Aakuta: the Dark Mage (27 page)

“How long any of us will serve here is open to debate,” Lord Marak said in a stern tone as Lord Mirakotto’s eyes were drawn to the knife. “It is a debate that I am not ready to join at the moment. Do not push me, Mirakotto. You will strain your old heart.”

A long tense moment of silence followed Lord Marak’s threat.

“Well,” Lord Quilo said lightheartedly as he pushed back his chair and rose. “This has been a most interesting meal, but I have business to attend to.”

“As do I,” Lord Kiamesh nodded gravely as he too rose.

Lord Mirakotto snarled and spun towards the door. He stormed out of the room, and Lord Quilo and Lord Kiamesh followed him.

“You should not push him,” Lord Garic said softly to Lord Marak. “Woton was a dear friend of his.”

“I do not attack others,” Lord Marak replied as his eyes glanced towards Lord Patel, “unless I am attacked, but I can be counted on to defend myself without remorse.”

A thin smile crossed Lord Patel’s lips as Lord Garic rose and left the room. “A wonderful start,” Lord Patel quipped. “Not even the first day and you have made a powerful enemy. I would watch that one if I were you. Lord Mirakotto has been known to strike when it is least expected.”

“That is a sound strategy,” Lord Marak smiled in return as he rang the bell for a servant so that he could order his meal.

“There is no need to hurry your meal,” Lord Patel offered. “This afternoon’s meeting of the Assembly of Lords will be dry and uninteresting. It will be mostly closing comments. Unless of course you are eager to wallow in the ingratiating compliments that will be showered upon you.”

“That is not something that concerns me,” Lord Marak shook his head. “I am not interested in such things. Why only closing comments? There is another day of meetings scheduled.”

“Not any more,” Lord Patel replied. “The Emperor is declaring tomorrow a day of mourning for Lord Woton. The Assembly of Lords will be shortened.”

“Will the Lords’ Council meet?” questioned Lord Marak. “Or is everyone returning home?”

“There is no pressing business before the Lords’ Council,” answered Lord Patel. “I am not sure what the others are doing, but I am going home today. What are your plans, Lord Marak?”

Lord Marak could not help but smile as he pictured Lord Patel rushing home to organize an ambush of Lord Marak’s party returning to Fardale.

“I will linger in Khadoratung for a few days,” replied Lord Marak. “I need to find a residence in the city now that much of my time will be spent here. Perhaps I will return to Fardale the beginning of next week.”

“Well,” Lord Patel smiled innocently as he rose to leave, “I hope you have a safe journey home.”

Lord Patel left as the servant appeared to take Lord Marak’s order. After listening to the meal choices, Lord Marak decided to forego the midday meal. He finished his tea and left the dining room. Chard was waiting for him in the corridor.

“That was a short meal,” commented Chard.

“Indeed it was,” nodded Lord Marak. “It was not as comfortable as a family reunion.”

“I can imagine,” chuckled the Imperial soldier. “I watched Lord Mirakotto storm out of there. He was not a happy man.”

“Lord Mirakotto has problems with controlling his anger,” shrugged Lord Marak. “I wish to return to my quarters.”

Chard nodded and led the way downstairs. When they reached the Torak quarters, Lord Marak released Chard to go and eat. Lord Marak entered the quarters and the room exploded in congratulations.

“What a day!” grinned Botal. “It is hard to believe that the Torak clan has a seat on the Lords’ Council.”

“Indeed,” smiled Lord Marak. “I had hoped one day to get one of my clans on the Lords’ Council, but I never expected it to be me. Now we must make use of it. Latril, join me in the garden.”

Latril nodded and they left the quarters and went to the garden. They sat on a bench and appeared to be talking to each other while Latril wove an air tunnel to Fardale.

“You could be doing this yourself,” Latril pointed out. “Why do you need me?”

“I would look rather suspicious speaking to myself,” chuckled Lord Marak. “Besides, my abilities are not known yet. I prefer it to remain that way.”

Latril nodded as she completed the link. Lord Marshal Yenga immediately congratulated Lord Marak on his rise to the Lords’ Council.

“How did you know?” asked Lord Marak.

“Mistake contacted us,” explained Yenga. “It seems the word is all over Khadoratung already. Will you want a larger escort for the trip home? I imagine that your enemies will be more determined than ever to kill you now.”

“Actually,” frowned Lord Marak, “I will be buying a home in Khadoratung. Ask Kasa to arrange our finances and I will contact her when I find out the price. As for the escort, I will have more than enough. How are our troops doing in Deep Bend?”

“Everything there is quiet,” answered Lord Marshal Yenga. “There have been no reinforcements sent from the Imperial Valley. We can take the estate will little effort.”

“Order it,” decided Lord Marak. “I want it taken with a minimum of bloodshed, but it must be in our hands two days from now. Let no word escape that we have taken it.”

“This is a large risk,” warned Yenga. “I would not be fulfilling my duty as your Lord Marshal if I did not warn you that attacking a member of the Lords’ Council is asking for war.”

“You have fulfilled your duty,” Lord Marak noted. “Before midday, two days from now, I want you to release one of the special birds at the Sorgan estate. The message is simple. Let Lord Patel know that we have seized his estate at Deep Bend, and it is now a Torak estate. I want the bird to arrive in the Imperial Valley close to midday. Can you do that?”

“It will be as you command,” Lord Marshal Yenga replied with obvious concern in his voice. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I hope so as well,” conceded Lord Marak as he wove his own air tunnel to the two cortes he had stationed outside the city of Khadoratung. “I will contact you as soon as my plans are solidified.”

Lord Marak indicated that Latril should drop her air tunnel as he made contact with the air mage attached to Cortain Tagoro’s corte.

“Lord Marak?” asked Cortain Tagoro. “Are you ready to leave the city?”

“Not yet,” answered Lord Marak, “but you are. I want your men to move out tonight. We have two days to accomplish our goal so plan accordingly. Secrecy is most important. I will meet you there two days from tonight. Scout it out for a bloodless entry.”

“You may count on it,” assured Tagoro. “Will Botal’s squad be enough to protect you?”

“It will have to do,” answered Lord Marak. “Lord Patel does not expect me to be leaving Khadoratung until next week so I think I will be fine.”

“He is probably not your only enemy,” warned Cortain Tagoro. “Others will watch you closely.”

“More than you know,” agreed Lord Marak. “I have been elected to the Lords’ Council. I imagine that the number of lords out to get me has grown tremendously today.”

“Lords’ Council?” echoed Tagoro. ”That is fantastic news. The men will be thrilled to learn of this.”

“Just make sure that they do not celebrate noisily,” warned Lord Marak as he saw Chard approaching. “Loss of secrecy at this point would cost a lot of lives. I have to go.”

Lord Marak dropped his air tunnel as Chard approached.

“I appreciated the meal break,” stated Chard, “but I thought you would stay in your quarters. I would be punished if you were found alone.”

“I am sorry, Chard,” smiled Lord Marak, “but Latril and I needed to talk. I will not jeopardize your position again. It was thoughtless of me.”

“It turned out all right,” shrugged Chard. “Where to now?”

“I need to speak with the Lords’ Council mediator, Katzu,” declared Lord Marak.

“Mistake!” called a voice in the marketplace of Khadoratung.

The small Fakaran twirled around, her eyes searching the hundreds of faces around her. Eventually, her eyes rested on the old man wearing the white and blue colors of the Pikata clan. The man was hurrying towards her. A cold shiver ran down Mistake’s spine as she remembered her short period of slavery at the Pikata estate.

“It is you!” he smiled. “How are you? Is Rejji with you?”

“Bursar Wicado,” Mistake greeted coldly. “Rejji is back in Fakara.”

“Fakara?” the bursar echoed happily. “I am so glad to hear that.”

“Are you?” countered Mistake. “Why would you be happy if Khadora had one less slave?”

An old man dressed in the brown and yellow of the Kamaril clan passed between the bursar and Mistake. He stepped up to a stall and proceeded to inspect the merchant’s merchandise. The merchant noticed the Kamaril pin on the man that denoted a member of the lord’s family. He smiled in anticipation of a profitable sale.

“You misunderstand me,” frowned Bursar Wicado. “I never wanted anything but the best for Rejji. And you and Bakhai,” he added. “It was not I who enslaved you. I did my best to treat Rejji well and teach him what I knew. I also arranged for the three of you to stay together. Please do not burden me with your hatred of slavery.”

Mistake’s scowl slowly faded as she realized that the bursar had been kind to them. “I am sorry,” apologized Mistake. “You bring back memories that are best forgotten.”

“Does that mean that Rejji was successful in gaining your freedom?” asked the bursar. “Or did he run away and make it home to Fakara?”

“We did not run away,” answered Mistake. “All three of us are free people now. We work for the future of Fakara.”

“The future of Fakara?” questioned Wicado. “That is high sounding, but I fear that Fakara has little future.”

“Sure it does,” scowled Mistake. “How can you say such a thing? Rejji has united the free tribes and built a grand city. For the first time in a long time, Fakara’s future is bright.”

“Rejji united the free tribes?” Wicado said with shock evident upon his face. “I had heard that there were great battles in Fakara, and that some man had brought the tribes together, but I never imagined Rejji as a warrior.”

“He is much more than a warrior,” asserted Mistake. “He is more like a king. The people of Fakara worship him. He is building two more cities right now. Pretty soon, Fakara will be the equal of Khadora. You will be famous in Khadora for having known him in the early days.”

“I am happy to hear your tales, Mistake,” frowned the bursar, “but I cannot help but sense a little exaggeration in your tale. Fakara will never amount to anything without food for its people. The Fakarans are starving.”

“They are not,” Mistake retorted adamantly. “Rejji has supplied food for everyone.”

“Then why are the Fakarans fleeing?” shrugged the bursar. “I am sorry, Mistake, but it will take more than wishful thinking to restore Fakara.”

“Fleeing?” Mistake asked skeptically. “What do you mean fleeing?”

“Thousands of them have come to the Pikata estate in the last month,” declared Wicado. “They seem eager to fight just to earn the food they eat.”

“Thousands?” echoed Mistake as she tried to imagine Fakarans streaming across the border. “What color scarves do they wear?”

“Red,” answered the bursar, “as all Fakarans do.”

“Not all,” frowned Mistake. “Red is the color of the Jiadin. They are not Rejji’s people. In fact, they are the enemies of the free tribes. Rejji’s forces destroyed the leadership of the Jiadin and sent the remnants fleeing for their lives. Why are they coming to Khadora?”

“I am not sure,” admitted Wicado. “They started coming in droves the day after Marshal Ulmreto died. I am still confused about that day’s events. Lord Damirath has never been the same since.”

“I don’t understand,” Mistake said. “Why does your lord allow them to come?”

“I don’t understand it either,” confessed Wicado. “We have more warriors than we can ever possibly use, and yet they keep coming. Worse, Lord Damirath has given free reign over them to a Fakaran! It is not right. Brakas runs around like he is the marshal, and the man is not even Khadoran.”

“Brakas?” echoed Mistake as her body twitched. “How did Brakas get into this?”

“You know him?” inquired Bursar Wicado.

“I do,” nodded Mistake, “but I do not like him.”

“Nor do I,” Wicado admitted softly.

“Why is he in Khadora?” inquired Mistake.

“He appears to be a friend of Lord Damirath’s,” shrugged the bursar, “but I cannot understand why. I am sure they never met before the day that he and Zygor arrived. How can one become a friend of a lord in only an hour?”

“Zygor is at the Pikata estate as well as Brakas?” asked Mistake as an ill feeling began to worm its way into her body.

“Well Zygor and Brakas did come together on the first day,” replied the bursar. “That was the day that the marshal died. I never saw Zygor leave, and I have not seen him since, but that is when all of this began. I do not know what to make of it.”

“You had best be careful, Bursar Wicado,” warned Mistake. “Those are people that will kill you if they feel like it. Never mention my name or Rejji’s to them. They will mark you for death.”

“They know Rejji?” asked the bursar.

“Oh yes,” nodded Mistake. “I told you that Rejji united the free tribes and destroyed the Jiadin. I was not exaggerating. Rejji is the ruler of Fakara. Brakas and Zygor were both working for Grulak. They would do anything to strike back at Rejji or anyone who knows him. Your life would be in danger.”

“I knew he was a bright lad,” mentioned Wicado, “but I never imagined what he would become. If you see him again, tell him how happy I am for him.”

“I will,” promised Mistake as she turned and left.

The Kamaril family member who had been examining the wares at the nearby stall abruptly put down the merchandise he was holding and walked swiftly away.

* * *

Lord Marak stood at the rear of the Assembly Chamber following the closing statements of the Assembly of Lords. Lords gathered around him to hear his words of wisdom concerning slavery, but none of them seemed eager to be the first to abandon their slaves. Finally, Lord Marak realized that it would take more than a discount and his ascension to the Lords’ Council to start his reforms. He excused himself from the group and returned to his quarters.