The squad of yellow and green clad soldiers rode hesitantly into the Sitari Valley. The Squad Leader discussed the available options with his men and they decided to try to draw the Chula out after them instead of sacrificing their lives for the Situ Clan. Their orders were to arouse the Chula into attacking and no one mentioned the need for the squad to commit suicide. The Squad Leader decided to sneak into the heart of the valley and then raise a ruckus as they galloped back out. Hopefully, the Chula would be incensed enough to chase them all the way home to the Fardale mansion.
The members of the squad were jumpy and every sound caused someone to shout or cry out. The Squad Leader cursed under his breath as he gave up hope of sneaking into the heart of the valley. The musty smell typical of a fargi forest hung over the trail and even the horses seemed to sense death all around the party. The Squad Leader decided that the center of the valley was too great a risk to take and set his new goal at the small clearing where the last group of men had been slaughtered. From the description given to him by Togi, the one lumberman to escape the massacre, the Squad Leader knew he was close and they could turn around soon. He hoped the cat people would chase them as he had no stomach for making this trip again.
The Squad Leader saw the slight notches on the fargi trees and looped around the clearing so his men would have room to turn around. As soon as he started heading back out of the clearing, he saw them. Six nearly naked men with spears sat upon tigers blocking the trail back home. The Squad Leader could not imagine how they had gotten into position to block the trail without anyone hearing them. They were only about six horse lengths behind the last rider in the column. The horses reacted to the presence of the tigers and tried to back away. The other soldiers finally saw the barbarians and their large cats and started cursing.
The Squad Leader looked frantically left and right for more of the Chula and breathed a sigh of relief that they were only facing six of them. He waited for his men to regain control of their horses as the barbarians just sat there. It suddenly dawned on the Squad Leader that there might be more Chula on the way and he must act quickly if he was going to survive. He shouted the order to charge at the top of his lungs and started forward to give his men the start they needed. He immediately halted his own horse as the first of his men went racing past him towards the barbarians.
Smug that he did not need to lead the charge, the Squad Leader watched in horror and fascination as several twirling masses of light lanced towards his group from the bushes. The masses of light flattened and transformed into blue-white blades twirling around a center. Even as he watched his lead men going down with barbarian spears in their chests, he saw the whirling blades slice through their first victim. The blades sliced cleanly through clothing, flesh and bones. Even then, the blades continued on to their next victim. More of the twirling blades came flying out of the bushes surrounding the clearing. The last thing the Squad Leader saw was the growing pile of body fragments, both human and equine, as the whirling blades slashed into his chest.
* * *
A shout rang out from the main gate to the Fardale estate and Marshal Garouk ran out of the mansion with Lord Lashendo close behind. They stood on the porch and watched a lone horse trot through the gate and head for the stables. Marshal Garouk needed no confirmation of the meaning of the returning horse. The animal’s back was covered in blood, the blood of its rider, no doubt.
“It is started, then,” Marshal Garouk declared. “Now we shall wait.”
“When do you think they will attack?” queried Lord Lashendo.
“I doubt they have the ability to strike quickly,” mused the Marshal. “It is close to sundown now. I think we should expect them in the morning if they can get it together that quickly. If not tomorrow, certainly the next day.”
“Well, I shall be sure to find my bed early this evening then,” chuckled Lord Lashendo. “I do not want to miss this massacre.”
“That is an excellent idea,” remarked Marshal Garouk. “I will check our defenses one more time and leave an order for an early wake up.”
A pair of kittens wandered through the main gate of Fardale while everyone’s attention was focused on the bloody horse. They didn’t wander aimlessly, nor did they walk across the open stretch of ground before the mansion. Instead, they hugged the wall single file until they reached an old shed and found entry through a damaged wall board. They climbed among the garden implements until they found a high shelf with sufficient room to lie down. There they curled up and went to sleep.
The sun set and gradually more and more of the Situ Clan went to sleep. After a time, the only yellow and green warriors who were awake were those on guard duty. The kittens rose and stretched lazily. Casually, they leaped down from the perch and split up, each taking a different path into the dark night.
One kitten walked around the mansion, avoiding the guards at the doors, until he found the smell of the kitchen and leaped up onto the window ledge. The kitchen was dark and empty and the cat jumped easily to the floor. With an extremely small flash of light, the kitten transformed into a young Chula shaman. The shaman looked around the kitchen and plucked a large meat cleaver from the worktable and padded to the doorway that led to the rest of the mansion. Silently, keeping in the dark, the shaman made his way out into the hallway and began his search for the Lord of the estate.
The shaman wasted no time examining rooms where the doors were placed close together. The Lord’s suite was obvious as there was no other door nearby at all. He gently turned the handle of the door and stepped into the empty sitting room. After a few moments, he found Lord Lashendo asleep in his bed. The shaman did not require the meat cleaver for his task as he had other methods of killing his foe, but the warning had promised that those who sent the next invaders would have their blood flowing upon the ground.
Ever since the Chula had given their warning, scouts, in the form of cats, had kept watch on the estate. The Chula knew who the Lord was and the location of the officers with plumes who commanded the soldiers to invade the Sitari Valley. This shaman’s other targets included the officer with plumes of green and yellow and the officers with the green plumes who lived in a separate building. The other shaman would make the rounds of the barracks, eliminating all of the officers with yellow plumes.
The shaman quickly located Marshal Garouk and left the meat cleaver behind as he once again took the form of a kitten. Dashing through the corridors and hallways as quickly as his four little feet could carry him, the shaman leaped out of the kitchen window and made his way to the building of the green plumed officers. This time the shaman used one of the officer’s swords to decapitate his victims. Having completed his task, the shaman paused and wondered if his partner needed any assistance. He gazed out the window and saw her in the form of a kitten heading back towards the shed. Quickly, he transformed himself and followed her.
At the shed, the kittens transformed themselves into tigers and leaped to the top of the shed. Together they let out a mighty roar and waited for the guards to notice them before leaping onto the wall and jumping down to make their escape. Part of their mission for this night was to make sure the Situ knew who had struck this night and why. Having accomplished their mission, the tigers ran towards the Sitari Valley to report to the others.
The guards noticed the tigers, but their eagerness to chase the tigers into the dark night was nonexistent. One of the guards ran to inform the Marshal about the sighting and ran into the first bit of evidence that the Fardale branch of the Situ Clan was without leadership. Within moments every member of the Situ Clan in Fardale who was capable of waking was awake.
* * *
Marak’s mother, Glenda, stood at the edge of the orchard, apart from the gathered soldiers, watching the ceremony. Lord Marshal Grefon had given the order which excused her from the fields for the short duration needed to attend. Marak stood on the porch in front of Lord Ridak and Lord Marshal Grefon to receive the yellow plume, which marked him a Cortain in the Situ Army. The presentation was short but very solemn. Attaining the rank of Cortain was considered a lifetime achievement and all of the soldiers not on duty were in attendance. Lord Marshal Grefon had already announced the retirement of Cortain Koors with a glowing speech for his long years of service.
As soon as the ceremony was over, Glenda returned to her duties in the field. Marak had arranged to meet with her each evening and would not otherwise interfere with her duties. After congratulations from the soldiers in attendance, Cortain Marak called a meeting of his new Corte. Botal had been quietly elevated to the position of Squad Leader in the Lord Marshal’s office and had taken over command of Marak’s old squad. Squad Leader Tagoro had long followed Marak’s lead in training his men and the purpose of the meeting was to bring Squad Leader Rybak into line with Marak’s philosophy.
The Lord Marshal was correct in his assessment of Rybak and the Squad Leader welcomed his new Cortain with open arms. Any thought of allegiance to Koors was dead and Rybak was falling over himself to praise the leadership skills of his new superior. Rybak’s men seemed genuinely interested in learning and training with the other two squads and the meeting was over quickly. Marak’s Corte was officially off the duty roster for the next two weeks in order to provide him with time to work the three squads into a cohesive unit. Marak ordered Tagoro to lead the three squads to their private practice field and begin integrating Rybak’s squad into the training sessions.
Marak left his men to their practice and went to Lord Marshal Grefon’s study.
“Yes, Cortain Marak,” greeted the Lord Marshal. “What is it?”
“Lord Marshal,” Marak began, “I was wondering if you have any books about the Chula. As long as we have two weeks to prepare, I would like to read about their fighting style and weapons, if that is possible.”
The Lord Marshal laid his papers on the desk and gave Marak an appraising gaze. He never had another Cortain show such initiative about studying an enemy’s methods and wondered if Marak was just trying to impress the Lord Marshal with his industriousness. Grefon stood and walked to one of his bookcases. He quickly selected a volume entitled Indigenous Peoples of Khadora and handed it to the young Cortain. It was a volume he had read himself, just recently, and he planned to take the wind out of the young Cortain’s sails. If Marak thought that Grefon would show him any favoritism because of this trickery, he would soon find out the opposite was true. Lord Marshal Grefon had been dealing with soldiers like Rybak for many years and he did not need to have another one.
“Try this, Cortain,” smiled the Lord Marshal. “It does not contain much on the Chula, but I think you will find it interesting. Make sure you return it before you leave for Fardale.”
“Thank you, Lord Marshal,” replied Marak. “I will make sure it is returned quickly.”
Grefon smiled as the young Cortain walked out of the study. He had no doubt that the book would be returned soon, unopened. Cortain Marak would soon find out that buttering a Lord Marshal was not as easy as it looked.
Marak took the book and went to the private practice field. He sat under a sevemor tree and watched the men practice for a while and then started reading. As the Lord Marshal predicted, he found the book fascinating. There was not a great deal written about the Chula and Marak quickly devoured that section. The one part of the text about the Chula, which really struck him, was a suspicion that the cat people used a type of magic that was unknown in Khadora. The author made light of these suspicions, but Marak wondered if there could be other types of magic.
Instead of putting the book aside, he found himself reading about other indigenous peoples including the bird people who were called Omungans and lived beyond the Kalatung Mountains, which were not far south of Stony Brook. The very fact that his eight-pointed metal disc weapon was called an Omunga Star made him read the section. The author explained why the Omungans were called bird people. They did not resemble birds in any way, in fact, they appeared quite human. What was different about them was the fact that they rode on extremely tall and fast birds. The author claimed that the birds were actually faster than a horse and stood about ten feet tall. The Omungan warriors used a variety of weapons, but it was the Omunga Star, which was thrown even while mounted, that captured Marak’s interest. He completed the section on the Omungans, paying particular attention to the odd weapons they used and their tactics.
Marak looked up briefly at the practicing warriors and was pleased with the way Rybak’s men were fitting in. He turned back to his book and started reading about the Fakarans, or spider people, who lived beyond the Fortung Mountains far to the East. Less was known about the Fakarans than either the Chula or Omungans and the section was short. Marak did read that the Fakarans used two-handed swords with a double edge, carried in sheaths on their backs and wondered if that was where the sword he purchased had come from. There was a reference to stories about the Fakarans getting the name ‘spider people’ from the fact that they rode on large spiders, but the author openly laughed at the stories. The author claimed to have visited the Fakarans and not seen any evidence of large spiders.
Again Marak looked up and noticed that the men were quitting for the day. He gazed at the sinking sun and couldn’t believe that he had been reading all day. The men waved and nodded to him as they filed past to grab a quick dip in the icy cold stream. Marak picked up his book and decided to read just a bit more while the men bathed.
The next section was bizarre. It dealt with a people called Motangans, who live on a large island across the sea. Most of the commentary was tales from seaman who had either visited the island or sailed close to it. The Motangans were reportedly large apes with the intelligence of men. Marak read about grandiose ape cities and a civilization more advanced than Khadora. The Cortain wondered why, if the stories were true, the Motangans had never sailed to Khadora. If their civilization were so advanced, certainly they would have appeared on the shores and in the ports by now.
Squad Leader Tagoro interrupted Marak’s reading and Marak realized it was almost dark already.
“If you are planning to read through the night,” chuckled Tagoro, “I should bring you a lantern. A runner brought an invitation for you to dine with the Lord Marshal tonight. You had better hurry if you don’t want to be late.”
Marak rose and stretched his muscles. “Thanks, Tagoro,” smiled Marak. “I guess I lost track of time. I thought my eyes were getting tired, but it was probably the failing light.”
Marak explained some of what he had read as he and Tagoro walked back to the barracks. Marak put on a clean uniform and hurried to the mansion. A servant was waiting for him at the door and led him to a small, informal dining room. As Marak was shown in, the Lord Marshal rose and greeted him.
“Ah, our new Cortain. Welcome,” greeted Grefon. “I see you brought the book back already. You must be a fast reader.”
“Thank you, Lord Marshal,” answered Marak. “I guess I just have a problem putting a book down.”
Marak handed the book back to the Lord Marshal and Grefon grinned. He did not normally dine with a Cortain, not even a new one, but he was determined to put Marak’s attitude right before this buttering went any further.
“So, are you an expert on the Chula now?” quizzed Grefon as the servants brought out bowls of soup with large noodles and thin slices of clova meat.
“Certainly not on what is in this book,” chuckled Marak. “The sections on the other indigenous peoples were actually more interesting.”
Grefon shook his head as he savored the spicy broth. Marak could dance around all evening with vague generalities about the book, but the Lord Marshal was not going to allow it. “I think it rather strange that the Chula have even bothered to cross the Kalatung Mountains to harass us, don’t you?”
Marak found that the large noodles were actually packed with wasooki and almost choked on one when the Lord Marshal spoke. “Actually, Lord Marshal,” gasped Marak, “I didn’t read anything about the Chula crossing the mountains. The author indicates that they have always resided here. You are probably thinking about the Omunga. They ride large birds and live on the other side of the Kalatungs.”
“How do you know about the Omunga?” queried Grefon skeptically.
“They are described in the book you lent me,” replied the confused Cortain. “I hope I did not transgress, but I couldn’t put the book down and read the whole thing.”
“Preposterous!” exclaimed the Lord Marshal. “Look, Marak, I do not like my soldiers to butter up to me. You may be a slippery devil, but there is no need to continue this charade. I know why you borrowed the book and it will not work. I do treat my men with respect, but I also treat them equally. You will gain no favor with your ploys, so do not attempt them again.”
Marak put down his spoon and stood. “Lord Marshal,” he stated indignantly, “I appreciate the loan of your book and the invitation to dinner, but I will not have my word questioned. If you take my desire to know as much as I can about an enemy who may soon slaughter my men as an attempt to butter you, then you have certainly taken the wrong meaning to my actions. How much is your favor worth to a dead man? You are sending me and my men into Sitari Valley as bait. No one expects us to return, but I will do everything in my power to make sure my men do return. If the information can be found in a book or through the interrogation of a prisoner, what does it matter, as long as the needed information is gained?”
The Lord Marshal stared at his new Cortain in wonderment. If Marak was putting on a show, it was certainly a good one. Grefon decided that he needed to know what made Marak different from his other men.
“Sit,” ordered the Lord Marshal. “I have invited you to dinner, not a brawl. Tell me what you have read in the book I lent you.”
Marak sat and recited the stories he had read as the servants brought plates of rare wasooki in clam sauce and some type of grilled fish that Marak savored. By the time the servants were serving a lituk-flavored frozen cream, Marak had finished his recitation. Grefon smiled freely as he listened. He had read the volume himself only days ago when he was informed of the massacre in the Sitari Valley. The Cortain’s retention and understanding were excellent. Grefon began to wonder who the boy’s father might have been. The type of initiative the Cortain had shown was more typical of a Lord’s son than the son of a soil mage. Very few soldiers thought beyond the next chance to get to a tavern and that included most officers.
“I owe you an apology, Cortain,” offered the Lord Marshal. “I am so used to dealing with a different mentality that at times I forget people can be eager to learn new things. My library is available to you at all times. Make use of it. I do want you to know my feelings about Sitari Valley, though. I wanted you promoted to Cortain specifically to send you into Sitari Valley. My goal is not to send a Corte to its death. Your men are the best trained men we have and I think it is because you have managed to push them beyond what is normally taught.”
Grefon paused to finish his frozen cream and Marak took the opportunity to do the same. This was not the type of meal that was offered in the barracks and Marak didn’t want to miss a taste of it.
“I know about your private practice area,” smiled the Lord Marshal, “and I approve. Your men are the only chance we have of sending a Corte into Sitari Valley and getting them back out again. That is why you were promoted. I want your men to survive as much as you do and I will do whatever I can to make that happen. If you want to equip your men with those nasty-looking double-edged swords, do it. Do whatever you must to bring them back alive.”
It was Marak’s turn to stare in amazement. The Lord Marshal must have known about everything he thought he was keeping secret. He remembered seeing Rybak come out of Grefon’s study during the meeting days and began to wonder if the Lord Marshal had used Rybak to force Koors to retire. Rybak may very well be the Lord Marshal’s eyes and ears in Marak’s Corte, even now. It appeared that the author of Indigenous Peoples of Khadora was not the only teacher Marak had this day and Marak intended to be a good student. He would learn by observing the Lord Marshal’s moves as much as he would from reading a book.
“I will, Lord Marshal,” declared Cortain Marak. “My men will survive or I will not return. If you have any more books on the Chula, I would appreciate seeing them.”
Grefon nodded grimly and led Marak to his study. Cortain Marak was amazed at the variety of reading material Grefon had accumulated. Not all of it was limited to warfare and military strategies. The Lord Marshal had just as good a selection of tomes pertaining to finance, commodities and ancestry. Loaded with three volumes, Marak returned to his barracks to read.
For hours Marak plowed through the books searching for references on the Chula. There were many passages that mentioned the cat people, but very little solid information. It appeared that the Chula kept pretty much to themselves and did not make any attempt to integrate into Khadoran society. His mind kept flashing back to the stories told by the Fardale soldiers, trying to pick up anything that he had heard which might be more revealing now that he had some knowledge of the people who were being described. Nothing came to him and Marak fell asleep with a book in his lap.
Marak dreamed of battles between giant tigers and massive spiders where the human riders were the spoils for the insidious creatures. The battles raged on until there were no humans and the creature fought each other just to be victorious. The scene changed to boatloads of intelligent apes landing on some distant shore and savagely conquering the bird people. The apes soon learned to control the tall, running birds and mounted them just like the Omungans before them. Thousands of huge birds trampled over the Kalatung Mountains bearing ferocious apes and began attacking the Situ. One of the apes rode right into Marak’s barracks while the men were asleep and began killing and eating them. One of his men, he was not sure which one, managed to hurl an Omunga star into the ape’s forehead and killed it. The men, thinking they were safe, went back to bed. The huge riderless bird suddenly went around and pecked the remaining men to death. The bird broke down the door to Marak’s room and started pecking at him. He fought back, but the bird kept pecking. Finally, he reached out and seized the bird’s beak and heard it issue a human scream.
“Don’t kill me,” shouted the mansion servant. “I’m just trying to deliver a message.”
Marak sat up and stared at the frightened servant. “I’m sorry,” Marak groggily replied. “I was dreaming. What message? What time is it?”
“I don’t know the time,” shuddered the servant, “but the Lord Marshal wants you in the Meeting Chamber right away. He is in there with Lord Ridak and neither one of them is the least bit happy. They’re yelling and ranting and the Lord Marshal says that you better get there before I even tell you you’re wanted.”
Marak could not make sense out of the servant’s nervous speech, but one thing came through clearly. The two most powerful people in the Situ Clan wanted him and he was not going to keep them waiting.