Young Lord of Khadora
Book 1 of Forgotten Legacy
by
Richard S. Tuttle
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2001 by Richard S. Tuttle.
All rights reserved.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
Map of Khadora
Prologue
Ages ago...
Khador stood in the clearing of the mountain pass and watched the small army approach out of the west. He signaled to his own men to aid and direct the arriving bodyguards, although Omung’s followers did not appear to be weary or in need of assistance. The leader of the arriving army walked over to Khador and hugged him in a familiar embrace.
“Greetings, brother!” exclaimed Omung. “I see you are the first to arrive. I trust Fakar will be along shortly.”
“It is the appointed day,” stated Khador, breaking the embrace.
“Where is father?” Omung queried. “I thought he was to be with your army.”
“I had little need for him or his men,” grinned Khador. “The people in my sector were no match for my men. Father elected to aid Fakar. He should be here shortly. What of your efforts? Your men appear to be free from battle weariness.”
“Battle?” laughed Omung. “There was no battle, only slaughter. The peasants have neither weapons nor any desire to fight. My armies control the entire coastline. They start the sweep towards the center now. The hard part is chasing them through the mountains to make sure we get them all.”
“But get them all we must,” frowned Khador. “I too am having troubles tracking down the savages in my area. My armies also control both coasts of my sector and push towards the center. We cannot let a single soul escape.”
“Yet you fought with father over his plan to kill everyone,” Omung pointed out.
“True enough,” nodded Khador. “I do not relish senseless slaughter, but father is right. What chased us from our homeland, may we never say it’s name, must never be allowed here. If we must kill all to keep it from these shores, then so be it. That does not mean I must enjoy the task.”
The makeshift camp erupted in murmurs and the two brothers turned towards the commotions. A dozen armed but ragged men were making their way into the pass from the east. Khador peered into the new arrivals and barked harsh orders to his men.
“I see Fakar, but not father,” Khador hissed.
Omung merely nodded as the third brother trod over to join his siblings.
Khador received the traditional embrace of Fakar and felt the weakness in his brother’s body. He returned the hug firmly and released Fakar.
“Where is father?” Khador asked.
“Dead,” Fakar replied, his eyes cast down upon the dirt at their feet. “We followed the plan as instructed. We burned our ships and began the attack. It appeared easy at first as the savages were not used to warfare, but as we entered the hills, things went poorly.”
“Poorly?” inquired Omung. “Our scouts reported no armies of any kind. What trouble beset you?”
“Not armies,” Fakar reported as he slumped down with his back to the cliff wall. “Their horses are much faster than ours. The savages would gather in packs and poke our flanks and then outrun us as we tried to catch them. Our formations broke and were scattered. They lured our army into the jungle and that is where it happened.”
“Where what happened?” demanded Khador. “What happened to father?”
“The jungle was full of giant spiders,” twitched Fakar. “Spiders much larger than horses. The spiders were intelligent and attacked us from all sides. Father tried to rally the men out of the jungle. He died killing one of the huge beasts, but by doing so he allowed us to escape.”
“Escape!,” howled Omung. “Your men fled the battlefield?”
“Where is your army now?” questioned Khador.
Fakar clenched his teeth and nodded towards the small knot of weary men that had accompanied him. “That is what I could find of my army and father’s army,” he spat.
“Out of tens of thousands, you bring back twelve?” gasped Omung.
“The rest are probably scattered all over my sector,” sighed Fakar. “I will gather them when I return there. I dared not miss this meeting. Your help may be required in conquering the east.”
Khador paced away from the meeting as Omung continued howling at the youngest brother. The loss of the two huge armies was serious, but not terminal. Still, the savages in all three sectors had to be exterminated, lest the evil follow them to these shores. Khador nodded to himself and strode determinedly back to his brothers.
“The three of us are the only ones left who have yet to receive the magic of forgetfulness,” Khador stated. “We shall receive those rites tonight. Tomorrow we gather all of our armies and march on the eastern sector. I want that land destroyed completely. Salt the fields and kill every living thing we find. Let our mages ensure that it becomes a wasteland forever more.”
“What of the savages we both still chase?” asked Omung. “We cannot afford to have any survivors to stain the bloodline. One intermarriage and we have failed. You know what the mages have stated. One stray thought could bring the horror to our doorstep and nothing will save us then. Nothing!”
“The savages in our two sectors are nothing compared to what father has faced,” declared Khador. “We will return to hunt our savages after we are done in Fakar’s sector.”
“Will breeding really cause the memories to resurface?” puzzled Fakar.
“I do not know,” conceded Khador, “but I will not chance it. We cannot face the likes of what we fled in our ships. We are fortunate to be alive today to talk of it and after the rites tonight, none will ever talk of it again. Even a mention of its name is enough to draw it here.”
“We cannot survive another encounter with it,” agreed Omung. “We shall destroy the land of Fakar and return to our own battles after.”
Chapter 1
Khadora
The lumbermen shuffled uneasily into a small clearing in the Sitari Valley and laid their packs on the ground. Warily, they glanced around at the dense stand of fargi trees and the soldiers moving through them. Some of the closer trunks showed the scars of past attempts at felling them. Most of the lumbermen had heard the tale of the last time Lord Lashendo had sent men to clear this valley and the soldiers surrounding the workers offered little comfort. Only one man had survived the attack of the Chula and he lived only long enough to tell the tale of the slaughter which had occurred here. The soldiers sent to guard the lumbermen didn’t appear to be any less wary as they spread outward in a circle, brandishing their unsheathed swords, searching for any sign of the dreaded cat people.
Togi was one of the replacement workers sent to Lord Lashendo by Lord Ridak, Lord of the Situ Clan, and the tale of the last massacre was told to the new recruits the day they arrived at the remote estate. Togi had never seen a Chula before, but even in Lord Ridak’s service, tales of the strange and ferocious cat people were told in the barracks at night. Belief in the horrid tales was not optional in Khadora, for to tell a lie was to give your life to another in payment for the mistruth. No sane person in Khadora ever lied.
The Squad Leader of the soldiers approached the lumbermen while looking off into the woods for signals from his men.
“All right,” the Squad Leader bellowed. “Let’s get these trees felled and get back to the barracks before nightfall. Move, before I have to call my soldiers back to deal with you instead of the Chula.”
Togi picked up his ax and headed into the forest for an available tree. As hard as it would be to chop through the tough bark of the fargi trees, Togi was thankful that he was not one of the slaves who would have to cart the huge trees away. Those slaves would be worked to the point of exhaustion and, most likely, beyond it. The slaves who didn’t succumb to fatigue were often crushed while handling the logs.
Togi swung his ax in a gentle practice swing. Around him he could hear dozens of axes impacting on wood as the other lumbermen began the arduous task of clearing the valley. Togi’s ax rebounded off the fargi’s hard bark and he braced himself, legs apart, to deliver a powerful stroke to the tree. The ax blade was slicing deep into the bark when a far off scream suddenly rent the air. Togi jerked his ax out of the fargi and gazed around. The other lumbermen looked startled and had also halted their swings. The Squad Leader began pulling his sword from its sheath as if contemplating punishment for the work stoppage when a soldier ran out of the forest, his long braids flying behind him and his scimitar clasped tightly in his fist. The soldier talked briefly in hushed tones with the Squad Leader, who immediately hurried off in the direction of that first scream. Togi watched as the nervous soldier visibly calmed himself, smoothing his tunic, before issuing orders for the workers to move into the center of the clearing.
Screams started coming from every direction and were accompanied by clashes of metal upon metal. Togi dropped his ax and slid covertly into a pile of leaves as his fellow workers returned to the clearing. The tale of the last massacre indicated that the Chula would kill everybody they found, not just the soldiers, and Togi wasn’t ready to die just yet. He quickly decided that he would rather risk the wrath of the Situ soldiers for disobeying an order than die at the hands of the cat people.
Togi lay completely covered with leaves and breathed shallowly. Even under the leaves the screams and growls sounded closer than before. The lumberman tried placing his hands over his ears to shut out the horrible sounds of men dying, but it did no good. A grunt, followed by a scream, preceded the impact Togi felt when a body fell on top of him. His breathing became ragged and he felt small particles of decaying leaves being sucked into his mouth, but the body above him stopped thrashing and lay still.
The body on top of Togi helped to diminish the sounds of battle and death, but the blood dripping down his neck reminded him of the need to remain hidden. Togi’s body started shaking and he fought to control his fear. He forced his mind to think of other things, pleasant things. Soon Togi was lost in the days of his youth, and the sounds of his playmates swinging on tree branches into the creek replaced the howls of death around him.
Togi was not sure how long he had been dreaming of more pleasant times when he felt the weight of the dead body being lifted off of him. His mind snapped back to the present and he actually strained his ears to pick out the sounds around him. There was a lot of rustling of leaves and animal growls, but very little talking. The small snatches of conversation, which he did hear, were not the voices of his fellow Situ workers, they were the voices of Chula.
Togi started shaking again and tried to force his mind back to the creek of his youth, but he could not ignore the animal growls around him. Suddenly, strong hands grabbed his legs and dragged Togi out of the pile of leaves. Togi opened his eyes and stared into the gaping jaws of a tiger, a tiger with a man astride it. The man issued some guttural tones and the two Chula who had dragged him out of the leaves grabbed his arms and dragged him towards the clearing. Togi’s eyes remained fixed on the Chula riding the tiger. The man’s skin was darker than Togi’s and his face and chest were painted with strange symbols. The Chula wore nothing but a breechcloth and he rode the tiger as Togi would ride a horse.
Soon the tiger and its rider were lost to his sight and Togi was thrown to the ground in the clearing. Togi looked to his side and promptly vomited. The clearing was filled with body parts as if the lumbermen were sliced by a thousand sickles. Togi retched until he could retch no more. His head spun with fear and revulsion as men grabbed him and hoisted him up to his feet and tied him to a tree. With his back to the tree, the whole clearing became visible to Togi and he tried to clamp his eyes closed, but his fear and the sounds of Chula and tigers passing close to him kept them wide open.
Togi watched as Chula came into the clearing, dragging corpses of Situ soldiers and piling them onto the largest wagon. Several of the Chula rode tigers and all of them were wearing paint on their bodies. A few Chula were cutting the clothes off of some of the soldiers with their knives and tying the pieces together to form a long rope. Most of the Chula carried spears and a few had swords, but every one of them had a small quiver at his waist and a knife hanging from a thong attached to his breechcloth.
A Chula with a headdress resembling a lion’s mane and wearing a long, brown tunic strode into the clearing and approached a Chula riding a black panther. The rider stood out from the other Chula warriors because he was clothed from head to foot in animal skins. Togi watched as the two different-looking Chula conversed and looked towards him. After a few moments of conversation the pair strode over to Togi and stood before him. Togi’s eyes blinked as he looked at the face of the Chula with the lion’s mane headdress, only it wasn’t a headdress at all. The Chula before him sported slit eyes and whiskers like a cat and the mane appeared to be part of him. His split lips smiled as he observed Togi’s expression, but it was the Chula in animal skins that spoke.
“I am Tmundo, leader of the Kywara,” the Chula stated. “You Khadorans learn slowly. Twice now, my people have had to teach you the lesson of observing our holy grounds. I have little patience for slow learners. You shall live to deliver a message to the Khadorans who would invade our lands. Listen carefully, so that I do not have to carve the message into your flesh with my knife.”
Togi nodded briskly as the sweat poured off his brow.
“The next time Khadorans invade this valley,” Tmundo declared, “not only the blood of the invaders will be spilled, but the blood of the man who sent them will be spread across his own lands. The Sitari Valley belongs to the Kywara as it has always and how it shall always be. Repeat the message, now.”
Togi quivered as he repeated the message word for word. Tmundo swiftly drew his knife and Togi cringed as it flicked towards him. Waiting for the bite of the blade upon his flesh, Togi felt the restraining ropes fall from his body.
“We have prepared a wagon for your journey back home,” purred the Chula with the lion’s mane. “Even in death, we do not welcome Khadorans on our land. Take them back to your people.”
Togi glanced at the wagon piled high with dead Situ restrained by the rope made from the soldiers’ clothes. The wagon was designed to haul long logs and was the largest he had ever seen, yet the bodies piled on it would tumble over the sides without the rope holding them on. Eight horses were hitched to the wagon and Togi wondered whether they would be able to pull the weight.
Tmundo gave Togi a shove towards the wagon and the lumberman quickly made his way to the driver’s seat and urged the horses forward. Visibly shaking, Togi sighed as the eight large horses started to pull the wagon towards home. The Chula stood and watched the wagon as it slowly picked up momentum.
* * * *
Marak sat in the shade with his back placed against a lituk tree. He eased his sword and sheath over his head and placed it on the ground beside him. Next he removed his metal helmet and subconsciously adjusted his embroidered green and yellow headband. His gaze swept over the orchard and the workers who were harvesting the small, yellow lituks. These fruits were one of the mainstay products of the Situ Clan. Slave workers carried straw baskets and ladders and glumly picked the bitter fruits from their thorny branches. The orchard was quiet as the slaves went about their work wordlessly. Adjacent to the mature orchard was a barren field set to be cultivated this year. Out in the center of the barren field, Marak’s gaze halted on the frail figure of a woman kneeling in the dirt and waving her arms. The woman was covered in dirt, obscuring the only colorful portion of her outfit, the broad, embroidered Clan Belt in the green and yellow colors of the Situ Clan. The rest of her attire was simply a dirty, brown tunic that signified the woman’s low status as a slave of Lord Ridak, Lord of the Situ Clan.
The woman bowed her head to the ground and Marak could almost recite the words that were coming from her mouth. The slave was a soil mage and it was her job to prepare the soil for planting of the new orchard. Marak knew the spells by heart, but no one was aware of that fact. All four types of mages in Khadora were looked down upon as simple laborers. Soil mages tended the dirt when necessary for planting or to constrain erosion. Water mages ensured the proper amount of rainfall needed to nourish the crops, while air mages prevented damaging windstorms or dust storms. Sun mages ensured the appropriate sunlight to aid the crops towards a healthy harvest.
Magic in Khadora was simple and menial and many of the mages were slaves, like the dirty, frail woman in the barren field. Marak’s eyes welled with wetness as he watched the woman toil over the soil under the thankless watch of her overseer. The slaves in Khadora were not treated much better than the soil the woman worked over and Marak’s heart wept every time he sat and watched his mother work. Marak spent many days in the fields with his mother when he was younger and it was at her insistence that he hid the magical talent he possessed.
Marak dabbed at his eyes as he remembered his youth spent in the filthy, cramped slave quarters with his mother. The slave quarters consisted of run-down shacks unfit for habitation of even six people, but Lord Ridak filled each of the shacks with twenty slaves and refused to supply even the materials necessary to maintain the dilapidated structures. The fortunate slaves in shacks containing water mages were spared the discomfort of leaky roofs, but the others often slept on mud-soaked blankets. It was during his youth in the shacks that Marak discovered he had magical talent which, according to common belief, was only held by women. Not only did he have the capabilities of his mother, a soil mage, but he also was capable of performing the other three types of magic, as well. The slave women who tutored him as a child never knew he was capable of any magic other than what she, herself, taught him. They were surprised enough at a boy’s ability to learn any magic and each of them promised to keep the secret. Only Glenda, Marak’s mother, knew he possessed the skills of the four types of magic.
Once Marak had become of age, he was sent to the Army to help defend the clan. Slaves were not allowed to enter the Army, but Marak was not a slave, his mother was. His mother had become a slave by telling a lie to Lord Ridak, the most serious of offenses in Khadora. Anyone caught telling a lie in Khadora became the property of the person the lie was told to. If a lie was told publicly, anyone who heard the lie could claim the offender as his property. The offender could be taken for a slave or legally killed on the spot. In fact, a slave could be killed by his owner at any time with no legal repercussions. A slave was nothing more than a tool, to be used or discarded at the master’s pleasure.
As a child of a slave, Marak was treated as a slave until he came of age. At that time he was treated like any other laborer of the clan. Marak chose to try out for the Army because the living conditions were better than any other occupation, other than being in the Lord’s household. While the relative comfort of the barracks was a desirable goal in Khadora, Marak often punished himself for living so much better than his mother. As a soldier in Lord Ridak’s Army, Marak was not permitted to converse with slaves unless he was following orders; so, sitting in the orchard and watching his mother from afar was as close as Marak could get. He came and watched whenever he could steal the time from his duties and each time his heart wept with the unfairness of life in Khadora. Approaching footsteps alerted Marak before the other soldier spoke to him.
“I thought I would find you here, Marak,” greeted Tagoro as he eased his tall, lanky frame to the ground beside Marak. “You should not torture yourself so. In a few years when you get promoted to the rank of Cortain, you will be able to speak with her freely.”
Marak tossed his blond braid over his shoulder and turned to look at his friend. “It took me four years to make Squad Leader,” stated Marak. “It should take me another four to make Cortain, if I prove to be exceptional, and I have only been Squad Leader for two.”
“So, that is only two years away,” cheered Tagoro. “Most men never even make Squad Leader. You have proven yourself in battle and the talk around the barracks is that Lord Marshal Grefon is impressed with your squad’s efficiency.”
“The men of my squad perform well because I treat them well,” remarked Marak. “The praise belongs to them, not me. Look at her. Do you think she will last another two years waiting for me to get a promotion? I must find a way to help her.”
Tagoro smoothed his black hair away from his yellow and green headband and turned to look at Glenda. He frowned at the sight of Marak’s mother kneeling in the dirt. She was so covered with soil that it was hard to tell her hair was blond or her skin was fair. She was the same color as the ground from head to toe. Shaking his head he turned back to Marak.
“Marak,” he admonished, “if you disobey the rules, you will end up alongside her. To disobey your orders is the same as a lie. Will it help her any to have her son a slave as well as herself? We have all sworn the Vow of Service to Lord Ridak and he will not overlook any infraction of it.”
“Perhaps so,” Marak smiled as if enjoying a private joke, “but there are other ways of accomplishing one’s goal. If I were ordered to check on the slaves, I would have the chance I seek.”
“Cortain Koors knows you seek the opportunity,” scolded Tagoro. “He would never issue you such an order and he would intercept any such order coming down from higher up. He is not happy to have the son of a slave as one of his Squad Leaders.”
“Koors is a beady-eyed pig,” scowled Marak. “He treats his men like animals and wonders why they don’t respect him. I do not know how he ever made Cortain.”
“He made Cortain because he has served for over twenty years,” reminded Tagoro.
“That is twenty years too long,” declared Marak. “The man is not fit to lead other men. Koors has let it be known that he expects to be made Lectain this year. I would not know whether to laugh or cry if the Lord Marshal actually gave it to him.”
“Lord Marshal Grefon is not a fool,” cautioned Tagoro. “Koors has gone as high as he will ever go.”
Across the barren field, the overseer pushed Glenda into the dirt with his foot and started shouting. Marak grabbed his sword and leaped to his feet. Tagoro twisted around quickly and saw what had prompted Marak’s rise and immediately wrapped his arms around Marak’s legs, bringing him to the ground.
“Do not play the fool,” cautioned Tagoro. “It is well known that you come here to watch her and Koors may have precipitated the overseer’s actions.”
Marak eased slightly as he watched his mother get back up and return to work. The overseer was watching the orchard for a reaction instead of Glenda and Marak realized that Tagoro was probably right. Pushing himself from the ground, Marak rose and calmly positioned his sheath and placed his helmet under his arm.
“Let’s go back to the barracks before I get her killed,” snarled Marak. “Cortain Koors is not the only officer who feels that way about me. In fact, most of them resent a slave’s boy being allowed into the Army. It is okay to kill and die for them, as long as you do both quickly.”
Squad Leader Tagoro rose and followed Marak towards the barracks. The barracks were solidly built, stone buildings. Each one was rectangular in shape and housed two squads of soldiers and their Squad Leaders. Large holes were cut into the sides to allow light and cool breezes in. When not in use these windows were shuttered with wood panels, which were gaily painted with the symbol of the lituk tree and the clan colors. The soldiers slept in wooden bunks that lined the walls four high. Each bunk had a small shelf at the head and a wooden chest at the foot for personal belongings and in the higher bunks there was even a measure of privacy. The center of the barracks was communal and had long tables for meals. At the end opposite the entrance were the Squad Leader’s quarters. Each Squad Leader had a small room and an additional room was set aside as a communal room for eating and meetings. In some of the barracks, the officers’ communal room became the home to a Cortain. Fortunately for Marak, Cortain Koors chose to live in one of the other barracks, so the room became a place where Tagoro and he played Pimic, a game of war strategy which utilized small wooden pieces and a cloth that could be arranged to represent different types of terrain.
Shouting and hollering greeted the two Squad Leaders as they opened the door to the barracks. A cloud of bocco smoke drifted out the door and Marak inhaled the scent deeply. Bocco was fairly expensive in the Situ region, so most of the men only smoked occasionally and only when they were off duty. All heads turned towards the door as they entered and the shouting stopped. As soon as the door closed the clamor resumed and most of the men smiled or waved at the Squad Leaders. Tagoro was the only other Squad Leader who adopted Marak’s fashion of dealing with his men. In other barracks, the men would have quietly resumed talking and avoided the gaze of their Squad Leader, but the men in this barrack were allowed to behave as they wished inside the building. They were also willing to die for their Squad Leader.
Marak treated his men with respect and they returned that respect many times over. He also did not believe in ending a soldier’s training when the man was certified as having gained the necessary level of competence. Marak always chose the man best at a particular skill to continue training the rest of his squad and his men were eager to continue learning. Marak was also open to styles and techniques that were unconventional and scoffed at by the rest of the Army. As a result, Tagoro and Marak usually led their men away from the compound for training, further isolating the two squads from the rest of the troops. The only officer who seemed inclined to appreciate this was Lord Marshal Grefon, the highest officer in the Situ Army. Because of the successes these two squads had obtained, the Lord Marshal had been using them to guard caravans which carried expensive shipments. The caravans usually went to the nearest city, but on occasion they went as far as the capital city and these trips presented more opportunities to learn different styles of fighting and obtain unconventional weapons.
Merchants in the large cities often told tales of far away places and strange battles which most experienced fighting men laughed at. Marak, instead, listened intently, trying to pick out the fact from fiction. Some of these merchants even carried samples of the foreign weapons and Marak squandered his pay on obtaining samples of these weapons. Some turned out to be useless or worthless for the type of fighting in Khadora, but others, like the Omunga Star, turned out to be deadly weapons when used by an experienced hand.
Marak and Tagoro marched through the barrack and into their communal room. Each grabbed a chair and Marak quickly peeled off his clan wristbands and removed his boots. He untied his green scarf and opened the tie strings of his shirt. He chuckled as he peered at Tagoro and his friend threw him a questioning glance.
“What’s so funny?” Tagoro asked.
“You,” laughed Marak. “Actually, both of us. After six years in this Army, I still find these uniforms more a costume than a uniform. Light yellow pants and shirts with green boots and scarves. I hope if we ever have to fight in the forest, it will be in Autumn. The wide embroidered belt and headbands are okay, but I would love to toss the wristbands away forever. I can’t stand the way they pull at my shirt when I overextend my thrust. I wonder who designed these uniforms, anyway?”
“The uniforms are the same throughout the country,” remarked Tagoro. “Only the clan colors and clan symbol are different. Why can’t you ever accept things the way they are?”
“Maybe,” speculated Marak, “Khadorans accept too much, just because that is the way things have always been. I don’t like uniforms which hinder my movements and I certainly don’t like wearing one that makes me feel like I glow in the dark.”
“Battles are never fought in the dark,” laughed Tagoro, “and if your enemy is close enough to see the lituk tree on your belt or headband, he should be dead already. You worry about the strangest things. Let’s have a game of Pimic. Maybe today will be the day I whip your yellow pants off you.”
“Not today,” Marak said, shaking his head. “I need to find a way to talk with my mother. I can not continue seeing her treated the way she is. It is not right and I will not stand for it any longer.”
“That line of thinking will only bring you and her more hardships,” worried Tagoro. “How is it that your mother is a slave? You have never talked about it and if you are going to die soon because of your foolish notions, I would like to know.”
“I don’t plan on dying any time soon,” declared Marak. Pulling his headband off, Marak looked quizzically at his friend. “It is not really a secret,” he commented. “I just don’t like dwelling on it. Lord Ridak caught my mother in a lie and forced her into slavery.”
“But why would your mother ever lie?” questioned Tagoro.
“She lied to save my father’s life,” stated Marak. “She lived on one of Lord Ridak’s smaller estates. She did not have the estate Lord’s permission to marry when she bore me, but the Lord did not press the matter. My father was not from the estate and used to visit every week or so. Everyone on the estate knew it, but nobody said anything. Under Lord Ridak’s law, my father could be killed because the marriage was not sanctioned, but my mother’s service was good and the Lord was a kindly man, so nothing was said.”
“Something must have been said or she would not be a slave,” prompted Tagoro.
“When I was six,” Marak sighed, “Lord Ridak paid an unannounced visit to the estate. During his tour he noticed my mother and I and took an interest in her. He inquired where her husband was and she panicked. Lord Ridak had a reputation for invoking cruel justice even where it accomplished nothing, so she told him my father had died. Unfortunately, his interest was more than just passing and he posed the same question to the estate Lord, who told the truth. Lord Ridak immediately claimed her as a slave.”
“Did he kill your father, too?” asked Tagoro.
“No,” answered Marak. “He waited for the next scheduled visit of my father, but my father must have been warned off because he did not show. Instead, Lord Ridak had the estate Lord executed for not enforcing his law and returned here with my mother and me.”
The room lapsed into silence and eventually Marak rose and went to his own room.
Chapter 2
Meeting
Squad Leader Tagoro left the orchard where he thought he might find Squad Leader Marak and headed for the practice site that both squads used. Tagoro was excited with the news he had overheard and couldn’t wait to find his friend. He ran down the path towards the small bridge that crossed the Lituk Creek and hurried to the other side. It was a typical early spring day and the sweet aroma of lituk blossoms filled the air and the cold mountain water flowed swiftly down the creek. Once across the creek, Tagoro turned and sprinted through a small glade of sevemor trees, kicking sevemor cones as he ran. He slowed as he reached the clearing and saw Marak practicing his swordplay.
Marak’s saber lay on the ground alongside his sheath and helmet. In its place, Marak was practicing with a large two-edged sword he purchased from a merchant while guarding a caravan. Marak stepped through the paces of battling with an unseen opponent and Tagoro knew better than to interrupt. Instead, Tagoro quietly sat with his back to a sevemor tree and watched Marak practice. Marak gave a nod of recognition to Tagoro without missing a stroke of his battle as he slashed his sword back and forth, taking advantage of the double edges. Tagoro smiled as he watched. As many times as he had watched Marak practice, his friend always managed to invent new methods of destroying his unseen opponents.
As Tagoro watched, Marak delivered a death stroke to his imaginary foe, but instead of stopping, Marak moved hesitantly and turned in a circle. Tagoro had witnessed this routine before and knew that Marak now faced three unseen swordsmen. The Squad Leader continued to circle as if weighing which opponent would lead off the attack. In a sudden flurry of movement, Marak thrust his sword under his arm and pushed backward to skewer the man behind him. Before the movement actually registered with Tagoro, Marak had already swung his sword forward in a powerful upward slash to slice the imaginary man before him. As the sword sliced upward, Marak sank to one knee and pivoted, bringing the two-edged sword around in a sweeping arc designed to cut the legs out from under his third opponent. Tagoro applauded, but Marak was not finished yet. Marak drew a deep breath and began circling again.
“How many?” called Tagoro.
“Six,” replied Marak as he suddenly burst into action.
Tagoro shook his head but kept his eyes glued on his friend. Marak did not wait for the six men to get their attack coordinated, but charged straight ahead, holding his sword low. When he approached the edge of the clearing, Marak leaped towards his foe with his long, double-edged sword preceding him. The sword stuck in the tree, which Tagoro assumed was the foe, and Marak continued onward in a roll. Marak completed the roll and sprung to his feet while thrusting both hands out before him. Marak was already on his way to retrieve his sword when Tagoro heard the thuds on either side of himself. Tagoro looked in shock as he recognized the two Omunga Stars stuck in the trees on each side of him. Marak ran past the sevemor tree that held his blade, grabbing the hilt as he passed. Dancing to his right, he whipped the sword from behind him in an upward slash and followed through with a lateral slice across the unseen man’s midsection. Quickly, Marak started backpedaling from the remaining two assailants. Turning as if to make a run for it, Marak suddenly pivoted back to his foes and slashed out with a wicked figure eight and a stabbing thrust to remove the last two opponents.
Tagoro applauded wildly as Marak walked over and picked up a towel to dry his face. The warrior retrieved his two Omunga Stars and placed them in the pouch behind his broad belt.
“One thing does bother me with that approach,” chuckled Tagoro. “What if you weren’t able to retrieve your sword out of the man’s body in time? You were heading straight for the enemy without a weapon.”
Marak laughed and thrust his hands outward, flicking his wrists. Both hands immediately filled with throwing knives. “Not exactly defenseless,” chuckled Marak, “although I would much rather have my sword against the three opponents who were left. Besides, they all had swords and I’m sure I could get my hands on one of them. There were three of them who no longer needed theirs by then.”
Tagoro whistled and shook his head. “Remind me never to cut in front of you in the food line,” wisecracked Tagoro. “I have good news for you. I overheard Lord Marshal Grefon talking to Cortain Koors this morning. Lord Ridak’s estate Lords are arriving today, all five of them. He’s pulling Rybak’s squad from the fields as one of the squads to greet the visitors. One of our squads is supposed to replace them and the other will join his squad for the greeting.”
“Great!” exclaimed Marak. “This is the chance I have been waiting for. Finally, I‘ll have the right to talk to the slaves. You don’t mind doing the greeting, do you?”
“Mind?” queried Tagoro. “I can’t think of anything I would rather do. It is not often that a lowly Squad Leader gets to meet the six Lords of the Situ Clan and their Marshals. Being noticed is the fastest way to promotions in a Clan.”
“Wonderful,” remarked Marak. “Today we will both get what we desire the most. I better get back and get cleaned up.”
Marak gathered his gear and joined Tagoro on the walk back to the barracks. The estate was busy this morning as laborers and household staff ran around preparing for the guests. Every spring, Lord Ridak summoned his five estate Lords to Lituk Valley to report on matters of importance to the whole clan. Each of the five Lords would be accompanied by his Marshal and a contingent of forces to protect the Lord. Lord Ridak was not one of the most powerful Lords in Khadora, but his estates covered more territory than most as the Lituk Valley area was sparsely populated.
Marak rushed through the barracks and into his room where he could wash up and put on a clean uniform. As he emerged from his room into the communal officer’s area, he saw that Cortain Koors was waiting for him.
“Having a little trouble getting it together this morning, Squad Leader?” snapped Koors. “I have been looking for you for over half an hour and I didn’t appreciate finding you missing.”
“My apologies, Cortain,” offered Marak. “I felt the need for some early morning sword practice and have just returned.”
Koors turned and looked at Tagoro who was neatly attired and standing at attention. “I have special duties for your two squads for the next three days,” declared the Cortain. “Squad Leader Rybak’s squad is being moved out of the fields to serve as a greeting guard and his people need to be replaced.”
Marak tried to hide his smile as the Cortain stared at the two Squad Leaders. “Lord Marshal Grefon has given the honor of providing greeters this year to me, and two of my squads will be required. Tagoro, your squad will replace Rybak’s and manage the slaves. Marak, your men will form up with Rybak’s and perform greeting duties.”
“But . . . ,” protested Marak.
“But nothing,” snarled Cortain Koors. “I am in command of this Corte and I will decide which squads perform the duties we are required to provide. You will provide greeting services for the next three days, Marak, and if one of your little misfits gets out of line, you will be visiting the slave quarters on a permanent basis. Get your men ready to assemble.”
Cortain Koors spun and marched out of the barracks leaving the two Squad Leaders gaping. As soon as the door to the communal officer’s room had closed an Omunga Star flew through the air and lodged in the wood.
“You must control your temper,” admonished Tagoro. “He is purposely trying to goad you into a confrontation.”
“Perhaps,” mused Marak, “his elimination would be seen as a service to Lord Ridak. Every estate strives to rid itself of vermin.”
“This decision must have been hard for Koors,” suggested Tagoro. “He knows you desire to speak to your mother and, yet, it is an honor to be on the greeting squad. He had to give you one of the two and he would have preferred to give you neither.”
“I think Cortain Koors will have other difficult decisions ahead of him,” remarked Marak as he retrieved his Omunga Star and entered the main room of the barracks.
Both groups of men were already dressed in clean uniforms and were busy checking their attire for spots or tears that might embarrass the squad when the visitors arrived. Marak and Tagoro snapped orders to the men and they filed out of the barracks in two smooth columns. Rybak’s Squad was already assembled and was holding pikes in addition to their usual weapons.
“I will have my Squad handle the gate and road,” suggested Squad Leader Rybak when Marak appeared out of the barracks.
Marak simply nodded. Both squads would have the prestige of performing greeting duties, but Rybak’s men would get to stand down once the Lords had arrived. Marak’s Squad would be pressed into long hours of duty while the Lords met day and night during the next three days. The fact that Rybak’s men already had formed with pikes was not lost on Marak. Cortain Koors had made sure that his pet Squad Leader would have the easiest duty while still retaining the honor.
While Squad Leader Rybak’s men drifted off towards the main gate of the Situ estate, Marak ordered his men into a tight column and marched them towards the mansion. Lord Marshal Grefon, with the distinctive yellow and green plumes and gold trim on his helmet, stood on the porch by the front steps conversing with his two Lectains, whose helmets were adorned with only green plumes. Each Lectain commanded three Cortains who were each responsible for three or four squads. The officers watched Marak’s squad approach and stopped talking when Squad Leader Marak halted the column and saluted the Lord Marshal.
“Squad Leader Marak reporting as ordered, Lord Marshal,” recited Marak.
Lord Marshal Grefon’s face frowned as his eyes roved over the assembled squad. “I thought Squad Leader Tagoro was handling this detail,” stated Grefon.
“Squad Leader Tagoro has been assigned to duties in the fields, Lord Marshal,” Marak answered the unspoken question. “Squad Leader Rybak is handling the main gate and road.”
“Very well,” Grefon remarked. “Lord Ridak and myself will be personally greeting each Lord and Marshal as they arrive. You will assign one man to each Lord and one to each Marshal to act as liaisons. They will have their own aides, but your appointed men will be responsible for whatever they need during their stay. Two of your men will remain on guard outside the Meeting Chamber, day and night, and two will remain on guard inside the chamber. You will remain with me while I am in the chamber and supervise your men when I am not. Squad Leader Rybak’s men will take care of the mansion entrances after the last Lord arrives, but your men are responsible until then. Arrange the schedules of your men and make sure they know the penalty for failure in their duties.”
“As you command, Lord Marshal,” recited Marak.
Grefon returned to his conversation with the Lectains as Marak issued orders to his men. Security provisions were never this severe at previous meetings and Marak wondered if the Lord Marshal was expecting trouble. He smiled a bit as he realized that Rybak’s men would have to share in the duties, after all. He also wondered what orders were issued to Cortain Koors. The Lord Marshal expected Tagoro to be here instead of himself. By the time Marak finished issuing his orders, the Lord Marshal and his Lectains were gone from the porch. Marak led four of his men into the mansion which he had entered only once before and that was six years ago when Lord Marshal Grefon accepted his request to join the Army.
Marak marveled at the grandeur of the mansion as he led his men towards the meeting room. The floors were made of fine, polished marble and the high ceiling was painted in a grand scene of Lord Ridak strolling through a lituk orchard. Tall, marble columns supported the next floor and a wide, carpeted staircase wound its way to the second level after splitting into two separate staircases. In between the columns were pedestals with carved busts of men, only one of which Marak recognized as Lord Ridak. He assumed the others were the Lord’s Situ ancestors. On the far right wall of the massive entry foyer stood the large double doors to the Meeting Chamber. It was in this room that Grefon had accepted Marak’s petition. The two selected men immediately took up positions on either side of the doors and Marak led the remaining two men into the chamber.
The Meeting Chamber was completely done in dark wood. The floor consisted of smooth wooden panels and the ceiling sported large wooden beams that were carved in the same pattern as the large wooden columns that lined the walls. Between the columns, large tapestries, depicting battle scenes in which the yellow and green forces were conquering armies wearing different colors, hung on the wall. At the far end of the room was a massive marble fireplace and over it hung a portrait of Lord Ridak. The center of the room was filled with a huge wooden table whose dark wood was so finely polished that you could see your reflection well enough to shave. There were enough chairs around the table for Marak to seat his entire squad for dinner.
Marak posted the last two men beside the doors and returned to the entry foyer. Marak was halfway to the doors leading out to the front steps when an elderly woman with gray hair stepped in front of him.
“My, my,” she smiled as she looked up at him, “if it isn’t young Marak. Don’t you look decked out to impress the women?”
Marak looked down at the diminutive woman dressed in the traditional staff garb of a pale yellow tunic with the broad embroidered belt and an embroidered lituk tree inside a green circle on her left breast. His face broke into a wide grin as he recognized the Lord’s Minder. Flora had taken charge of Marak when he and his mother arrived at Lituk Valley. Marak was only six at the time and he was hysterical for days while his mother was dressed in slave browns and assigned to the slave shacks. Flora took it upon herself to soothe the small boy and she had been his only friend in those early days. Five or six years old was considered old enough to take the Vows of Service and everyone else treated him with scorn for acting so hysterical. Only Flora offered him comfort and Marak had not seen her in years.
“Flora!” exclaimed Marak. “You are as beautiful as ever.”
“So, you have the tongue to impress the ladies, as well,” blushed Flora. “You’ve turned into a mighty handsome man, young Marak, and a Squad Leader already. Oh, I’ve seen you occasionally through the windows, but to see you close up like this brings joy to my heart. Your mother must be proud.”
Marak’s face turned into a deep frown at the comment. “I would not know,” Marak replied bitterly. “I only see her from a distance. I would love to just talk with her and hold her hand.”
It was Flora’s turn to frown as she studied him. “I have never been one to contemplate disobedience,” Flora finally said, “but a young man should be able to visit with his mother, even if she is a slave. I suppose there are people who resent a slave’s boy being in the Army, but when you make Cortain you will be able to speak with her whenever you are off duty.”
“Should we both live that long,” remarked Marak. “I will speak with her soon. I must.”
“Marak,” cautioned Flora, “do not jeopardize your position for this. I am sure your mother is proud of you and it would kill her to know her son is also a slave. Bide your time, young warrior. Time changes many things, even people’s attitudes.”
Marak saw Lord Ridak and Lord Marshal Grefon heading for the front doors and nodded to Flora as he made his own way to the porch. Lord Ridak was a bull of a man, broad in the shoulders with thick arms and legs and a rusty brown mop of hair on his head. His floor length cape was similar to the Lord Marshal’s except for the length, half yellow and half green with a large embroidered lituk tree in a circle. Marak exited the mansion as two of his men held the doors open for the Lord and Lord Marshal.
The excitement on the porch was building as in the distance an approaching Lord and his escort could be seen. Lord Ridak strained to see which Lord had arrived first, but the distance was still too great. Marak’s men formed a corridor as stable hands, dressed in the green tunics that were standard Situ garb, gathered to take the arriving horses.
“Your cousin, Lord Wernik, and Marshal Cadam of Stony Brook,” announced Lord Marshal Grefon.
Lord Ridak smiled as the impressive column of soldiers wearing the green and yellow colors of the Situ Clan rode forward. Stony Brook was home to the mines and quarries of the Situ Clan and Lord Wernik was the oldest ruling Lord under Lord Ridak’s colors. Two squads of Stony Brook warriors rode on horses sporting blankets of green and yellow and showing the crest of the lituk tree. Holding their lances pointing skyward and gleaming in the morning light, the column of soldiers filled Lord Ridak with pride.
Lord Wernik showed gray hair under his headband and helmet, which was adorned with the green and yellow plumes. He grinned openly as he approached the front of the house. Marshal Cadam held a dark and foreboding glare as he glanced around at the placement of soldiers present. His black hair and goatee clashed with the gay yellow of his uniform. All Situ armies were dressed the same regardless of which estate they came from, except the Lord Marshal and Lord Ridak, who had gold trim signifying the head of the Situ Army and the head of the Situ Clan.
Lord Ridak and Lord Marshal Grefon greeted their counterparts and waited patiently as Squad Leader Marak introduced the assigned liaisons. As Lord Ridak led the visitors indoors, Marak led the Stony Brook soldiers to a waiting barracks and saw that they were settled in before returning to the porch. He arrived back just in time to repeat the procedure for Lord Zerik and Marshal Roak from Raven’s Point, the Situ estate located on the seacoast which specializes in seafood.
After an hour of idleness in which Marak talked with Squad Leaders from the other estates, Lord Caruko and Marshal Flutay from River’s Bend arrived. River’s Bend was downstream from Lituk Valley and supplied cloth and clothing from the herds of clova kept there. Any river shipments to the rest of the country also left from River’s Bend.
The aura of excitement subsided as the day wore on, until mid-afternoon when Lord Horkad and Marshal Simi arrived from Forest Deep, the estate which bred the Situ horses and wasooki. The contingent from Forest Deep included a wagon with six, large wasooki which Lord Horkad presented to Lord Ridak to feed the household while the meetings took place. Marak gazed at the strange, massive beasts and their long, red-haired coats. Unlike most estates, Forest Deep bred their wasooki for tenderness and taste, not for their ability to pull loads.
Lord Marshal Grefon kept Marak busy for the rest of the afternoon by continually requesting men to run errands or organize activities for the visiting soldiers. Just before sunset, Lord Lashendo and Marshal Garouk arrived with the contingent from Fardale, the estate furthest away, which produced grain and vegetables. Fardale was Lord Ridak’s newest estate and was his opening attempt at increasing his holdings into areas close to rival Lords. Unlike the four traditional Situ estates, Lord Ridak had claimed Fardale only four years earlier and most soldiers considered it the frontier.
Squad Leader Rybak’s men followed the Fardale contingent to the mansion and, after greetings were completed, dispersed to guard the perimeter of the mansion. Marak posted two of his men in the entry foyer and ordered the rest to get some sleep so they would be available to relieve the Meeting Chamber guards later. Marak followed Lord Marshal Grefon into the Meeting Chamber and stood behind his chair.
When Lord Ridak seated himself at the head of the table, the room fell quiet and the meeting officially began. The Lord of all Situ asked for the status of his holdings and, one by one, the Lords reported the condition of their estates. Most of the reports dealt with finances, markets, and population counts and Marak became engrossed with the dialog as he began to realize the full extent of Lord Ridak’s holdings. He already knew that the Situ were not a major clan in Khadora, but the impressive numbers presented at the meeting gave him an idea of how large the holdings were. The Estate Marshals reported on the strength of their armies and Marak was awestruck. He always believed that the real strength of the Situ was in Lituk Valley and that the remote estates had only token forces. The reality was much different. Each estate had its own army only slightly smaller than the one Lord Marshal Grefon commanded here.
The meeting broke for dinner and Lord Marshal Grefon pulled Marak aside. “Your men behaved admirably today, Squad Leader,” the Lord Marshal praised. “You will, of course, remind them that whatever is heard within these walls is not to be spoken of. Take this opportunity to check on your squad.”
Marak made the rounds of his men and reaffirmed the need for silence on the affairs of the Situ Clan. Marak and his men were fed separately by the household staff and Marak was waiting at the doors to the Meeting Chamber when the Lords and Marshals returned from their dinner. Everyone took their places and, once again, Lord Ridak convened the meeting.
It was during this second session that Marak got some idea of the need for the increased security. Lord Lashendo of Fardale was telling about his attempts to clear the Sitari Valley and the attacks of the Chula. His loss of men was considerable, but not devastating because of the size of his estate.
“The message was, My Lord,” Lord Lashendo stated, “that the next time we entered Sitari Valley, the Chula would not only kill all of our men, but would attack the estate, as well.”
“Marshal Garouk,” Lord Marshal Grefon interrupted, “have you made any further attempts to enter the valley?”
Marshal Garouk looked towards Lord Ridak before answering. “We have not, Lord Marshal,” he stated. “I think it is best if we beef up our estate defenses before we make another attempt. I have little doubt that the Chula will attempt to actually attack the estate and it will present the perfect opportunity to wipe them out, once and for all. After we lay the perfect trap at the Fardale estate we will send in a small expeditionary force to provoke them. Once the Chula are eliminated we can clear the Sitari Valley.”
“And you feel that you have sufficient forces to accomplish this task?” Lord Marshal Grefon questioned.
“Yes, Lord Marshal,” assured Marshal Garouk.
The Lord Marshal fixed Lord Ridak with a questioning gaze and the Situ Lord nodded. “We shall discuss your plans before the meeting days are over, Marshal Garouk,” Lord Ridak stated. “Lord Lashendo, please continue with your briefing.”
The reports from the far estates continued for several hours and the meeting was ended for the day. Marak made another check of his men and ordered the replacements to take their posts while those guarding the Meeting Chamber were given leave to sleep.
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