Young Lord of Khadora [Forgotten Legacy Book 1]

by Richard Tuttle

  "Even if I surrender to you,” Lord Zawbry stated defiantly, “you will not hold me for long. What do you hope to gain?” Lord Zawbry knew that the morning would bring Lord Sevrin's men streaming into Fardale and to die tonight would be a waste of his life.

  "We are running out of time,” scowled Lord Marak. “Issue your Vows of Service to me or I shall leave you here dead. It is your choice, but the decision must be made now."

  Lord Zawbry had barely finished giving his Vows of Service to Lord Marak when shouts erupted outside the tent. The entire camp was coming alive with shouts and frenzied replies. Lord Marak nodded to his team members and they all pulled their headbands over their eyes. Lord Marak did the same and the last thing he saw before the darkness was Lord Zawbry's pitiful smile. The Ragatha Lord obviously thought he was about to be rescued.

  Suddenly, the night sky burst into blinding brightness. Even through the opaque headband and the tent walls, Lord Marak winced at the brightness that enveloped the camp. Throughout the encampment men screamed and fell down as they were blinded by the blazing light. The flash was over in an instant, but Lord Marak's eyes still held the afterglow left by the incredibly brilliant light as he peeled off his headband.

  "What in the name of the Lords Council was that?” hollered Lord Zawbry.

  "That was the end of your campaign to destroy Fardale,” explained Lord Marak as his sight began returning to normal.

  Gunta stuck his head out of the tent and raised a hand signal to Lord Marak. The signal meant that the Fardale forces were streaming into the camp from all sides and taking the Ragatha soldiers captive. Lord Marak signaled Halman to take over guarding Lord Zawbry and then left the tent.

  Outside the tent, the camp was in utter chaos. Blinded men stumbled around screaming. Others crawled around looking for someone to help them. Lord Marak saw his men coming into the camp and with cool efficiency, rounding up the prisoners. Some of the Ragatha soldiers tried to fight without being able to see their enemy, but they were quickly subdued. Each Woodville soldier had his hands tied behind his back and was seated before one of the tents. Klora told him that the blindness would vary from man to man, but most of them would be blind for about an hour.

  Lord Marak walked around the camp until he found Marshal Tingo. Gently lifting the Ragatha Marshal to his feet, he led him back to Lord Zawbry's tent. Once inside the tent, he seated Marshal Tingo on one of the chairs.

  "Marshal Tingo is here, Lord Zawbry,” Lord Marak began. “You will instruct him to issue his Vows of Service to me."

  "You!” exclaimed Marshal Tingo. “I would know that voice anywhere. What kind of animal are you to blind men like this?"

  "I am truly sorry to subject your men to this,” stated Lord Marak, “but it would appear that their leaders were blind already. You did not even have a provocation for this attack. We have let all of your men go safely through Fardale. What kind of man are you that would attack a friendly neighbor?"

  "I follow the lead of my Clan Lord, like every decent Marshal must,” insisted Marshal Tingo.

  "Then follow his lead now,” ordered Lord Marak. “Lord Zawbry has given me his Vows of Service. It is your turn to do so."

  "Is this true, Lord Zawbry?” Marshal Tingo asked. “Have you given your Vows to Lord Marak?"

  Halman had to prod the Lord of Woodville to get him to respond. “I have,” he conceded. “Not that it will do him any good, though."

  "Nor will it do the rest of us any good, either,” frowned Marshal Tingo. “A blind army will be of no use to anyone. I would give you my Vows, Lord Marak, because they are due you, but I would rather die than face life without my sight. What I can give you is warning of an attack by Lord Sevrin in the morning."

  "Quiet, you fool!” exclaimed Lord Zawbry.

  "You call me a fool,” accused Marshal Tingo. “You swear allegiance to a man and do not tell him that he is to be attacked in the morning. Do your Vows mean nothing to you? Have you no honor at all?"

  "Your blindness is temporary, Marshal,” informed Lord Marak. “You will regain your sight in about an hour. As for Lord Zawbry having any honor, I think the answer is obvious. Woodville will need a new Lord in the morning."

  "Are you not listening?” cried Marshal Tingo. “Two thousand men are going to swarm into Fardale in the morning from the East. They will run over Fardale like it is a picnic basket and they are the ants. You and your men will be devoured."

  "That is something I will deal with in the morning,” declared Lord Marak. “I have known of your plan for some time and I am ready for Lord Sevrin and his Army. Are you ready to give me your Vows?"

  "You shall have my Vows and the Vows of my men,” affirmed Marshal Tingo, “but only when I can look you in the eye. I do not doubt your word, Lord Marak, but there is a chance that you are mistaken. If that is the case, I would prefer to die."

  "Fair enough,” accepted Lord Marak. “I will not expect your men to fight against the other Ragatha Clan Armies, but I must be assured that they will not hinder my attack. If there are men among your force who would give their Vows and not expect to honor them, like Lord Zawbry, you must identify them so they can be isolated from the rest."

  "They will honor their Vows,” insisted Marshal Tingo. “In fact, you would honor us if you would allow us to deliver justice to Lord Zawbry for his duplicity."

  "I will leave his fate in your hands,” agreed Lord Marak. “He is not fit to rule Woodville. I need to survey the camp. When your sight returns, come and find me so I may accept your Vows of Service. Do not delay because my time is short here."

  Lord Marak strode out of the tent to inspect his new Army. They would not see him observing them, but he knew Marshal Tingo was right. They would take their Vows and they would honor them. Only the Lords of Khadora seemed to think the Vows were breakable. That, too, would change. The Born Warrior would instruct the Lords.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 21

  The Pits

  The first lightening of the sky arose before Lord Marak as he galloped eastward toward the new battle lines. Off in the distance he could see the thick, billowing fog as it lay hugging the ground. He knew the fog was not natural, but the enemy didn't. Lord Sevrin would feel compelled to attack this morning even through the fog. If he failed to come to Lord Zawbry's aid, he stood a chance of losing Woodville. Lord Marak smiled slightly as he pondered what Lord Sevrin's reaction would be if he knew he had already lost Woodville. The last thing Lord Marak saw when he left the Woodville camp was Lord Zawbry hanging from a tree. Marshal Tingo and his men had less stomach for a liar than Lord Marak did himself.

  Lord Marak slowed as he approached his own soldiers. Lectain Zorkil was manning the communications in the Meeting Chamber this morning. Marshal Yenga wanted to be on the field for this battle. Lord Marak saw the tall figure and headed for him. The Marshal's aide pointed to Lord Marak and everyone's head swiveled. The aide took his horse as Lord Marak dismounted and walked over to Marshal Yenga.

  "Lord Zawbry's camp took longer than I cared for,” explained Lord Marak. “How are the preparations proceeding?"

  "Very well, so far,” answered Marshal Yenga. Their camp is up and moving around. They aren't trying to be quiet. I guess they think we are too busy at the Woodville border to be concerned about what happens out here."

  "Do you think we will be able to split them up?” inquired Lord Marak.

  "I certainly hope so,” remarked Marshal Yenga. “If we don't, there will be a tremendous amount of blood spilled today and a fair bit of it will be ours. Couldn't you pull one of your commando raids on them and avoid this battle?"

  "We have been through this before,” sighed Lord Marak. “I would love to do just that, but I would never get near Lord Sevrin. This is not the army of one estate, although it may be when we get done. Are the trenches holding up?"

  "They are,” confirmed Marshal Yenga. “I had them checked just a few moments ago. They feel as firm as the earth on either
side of them. Someday I want to know how that is done."

  "It's really pretty simple,” remarked Lord Marak. “The pressure of the air in the trenches is great enough to keep the turf from dropping. Once the pressure is released, the soil suspended over the trench will suddenly drop to the bottom."

  "I'll have to take your word for that,” replied Marshal Yenga while shaking his head. “We are still going to have a problem getting them to go the way we want them to."

  "That, Marshal Yenga, is your job,” frowned Lord Marak. “The more men you can lure into these traps, the less we will have to kill. I wish you the greatest success. Have you talked with the Litari and Sorgan Clans this morning?"

  "I have, and they are right where they are supposed to be,” nodded Marshal Yenga. “The Ragatha Army is not going to get around us. I just hope they don't go over our bodies."

  "If they do, you are fired,” chuckled Lord Marak. “Is there anything to eat around here?"

  The Marshal's aide nodded and hurried off to fetch some food for the Fardale Lord. Is there any way you can determine where Lord Sevrin is in that mess?” probed Lord Marak.

  "None,” lamented Marshal Yenga. “I have never met the man and wouldn't know his voice from anyone else's."

  * * * *

  Deep within the billowing fog, Lord Sevrin was holding council with his Lord Marshal, Orteka. “We can not wait for this infernal fog to lift,” reasoned Lord Sevrin. “Lord Zawbry was to have started his attack yesterday. If we fail to move forward and attack the rear of the Fardale forces, we will lose too many of our Woodville soldiers."

  "I understand the need to move forward,” retorted Lord Marshal Orteka, “but we can not see where we are going. Surely the fog will lift within an hour and that small amount of time will have no bearing on the outcome of the battle."

  "And if it doesn't lift on schedule?” queried Lord Sevrin. “Will you then request another hour? The battle is taking place quite a distance from here. I am just suggesting that we move forward slowly. Maybe we can get out of the fog and regroup."

  "Very well,” replied Lord Marshal Orteka. “I will lead the men forward myself. I don't want to get so close to the Fardale forces that we will be noticed before we regroup."

  "Do it whichever way you want,” agreed Lord Sevrin, “just get us out of this fog."

  "As you command, My Lord,” saluted Lord Marshal Orteka.

  Lord Marshal Orteka left the tent and strode over to the gathering of his Marshals. “Lord Sevrin has ordered us to proceed,” he stated. “Each of us is going to lead our own forces until we regroup outside the fog. I do not want anyone getting within sight of the Fardale Army. If this fog stretches all of the way to Woodville, we will avoid contact with the enemy until we regroup. Is that understood?"

  Lord Marshal Orteka waited until each of the Marshals indicated his acknowledgement of the orders before continuing. “We will break into four units for the move forward,” he continued. “Move slowly and carefully. I do not want to hear any shouts because a man has fallen and broken his leg. Remember that sound travels far in a fog such as this. The first group to find air clear of this fog is to stop and report back to me so the rest of us can head in that direction. Do remember that this is supposed to be a surprise attack."

  The Marshals nodded and headed toward their respective units. Lord Marshal Orteka shook his head as he related the plan to his Lectains and waited patiently while they informed their Cortains. Within five minutes the Ragatha Army was on the move, creeping forward at a cautious pace. Each footstep was carefully placed and each man tried to maintain a constant distance from his neighbor. Had the fog not existed, one would have been impressed with the line of advancing men that stretched across a broad front from one side of the valley to the other.

  Lord Marshal Orteka was not the type of officer who would ask his men to do something that he would not do, so he marched near the head of his troops. Only the forward scouts preceded him.

  The fog appeared to be endless and the march dragged on. Lord Marshal Orteka was grateful that the Situ from Lituk Valley were not going to be involved in this battle. If he had not received assurances of their neutrality, he would have been extremely nervous with his back exposed in the thick fog. With a sigh of relief, Lord Marshal Orteka quickened his step as the brightness increased before him. Knowing he would be out of this infernal fog brightened his spirits.

  Lord Marshal Orteka saw his forward scouts halt and he hurried to move toward them. As he stepped out of the fog he realized why his scouts had stopped. Arrayed before him was the entire Fardale Army with their shields reflecting the rising sun directly into his face. Lord Marshal Orteka glanced left and right to view the units of the other Marshals under his command. The fog appeared to cut off in a straight line and he saw the long line of troops extending from both his right and left sides.

  For a long moment, nobody moved. Not a sound was heard from the two massed Armies facing each other. Lord Marshal Orteka's plan of regrouping after the fog was hopeless but, still, he wielded a potent army and he had clear, numerical superiority over his enemy. Lord Marshal Orteka shouted as loud as he could. His command to charge echoed in the stillness of the valley as his men surged forward.

  Lord Marshal Orteka stood his ground as his men raced past him, raced into the dazzling blindness of the sun-reflecting shields. At first, Lord Marshal Orteka mistook the screams for the cries of clashing soldiers, but he soon noticed that the Fardale Army was just standing there and not fighting. He also recognized with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that his men were not reaching the Fardale enemy. They were simply disappearing.

  Lord Marshal Orteka shouted for his men to stop, but his shouts were drowned out by the mounting roar of men screaming their last breath. He finally succeeded in getting his surging troops to halt. He stopped those rushing past him and had them stop their neighbors until the rush ceased.

  The Fardale soldiers remained passive and held their reflecting shields securely. Lord Marshal Orteka slowly walked forward, pushing his way through the knot of Ragatha soldiers ahead of him. When he reached the front line of his troops, he stared in horror at the wide trench before him. Extending up from the base of the trench were sharpened sticks and the bodies of his Ragatha soldiers were impaled upon those sticks. He surveyed the moat of destruction with a mixture of disgust and fear. Looking to his right and his left, Lord Marshal Orteka saw that the trench extended to the limits of his sight. Far off to his left, he continued to hear the screams of soldiers falling into the trench and silently cursed the Marshal in charge of those men for allowing his men to continue forward.

  The voice Lord Marshal Orteka heard could have come from someone standing next to him. “This is Lord Marak of Fardale speaking,” the voice stated simply. “I demand the surrender of your forces. I have no wish to inflict more carnage upon your men. Surrender now and your men will be accepted into our fold."

  Lord Marshal Orteka straightened and peered into the opposing forces. A tall, muscular, black clad man stood defiantly on the other side of the trench staring back at him. Cocking his head, Lord Marshal Orteka wondered if the black specter was the origin of the voice. The man did not wear the green and yellow of the Situ Clan like the rest of the soldiers across from him. He watched the black nightmare across from him and saw his lips move as the voice continued.

  "Why subject your men to a needless death?” whispered the voice. “Woodville will not be coming to your aid. Lord Zawbry has already submitted and Woodville is mine. Throw down your weapons and surrender."

  Lord Marshal Orteka scowled at the enemy and shouted an order for his archers to kill the man in black. Scores of arrows arched into the air towards the enemy line. Lord Marshal Orteka watched with a wicked grin upon his face. If the black clad fool thought his army was defeated because there was a trench between him and his enemy, he was sadly mistaken. The Ragatha Army had some of the finest archers in Khadora.

  An expression of sho
ck and disbelief illuminated Lord Marshal Orteka's face as the arrows halted in the air and dropped into the trench. He ordered another volley and another, as the arrows continued to fall into the trench, piercing the bodies of the men who had the misfortune to lead the charge against the Fardale Army. It was not until the third volley failed to reach its target that Lord Marshal Orteka realized his hair was blowing in the stiff head wind. Cursing his luck, Lord Marshal Orteka ordered a retreat.

  Before Lord Marshal Orteka reached Lord Sevrin and his personal guards, he heard the Lord's shouting. If Lord Sevrin thought he was going to order his men forward across the trench, Lord Marshal Orteka would straighten him out. He was not going to throw away the lives of his men filling a trench for others to walk across.

  "There you are,” shouted Lord Sevrin. “What is going on? Why are your men retreating?"

  "We can not reach the enemy,” explained Lord Marshal Orteka. “They have dug a wide trench and filled it with sharpened sticks. Quite a few of my men discovered it too late. There is such a strong headwind that our arrows can not reach the enemy, either. We are better off retreating and regrouping before we attack."

  "We can not retreat,” declared Lord Sevrin. “Woodville is depending on us."

  "If Lord Marak can be believed,” continued Lord Marshal Orteka, “Woodville has already fallen. I can not verify it, but it looks like we are facing the entire Fardale Army. I don't think anyone would be so foolish as to amass his army out here against us if he knew he still had an enemy behind him."

  "How could that be possible?” questioned Lord Sevrin. “Lord Zawbry had instructions not to engage in an all out battle. He was only supposed to skirmish with Lord Marak."

  "It may be that this Lord Marak is more clever than Lord Zawbry thought,” posed Lord Marshal Orteka. “Certainly the trenches were an ingenious idea. I do not wish to underestimate my foe. We need to retreat and regroup to take the advantage away from Lord Marak."