Lord Marak looked up and smiled as the Sunnu Priest was shown into his study. Lord Marak nodded to the guard indicating that he should close the door as he left.
“You look tired, my son,” smiled Fisher.
“It has been a long week,” replied Lord Marak. “You don’t look like you’ve had much rest, either, Fisher. What is happening out there?”
“Lord Sevrin and his Ragatha Clan Army are within a day's march of Fardale. I would expect the fun to begin soon. I couldn’t help noticing that your crops have not been harvested. Didn’t I give you enough notice?”
“Your notice was sufficient for me to accomplish the tasks which are necessary to welcome our Ragatha visitors,” answered Lord Marak. “All of my laborers and craftsmen have been busy with other endeavors. I felt it necessary to change some of Fardale’s landscape. Lord Sevrin will not be amused. If everything goes well, the crops will not be harmed.”
“I hope you are not planning on help from Lord Ridak,” mentioned Fisher while adjusting his priestly robe. “His Army is not mobilizing to aid you.”
“I sent a runner last week,” mused Lord Marak. “He has not returned and that troubles me more than the lack of help from Lord Ridak.”
“If your runner was Cortain Rybak,” Fisher sighed, “don’t expect him back . . . ever. I saw him arrive at Lituk Valley. He was seized on the mansion steps by Lord Marshal Grefon. He was not treated well and I would not hold out hope of seeing him alive.”
Fury filled Lord Marak’s face as he hurled his mug across the room. He rose and paced back and forth across his study floor. The guard stationed in his sitting room cracked the door open and peered in. “Is everything all right, My Lord?” the guard asked.
Lord Marak whirled and fixed the guard with a glare. “No, everything is not all right,” he declared. “Tell Seneschal Pito that I want him to begin on the uniforms immediately. Every person not directly involved with the military effort is to participate.”
The guard looked quizzically at Lord Marak before withdrawing from the doorway. Lord Marak placed his hands on his desk and Fisher could see the muscles of Marak’s arms bulging from tenseness. Lord Marak’s face was rigid with determination and his eyes had the icy reflection of death in them. Fisher held his tongue as the young Lord of Fardale straightened and began pacing again.
“Lord Ridak has drawn his line,” Lord Marak finally uttered, “and I intend to cross it. You are going to witness something that hasn’t occurred in Khadora in hundreds of years, Fisher. You are going to witness the birth of a new clan, the Torak Clan.”
Fisher smiled broadly. “Your choice of names is most prophetically wise, Lord Marak. Not many would recognize the term from the old tongue, but I am sure you know its meaning.”
“Torak means, 'born warrior',” nodded Lord Marak. “My mother asked me to use it.”
“It is also the name given by the Chula to the one who will reclaim their honor,” remarked Fisher. “I would like to meet your mother some time.”
“Perhaps that would be a good idea,” puzzled Lord Marak. “It surprised me that she was even familiar with the old tongue.”
“What are the colors of the Torak Clan?” quizzed Fisher. “Something appropriate, I hope.”
“I don’t know about appropriate,” acknowledged Lord Marak, “but it will be practical. The colors will be black and silver and the headbands and waistbands will be reversible to present a solid black uniform.”
“Practical, indeed,” smiled Fisher. “Are your plans for the Ragatha invasion complete?”
“As complete as they can be,” Lord Marak informed his spy. “My men are already in position for Lord Zawbry’s attack. My best guess based on your information places the attack either this afternoon or tomorrow at the latest. If he doesn’t attack by tomorrow, I will start to get worried that we have misread him.”
“Do you want me to probe his estate?” offered Fisher. “I may be able to report on his readiness.”
“No,” decided Lord Marak. “As poor as the odds are against us, my larger fear is Lord Ridak. I would like you to find out what the Situ are up to. I also want to know about Rybak if you can manage it without undue risk. Find out if he is alive and where he is being kept. I should never have allowed him to be the one to go to Lituk Valley. I do not want to create a young widow out of Elsa.”
“Cortain Rybak is recently married?” questioned Fisher. “Why would he risk such a trip under those circumstances?”
“The fool thinks he owes something to me,” snapped Lord Marak. Shaking his head, Lord Marak slumped into his chair. “That is hardly fair of me,” he relented. “Rybak was sent here as a spy by Lord Marshal Grefon. He revealed himself to me and asked for my forgiveness. I freely gave it because Rybak is a good officer. He has matured greatly since coming to Fardale and getting away from Lord Marshal Grefon. He insisted on volunteering because he wanted to make amends for his spying. I fought his selection, at first, but his new wife, Elsa, pleaded with me and I gave in. She is a very convincing woman. Kasa has taken her on as an assistant and says that she learns quickly. I wonder how enthusiastic she will be when she learns her husband is dead?”
“He is not dead as far as we know,” corrected Fisher. “I will leave immediately for Lituk Valley. If I can . . . “
“Fisher,” Lord Marak interrupted, “I can not ask you to do something so foolish. Just find out where he is being held. I will deal with it in my own way. I need your services too much to endanger you. I certainly do not want to tell Kasa that you are dead, as well.”
“Kasa?” queried Fisher. “Why would Kasa care if I died?”
“And you pride yourself on gleaning information from the smallest clue?” laughed Lord Marak. “I should have your eyes checked out before I send you out on a mission again.”
“I never thought . . . I mean, she never . . . “ stumbled Fisher.
“Why don’t you visit with her before you leave?” suggested Lord Marak.
The door burst open and Marshal Yenga stormed in. “Marshal Tingo has started his attack!” exclaimed the Fardale Marshal as he rushed over to the wall map of Fardale and the surrounding countryside.
The Sunnu Priest rose and exited the room without anyone noticing while Marshal Yenga and Lord Marak hovered in front of the map. “They have placed themselves right where we predicted,” Marshal Yenga declared. “Rybak’s men are holding them off with arrow volleys like we planned and the Ragatha are not pressing forward. I think it is going to work.”
“It will work,” insisted Lord Marak. “Inform Glendale and Watula Valley that it is time for them to get into position. Send Squad Leader Botal to me as soon as he is available.”
“As you command, My Lord,” saluted Marshal Yenga. “It will be a long night.”
Lord Marak had time to change into his blacksuit before Squad Leader Botal showed up. “I understand the attack has begun,” greeted the Squad Leader.
“Indeed, it has,” affirmed Lord Marak. “I just wanted to verify that the two men I requested will be available for me tonight.”
“They have already been taken off duty, My Lord,” replied Squad Leader Botal. “They will be fully rested when the time comes.”
“Excellent,” smiled Lord Marak. “You should do the same with the rest of your Squad. There will be little time for rest in between the engagement with Lord Zawbry and the one with Lord Sevrin. Only the Litari and Sorgan Clans will be fully rested. Have the two men wake me when it is time to go.”
Squad Leader Botal saluted and retreated from Lord Marak’s suite. Knowing that Lord Zawbry’s attack was really a feint had helped a great deal. A single Corte was currently holding back the Ragatha Army from Woodville while the rest of Fardale’s Army rested nearby. The Litari and Sorgan Armies were already on their way to get set up for Lord Sevrin’s attack tomorrow morning. Each field unit had an Air Mage attached to it for communications and Marshal Yenga was able to direct his men from the Meeting Chamber in the mansion. Lord Marak knew the real business of war would not begin until the sun overhead was a distant memory.
Lord Marak slept fitfully, dreaming of Cortain Rybak being tortured at the hands of Lord Marshal Grefon while Lord Ridak stood by laughing. Lord Marak and Elsa were tied up and were being forced to watch the barbaric display. Cortain Rybak kept his lips visibly sealed and Lord Marak admired the man’s resolve. Marak worked feverishly at the binds that held him, twisting and turning to undo the tight knots. Finally, he got his hands free just in time to see the Situ soldier plunge his sword into Marak’s side. The searing pain forced Lord Marak to sit up and open his eyes. The two blacksuited soldiers of Botal’s Squad stood with their backs against the wall and uncertainty in their eyes.
Lord Marak shook the dream from his mind and smiled at the two men. “You must learn a gentler way of waking up your Lord,” he chuckled. “Is it time?”
The two soldiers, Halman and Gunta, nodded. “It should take us four hours to get into position,” Halman noted.
“And the fourth member of our team?” Lord Marak asked.
“She is waiting outside,” offered Gunta. “Iscala appears eager to get going in case something goes wrong.”
“She has a good head on her shoulders,” indicated Lord Marak. “Gunta, she will be your personal responsibility tonight. I do not want anyone or anything to get near her. She is not a combat trained soldier and you must never forget that. Be her shadow and kill anyone who even looks at her. Halman, you and I will take care of the sentries. Let’s get going before the sun decides to come up early.”
When Lord Marak stepped out into the night air he inhaled deeply. There was no sweet smell of Lituk blossoms, only the fragrance of the earth and nature around him. Another pair of Botal’s men were outside with six horses ready for the journey and Lord Marak gave the order to mount up. Halman led the group at a steady pace as they headed for the Litari border. The group had met previously on three different occasions and had discussed the penetration planned for this evening. It was decided to slip into the Ragatha camp from behind, rather than try a direct approach.
Lord Marak knew that by the time he reached the penetration point, Lord Zawbry’s camp would be entirely surrounded by Fardale soldiers, but not close enough to disturb the sentries. Lord Zawbry would have to fight his way to the mansion in Woodville if he decided to go home in the middle of the night. Lord Marak knew that was not going to happen.
It was a long, quiet ride as the six horses made their way through the Litari countryside and entered the Ragatha estate somewhere between Lord Zawbry's camp and the settlement of Woodville. When they reached the line of Fardale soldiers blocking Lord Zawbry’s retreat path, they dismounted and gave care of their horses to the two soldiers who would not be going any further.
Lord Marak surveyed his small team and met each of their gazes before turning and leading the way through the Fardale men and into the woods. Halman moved up to walk directly behind Lord Marak while Gunta held the rear, directly behind the blacksuited Iscala.
Marshal Yenga placed his men far enough away from Lord Zawbry’s sentries that no one would know they were there. As they approached the camp’s perimeter, Lord Marak held up his hand and Iscala and her shadow stopped walking. Halman and Lord Marak continued forward and dropped into a crouch to observe the edge of the camp. As was hoped, the sentries on this side of the camp were careless. One of them was leaning against a tree whittling a piece of wood while the other was smoking a pipe and spending more time gazing toward the camp than the woods he was supposed to be watching.
Lord Marak knew that once Khadora got used to the idea of night attacks, sentries would no longer be this lax. The men probably thought the worst thing they would see would be an animal. They were wrong, dead wrong.
Lord Marak took a few moments to survey the camp. Lord Zawbry’s huge and gaudy tent was easy to spot. Coming from the rear had given Lord Marak an additional advantage. Lord Zawbry had decided to pitch his tent as far away from the front as possible, instead of in the center of the camp.
Lord Marak signaled Halman to take the whittler while he moved toward the pipe smoker. Halman and Gunta were men from Marak’s unit when he was a Squad Leader and he had worked with them before. It was the reason he had chosen them. That prior training was needed for this penetration. No spoken commands could be issued and the blacksuited invaders had to rely on silent hand signals.
Lord Marak got into position and waited until he could confirm that Halman was ready. Marak knew his time was limited. The Air Mage stationed with the troops he had just passed through would have already sent the word of his arrival. Within moments, the entire ring of Fardale soldiers would start moving inward to capture Lord Zawbry’s men.
Halman got into position and turned toward Lord Marak. Lord Marak nodded and the two men rose and hurled knives at their targets. Quickly sprinting across the distance separating them from their targets, the two blacksuited warriors grabbed at the falling bodies. Marak’s target dropped his lit pipe and the Fardale Lord had to extinguish the glowing bocco before someone noticed it. Halman and Lord Marak each propped their victims against trees in a seated position. The blood pouring down their chests would make it obvious that all was not well if anyone should happen by, but from a distance they would appear to be just slacking off their guard duty.
Lord Marak signaled and Gunta brought Iscala forward. There were only three small tents between them and Lord Zawbry’s tent. Lord Marak viewed the scene with his eyes attuned for any movement. Satisfied that they had a clear path to the large tent, Lord Marak led the small group forward. He halted at the rear of Lord Zawbry’s tent and listened alertly. He could just hear the muffled conversation of two men and it took a moment of listening to realize that they were door guards at the front of the Ragatha Lord’s tent.
Lord Marak pulled a knife and quietly slit the rear of the tent so that he could peek in. Lord Zawbry’s sleeping form was the only person visible and Lord Marak cut a larger slit in the fabric. Keeping his ears tuned to the conversation of the two guards, Lord Marak slipped into the tent and was quickly followed by the other three members of his team. He signaled for Halman and Gunta to take up positions on either side of the door flap, while he crouched next to Lord Zawbry’s sleeping body. Iscala positioned herself in the center of the tent and wove an Air Tube toward the Meeting Chamber in Fardale.
Once the connection to Fardale was established, Lord Marak placed his knife to Lord Zawbry’s throat. The Ragatha Lord’s eyes snapped open and he stared up at Lord Marak. Despite the knife at his throat, Lord Zawbry uttered a cry and the door flap was thrown open to admit the two guards. Halman and Gunta were ready for them as they ran in. Each of them quickly stepped behind their victim and grabbed his head while slicing his throat.
“Another outcry and more of your men will die,” scolded Lord Marak. “The first casualty will be you, though.”
Fear and hatred lanced into Lord Marak from Lord Zawbry’s eyes, but the Ragatha Lord kept his voice low. “What do you want?” Lord Zawbry demanded.
Lord Marak reached into his pouch and withdrew a black headband and thrust it into Lord Zawbry’s hands. “Put this over your eyes so we don’t have to watch you,” ordered Lord Marak.
Lord Zawbry’s hate-filled eyes fixed on Lord Marak’s briefly before he took the headband and placed it over his head so that his eyes were covered. “You will never get out of this camp alive,” threatened Lord Zawbry.
“I seem to remember hearing those words before,” chuckled Lord Marak, “but it is touching to see that you are concerned for my safety. You have a decision to make, Lord Zawbry. Do you want to live, . . . or do you want to die?”
“So, that is your game, Marak,” spat Lord Zawbry. “Do you think I will call off the attack so you will let me live? I have a different deal to offer you. Leave immediately and I will spare your life when Fardale is crushed.”
“You are a slow learner, Lord Zawbry,” Lord Marak said coldly. “You have no Army to attack Fardale with. Surrender to me now and you will be spared along with your men. Refuse and I will deal with your successor.”
“Even if I surrender to you,” Lord Zawbry stated defiantly, “you will not hold me for long. What do you hope to gain?” Lord Zawbry knew that the morning would bring Lord Sevrin’s men streaming into Fardale and to die tonight would be a waste of his life.
“We are running out of time,” scowled Lord Marak. “Issue your Vows of Service to me or I shall leave you here dead. It is your choice, but the decision must be made now.”
Lord Zawbry had barely finished giving his Vows of Service to Lord Marak when shouts erupted outside the tent. The entire camp was coming alive with shouts and frenzied replies. Lord Marak nodded to his team members and they all pulled their headbands over their eyes. Lord Marak did the same and the last thing he saw before the darkness was Lord Zawbry’s pitiful smile. The Ragatha Lord obviously thought he was about to be rescued.
Suddenly, the night sky burst into blinding brightness. Even through the opaque headband and the tent walls, Lord Marak winced at the brightness that enveloped the camp. Throughout the encampment men screamed and fell down as they were blinded by the blazing light. The flash was over in an instant, but Lord Marak’s eyes still held the afterglow left by the incredibly brilliant light as he peeled off his headband.
“What in the name of the Lords Council was that?” hollered Lord Zawbry.
“That was the end of your campaign to destroy Fardale,” explained Lord Marak as his sight began returning to normal.
Gunta stuck his head out of the tent and raised a hand signal to Lord Marak. The signal meant that the Fardale forces were streaming into the camp from all sides and taking the Ragatha soldiers captive. Lord Marak signaled Halman to take over guarding Lord Zawbry and then left the tent.
Outside the tent, the camp was in utter chaos. Blinded men stumbled around screaming. Others crawled around looking for someone to help them. Lord Marak saw his men coming into the camp and with cool efficiency, rounding up the prisoners. Some of the Ragatha soldiers tried to fight without being able to see their enemy, but they were quickly subdued. Each Woodville soldier had his hands tied behind his back and was seated before one of the tents. Klora told him that the blindness would vary from man to man, but most of them would be blind for about an hour.
Lord Marak walked around the camp until he found Marshal Tingo. Gently lifting the Ragatha Marshal to his feet, he led him back to Lord Zawbry’s tent. Once inside the tent, he seated Marshal Tingo on one of the chairs.
“Marshal Tingo is here, Lord Zawbry,” Lord Marak began. “You will instruct him to issue his Vows of Service to me.”
“You!” exclaimed Marshal Tingo. “I would know that voice anywhere. What kind of animal are you to blind men like this?”
“I am truly sorry to subject your men to this,” stated Lord Marak, “but it would appear that their leaders were blind already. You did not even have a provocation for this attack. We have let all of your men go safely through Fardale. What kind of man are you that would attack a friendly neighbor?”
“I follow the lead of my Clan Lord, like every decent Marshal must,” insisted Marshal Tingo.
“Then follow his lead now,” ordered Lord Marak. “Lord Zawbry has given me his Vows of Service. It is your turn to do so.”
“Is this true, Lord Zawbry?” Marshal Tingo asked. “Have you given your Vows to Lord Marak?”
Halman had to prod the Lord of Woodville to get him to respond. “I have,” he conceded. “Not that it will do him any good, though.”
“Nor will it do the rest of us any good, either,” frowned Marshal Tingo. “A blind army will be of no use to anyone. I would give you my Vows, Lord Marak, because they are due you, but I would rather die than face life without my sight. What I can give you is warning of an attack by Lord Sevrin in the morning.”
“Quiet, you fool!” exclaimed Lord Zawbry.
“You call me a fool,” accused Marshal Tingo. “You swear allegiance to a man and do not tell him that he is to be attacked in the morning. Do your Vows mean nothing to you? Have you no honor at all?”
“Your blindness is temporary, Marshal,” informed Lord Marak. “You will regain your sight in about an hour. As for Lord Zawbry having any honor, I think the answer is obvious. Woodville will need a new Lord in the morning.”
“Are you not listening?” cried Marshal Tingo. “Two thousand men are going to swarm into Fardale in the morning from the East. They will run over Fardale like it is a picnic basket and they are the ants. You and your men will be devoured.”
“That is something I will deal with in the morning,” declared Lord Marak. “I have known of your plan for some time and I am ready for Lord Sevrin and his Army. Are you ready to give me your Vows?”
“You shall have my Vows and the Vows of my men,” affirmed Marshal Tingo, “but only when I can look you in the eye. I do not doubt your word, Lord Marak, but there is a chance that you are mistaken. If that is the case, I would prefer to die.”
“Fair enough,” accepted Lord Marak. “I will not expect your men to fight against the other Ragatha Clan Armies, but I must be assured that they will not hinder my attack. If there are men among your force who would give their Vows and not expect to honor them, like Lord Zawbry, you must identify them so they can be isolated from the rest.”
“They will honor their Vows,” insisted Marshal Tingo. “In fact, you would honor us if you would allow us to deliver justice to Lord Zawbry for his duplicity.”
“I will leave his fate in your hands,” agreed Lord Marak. “He is not fit to rule Woodville. I need to survey the camp. When your sight returns, come and find me so I may accept your Vows of Service. Do not delay because my time is short here.”
Lord Marak strode out of the tent to inspect his new Army. They would not see him observing them, but he knew Marshal Tingo was right. They would take their Vows and they would honor them. Only the Lords of Khadora seemed to think the Vows were breakable. That, too, would change. The Born Warrior would instruct the Lords.