The squad leader turned to him and asked, ”Have you ever seen anything like this before? The bushes are torn from their roots and discarded as if some great beast raged up the hill.”
“It would have to have been a creature much larger than any I know,” mused the nervous soldier as he gazed at the destruction. “Fortunately, this is not part of the Aritor estate. Let’s not worry about it and return home.”
“It may not be part of our estate,” agreed the squad leader, “but I think we should investigate it anyway. I cannot fathom a creature so large as to cause this type of destruction just to climb a mountain. Have the men rest. I am going to follow the path to see where it leads.”
“I advise against that,” warned the soldier. “We chose this path through the mountains to save time returning home, but what happens here is none of our concern. We should just return to our estate.”
“Where is your sense of adventure?” chuckled the squad leader. “Imagine the great feast we could have if we capture this beast.”
“If there is any chance of even coming close to that beast,” the soldier said nervously, “I think the whole squad should accompany you. Even small trees have been cast aside by whatever caused this. That is no beast that I would want to face alone.”
The squad leader examined the destruction again and slowly nodded. “You are correct,” he conceded. “It not only tore trees from its path, but it did so while climbing this steep slope. It must be extremely powerful. Have the men join me.”
The squad leader led his band of blue and green soldiers up the steep incline. His eyes panned left and right as he wondered what had blown such a path through the rugged mountainside. Subconsciously he became aware of the whistling wind, but his conscious mind blocked it out as he pondered the force used to blaze the trail. His eyes rose upward and just managed to glimpse the figure of a large man draped entirely in black. The large black specter had his hands raised high, and suddenly the force of wind tore at the squad leader and his troops. The wind was greater than the mightiest of storms, and the squad leader felt his body being thrown from the mountain.
The Aritor troops were blown from the mountain like leaves from a tree in autumn. Their bodies lay crumpled upon the narrow trail they had ridden upon. The horses were spooked and tried to pull free from their tether lines.
The squad leader shook his head and rose warily. His body ached all over from the tumbling fall off the steep slope. His eyes darted up the path of destruction, but the specter was nowhere to be seen. The squad leader looked down and surveyed his men.
“Is everyone all right?” he asked loudly.
“What was that?” questioned one of the soldiers. “What happened?”
The squad leader ignored the question. He did not have an answer for it. Instead, he personally checked each of his men for injuries. One of the soldiers remained immobile on the narrow trail. The man was unconscious, and his legs were bent at impossible angles.
“Help me with this man,” shouted the squad leader.
The other soldiers all crowded around, but none of them had any training in healing. The wounded soldier awoke, and blood flowed from his mouth as he tried to speak.
“He is dying,” frowned a soldier. “We will never get him back to the estate alive.”
The squad leader nodded sadly and stood up. “You,” he said pointing to one of the soldiers, “ride on and get a healer. Bring him back here quickly.”
The chosen soldier nodded and ran for his horse. He galloped down the narrow trail and disappeared.
“He will never return with the healer in time,” another soldier said softly. “I have seen battle wounds that were not as serious as this. He will not live more than an hour.”
“I know,” the squad leader said with remorse in his voice. “Still, I cannot stand by and do nothing.”
Even as he spoke the words, his mind drifted back to the black specter upon the mountain. He was sure that none of the other men had seen what he had seen. They surely would have mentioned it. The squad leader wondered who or what it was. It had looked like a man, a man dressed entirely in black, including a hood that covered his face. He thought about the wind that blew them off the mountain and then the force used to blaze the trail of destruction.
“Has anyone ever heard of a male mage?” the squad leader asked his troops.
All of the men shook their heads, and the squad leader turned and wandered back to the base of the steep incline. He stood there gazing upward as he tried desperately to piece together parts of the puzzle. He finally realized that the only possible way to save his man was to believe that male mages existed. He gritted his teeth and started climbing the blazed path up the mountainside.
His men did not try to follow him, nor did they call out to attempt to stop him. They were afraid that they would be ordered to follow him. The squad leader climbed slowly, his eyes always raised towards the top of the path.
He was over half way up the path when the black specter again revealed itself. The dark man’s hands rose over his head, and the squad leader shouted.
“Stop!” yelled the squad leader. “I mean you no harm. I seek your help. Hear my plea.”
“I have no help for you,” bellowed a low voice. “You trespass upon my lands. Begone!”
“We mean no trespass,” shouted the squad leader. “I apologize for any transgression, but your wind has injured one of my men. I am hoping that you have powers that will heal him.”
“Go away!” snarled the dark mage. “Take your wounded and leave me.”
“I would if I could,” confessed the squad leader. “You have injured him beyond what we can repair.”
“Leave him and begone,” insisted the dark mage.
“I cannot do that,” argued the squad leader. “Look, we mean you no ill, and we will depart and never return if only you will see if you can heal him.”
“More likely,” grumbled the mage, “you will spread word to others so that they will come and bother me.”
“The opposite is true,” warned the squad leader. “If my man dies, all of Khadora will know of the mysterious mage that lives here. Adventurers from all over the country will come to test their skills against you.”
“Your own tongue seals your death, fool,” bellowed the dark mage. “Now I cannot allow any of you to live.”
The squad leader started shaking as he realized that he might have pushed the mage too far. There was little doubt in the squad leader’s mind that the mage had the power to deliver on his promise.
“I do not doubt your abilities,” the squad leader shouted as he tried to stop his voice from quaking, “but there is a better solution for all of us. Even if you kill all of my men, I have already sent one back to my estate. All of our deaths will be even more spectacular to those adventurers. Heal my man, and I will leave and forget my way back here. That is my promise to you.”
There was no reply for a very long time. The squad leader used the delay to calm his trembling nerves. When the voice came, the squad leader jumped from the closeness of its proximity.
“Go back down the slope,” the dark mage ordered in a calm voice. “Tell your men to return to your home. You alone will remain to take your wounded back. Do it now before I change my mind.”
The squad leader looked up and could not see the specter upon the ridge. The voice had sounded closer as well. With a sharp intake of breath, the squad leader rose and ran down the steep slope. His men waited anxiously, and he instructed them to depart for home. The squad leader had expected scores of questions, but there was not a single one. The soldiers silently mounted and rode down the narrow trail.
The squad leader stopped next to the wounded man. His breathing was shallow and bubbles of blood formed on the dying man’s lips. The squad leader was unaware of movement until the dark mage knelt alongside him.
“Sit on the road and hold his head in your lap,” instructed the dark mage.
The squad leader instantly obeyed as he tri
ed to peer at the face under the black hood. The mage’s face was hidden in the darkness of the hood, and the squad leader could not see it.
“What are you called?” the squad leader asked as the mage inspected the wounded man.
“I am not called at all,” answered the mage. “My name is Aakuta, but I have no need for it. In case you have not been able to decipher my pleas, I wish to be left alone. I will hold you to your word. If you mention my location to anyone, I will search you out and destroy you.”
“My word is my life,” vowed the squad leader. “I shall never give directions to this place, and I shall never return. Can you save his life?”
Aakuta ignored the question as he ran his hands along both of the man’s legs. He straightened the legs with a popping sound and then turned his attention to the man’s stomach. For several long moments, the squad leader watched the mage run his hands over the wounded man’s torso. The mage alternately grunted and sighed as he worked, and the squad leader had no idea if he was actually doing anything.
Suddenly, Aakuta rose. “Your man will be fine,” he declared. “He will awaken in a few moments. Help him onto his horse and leave this place. Do not return.”
The squad leader nodded solemnly and looked down at his wounded man. When he looked up again, the mage was gone.
* * *
The two riders were halted at the front of the Pikata mansion. The Pikata soldiers were well trained and surrounded the foreign riders without appearing offensive. The squad leader looked expectantly at the riders.
“We have come to speak with Lord Damirath,” announced one of the riders. “I am called Brakas and my traveling companion is Zygor. Please announce us.”
One of the Pikata soldiers ran up the steps of the mansion and disappeared inside. The squad leader asked the riders to dismount and had their horses taken to the stables. While Brakas and Zygor waited, Bursar Wicado approached the mansion from the stables. He looked questioningly at the two men before entering the mansion. A few moments later, Marshal Ulmreto came out of the mansion. He approached the two foreigners.
“I am Marshal Ulmreto,” he stated. What is your business with Lord Damirath?”
“We have a business proposition for him,” replied Brakas.
“Then you should be speaking to Bursar Wicado,” the marshal stated as he turned to escort the two men into the mansion. “I saw him enter a few moments ago. I will take you to him.”
“This proposition is not for the bursar,” interrupted Zygor. “We are not traveling merchants seeking a contract for goods. This matter must be heard by Lord Damirath only.”
Marshal Ulmreto stopped and turned to face the two men again. “Lord Damirath is a very busy man,” objected the marshal, “and you are unknown to us. You will deal with the bursar.”
“The security of the Pikata clan is at stake,” insisted Zygor. “We will speak with Lord Damirath or not at all.”
Zygor looked around as if in search of his horse. Marshal Ulmreto hesitated as he observed the foreigners. Finally he sighed and nodded.
“You will leave all weapons here,” declared the marshal as his men stepped forward to search for hidden weapons.
Brakas and Zygor allowed the Pikata soldiers to remove their weapons. Zygor snickered in contempt as the soldiers performed their duty. When the search was complete, Marshal Ulmreto escorted the two foreigners into the meetings room.
“Wait here,” he ordered. “I will return with Lord Damirath in a few moments.”
When the marshal had left the room, Brakas began to speak, but Zygor held up his hand for silence. A few minutes later the marshal returned with Lord Damirath and two soldiers. The soldiers took up positions on each side of the doorway.
“I understand you have information regarding the safety of the Pikata estate,” greeted Lord Damirath. “What is it?”
Brakas turned and looked at the two soldiers standing by the door. He shook his head slowly and turned to face the Pikata lord.
“I understand the need for your marshal to be present,” Brakas stated, “but common soldiers are unacceptable. It is dangerous for us to even talk about this information with you, but we are willing to take that risk. We will not speak in front of mere soldiers, though.”
Lord Damirath frowned and was about to order the two foreigners thrown from the estate, but fear of treachery from his neighbors stopped him. He scowled as he nodded to Marshal Ulmreto. The marshal ordered the two soldiers to take up their posts outside the meeting room.
“This had better be important,” grumbled Lord Damirath. “I do not care much for your methods. Now, what is so important that it requires my immediate attention?”
“Your estate lies close to the Fakaran border,” Brakas said as he approached the wall map behind Lord Damirath. “I am from Fakara, and I have information about what is going on there that will affect your estate.”
Lord Damirath turned to look at the map while Marshal Ulmreto kept his distance so that he could watch both foreigners.
“What is happening in Fakara?” asked Lord Damirath. “I heard that Grulak had been killed and the Jiadin scattered throughout the land. I have heard nothing of danger to Khadora since that time.”
“What you have heard is true,” replied Zygor as he approached the map and stood behind Lord Damirath. “What you have not heard is the resurgence of the Jiadin under new leadership. Tell him Brakas.”
Brakas started pointing to areas on the map. “Here, here, and here,” Brakas began. “Those are recruitments camps for the new Jiadin. We have just come from one of those areas. We learned that the Jiadin are selling their services to Khadoran lords.”
“Khadoran lords?” asked Marshal Ulmreto as he was drawn to the map. “Which lords and how many men?”
“Three clans have already been identified,” Brakas continued. “The Vessi, Glamaraldi, and Lejune each have been allotted five thousand Jiadin warriors. These men have already moved into Khadora and are wearing the uniforms of their host clans.”
“Fifteen thousand men?” the marshal said with a sharp intake of breath. “This will cause havoc among the clans. Show me the location of the camps again.”
As the marshal stepped forward, Zygor’s hand shot out and clamped onto Ulmreto’s shoulder. The marshal halted awkwardly, his face a grimace of pain as Brakas continued pointing to the map for the lord’s benefit. The lord was engrossed in following the foreigner’s finger across the map. He did not notice the marshal was not talking until he heard the thump of a body hitting the floor. Lord Damirath turned quickly and stared at Marshal Ulmreto’s body.
“I think it is his heart,” Brakas said quickly as he knelt alongside the marshal’s body. “He is dead.”
Lord Damirath’s mouth opened to call for help, but Zygor moved swiftly. Both of Zygor’s hands gripped Lord Damirath’s neck. Brakas rose swiftly and shoved a piece of cloth into the lord’s mouth. Damirath’s eyes opened wide in horror.
“Move the marshal’s body closer to the door,” Zygor instructed Brakas as the mage’s eyes closed in concentration.
Brakas dragged the marshal’s body across the floor. He turned and saw a flash of black smoke as Zygor disappeared. As he watched with his mouth wide open, Lord Damirath removed the cloth from his mouth and grinned.
“Fairly simple, wasn’t it?” snickered the new Lord Damirath.
“Is that really you, Zygor?” questioned Brakas.
“It is,” sighed the mage. “I wish they had chosen a younger body. I feel old inside this one.”
“What happened to your old one?” asked Brakas as he gazed at the empty black cloak on the floor.
“Up in smoke,” shrugged Lord Damirath as he bent down and picked up the cloak and tossed it into the corner of the room.
“All right,” Brakas shook his head. “Now how do we get out of here?”
“We don’t,” explained Lord Damirath. “We call for a healer because Marshal Ulmreto has fallen ill. There will be quite a bit of confusio
n, I guarantee. During that confusion, you will leave and carry out the rest of our plan. They will not even notice that the one called Zygor is missing. I will be remaining here as Lord Damirath. My first act will be to find a new marshal. Have our men ready to move here within the week.”
“You will barely have time to have uniforms made up for them,” worried Brakas.
“Do not let such small details distract you,” chided Lord Damirath. “There are many people on this estate to make uniforms. Open the door for the soldiers as I shout for a healer. Then make haste in getting off the estate. Come back when you have completed this phase of the plan.”
Chapter 7
Year of the Storm
Lord Marak signaled Botal and the squad leader called a halt to the column. Botal and the two cortains gathered around Lord Marak to hear his instructions.
“We are about to enter River’s Bend,” Lord Marak said softly. “This is where we will split up. Botal, your squad will accompany our foreign guests and me on a barge down the river. The two cortes will continue to the capital by road.”
“Why the change?” questioned Botal. “Lord Marshal Yenga will be rather angry if you dismiss your escort.
“Yenga already knows of this change in plans,” explained Lord Marak. “Lord Quavry’s message not only mentioned the caravan leaving Fardale, but also told of my plans to go to Khadoratung. We suspect that our enemy may attempt to ambush us on our way to the capital.”
“I understand the need for the barge,” nodded Botal, “but why not dismiss the two cortes? They are sure to be ambushed even if you are not among them.”
“I don’t think so,” smiled Lord Marak. “River’s Bend used to be a Situ estate before I took it for the Torak clan. I am sure that there are scores of Situ uniforms still around. The two cortes will change uniforms and continue their journey. When they arrive to a location within a day’s ride of Khadoratung, they may switch their uniforms back to the black and silver. Rest the cortes for a few minutes. I want to enter River’s Bend with a minimum of notice.”
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