Young Lord of Khadora (19 page)

“Yes, Lord Quavry,” saluted the new Marshal.

Yenga looked in disgust at his former Lectain and marched voluntarily to the slave compound. He had never liked Meltord nor did he approve of his being a Lectain, but Lord Quavry had demanded the promotion of his favored cousin. Yenga wished he had objected more strenuously at the time.

Meltord plucked Yenga’s helmet off his head as he shoved him into the slave compound. “I always knew you didn’t have the stomach for battle,” snarled Meltord. “Frightened off by a bunch of women and children.”

Yenga let the taunts fall on deaf ears. He had made his decision and he would make it again if need be. Yenga had fought in battles before Meltord was old enough to join the Army and he had never stooped to killing innocents to win his battles. He trained his men well and had a superb understanding of strategy and tactics. He had little doubt that his men could defeat Fardale outright without such disgusting ploys. After his anger was played out, Yenga began to weep for his men, as well as for the innocents they were about to kill. He knew his men could not make the decision he had just made, but he also knew that a lot of arrows would be wasted this morning. His men were excellent shots, . . . when they wanted to be.

Lord Quavry watched as Marshal Meltord formed his men back into columns. He still shook with anger towards Yenga as he watched the columns ride out towards the Situ border.

Marshal Meltord smiled gleefully as he issued orders to his men to fan out and form a line. The men were reacting slowly, but Meltord did not notice. He sat high on his horse and gazed out over the Situ field while his men moved forward. He grinned when he scanned the horizon and could not see a single Situ soldier. Marshal Meltord shouted the order to commence firing and the women and children in the field looked towards the woods with surprised faces.

The arrows flew in great masses of arcs and fell on the screaming innocents. Most of the arrows failed to hit a target and plummeted into the soil, but Marshal Meltord laughed giddily as the bodies fell to the ground. In seconds it was over and screams rent the air. The woods were silent except for the cackle of the Sorgan Marshal. He watched eagerly to see if any wounded tried to crawl to safety. One elderly woman sat up and stared at the mounted Sorgan in disbelief.

Marshal Meltord drew his sword and charged into the field to end the impudent woman’s staring. He drove his horse towards the woman and raised his sword high. With a shout of triumph he swung his sword clear through the woman’s neck. As her head rolled along the soil of the field, he heard another woman scream. He pivoted his horse and saw a younger woman on her knees with the body of a child before her. Marshal Meltord again raised his sword high and yelled as he charged the young woman.

As Marshal Meltord started his downward swing his mouth opened in shock and he tumbled from his horse. His body hit the ground and his lifeless eyes stared at the young woman. The woman rose and retrieved her pitchfork from the Sorgan’s chest. Her eyes opened wide in astonishment when she saw the three arrows protruding from the man’s back. She looked towards the forest and saw the retreating line of Sorgan soldiers heading back towards their own territory. The woman threw the pitchfork down and began the search for survivors.

Lord Marak and Fisher rode tigers back from the Kywara village and dismounted well away from the walls of Fardale. Quietly, the two black clad men walked towards the estate. Marak was the first to notice the lack of men upon the wall and he broke into a run. As he ran through the main gate he saw the large crowd assembled in the courtyard. He pushed his way through the crowd and came to a halt in the center, where the bodies of thirteen women and children were stretched out on the ground. He looked around quickly and spotted Lectain Zorkil approaching.

“Lord Marak,” greeted Lectain Zorkil, “we looked everywhere for you. The field on the border of Watula Valley was attacked by Sorgans earlier this morning. Thirteen are dead and twice that number are wounded. I posted a Corte at the border and gave instructions for the rest of the men to prepare for battle. What are your instructions?”

Lord Marak could smell revenge in the air over the courtyard and gazed at the faces of sadness and hatred surrounding him. An unprovoked attack was not usual in Khadora, but it was not without precedent, either. One thing was for sure, Lord Quavry would be ready for retaliation by the Situ.

“Recall the men from the border,” ordered Lord Marak. “I want everyone in Fardale inside the walls immediately with the exception of Tagoro’s Corte. I want Cortain Tagoro’s men to hide in the woods to the West. He is to remain hidden and avoid any confrontation until he sees a flaming arrow from the walls. If we send the signal, he will attack the forces outside the walls, trapping them between himself and us. After everyone is inside except Tagoro’s men, seal the estate. Nobody comes in or leaves without express permission from me. As soon as you have issued the orders, assemble the Council of Advisors in the Meeting Chamber.”

Marak dashed into the mansion and changed out of his blacksuit, wondering what had become of Fisher. The spy did not follow Marak through the main gate but Marak could use his advice right now. Lord Marak hurried to the Meeting Chamber and found it filled not only with Council Members, but others as well. This was one session in which Marak did not object to the others being present. He recognized that some of the extras were spouses or parents to those whose bodies lay in the courtyard. Marak walked to the head of the table and called for silence.

“I want an eyewitness to describe what happened this morning,” he ordered.

A dirty woman with blood on her tunic walked over to the table and stood facing Lord Marak. “I am Elsa and I was in the field when it was attacked,” she began. “We assembled early this morning to get some time in the field before our regular duties began. There was no warning of the attack until their leader yelled for the men to shoot their arrows. They were hidden in the woods along the edge of the field and they just started shooting arrows. There were so many arrows in the air that I didn’t know what to do. I saw a child who had been hit in the back with an arrow and hurried over to help her. It was all over very quickly and my only thought was in helping the poor child. I put my pitchfork down and was pulling the arrow out when I heard a horse and looked up.”

The room was silent as Elsa tried to compose herself. Seneschal Pito handed Elsa a handkerchief to dry her tears and after a moment she continued. “The Sorgan Marshal rode his horse onto the field and rode toward an old woman who was hysterical. She was kneeling in the dirt and screaming and he just rode up to her and . . . and he just sliced her head off. Just like that. She wasn’t doing anything but screaming. I must have screamed because he looked up and stared directly at me. The next thing I remember is the Marshal riding toward me with his sword held high. His face was twisted with rage and he was . . . he was laughing. He was actually laughing as he rode to kill me. I knew I couldn’t outrun him and I couldn’t leave the child there to be killed. I . . . I picked up my pitchfork and shoved it into his chest and he fell off his horse.”

Elsa’s voice was breaking and the Seneschal gave her a glass of water. There was not a whisper in the room as everyone waited for Elsa to continue. “When he fell, Elsa continued, “I saw three arrows protruding from his back. I looked towards the woods and saw that the Sorgan soldiers were leaving. No one came for his body and they didn’t appear to have any interest in firing more arrows, so I started to help the survivors. That’s all I remember of the attack, Lord Marak.”

“Thank you, Elsa,” Marak consoled. “I am sorry that I had to ask you to relive the attack, but I need to know what happened. Have you ever seen Sorgan soldiers around the field before?”

“No, Lord Marak,” Elsa sobbed. “Even when we tried to cultivate that field in prior years, there was no sign of Sorgans. The only time I remember seeing Sorgans before was when they came to talk with Lord Lashendo.”

Marak looked toward Lectain Zorkil. “Have you heard about any provocation toward the Sorgan, Lectain?” asked Marak.

“No, Lord Marak,” Zorkil replied. “All encounters with anyone outside Fardale are supposed to be reported and we have had no reports. I can not see how the Sorgans were provoked.”

“Have you detected any Litari troop movements?” queried Marak.

“None,” Lectain Zorkil answered.

“I doubt the Litari would be involved with this,” offered Bursar Tachora. “They do not get along well with the Sorgan.”

Marak whipped his head around to stare at the Bursar and noticed that Mogry, the Bursar’s assistant, was with him. Marak intended to replace Tachora with Kasa as Bursar this morning, but that was an item that could wait until this crisis was resolved. Or could it? Tachora surely knew that the Litari and the Sorgan were on speaking terms, at least.

“Lord Marak,” interjected Lectain Zorkil, “when shall we attack? I have the men prepared and I am sure it will be a vicious battle. Lord Quavry undoubtedly has his men ready for the attack. If we delay too long, we will run the risk of nightfall before the battle is over.”

“Who put the arrows in their Marshal’s back?” Marak asked without answering Zorkil’s question.

“They were Sorgan arrows, Lord Marak,” Zorkil replied. “The man shot was not Marshal Yenga, though. He was in the uniform of the Sorgan Marshal, but I have met Yenga before and the body was not his.”

“Pardon, Lord Marak,” interrupted Bursar Tachora, “but does it really matter whose arrows they were? The Sorgan have brutally attacked us and we must retaliate immediately. If we delay, they will see it as a sign of weakness and attack us.”

Murmurs of agreement resonated through the room with more than one voice vowing swift revenge for the lost Situ. The mood of the Meeting Chamber was ugly. Each person in attendance, from poor bloodstained Elsa to old Seneschal Pito, appeared ready to march on the enemy themselves.

The whole Sorgan attack smelled of a baiting to Marak. The strategy was similar to the one Marshal Garouk had planned for the Chula, force the enemy to attack and annihilate them when they struck back. Well, Lord Marak was not going to play by their ridiculous rules. If the Sorgan wanted war, they would get it, but on Marak’s terms, not Lord Quavry’s.

“There will be no attack today,” declared Lord Marak. “I want the body of their Marshal identified.”

Angry protests filled the room. None were so loud nor directed at Lord Marak to be offensive, but it was clear that the Situ of Fardale wanted revenge and they wanted it now. Marak had served with the Army long enough to recognize the actions of men who had performed their duty although they didn’t want to. It was clear to him where the three arrows had come from and he had no desire to kill men whose only crime was following orders which they had to.

Elsa dropped to her knees alongside Lord Marak and cried. “Please, Lord Marak,” she pleaded, “you must allow us to avenge our loved ones. I will gladly go with the soldiers to pay our revenge.”

Angry shouts echoed her plea, but Lord Marak knew that no one would break their Vows of Service to lead an Army into Watula Valley. He gently raised Elsa to her feet. “Your loved ones will be avenged,” Marak promised, “but it will be done the way I want and when I want.”

Tachora's voice carried easily over the angry murmuring. “It must be today, Lord Marak,” he insisted knowing the mediator from the Lords Council would arrive from the capital soon. “As Bursar, I must inform you that we will face financial ruin if we delay. Even as we speak, none of our fields are being tended.”

Lord Marak eased Elsa into his chair and turned to face Tachora. “As Bursar,” Marak said clearly, “you will advise me of nothing. You are no longer the Bursar for Fardale. Kasa is now our Bursar. I should also tell you that Khadora Grain Importers is bankrupt. You will never see payment for our grain because of a clause you failed to notice in your recent transaction with the Ksaly Company.”

Tachora turned white with shock as Marak’s words registered. Somehow Marak had found out about his little side business and turned the tables on him. Financially, Tachora was ruined unless he could depose Lord Marak. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Tachora stubbornly lied.

“Perhaps . . . ,” smiled Lord Marak as everyone in the room tried to figure out what was going on, “you can help identify the Sorgan Marshal’s body. Maybe it was somebody you saw yesterday when you were secretly meeting with Lord Quavry? Whatever plan you two have cooked up, I am not going to follow the script. The Situ are not going to launch a vengeance attack on the Sorgans.”

Tachora was visibly shaken and the angry crowd was beginning to look at him as if he were the perpetrator of the attack. He rose from his chair and stood behind his assistant. “If you will not attack Watula Valley,” sneered Tachora, “then I can at least ensure that they attack you, Lord Marak. You see, my assistant is Lord Quavry’s son and when it is learned that he was killed by the Situ, nothing will be able to stop the Sorgan Army from tearing Fardale apart.”

Marak gazed in horror as he saw the knife in Tachora’s hand dripping fresh blood on the floor. He looked at Tachora’s assistant and saw his head pressed against the tabletop as if he was sleeping. Without hesitation, Marak flipped one of his wrist knives across the room and into Tachora’s arm. Tachora howled in pain as he dropped his own knife. Before Tachora could react, two of Zorkil’s men took hold of him and removed Marak’s knife from his arm.

“Lock him up,” demanded Lord Marak, “and see that his arm is bandaged. I want him alive.”

“He’s dead,” announced Seneschal Pito as he checked Mogry for signs of life. “Tachora is right about the Sorgan reaction if Lord Quavry finds out about his son.”

“Is there anyone here who is anxious to run over to Watula Valley and tell him?” Marak snapped. “This meeting is over. Everyone leave and try to find some way of keeping busy for the rest of the day.”

Marak signaled for his four closest advisors to stay as the rest of the people filed out of the Meeting Chamber. Kasa, Zorkil, Klora, and Pito moved to chairs near Lord Marak.