Lord Marak and Fisher rode tigers back from the Kywara village and dismounted well away from the walls of Fardale. Quietly, the two black clad men walked towards the estate. Marak was the first to notice the lack of men upon the wall and he broke into a run. As he ran through the main gate he saw the large crowd assembled in the courtyard. He pushed his way through the crowd and came to a halt in the center, where the bodies of thirteen women and children were stretched out on the ground. He looked around quickly and spotted Lectain Zorkil approaching.
“Lord Marak,” greeted Lectain Zorkil, “we looked everywhere for you. The field on the border of Watula Valley was attacked by Sorgans earlier this morning. Thirteen are dead and twice that number are wounded. I posted a Corte at the border and gave instructions for the rest of the men to prepare for battle. What are your instructions?”
Lord Marak could smell revenge in the air over the courtyard and gazed at the faces of sadness and hatred surrounding him. An unprovoked attack was not usual in Khadora, but it was not without precedent, either. One thing was for sure, Lord Quavry would be ready for retaliation by the Situ.
“Recall the men from the border,” ordered Lord Marak. “I want everyone in Fardale inside the walls immediately with the exception of Tagoro’s Corte. I want Cortain Tagoro’s men to hide in the woods to the West. He is to remain hidden and avoid any confrontation until he sees a flaming arrow from the walls. If we send the signal, he will attack the forces outside the walls, trapping them between himself and us. After everyone is inside except Tagoro’s men, seal the estate. Nobody comes in or leaves without express permission from me. As soon as you have issued the orders, assemble the Council of Advisors in the Meeting Chamber.”
Marak dashed into the mansion and changed out of his blacksuit, wondering what had become of Fisher. The spy did not follow Marak through the main gate but Marak could use his advice right now. Lord Marak hurried to the Meeting Chamber and found it filled not only with Council Members, but others as well. This was one session in which Marak did not object to the others being present. He recognized that some of the extras were spouses or parents to those whose bodies lay in the courtyard. Marak walked to the head of the table and called for silence.
“I want an eyewitness to describe what happened this morning,” he ordered.
A dirty woman with blood on her tunic walked over to the table and stood facing Lord Marak. “I am Elsa and I was in the field when it was attacked,” she began. “We assembled early this morning to get some time in the field before our regular duties began. There was no warning of the attack until their leader yelled for the men to shoot their arrows. They were hidden in the woods along the edge of the field and they just started shooting arrows. There were so many arrows in the air that I didn’t know what to do. I saw a child who had been hit in the back with an arrow and hurried over to help her. It was all over very quickly and my only thought was in helping the poor child. I put my pitchfork down and was pulling the arrow out when I heard a horse and looked up.”
The room was silent as Elsa tried to compose herself. Seneschal Pito handed Elsa a handkerchief to dry her tears and after a moment she continued. “The Sorgan Marshal rode his horse onto the field and rode toward an old woman who was hysterical. She was kneeling in the dirt and screaming and he just rode up to her and . . . and he just sliced her head off. Just like that. She wasn’t doing anything but screaming. I must have screamed because he looked up and stared directly at me. The next thing I remember is the Marshal riding toward me with his sword held high. His face was twisted with rage and he was . . . he was laughing. He was actually laughing as he rode to kill me. I knew I couldn’t outrun him and I couldn’t leave the child there to be killed. I . . . I picked up my pitchfork and shoved it into his chest and he fell off his horse.”
Elsa’s voice was breaking and the Seneschal gave her a glass of water. There was not a whisper in the room as everyone waited for Elsa to continue. “When he fell, Elsa continued, “I saw three arrows protruding from his back. I looked towards the woods and saw that the Sorgan soldiers were leaving. No one came for his body and they didn’t appear to have any interest in firing more arrows, so I started to help the survivors. That’s all I remember of the attack, Lord Marak.”
“Thank you, Elsa,” Marak consoled. “I am sorry that I had to ask you to relive the attack, but I need to know what happened. Have you ever seen Sorgan soldiers around the field before?”
“No, Lord Marak,” Elsa sobbed. “Even when we tried to cultivate that field in prior years, there was no sign of Sorgans. The only time I remember seeing Sorgans before was when they came to talk with Lord Lashendo.”
Marak looked toward Lectain Zorkil. “Have you heard about any provocation toward the Sorgan, Lectain?” asked Marak.
“No, Lord Marak,” Zorkil replied. “All encounters with anyone outside Fardale are supposed to be reported and we have had no reports. I can not see how the Sorgans were provoked.”
“Have you detected any Litari troop movements?” queried Marak.
“None,” Lectain Zorkil answered.
“I doubt the Litari would be involved with this,” offered Bursar Tachora. “They do not get along well with the Sorgan.”
Marak whipped his head around to stare at the Bursar and noticed that Mogry, the Bursar’s assistant, was with him. Marak intended to replace Tachora with Kasa as Bursar this morning, but that was an item that could wait until this crisis was resolved. Or could it? Tachora surely knew that the Litari and the Sorgan were on speaking terms, at least.
“Lord Marak,” interjected Lectain Zorkil, “when shall we attack? I have the men prepared and I am sure it will be a vicious battle. Lord Quavry undoubtedly has his men ready for the attack. If we delay too long, we will run the risk of nightfall before the battle is over.”
“Who put the arrows in their Marshal’s back?” Marak asked without answering Zorkil’s question.
“They were Sorgan arrows, Lord Marak,” Zorkil replied. “The man shot was not Marshal Yenga, though. He was in the uniform of the Sorgan Marshal, but I have met Yenga before and the body was not his.”
“Pardon, Lord Marak,” interrupted Bursar Tachora, “but does it really matter whose arrows they were? The Sorgan have brutally attacked us and we must retaliate immediately. If we delay, they will see it as a sign of weakness and attack us.”
Murmurs of agreement resonated through the room with more than one voice vowing swift revenge for the lost Situ. The mood of the Meeting Chamber was ugly. Each person in attendance, from poor bloodstained Elsa to old Seneschal Pito, appeared ready to march on the enemy themselves.
The whole Sorgan attack smelled of a baiting to Marak. The strategy was similar to the one Marshal Garouk had planned for the Chula, force the enemy to attack and annihilate them when they struck back. Well, Lord Marak was not going to play by their ridiculous rules. If the Sorgan wanted war, they would get it, but on Marak’s terms, not Lord Quavry’s.
“There will be no attack today,” declared Lord Marak. “I want the body of their Marshal identified.”
Angry protests filled the room. None were so loud nor directed at Lord Marak to be offensive, but it was clear that the Situ of Fardale wanted revenge and they wanted it now. Marak had served with the Army long enough to recognize the actions of men who had performed their duty although they didn’t want to. It was clear to him where the three arrows had come from and he had no desire to kill men whose only crime was following orders which they had to.
Elsa dropped to her knees alongside Lord Marak and cried. “Please, Lord Marak,” she pleaded, “you must allow us to avenge our loved ones. I will gladly go with the soldiers to pay our revenge.”
Angry shouts echoed her plea, but Lord Marak knew that no one would break their Vows of Service to lead an Army into Watula Valley. He gently raised Elsa to her feet. “Your loved ones will be avenged,” Marak promised, “but it will be done the way I want and when I want.”
Tachora's voice carried easily over the angry murmuring. “It must be today, Lord Marak,” he insisted knowing the mediator from the Lords Council would arrive from the capital soon. “As Bursar, I must inform you that we will face financial ruin if we delay. Even as we speak, none of our fields are being tended.”
Lord Marak eased Elsa into his chair and turned to face Tachora. “As Bursar,” Marak said clearly, “you will advise me of nothing. You are no longer the Bursar for Fardale. Kasa is now our Bursar. I should also tell you that Khadora Grain Importers is bankrupt. You will never see payment for our grain because of a clause you failed to notice in your recent transaction with the Ksaly Company.”
Tachora turned white with shock as Marak’s words registered. Somehow Marak had found out about his little side business and turned the tables on him. Financially, Tachora was ruined unless he could depose Lord Marak. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Tachora stubbornly lied.
“Perhaps . . . ,” smiled Lord Marak as everyone in the room tried to figure out what was going on, “you can help identify the Sorgan Marshal’s body. Maybe it was somebody you saw yesterday when you were secretly meeting with Lord Quavry? Whatever plan you two have cooked up, I am not going to follow the script. The Situ are not going to launch a vengeance attack on the Sorgans.”
Tachora was visibly shaken and the angry crowd was beginning to look at him as if he were the perpetrator of the attack. He rose from his chair and stood behind his assistant. “If you will not attack Watula Valley,” sneered Tachora, “then I can at least ensure that they attack you, Lord Marak. You see, my assistant is Lord Quavry’s son and when it is learned that he was killed by the Situ, nothing will be able to stop the Sorgan Army from tearing Fardale apart.”
Marak gazed in horror as he saw the knife in Tachora’s hand dripping fresh blood on the floor. He looked at Tachora’s assistant and saw his head pressed against the tabletop as if he was sleeping. Without hesitation, Marak flipped one of his wrist knives across the room and into Tachora’s arm. Tachora howled in pain as he dropped his own knife. Before Tachora could react, two of Zorkil’s men took hold of him and removed Marak’s knife from his arm.
“Lock him up,” demanded Lord Marak, “and see that his arm is bandaged. I want him alive.”
“He’s dead,” announced Seneschal Pito as he checked Mogry for signs of life. “Tachora is right about the Sorgan reaction if Lord Quavry finds out about his son.”
“Is there anyone here who is anxious to run over to Watula Valley and tell him?” Marak snapped. “This meeting is over. Everyone leave and try to find some way of keeping busy for the rest of the day.”
Marak signaled for his four closest advisors to stay as the rest of the people filed out of the Meeting Chamber. Kasa, Zorkil, Klora, and Pito moved to chairs near Lord Marak.
“Seneschal,” Marak began, “what other family members does Lord Quavry have?”
“Only his son,” Pito answered. “His wife died five years ago and he had only one son. I had never met Mogry so I did not know who he was.”
“Understandable,” Marak responded. “I do not think Lord Quavry would be fool enough to send his son here if anyone knew what he looked like. Who would take over the Sorgan now if Quavry died?”
“I don’t know,” admitted the Seneschal. “I would have guessed Marshal Yenga, but he may be dead, as well, if he is no longer Marshal. I suppose there will be several contenders and some nasty battles before it is determined.”
“What is the financial condition of the Sorgan, Kasa?” inquired Marak.
“They have always been healthy in finances,” Kasa answered. “They have a very good yield each year and their expenses should be lower than Fardale’s because they are not required to pay a portion to anyone. I think their cash reserves should be large.”
“What about the strength of their army, Lectain?” queried Marak.
“Their army is larger than ours,” offered Zorkil. “Marshal Yenga has long been considered one of the finest Marshals in Khadora and with him to lead the Sorgan Army, I would not give high odds to our survival. If he is dead and his successor is dead, maybe we will stand a chance. It is possible that their army will be disorganized by the deaths.”
“Yet, moments ago you were ready to lead our men into battle against this superior force,” interrupted Marak. “Why?”
“It is the proper thing to do,” claimed Lectain Zorkil. “They have attacked us. We can not ignore the offense or they will attack us again.”
Marak sat staring at the table for some time. He distantly heard the door open and close again, but paid no attention to it. Things were starting to look good for Fardale and he wasn’t about to throw it all away on some border skirmish, yet he could not let the dispute fester, either. Suddenly, a solution popped into his head and he desperately wished for Fisher’s knowledge.
“The Sorgan Marshal was Meltord,” interrupted Lectain Zorkil. “The last we knew, he was a Lectain under Marshal Yenga. He is also a cousin to Lord Quavry and not very well liked by his men.”
Lord Marak looked up and nodded. “Very well,” he concluded. “It looks like Lord Quavry is running out of relatives.”
“There is something else, Lord Marak,” Zorkil continued. “Meltord was identified by a Priest of Sunnu who is inside the walls. Nobody remembers when he arrived and he said that he has been waiting all morning to talk with you.”
Lord Marak was about to direct the Lectain to get rid of the priest when a nagging thought reversed his decision. “Okay,” agreed Marak, “send him in. The rest of you may leave. If anything comes up that I should know about, Zorkil will inform me.”
Marak watched the door expectantly as the Priest of Sunnu was ushered in. He managed to conceal his grin when he recognized Fisher despite the man’s disguise.
“I have come to console you, my son,” the priest began as the door closed.
“Console me later,” smiled Marak. “Right now I want you to describe the layout of the Sorgan mansion. I plan to have a meeting with Lord Quavry tonight and I don’t have an invitation.”
“You are crazy,” offered Fisher. “I will go in your place. He will be dead by morning.”
“I don’t plan on killing him,” assured Lord Marak. “I plan on talking with him. Can you give me the details which I require?”
“It would be easier to kill him,” Fisher replied while shaking his head. “I can detail every room in the Sorgan mansion. They had an insect infestation two years ago which I rectified for them. You are aware that he will not let you leave his mansion alive, aren’t you?”
Lord Marak nodded and Fisher started drawing detailed diagrams of the Sorgan estate. The time passed quickly as Marak memorized the layout of the Sorgan mansion and he was surprised to find out the sun had set. He ordered a dinner for two and he dined quietly with Fisher. After dinner, the Priest of Sunnu was escorted through the main gate and Marak called for Lectain Zorkil.
“Lectain,” announced Lord Marak, “I am going to see Lord Quavry tonight. “You are the only person inside Fardale to have this information. I hope to return sometime in the morning with a solution to our problem, but there is a chance that I will not.”
“Lord Marak,” interrupted Zorkil, “you can not trust Lord Quavry. I know you intend on getting some settlement which will avoid bloodshed, but he will have you killed.”
“That is not part of my plan,” confided Marak. “I am telling you so that no one else will discover that I am gone. If I should not return, the people of Fardale are to resist any attempts by anyone who tries to bring them under his control. That includes Lord Ridak. Everyone here owes allegiance to me and me alone. I will not have these people enslaved again. If you must have leadership, I would suggest the Council of Advisors. Let Fardale be Khadora’s first cooperative estate. Bursar Kasa and Seneschal Pito, if they work together, can run the estate quite well.”
“This talk is very depressing, My Lord,” sighed Zorkil. “There is no one who can replace your leadership. Fardale is alive with hope for the very first time. I hear the talk of the soldiers and the workers. There is not one among them who would not die for you. Whatever your plan, let me go in your stead.”
“This can only be accomplished by myself,” declared Lord Marak. “You have much to learn yet, Lectain. I did not want to mention this in front of the Council, but you have to start thinking logically, instead of thinking as Khadora expects you to. Your reaction to the attack this morning was what Lord Quavry expects. Never, never, do what your enemy expects. I do not mean this as a rebuke. You are one of the finest officers I have ever met and you are going to be a very valuable asset to me. Now, after I change my clothes, I need your help in getting outside the walls undetected.”
Lectain Zorkil saluted smartly as Lord Marak rose and made his way to his suite. He donned his blacksuit and checked the contents of his field bag before returning to the Meeting Chamber. He paced the floor as he waited for the Lectain to return and pondered the odds of his success for this risky mission.
Lectain Zorkil opened the door slightly and squeezed into the room. He stood for a moment staring at Lord Marak’s blacksuit before speaking. “Everything is set,” he reported. “In fact, I discovered that someone else has been leaving the estate through devious means. There is a small gate in the side wall which had a cord attached to the latch. I have reassigned the men posted there for the next hour. No one will see you leave. How will you be returning?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” admitted the Lord of Fardale. “Through the main gate should be sufficient. Give orders not to shoot at any single individual approaching the main gate. It would not do to have my own men kill me.”
Marak grabbed his field bag and headed for the door. Zorkil got there first and peered out to see if anyone was walking by. Quickly and quietly, the two men exited the mansion through a servants entrance and made their way to the small gate. The Lectain held the gate open as Lord Marak passed through and melded with the night.
Marak padded through the dark woods in a curving route, which took him well away from the areas where there might be Sorgan sentries. The unfamiliar terrain required extra care as Marak made his way into Watula Valley. He was not in a hurry and paused often to listen to the night sounds, always alert for the unmistakable sounds of humans. It took several hours just to get to the point where he could see the broad fields of watula waving gently in the night breeze. The Sorgan watula was higher than any grown in Fardale except for those fields, which the Kywara shaman had treated.
Marak crouched alongside the first field of watula and listened to the sound of a marching patrol. He had no idea what route the patrols would run and would have to depend on his stealth to get him to the mansion. Marak moved off in a crouching run along the border of the field and heard the patrol becoming more distant. He kept to the perimeter of the fields until he was on the side of the mansion opposite the Fardale border. If the Sorgan Army had a decent Marshal commanding it, these back fields would be patrolled as well, but Marak was hoping that the patrols would be few.
For another couple of hours, Marak worked his way towards the mansion, avoiding the roving patrols, which became more numerous as he got closer to the building. Lord Marak did notice that there were no patrols around the mansion itself. Instead, there were guards posted at each of the entrances. Marak crossed the small clearing between the last watula field and a small orchard, which adjoined the rear courtyard of the mansion. Once there, he silently scrambled up into an apple tree and settled in for the wait.
Marak observed the guards on the mansion and the movements in the rooms, which were still illuminated. He wondered how Lord Quavry accepted the fact that there was no Situ retaliation attack. He was probably furious that the Situ did not react as he expected. He wouldn’t be too happy over the loss of his cousin, either.
Movement around the mansion caught Marak’s eye as a patrol rounded the corner of the mansion. Discipline was well maintained as the patrol stopped at each guard location to replace the sentries with fresh guards. The guards, themselves, were less polished. Once the patrol was out of sight, some of them relaxed and leaned up against the mansion. Marak gave them another two hours to get bored with their duty before he slipped down out of the tree.
Marak estimated that he had about an hour before the sky started to lighten and knew it was time to visit Lord Quavry. Moving quietly, Marak made his way through the orchard to a corner of the mansion. The guards on each side were distant from this corner of the building and Marak blended well with the dark night. Marak chose the side with the more distant sentry and reached up to feel the first shutter. It was properly locked and the warrior silently cursed his luck. Reaching into a pouch, he extracted a long, thin piece of black metal and tried to work it in between the shutters. The shutters were a tight fit and it took several minutes for Marak to work the smooth metal into place. He froze as the metal made contact with the latch and produced an ear-splitting snick as the latch swung free. He glanced at the sentry and realized that the noise was only loud to himself. The sentry remained bored and unaware of the intrusion.
Watching the guard carefully, Marak swung the shutter open and pulled himself up into the waiting room. Quickly closing the shutters, he listened for any cries of alarm or shouts from the sentries. After a moment of silence, he breathed easier. Marak crossed the room and placed his ear to the door leading out into the rest of the mansion. When he didn’t hear anything, he cracked the door open and peered into the darkness. Nothing appeared to be moving inside the mansion and Marak exited the room and headed for the Lord’s suite.
As Marak approached a corner in the corridor, he heard someone coming and swiftly opened a door and ducked into a room. The layout of the mansion flashed through his head as he struggled to remember which room this was. A heavy snoring emanated from the sleeping chamber adjoining the room and he remembered it as the Seneschal’s suite. He listened to the door as the footsteps continued walking by. He counted silently to himself to estimate how long it would take for the person outside to reach the next corridor. For safety, he added a count of twenty to his estimate and cracked the door open.
Time was running out as Marak stepped into the corridor and closed the door to the Seneschal’s suite. Shortly, the entire mansion would get up and begin their day. Quietly, he made his way to Lord Quavry’s suite. Again pressing his ear to the door, he listened for noises indicating someone was awake. Satisfied that no one was walking around on the other side, Marak opened the door and walked in.