The first lightening of the sky arose before Lord Marak as he galloped eastward toward the new battle lines. Off in the distance he could see the thick, billowing fog as it lay hugging the ground. He knew the fog was not natural, but the enemy didn’t. Lord Sevrin would feel compelled to attack this morning even through the fog. If he failed to come to Lord Zawbry’s aid, he stood a chance of losing Woodville. Lord Marak smiled slightly as he pondered what Lord Sevrin’s reaction would be if he knew he had already lost Woodville. The last thing Lord Marak saw when he left the Woodville camp was Lord Zawbry hanging from a tree. Marshal Tingo and his men had less stomach for a liar than Lord Marak did himself.
Lord Marak slowed as he approached his own soldiers. Lectain Zorkil was manning the communications in the Meeting Chamber this morning. Marshal Yenga wanted to be on the field for this battle. Lord Marak saw the tall figure and headed for him. The Marshal’s aide pointed to Lord Marak and everyone’s head swiveled. The aide took his horse as Lord Marak dismounted and walked over to Marshal Yenga.
“Lord Zawbry’s camp took longer than I cared for,” explained Lord Marak. “How are the preparations proceeding?”
“Very well, so far,” answered Marshal Yenga. Their camp is up and moving around. They aren’t trying to be quiet. I guess they think we are too busy at the Woodville border to be concerned about what happens out here.”
“Do you think we will be able to split them up?” inquired Lord Marak.
“I certainly hope so,” remarked Marshal Yenga. “If we don’t, there will be a tremendous amount of blood spilled today and a fair bit of it will be ours. Couldn’t you pull one of your commando raids on them and avoid this battle?”
“We have been through this before,” sighed Lord Marak. “I would love to do just that, but I would never get near Lord Sevrin. This is not the army of one estate, although it may be when we get done. Are the trenches holding up?”
“They are,” confirmed Marshal Yenga. “I had them checked just a few moments ago. They feel as firm as the earth on either side of them. Someday I want to know how that is done.”
“It’s really pretty simple,” remarked Lord Marak. “The pressure of the air in the trenches is great enough to keep the turf from dropping. Once the pressure is released, the soil suspended over the trench will suddenly drop to the bottom.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” replied Marshal Yenga while shaking his head. “We are still going to have a problem getting them to go the way we want them to.”
“That, Marshal Yenga, is your job,” frowned Lord Marak. “The more men you can lure into these traps, the less we will have to kill. I wish you the greatest success. Have you talked with the Litari and Sorgan Clans this morning?”
“I have, and they are right where they are supposed to be,” nodded Marshal Yenga. “The Ragatha Army is not going to get around us. I just hope they don’t go over our bodies.”
“If they do, you are fired,” chuckled Lord Marak. “Is there anything to eat around here?”
The Marshal’s aide nodded and hurried off to fetch some food for the Fardale Lord. Is there any way you can determine where Lord Sevrin is in that mess?” probed Lord Marak.
“None,” lamented Marshal Yenga. “I have never met the man and wouldn’t know his voice from anyone else's.”
* * *
Deep within the billowing fog, Lord Sevrin was holding council with his Lord Marshal, Orteka. “We can not wait for this infernal fog to lift,” reasoned Lord Sevrin. “Lord Zawbry was to have started his attack yesterday. If we fail to move forward and attack the rear of the Fardale forces, we will lose too many of our Woodville soldiers.”
“I understand the need to move forward,” retorted Lord Marshal Orteka, “but we can not see where we are going. Surely the fog will lift within an hour and that small amount of time will have no bearing on the outcome of the battle.”
“And if it doesn’t lift on schedule?” queried Lord Sevrin. “Will you then request another hour? The battle is taking place quite a distance from here. I am just suggesting that we move forward slowly. Maybe we can get out of the fog and regroup.”
“Very well,” replied Lord Marshal Orteka. “I will lead the men forward myself. I don’t want to get so close to the Fardale forces that we will be noticed before we regroup.”
“Do it whichever way you want,” agreed Lord Sevrin, “just get us out of this fog.”
“As you command, My Lord,” saluted Lord Marshal Orteka.
Lord Marshal Orteka left the tent and strode over to the gathering of his Marshals. “Lord Sevrin has ordered us to proceed,” he stated. “Each of us is going to lead our own forces until we regroup outside the fog. I do not want anyone getting within sight of the Fardale Army. If this fog stretches all of the way to Woodville, we will avoid contact with the enemy until we regroup. Is that understood?”
Lord Marshal Orteka waited until each of the Marshals indicated his acknowledgement of the orders before continuing. “We will break into four units for the move forward,” he continued. “Move slowly and carefully. I do not want to hear any shouts because a man has fallen and broken his leg. Remember that sound travels far in a fog such as this. The first group to find air clear of this fog is to stop and report back to me so the rest of us can head in that direction. Do remember that this is supposed to be a surprise attack.”
The Marshals nodded and headed toward their respective units. Lord Marshal Orteka shook his head as he related the plan to his Lectains and waited patiently while they informed their Cortains. Within five minutes the Ragatha Army was on the move, creeping forward at a cautious pace. Each footstep was carefully placed and each man tried to maintain a constant distance from his neighbor. Had the fog not existed, one would have been impressed with the line of advancing men that stretched across a broad front from one side of the valley to the other.
Lord Marshal Orteka was not the type of officer who would ask his men to do something that he would not do, so he marched near the head of his troops. Only the forward scouts preceded him.
The fog appeared to be endless and the march dragged on. Lord Marshal Orteka was grateful that the Situ from Lituk Valley were not going to be involved in this battle. If he had not received assurances of their neutrality, he would have been extremely nervous with his back exposed in the thick fog. With a sigh of relief, Lord Marshal Orteka quickened his step as the brightness increased before him. Knowing he would be out of this infernal fog brightened his spirits.
Lord Marshal Orteka saw his forward scouts halt and he hurried to move toward them. As he stepped out of the fog he realized why his scouts had stopped. Arrayed before him was the entire Fardale Army with their shields reflecting the rising sun directly into his face. Lord Marshal Orteka glanced left and right to view the units of the other Marshals under his command. The fog appeared to cut off in a straight line and he saw the long line of troops extending from both his right and left sides.
For a long moment, nobody moved. Not a sound was heard from the two massed Armies facing each other. Lord Marshal Orteka’s plan of regrouping after the fog was hopeless but, still, he wielded a potent army and he had clear, numerical superiority over his enemy. Lord Marshal Orteka shouted as loud as he could. His command to charge echoed in the stillness of the valley as his men surged forward.
Lord Marshal Orteka stood his ground as his men raced past him, raced into the dazzling blindness of the sun-reflecting shields. At first, Lord Marshal Orteka mistook the screams for the cries of clashing soldiers, but he soon noticed that the Fardale Army was just standing there and not fighting. He also recognized with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that his men were not reaching the Fardale enemy. They were simply disappearing.
Lord Marshal Orteka shouted for his men to stop, but his shouts were drowned out by the mounting roar of men screaming their last breath. He finally succeeded in getting his surging troops to halt. He stopped those rushing past him and had them stop their neighbors until the rush ceased.
The Fardale soldiers remained passive and held their reflecting shields securely. Lord Marshal Orteka slowly walked forward, pushing his way through the knot of Ragatha soldiers ahead of him. When he reached the front line of his troops, he stared in horror at the wide trench before him. Extending up from the base of the trench were sharpened sticks and the bodies of his Ragatha soldiers were impaled upon those sticks. He surveyed the moat of destruction with a mixture of disgust and fear. Looking to his right and his left, Lord Marshal Orteka saw that the trench extended to the limits of his sight. Far off to his left, he continued to hear the screams of soldiers falling into the trench and silently cursed the Marshal in charge of those men for allowing his men to continue forward.
The voice Lord Marshal Orteka heard could have come from someone standing next to him. “This is Lord Marak of Fardale speaking,” the voice stated simply. “I demand the surrender of your forces. I have no wish to inflict more carnage upon your men. Surrender now and your men will be accepted into our fold.”
Lord Marshal Orteka straightened and peered into the opposing forces. A tall, muscular, black clad man stood defiantly on the other side of the trench staring back at him. Cocking his head, Lord Marshal Orteka wondered if the black specter was the origin of the voice. The man did not wear the green and yellow of the Situ Clan like the rest of the soldiers across from him. He watched the black nightmare across from him and saw his lips move as the voice continued.
“Why subject your men to a needless death?” whispered the voice. “Woodville will not be coming to your aid. Lord Zawbry has already submitted and Woodville is mine. Throw down your weapons and surrender.”
Lord Marshal Orteka scowled at the enemy and shouted an order for his archers to kill the man in black. Scores of arrows arched into the air towards the enemy line. Lord Marshal Orteka watched with a wicked grin upon his face. If the black clad fool thought his army was defeated because there was a trench between him and his enemy, he was sadly mistaken. The Ragatha Army had some of the finest archers in Khadora.
An expression of shock and disbelief illuminated Lord Marshal Orteka’s face as the arrows halted in the air and dropped into the trench. He ordered another volley and another, as the arrows continued to fall into the trench, piercing the bodies of the men who had the misfortune to lead the charge against the Fardale Army. It was not until the third volley failed to reach its target that Lord Marshal Orteka realized his hair was blowing in the stiff head wind. Cursing his luck, Lord Marshal Orteka ordered a retreat.
Before Lord Marshal Orteka reached Lord Sevrin and his personal guards, he heard the Lord’s shouting. If Lord Sevrin thought he was going to order his men forward across the trench, Lord Marshal Orteka would straighten him out. He was not going to throw away the lives of his men filling a trench for others to walk across.
“There you are,” shouted Lord Sevrin. “What is going on? Why are your men retreating?”
“We can not reach the enemy,” explained Lord Marshal Orteka. “They have dug a wide trench and filled it with sharpened sticks. Quite a few of my men discovered it too late. There is such a strong headwind that our arrows can not reach the enemy, either. We are better off retreating and regrouping before we attack.”
“We can not retreat,” declared Lord Sevrin. “Woodville is depending on us.”
“If Lord Marak can be believed,” continued Lord Marshal Orteka, “Woodville has already fallen. I can not verify it, but it looks like we are facing the entire Fardale Army. I don’t think anyone would be so foolish as to amass his army out here against us if he knew he still had an enemy behind him.”
“How could that be possible?” questioned Lord Sevrin. “Lord Zawbry had instructions not to engage in an all out battle. He was only supposed to skirmish with Lord Marak.”
“It may be that this Lord Marak is more clever than Lord Zawbry thought,” posed Lord Marshal Orteka. “Certainly the trenches were an ingenious idea. I do not wish to underestimate my foe. We need to retreat and regroup to take the advantage away from Lord Marak.”
“Are we going to let five hundred men rout us?” quizzed Lord Sevrin. “Surely, you can devise a way to get across the trench.”
“I will get us across the trench,” assured Lord Marshal Orteka, “but I will not be able to do it while they are watching me from the other side. His men will not pursue us. They are not strong enough nor do I think our opponent is that foolish.”
“Very well,” conceded Lord Sevrin, “but I will not leave Woodville in Lord Marak’s hands.”
Lord Marshal Orteka sent runners to inform the other Marshals of his plan and scout out the path of retreat. He turned his efforts to plotting a new attack plan while he waited for the runners to return. This was not the only entrance to Fardale which his Army could take, but it afforded the easiest path to Fardale. He was turning his attentions to the other routes when the first of the runners returned.
“Lord Marshal,” the runner panted. “I can not reach the other Marshals. The trench extends between us.”
Lord Marshal Orteka stared at the young runner with disbelief. Before he could reply, another runner appeared and issued a similar statement. Lord Marshal Orteka could not believe his ears. His men had marched over the area of the trenches not long ago and, even in the fog, the trenches could not be missed. The runners scouting the retreat path also appeared.
“There are trenches all around us,” declared one of the scouts. “The Sorgan Army blocks our path out of the valley. We’re surrounded.”
“The Sorgan Army?” puzzled Lord Marshal Orteka. “Why are they getting involved in this?”
Without waiting for a answer, Lord Marshal Orteka ordered the scout to show him the Sorgan Army and followed the young man through the fog. After a relatively short trek, Lord Marshal Orteka stood at the edge of the trench gazing at the Sorgan Army amassed on the other side. Like their Situ counterparts, the Sorgan soldiers stood passively with their shields before them. Unlike the Situ, the sun was at the Sorgan Army’s back and was not reflecting off their shields. Once again, Lord Marshal Orteka felt the air blowing his hair. This really confused the Lord Marshal. A wind could blow East or it could blow West, but he had never experienced a wind that always blew towards him.
Determined to find answers to his puzzling questions, Lord Marshal Orteka made his way back to where Lord Marak stood. Walking out of the fog, Lord Marshal Orteka stood defiantly on the edge of the trench.
“What are you playing at?” shouted Lord Marshal Orteka. “Why is the Sorgan Clan involved in this conflict?”
Lord Marak’s voice returned with the same strange quality of coming from right alongside Lord Marshal Orteka. “Why are the Ragatha Clans assembled here?” asked Lord Marak. “You have come to take what is mine. I am here to take what is yours. Throw down your weapons and surrender. There is no escape for your men. You are surrounded.”
“You may block both ends of the valley,” shouted Lord Marshal Orteka, “but I will not surrender. We will defeat you and the Sorgan Clan and use your bodies to fill this trench of yours.”
Lord Marak turned and said something to a woman behind him. The headwind on Lord Marshal Orteka increased with such fury that the Lord Marshal had trouble maintaining his stance. When he turned his head to avoid the wind, he saw that the fog had lifted. He filled his eyes with the might of the Ragatha Army before catching a glint in the hills above the valley. He stared at the line of soldiers above the valley and squinted to make out their colors.
“It is the Litari Army,” the voice explained. “They are on both sides of you. You take a great deal of convincing, Lord Marshal. I know that flights of our arrows will speed your decision, but I am loathe to kill soldiers that will be mine before the day is out. You have half an hour to make your decision. After that, I will do what I must do to secure your surrender or defeat. Use your time wisely.”
Lord Marshal Orteka hurried back towards Lord Sevrin. He noticed the dividing trenches between himself and the men of the other Ragatha estates and wondered how they had been made. He found Lord Sevrin arguing with the group of runners he had left behind.
“Lord Sevrin,” he began, “we are, indeed, surrounded. The Sorgan Army blocks our retreat and the Litari Army holds the high ground on each side of the valley. Whatever we have heard about this Lord Marak, he has a way of solving his problems by making allies out of his enemies. We are in serious trouble.”
“Even with his puny allies,” Lord Sevrin debated, “what is that compared to the entire Ragatha Clan? You have two thousand men, Lord Marshal. Fill the trenches with dirt and get us out of here.”
“An excellent idea,” retorted Lord Marshal Orteka, “if we had time to do it. The enemy has not fired a single shot at us yet, but Lord Marak has given us half an hour to surrender. If we do not, I believe he will start cutting down our men.”
“The Ragatha Clan has the finest archers in Khadora,” declared Lord Sevrin. “If they want an archery fight, we are well suited for it.”
“Yesterday I would have agreed with you,” commented Lord Marshal Orteka, “but we can not shoot into the wind while their arrows are raining down on us. I think you should parley with Lord Marak.”
“Surely, you can chose a side where the wind favors us,” insisted Lord Sevrin. “It doesn’t matter which direction we go as long as we break free from these trenches.”
“I do not understand it,” admitted Lord Marshal Orteka, “but the wind is coming at us from all directions. I would suspect magic, but I have never heard of such a use for it. It is ingenious.”
“You sound like you admire this Lord Marak,” scolded Lord Sevrin. “Remember, your job is to kill him.”
“I will do my job as directed,” straightened Lord Marshal Orteka, “but I cannot help admiring the architect of this trap. He has bottled up a superior force and made us helpless. We can not even communicate with the rest of our forces without shouting across his trenches. I have never surrendered in my entire career and I will not now without your leave, but I would not be truthful if I told you that I saw a way out of this. I fear that we will lose all of our men trying and still not succeed.”
“You are serious,” remarked Lord Sevrin. “I have never known you to balk at a battle, even when you faced overwhelming odds. I will talk with Lord Marak and ask the price for our release.”
Lord Marshal Orteka accompanied Lord Sevrin to the trench across from Lord Marak. “Lord Marak,” shouted Lord Sevrin, “I am Lord Sevrin, head of the Ragatha Clan. What is it you want to remove your men?”
“You have no need of shouting, Lord Sevrin,” replied the calm and close voice. “I can hear you just fine. What I want is the complete surrender of the Ragatha Clan. Are you prepared to offer it?”
“I will give you Woodville in return for safe exit from this trap,” bargained Lord Sevrin. “Certainly, you will agree that the offer is generous.”
“I already own Woodville,” answered Lord Marak. “You have attacked Fardale without provocation. Only your complete surrender will satisfy me. I would prefer it if the surrender was bloodless, but I am determined to have it, in any event.”
“You speak a falsehood,” accused Lord Sevrin. “We have provocation. You have revoked an agreement made in good faith with your predecessor. I am willing to put this matter before the Lords Council and let them decide. There is no need for bloodshed. My army will camp here and await an emissary.”
“You have been misinformed,” corrected Lord Marak. “Fardale has not revoked the agreement, nor have we attempted to stop Lord Zawbry from using Fardale land for transit. Lord Zawbry saw an opportunity to seize my land and took it. Unfortunately, Lord Zawbry is no longer available to explain the situation to you, but I do have Marshal Tingo available.”
Marshal Tingo stepped forward and confirmed Lord Marak’s words. Lord Marshal Orteka fixed Lord Sevrin with his eyes and shook his head. “I now believe the devious circumstances that have brought us together out here on the battlefield,” conceded Lord Sevrin, “but I still have a problem with your demands. Your own Situ brothers had foreknowledge of our intentions to attack Fardale. I will not submit my people to their rule. They are no better than Lord Zawbry and they deserve his fate. You ask something of me, Lord Marak, that I can not give you. Better my people should die than to be ruled by Lords without honor. Let your arrows fly.”
“I have not made demands that are onerous to you, Lord Sevrin,” insisted Lord Marak. “I do not propose joining you to the Situ Clan. You will continue to rule the Ragatha estates with the exception of Woodville, which will be mine. I will demand Vows of Service from every Ragatha clansman including yourself, but the Vows will be given to me, not the Situ Clan.”
“But you are a Situ,” protested Lord Sevrin. “If Lord Ridak can control you, he controls everyone whom you control.”
“Lord Ridak has no control over me,” declared Lord Marak. “I am Lord Marak of the Torak Clan and you have heard me state so. Lord Ridak is no better than Lord Zawbry and he does deserve the same fate. I intend to see that he receives it.”
Lord Sevrin and Lord Marshal Orteka whispered between themselves for a few moments before responding. “A Vow of Service to you,” Lord Sevrin asked, “makes the Lord of the Ragatha Clan your subject. Do you plan to exercise control over the Ragatha Clan?”
“I do,” admitted Lord Marak. “I do not intend to manage your estates, Lord Sevrin, but I do plan to change some of the ways you operate. I will expect you to utilize your expertise to enact my reforms. I believe that you will find life actually better for yourself and your subjects after my reforms and I will try to give you as much control over the Ragatha Clan as I can. You will remain a separate Clan and you will retain your seat in the Assembly of Lords. I have similar arrangements with the Sorgan Clan and the Litari Clan and it is working quite well. Do you accept?”
Lord Sevrin turned and reviewed his mighty Army. He stood silent for a long time as he balanced the thought of being subject to Lord Marak’s control versus the death of his men. In the end, he realized that Lord Marak would rule the Ragatha Clan in either event.
“I accept, Lord Marak,” Lord Sevrin finally replied.