carried a Khadoran compulsion spell. I explained how hundreds of mages in Khadora had been subverted using air tunnels, and how they turned on one another.”
“And they bought it?” asked Xavo.
“They would be foolish not to,” laughed Lady Mystic. “After all, the hellsoul spell is really a strong compulsion spell. All Motangan mages have learned to fear such compulsions. Besides, I told them that I could teach them a way to protect themselves when they arrived, so they are only being asked to halt the use of the spell for a short time. There is no real cost for their obedience. Or so they think.”
“But we both know differently,” grinned Xavo. “What is your plan?”
* * *
“Hurry to the temple,” Lady Mystic said as the twelve black cloaks gathered on the docks. “I want to teach you the modifications to the air tunnel spell before you rest from the journey. This information must make its way back to Fakara.”
“Why haven’t you communicated it yourself?” asked one of the mages as the group made its way towards the temple. “It certainly is important enough to be delivered immediately.”
“It is too dangerous over such a long distance,” explained Lady Mystic. “While I am protected by the modifications, those on the other end of the air tunnel are not. I dare not expose my father to such a threat.”
“But mages are using the unmodified air tunnel right now in Fakara,” argued a mage. “Every minute they use the unmodified spell brings the chance of great harm to our forces. We must send word back immediately.”
“No,” Lady Mystic said harshly. “Do not be a fool. The Khadorans do not even know that we have landed in Fakara yet. To send a message there is to invite chaos. They have ships patrolling the waters and listening for air tunnels. The modifications must be personally delivered to Fakara and taught to our mages. That is what the twelve of you will do.”
“Is this why we cannot contact Alamar or Duran or Raven’s Point?” asked a mage. “Have you stopped all communications with them?”
“Yes,” nodded Lady Mystic as the group climbed the steps of the temple. “I have sent out mages to each of those locations already. In fact, I sent mages out to Meliban as well. You must have missed them on the way here.”
“Or they were intercepted by the Khadoran patrols,” frowned a mage. “Why have we not heard of the Khadoran ships before? We were supposed to own the seas. Where are they coming from?”
“Doralin’s force in the Sakova lost quite a few ships to the enemy,” explained Lady Mystic as she led the group up the stairs inside the temple. “The Khadorans now ride the seas in Motangan ships. That is why I needed to verify your identities when you were approaching the island. We can take nothing for granted any more.”
“The temple appears empty,” remarked one of the mages as Lady Mystic exited the staircase at the second level and led the group to a small room. “Where has everyone gone? There are no mages or guards.”
“There is a massive festival tonight,” smiled Lady Mystic as the group entered the room. “We had word this morning of Doralin’s victory in the Sakova, but I will explain the news after you all learn the modifications of the air tunnel. That is too important to wait. Everyone face me,” she added as she stood along the wall opposite the door.
The black cloaks gathered together and dutifully faced Lady Mystic. She was somewhat surprised that none of them questioned her restoration to grace, but then they were trained not to question Vand’s fickle moods. She smiled at them.
Raise both hands high over your heads,” instructed Lady Mystic, “and absolutely no talking during this process. It is a little out of the ordinary for a spell modification, but I can assure you that it works perfectly if you concentrate on my words. In fact, close your eyes and listen to my words as I walk around the room. Listen carefully for I do not wish to repeat anything.”
Lady Mystic smiled broadly as the well-honed battle mages followed her instructions like little schoolchildren. She winked at Xavo when he appeared in the doorway. She continued talking as she moved away from the group of mages. Using hand signals to coordinate the timing with Xavo, she suddenly turned towards the group of mages and unleashed a light blade. Xavo also cast his own light blade, and the group of Motangan mages instantly disappeared in a mist of blood. Lady Mystic jumped backwards as blood splattered all over her. She grimaced and shook her head.
“I must learn to put more distance between me and the victims with this spell,” she scowled. “Now I will have to change clothes.”
“Will the bodies be discovered in here?” asked Xavo.
“You mean body parts,” grinned Lady Mystic. “No. I will magically seal the room. If anyone asks, the mages came here for an important mission that cannot be discussed. They are no longer in the city, and you will refuse to talk further about them.”