Lord Marak stood in the dark sitting room of Lord Quavry’s suite and saw the first lightening of the morning sky though the window shutters. Silently, he crossed the carpeted room and stood at the door to the Lord’s sleeping chamber. Quietly, he eased the door open and peered inside. Lord Quavry’s sleeping chamber was dark and Marak could see very little. The black clad warrior eased himself into the room and closed the door behind him. The scent of jasmine hung in the air and Marak could just make out the shapes of two lumps on the large bed.
Cautiously, Marak drew his double-edged sword from his back-mounted sheath and held it before himself as he eased towards the window. Still facing the bed, Marak reached behind himself and unlatched the shutters. Gently swinging the shutters open, he allowed the early morning light to splay across the room. Marak’s eyes focused on the rotund form of Lord Quavry lying next to a young woman. The woman’s brown hair fell across her face as she turned to face the window and her green eyes opened wide as she stared at the black clad visitor and his large sword.
Marak held a finger to his lips and then motioned for the woman to get out of the bed. Marak looked on the floor next to the bed and saw the woman’s clean brown tunic, indicative of a slave in Khadora. As the young woman slid her lithe body out from under the sheets, Marak lifted her tunic from the floor with the tip of his sword and held it out to her. She quickly snatched her tunic and drew it over her head without taking her eyes off of the dark invader. Marak pointed to the corner of the room and the young slave backed warily into it and lowered herself to the floor.
Once Marak was satisfied that she was safely out of the way, he extended the tip of his sword under the sheets of Lord Quavry’s bed and flicked the fine, white cloth onto the floor. Lord Quavry awoke with a start and Marak swiftly placed the point of his sword at the Sorgan Lord’s throat. Lord Quavry’s mouth opened and he uttered a gurgling sound while his enlarged eyes darted back and forth across the room.
“If you try to speak over a whisper,” the black clad warrior declared, “I’m afraid you won’t get the chance to finish your first syllable.”
“Who are you?” Lord Quavry croaked. “What do you want?”
“Why, I want to talk to you, of course,” whispered Marak. “Why did you order the murder of women and children in Fardale yesterday?”
Lord Quavry’s eyes started flicking left and right again as if he sought some unseen help. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” lied Lord Quavry. “If Marak has hired you for revenge, I’ll double what he is paying you. You have my promise on that.”
“Your promise?” Marak chuckled softly. “A promise from a man whose lies roll off his tongue as easily as yours do would not be worth very much to me. I really don’t want to take the time to repeat my questions, Lord Quavry, so from now on you will tell the truth or I shall be forced to end our conversation abruptly.”
“Look,” shook Lord Quavry,” you will never get off this estate alive without my help. Tell me who you are and what you want and I will allow you to leave.”
Marak increased the pressure on his sword and the blade bit into Lord Quavry’s neck producing a trickle of blood. “I got in all right and I’ll leave in the same condition,” assured Marak. “Start answering my question now.”
Lord Quavry’s jaw grew rigid and his lips pressed tightly together. His eyes squinted as his hatred fell on the black clad warrior with a piercing glare. “The Situ have been infringing on our border,” spat Lord Quavry. “I sent my men to warn them to stay clear of Sorgan lands.”
Marak increased the pressure on his blade and a fairly rapid trickle of blood cascaded from Lord Quavry’s throat to the bed.
Lord Quavry gasped and held up his hand in a pleading gesture. “All right!,” the Sorgan Lord wheezed. “Stop with the sword. I’ll tell you what you want to know. I had information that Marak was weak, the son of a slave put into position in Fardale to help Lord Ridak avoid the embarrassment of failed contracts. I knew if I could provoke Fardale into attacking Watula Valley that I would be rid of the Situ for good, but it didn’t work. Marak must be weaker than I was told. My men slaughtered a whole field of workers yesterday morning and he has not retaliated.”
“Why didn’t you just attack Fardale and be done with it?” asked Marak.
“Attacking Fardale without provocation would be too risky,” admitted Lord Quavry as his eyes searched for the slave woman who had shared his bed for the evening. He could not see her in the room and he couldn’t remember if he had asked to be awakened this morning. Surely, someone will come to him before this madman kills him . . .
“If I attacked Fardale without provocation,” Lord Quavry continued, “Lord Ridak would retaliate for sure, but if his stooge had provoked me, he would probably not press the matter.”
“Now that Fardale hasn’t attacked,” questioned Lord Marak, “what do you plan to do about it?”
Lord Quavry stared at the black clad warrior’s hand on the hilt of his sword and decided not to test the man’s knowledge of Sorgan affairs. “We will attack Fardale this morning,” offered the Sorgan Lord. “It would have been better if Marak had attacked us, but we can not wait any longer. This whole affair must be over this morning.”
“Why the time constraints?” demanded Marak. “Your bandits have Fardale sealed off from Lituk Valley and they can not get word to bring reinforcements.”
Lord Quavry frowned at the mention of his bandits. He simply could not determine how little information would satisfy the madman, but it went against his very nature to reveal everything. Still, the warrior appeared to be getting impatient and Lord Quavry would ensure that he never lived long enough to use his information.
“I have already filed a grievance with the Lords Council about the Situ transgressions,” clarified Lord Quavry. “There will be a mediator here today or tomorrow. He must not find out that there has been no border dispute. Do you understand now?”
“What does Lord Burdine and the Litari Clan have to do with this scheme?” queried Marak.
Lord Quavry’s eyes flickered shut for a moment and Marak could hear the sharp intake of breath. “Lord Burdine has also lodged a grievance,” sighed Lord Quavry. “I thought it would make my case to the Lords Council seem better if Fardale was doing the same to its other neighbors. He has nothing to do with the attack, but I have promised him an end to the right of passage for the Ragatha Clan. I assume that Lord Burdine will attempt to strangle the Ragatha into abandoning their lands here.”
“A very clever plan,” smiled Lord Marak, “but you never thought that you might be captured by Fardale before it was over, did you?”
Lord Quavry tried to rise in anger and winced as Marak’s sword cut deeper into his neck. “Captured?” he gasped sardonically. “I am in my own bed in Watula Valley. You haven’t captured anybody. Where is Marak’s Army? All he did was send an assassin to my home. Nobody would consider this a capture. This isn’t the way things are done in Khadora.”
“Well,” smiled Marak, “the way I see things may be different, but you are either captured or you are dead. Which would you prefer, Lord Quavry?”
Sweat started pouring off of Lord Quavry’s face as he contemplated his options. Everyone heard the door to Lord Quavry’s suite shut and the Sorgan Lord’s face broke into a grin. The grin quickly faded as Marak withdrew one of his belt knives with his free hand and waited for the inner door to open. At the sound of knocking on Lord Quavry’s inner door, Marak stared at the overweight Lord as if daring him to speak.
When no one answered the knocking, the door opened and an officer wearing the Marshal plume of Sorgan walked in. He stood open-mouthed in the doorway as his eyes darted back and forth between Lord Quavry and the tall stranger with the sword and throwing knife.
“Please be so kind as to close the door, Marshal,” invited Marak. “Lord Quavry and I are having a wonderful conversation and we would like you to join us. Place your weapons on the floor . . . slowly.”
The new Marshal started when he saw the slave girl huddled in the corner, but he dutifully lowered his weapons to the floor.
“If you would stand across the bed from me,” ordered Marak, “it would make me feel more comfortable.”
Marak held his throwing knife poised as the officer moved into the requested position. “Who are you and how did you get in here?” demanded the Marshal.
“I would prefer to keep the conversation limited to answers to my questions,” smiled Marak. “Lord Quavry was just about to make a decision on retirement as Lord of Sorgan. I know this matter will be of great interest to you, so please stand there and be quiet. Now, Lord Quavry, you were about to decide if you were properly captured by the enemy or not. Have you made your decision?”
“What would it matter?” asked Lord Quavry. “You do not wear the green and yellow of the Situ and I am the only one you have captured. So you win the enslavement of an old man, so what? My son will assume leadership of the Sorgan Clan and Fardale will still be wiped out. If that makes you take your sword out of my throat, I will submit. Are you satisfied?”
“Almost,” stated Marak. “I want to hear you offer your Vows of Service to Lord Marak and I want to hear it now.”
“Impossible,” wheezed Lord Quavry. “The Vows are not binding unless they are given to the Lord in question. You will have to bring Lord Marak here to get your wish.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” smiled Marak. “I want to hear you offer the Vows and I want to hear them now. You can complain later about their authenticity.”
Lord Quavry did not miss the reference to complaining later. If this madman heard what he wanted, he really did mean to let Lord Quavry live and that was enough to offer hope to the Sorgan Lord. “Very well,” stated Lord Quavry.
Marak watched the expression on the Sorgan Marshal’s face as his Lord recited the Vows of Service. The face was stony with a mask of indifference and its eyes were fixed on Marak’s every movement. Marak could feel the tension in the Marshal as he stood poised to leap at the stranger at any moment.
When Lord Quavry had completed his Vows, Marak fixed his stare on the Marshal. “It is your turn, Marshal,” instructed Marak, “and I would like to know your name.”
“I am Marshal Patoga of the Sorgan Clan,” uttered the officer, “and I will not offer Vows of Service to Lord Marak. I am already sworn to Lord Quavry and I do as he bids me to.”
Marak nodded at the officer’s proper response. “Lord Quavry,” he ordered, “you will instruct your Marshal to utter the Vows to Lord Marak.”
Lord Quavry could care less about the officer’s Vows. He had just been subjected to the humiliation of giving them. Why shouldn’t Marshal Patoga suffer, as well? Besides, the Vows were worthless, anyway. “Do it,” ordered Lord Quavry.
Marshal Patoga shook his head as he uttered the Vows of Service to Lord Marak. When the Marshal had completed the Vows, he fixed Marak with a stare. “The Vows which I have just recited are worthless until they are given to Lord Marak personally,” he intoned. “Unless you plan on taking us to Fardale, we are no closer to a resolution of this situation than we were when I entered the room. You will never get Lord Quavry or myself out of the mansion and I am sure that Lord Marak will not offer to come here to receive our Vows. Why don’t you put the sword away and I will promise you a quick and painless death?”
“That is very gracious of you, Marshal,” smiled Marak. “If I can arrange for these Vows to be given to Lord Marak directly, can you be counted on to honor them?”
“The Vows of Service are sacred,” lectured Marshal Patoga. “There is not one man on the Sorgan estate who would dispute that. If Lord Quavry gives his Vows to Lord Marak in person, Watula Valley will follow Lord Marak. Now, seeing as you can not accomplish that miracle, your fun is over. I demand that you surrender immediately or I will sound the alarm.”
“If you sound the alarm,” retorted Marak, “the three of us will die needlessly. You have given your word, Marshal Patoga, and I accept it. There is one thing you should be aware of before I remove my sword from Lord Quavry’s throat. I am Lord Marak of Fardale.”
The Marshal’s jaw dropped and Lord Quavry screamed as he unintentionally cut himself further on Marak’s blade. Marak swiftly withdrew his sword from Lord Quavry’s throat, but he did not return it to its sheath as he heard running footsteps approaching the Lord’s suite. Two men burst into the room and Marshal Patoga quickly shouted for them to halt.
“Kill him,” shouted Lord Quavry. “I demand that you kill him now.”
The two men raised their swords, but Patoga shouted for them to stop. “Lord Quavry can not order you to kill this man,” the Marshal stated. “If you act on Lord Quavry’s delirious words, you will be making him break his Vows of Service which I, myself, heard him utter. Leave us. Wait in the outer room until we call for you.”
Throughout the exchange Marak stood poised to act. His first swing would end the rule of the Sorgan Clan and the rest would take as many of the Sorgan soldiers as he was able to. Lord Quavry continued ranting and calling for Marak’s death as Marshal Patoga inserted himself between his men and Lord Marak. After he ushered his men into the sitting room, Marshal Patoga closed the door and leaned against it.
“I am sorry, Lord Marak,” declared Marshal Patoga, “but I must require proof of your identity before I can allow you to leave this room. If you are not Lord Marak, you will not leave this room alive.”
Lord Quavry was hysterical and had scooted off the bed and was cringing in the corner next to his slave mistress. Marak shook his head in disgust as he turned to face Marshal Patoga.
“Of course, Marshal,” agreed Marak. “I am sure that you have had people spying on Fardale for the Army. Bring one of them to this room.”
“Mogry would know,” cried Lord Quavry. “Send for my son.”
Marak looked at the Marshal and shook his head. “Mogry was killed yesterday morning by your other spy, Tachora. I’m afraid you will need to rely on one of the Army spies.”
Marshal Patoga opened the door and gave instructions to one of his men. He closed the door and returned his gaze to Lord Marak. “Why would Tachora kill Mogry?” he asked.
“I announced my decision not to retaliate with an attack on Watula Valley and he grew desperate,” replied Marak. “I also informed him that I knew about his dealings with Lord Quavry. He stated that the death of Mogry would force me to act because it was provocation enough for Lord Quavry to order an attack.”
“I always thought the man a fool,” nodded Marshal Patoga. “I trust Tachora is dead, as well?”
“Certainly not,” smiled Marak. “He is alive to present testimony about Lord Quavry’s dealings. I understand that mediators from the Lords Council will be here soon.”
A knock on the door interrupted the discussion and the Marshal opened it to allow a soldier in. The soldier stood there with an open mouth and eyes as large as eggs as he stared at Lord Marak. “Lord Marak?” he exclaimed. “Here in Watula Valley?”
Patoga shook his head as he shoved the soldier back out the door with orders to remain in the next room. “My men will have much to learn from you, Lord Marak,” Patoga smiled. “If I may, I would suggest that you allow me to assemble my men for the issuance of their Vows to you. I would also like to get a doctor for Lord Quavry.”
“Don’t you need Lord Quavry’s order to assemble the men?” questioned Lord Marak.
Marshal Patoga shook his head as he gazed at the blubbering hulk in the corner. “I have given you my Vows and I have witnessed Lord Quavry do the same,” he clarified. “I also witnessed Lord Quavry break those very Vows by ordering your death. All Sorgans already owe their allegiance to you because by capturing Lord Quavry, you have captured the Sorgan Clan. You are within your rights to strike him dead and the Sorgan will follow you. If he objects to my men taking the Vows, I suggest that you do exactly that. The man is without honor.”
Lord Marak nodded as the Marshal left the room. Marak stepped over and extended his hand to the young slave girl, helping her to get up off the floor. “I think you will look much prettier in a different color tunic,” smiled Marak. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and find a quiet place to recover from this unfortunate incident?”
The woman pushed her errand curls back as she smiled up at Lord Marak. “Is it true that you have freed the slaves in Fardale?” she asked.
Lord Marak bestowed a fatherly smile on the young girl and nodded. “As they will be freed here in Watula Valley, as well,” he added. “No one will force you to do what is not right anymore. Go, get cleaned up.”
The young girl smiled and bowed as she left and the doctor came in before the door closed. He barely spared Marak a glance as he hurried to Lord Quavry’s side. Marak opened the door and left the doctor to his work. In the sitting room was an assemblage of plumed officers and Marshal Patoga was in the center of them giving instructions. The officers immediately stiffened and saluted their new Lord. Marak allowed the Marshal to orchestrate the ceremony and all of the high level officers recited their Vows of Service to Lord Marak.
Marak insisted that the Marshal keep a written log of each swearing and while the Marshal thought the order was superfluous, he complied. Each Cortain left immediately after swearing his Vows to assemble his own men. As the soldiers of the Sorgan Army were swearing their Vows to Lord Marak, the new Lord of Watula Valley was scribbling a note of his own. He gave the note to Marshal Patoga and ordered that it be delivered by a single man into the hands of Lectain Zorkil in Fardale. The note explained that Marak was safe and that there would be no war with the Sorgans. He further instructed that Fardale return to normal duties and instructed Cortain Tagoro to return to Watula Valley with the messenger.
After the Sorgan Army had been processed, Marshal Patoga arranged for the rest of the Sorgan Clan to recite their Vows. The last to be processed were the slaves and Lord Marak of Watula Valley declared each a free man after he recited his Vows of Service. The very last presented to Lord Marak was the slave called Yenga.
“I thought you were dead,” stated Lord Marak. “Why is it that you are a slave and not the Marshal of the Sorgan Clan?”
“I broke my Vows of Service to Lord Quavry,” admitted Yenga. “I refused a direct order.”
“How, then, can I trust you will not do the same for the Vows you have just sworn to me?” posed Marak.
“I will do no different, My Lord,” conceded Yenga. “If you utter the same order as Lord Quavry did, my answer will be the same.”
“What was this order that was so grievous that you were willing to forfeit your freedom?” asked Lord Marak.
“Lord Quavry ordered me to command my men to attack your innocents as they worked a barren field, Lord Marak,” Yenga replied stiffly. “I have been a soldier all of my life and I have never disobeyed an order, but I was not trained to kill innocents. A soldier fights other soldiers, not women and children.”
“Then you should be a soldier again,” smiled Lord Marak. “You are a free man and I would be pleased to have you in my Army. I have long heard tales of your strategic brilliance even in Lituk Valley. You have a reputation for outmaneuvering, outthinking and outguessing much larger forces than your own. I would be honored to have you serve as my Lord Marshal.”
“Stories of Squad Leader Marak have reached my ears, as well,” complimented Yenga. “You show leadership qualities and personal skills which rival the best soldiers in the land, but you have declared me a free man and that is how I wish to remain. I should think you have been in the Army long enough to realize that you can not have a Lord Marshal. You may have an opening for a Marshal in Fardale, but a Lord Marshal is the head of a Clan Army. That position in the Situ Clan is already held by Lord Marshal Grefon and even if it was open, the authority to fill it resides with Lord Ridak, not you.”
“You are correct in your analysis,” smiled Lord Marak. “Still, that does not explain your refusal to serve in the Army. You have devoted your life to soldiering and you are the best. You can not expect me to believe that you are going to become a farmer. Why do you refuse to serve in my Army? Do you disapprove of my reforms or is it me, personally, that you wish to avoid serving?”
“Quite the contrary,” grinned Yenga. “Your moves here in Watula Valley will be the food of songsters for generations to come and the reforms you have started in Fardale will shock the entire nation. No, I heartily welcome your reforms and they almost tempt me to join with you, but I have tasted life as a slave. It was not a long period of enslavement, but I have felt the despair that is part and parcel of a slave’s life. I will never return to that station in life and serving in the Army is an open trench waiting for my body.”
“You fear death?” Marak asked unbelievingly.
“Not death,” corrected Yenga, “slavery. If I serve again, I will once again refuse an order and I do not wish to be returned to slavery. As a free man, I will never be forced into making such a refusal.”
“But I would never ask such a thing of you,” protested Lord Marak. “I like to think that I am a man of reason. If you find an order so objectionable that you would offer your freedom to refuse it, do you not think that I will listen to your arguments?”
“I do not think you would ever suggest an order which I would refuse,” declared Yenga, “but there are others above you who would. Lord Ridak is no different than Lord Quavry and I can not serve him as part of the Army.”
“You underestimate me,” clarified Lord Marak. “I can guarantee you that, as my Marshal, you will never be subject to orders from Lord Ridak or Lord Marshal Grefon. You will owe no allegiance to them. I have been given absolute control over Fardale. You would take orders from no one but myself.”
“Is this true of all the people at Fardale and Watula Valley?” questioned Yenga.
“Every last one,” grinned Lord Marak. “Lord Ridak can only attempt to control me, not my people. Will you serve as my Marshal?”
“With pleasure,” beamed Yenga. “In fact, you may find that I have some suggestions for taking your reforms further. You may regret this day, Lord Marak. My reforms will certainly incense Lituk Valley.”
“Let them scream,” chuckled Lord Marak as he reached out and clasped Yenga’s forearms. “Let them scream so loud that the whole nation sits up and takes notice.”
A soldier ran forward and interrupted the discussion. “Lord Marak,” he panted, “scouts report that the emissary from the Lords Council is only hours away. He will be here before nightfall.”