Aakuta: the Dark Mage fl-4

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “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.

  Chapter 17

  Marketplace

  “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.

  “Halman, Gunta, and Latril,” Lord Marak said as he entered the room, “you will be joining me for a trip into the city. I have heard about a house for sale and would like to inspect it.”

  Gunta and Halman immediately retrieved their weapons and strapped them on. Gunta brought Lord Marak’s weapons to him.

  “Botal,” Lord Marak continued as he strapped on his own weapons, “I want the rest of the men to mingle with the other troops before they leave for home. Try to make some friends that we can use for future contacts. I would be especially interested in a contact at the main Neju estate. I want to know who Lord Jamarat’s main advisors are.”

  Botal nodded and Lord Marak and his escort left the room. A group of lords stood in the foyer outside the Assembly Chamber, and Lord Marak’s group had to pass through them. Marak felt a slight warming sensation on his shoulder. He stopped just past the group and turned to look at them. His hand reached over his shoulder and felt the hilt of his sword. It was warm to his touch. His eyes scanned the large group of lords, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He shook his head and continued towards the entry foyer. He did not notice Lord Damirath’s eyes burning with hatred behind his back.

  Lord Marak left the Imperial Palace and strode through the large park and towards the marketplace. As they entered the marketplace, someone shouted that the new member of the Lords’ Council was coming. Lord Marak was unprepared for the onslaught.

  Dozens of people raced towards Lord Marak and soon the large crowd encircled him. Women tried to kiss his hand or shove flowers into his hair. Men tried eagerly to be the one to shake the Lord Marak’s hand. Halman and Gunta tried furiously to remain next to Lord Marak without harming the mass of admirers. It was a losing battle. People started shoving, and Halman and Gunta became more adamant about maintaining security.

  Within moments, the Imperial guards stationed around the marketplace rushed to disperse the group. The Imperial guards were not gentle as they forcibly pulled people away from Lord Marak. Latril was grabbed by an Imperial guard and shoved away from Lord Marak. Other citizens were pushed and shoved, some of them sprawling on the ground only to be stepped upon by others.

  “Make way,” shouted Gunta as he and Halman moved in front of Lord Marak and tried to force a path through the crowd.

  The Imperial troops worked their way towards Lord Marak, clearing away the citizens. Suddenly, Lord Marak felt a jab in his back. He involuntarily leaped forward, knocking into Gunta. Gunta spun and saw a look of pain on Lord Marak’s face. He immediately drew his sword from his sheath and shouted for everyone to get away. Halman also drew his sword, and the crowd ran away screaming.

  Lord Marak’s face was sweating and Gunta sheathed his sword and wrapped his arms around Lord Marak because he feared that the Torak lord might fall. The Imperial troops formed a protective ring around the three Torak warriors and kept the citizens away. Halman sheathed his sword and shook his head as he gazed at the debris upon the ground. Flowers with broken stems, jewelry, and pieces of cloth littered the ground, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the dagger. He raced to the dagger and picked it up. Its blade was coated with a brown substance.

  “Assassin,” Halman shouted to Gunta. “Get him somewhere safe. Now!”

  Gunta hoisted Lord Marak over his shoulder and dashed towards the nearest inn. The Imperial troops that had made a ring around the trio had heard Halman’s warning. They saw where Gunta was heading, and they pushed the crowd out of the way. Halman sprinted past Gunta and threw open the door to the common room. He drew his sword menacingly and ordered everyone out the back door. The few patrons in the common room fled as Gunta entered the inn.

  Gunta placed Lord Marak face down on one of the tables. Halman ran to the front door and ordered the Imperial guards to surround the building. They immediately obeyed. Gunta saw the hole in Lord Marak’s cape and frowned.

  “He has been stabbed,” Gunta announced, “but the hole is small. I doubt it can be too bad.”

  “Get his clothes off,” ordered Halman. “The blade was poisoned.”

  “What type of poison?” asked Lord Marak with a pained voice.

  “The blade is brown,” answered Halman as he helped Gunta remove Marak’s clothes.

  “It is not quick acting,” Lord Marak sighed with relief. “Cut the affected area out quickly.”

  “I never saw the innkeeper or the kitchen staff leave,” commented. Halman. “Unless they have a door to the outside from kitchen, they will still be in there. I will get some water boiled up.”

  Gunta merely nodded as he removed the Qubari armor from Lord Marak’s back. He ran his fingers over the Torak lord’s back until he found the cut.

  “It is small,” he remarked.

  “Amazing,” commented Lord Marak. “The force of the blow was quite staggering. I shudder to think what would have happened without the Qubari armor.”

  “You would be dead,” frowned Gunta. “You can no longer move about with just the two of us for an escort. We failed you today.”

  “You have not failed me yet,” Lord Marak tried to smile. “I did not expect such a reaction from the citizens. Do you think it is normal for this to happen to someone who is elected to the Lords’ Council?”

  “I do not know,” answered Gunta, “but I intend to find out.”

  Halman returned with a pot of boiling water, a sharp knife, and some clean pieces of cloth. The innkeeper looked nervously from the kitchen doorway.

  “Come and help,” Gunta called to the innkeeper.

  The old man hurried across the room.

  “Is it poison?” he asked.

  “It is,” nodded Gunta. “We must cut the flesh around it and removed the poisoned area.”

  “There is a better way,” the innkeeper offered nervously. “May I return to the kitchen?”

  Gunta stared at the old man for a moment and then nodded. “Be aware that your life is tied to Lord Marak’s,” he warned the innkeeper. “If he dies, you do as well.”

  The old man nodded as he ran into the kitchen. He came right back with two small pouches of powder. Gunta watched as the old man dipped a rag into the boiling water and proceeded to wash the contaminated area. He then sprinkled a white powder on the wound.

  “This will draw the poison to the surface,” the innkeeper said. “It will draw a fair amount of blood as well so do not be alarmed at the bleeding.”

  Halman and Gunta watched as the wound began to bubble through the white powder. Within a few minutes, there was a brownish clump of substance on Lord Marak’s back. Gunta thought it resembled dark oatmeal. The innkeeper took another cloth and wiped the mass away. He poured a small amount of hot water on the wound and then opened the other pouch. He sprinkled a yellow powder on the wound and walked over to the fireplace and procured a burning stick.

  “This will ignite,” he cautioned. “Do not be worried. It will seal the wound so it does not become infected.”

  He brought the burning stick to the yellow powder and a flame leaped from Lord Marak’s back. Lord Marak grunted in pain, but the fire extinguish quickly.

  “You are fortunate that it was such a small incision,” commented the innkeeper. “He will be fine in an hour or two.”

  “Where did you learn this skill?” asked Lord Marak as he struggled to turn over and sit up.

  “I learned in my youth,” answered the innkeeper. “There were many assassinations in Khadoratung at that time. Not like today. Use of poison was a favorite, so that you did not need to be very skilled to kill. I was an apprentice to a healer in those days. I have always kept pouches of the powders ever since. Never got to use them until today.”

  “Well I am fortunate to have been close to your inn,” smiled Lord Marak. “You have saved my life.”

  “Not really,” smiled the old man. “What your boys were about to do would work just as well. This just avoids taking a chunk of your flesh away. It also heals you quick
er so you can continue fighting.”

  “Well, I am still grateful,” smiled Lord Marak. “How can I repay you?”

  “Take seats,” grinned the old man. “I will bring out today’s best meal for the three of you. I am just pleased to be able to serve the newest member of the Lords’ Council.”

  “Is it common for people to mob a new member?” asked Lord Marak. “I certainly did not expect it.”

  “It is not common,” frowned the innkeeper. “I would suspect that someone organized it in order to get close to you. The people are easily aroused. I can see someone having no difficulty in getting others to mob you, but that is something citizens would not dare do without prompting. I guess people don’t like to think much for themselves these days. They are herded like clova.”

  “So we must look for the shepherd,” Lord Marak remarked softly when the innkeeper had returned to the kitchen. “Someone had to instigate that welcome for me. If we can find those who were in the crowd, we will know the identity of the assassin.”

  “I will go out and find Latril,” offered Halman. “I doubt the Imperial troops will allow her through their ring of protection. Should I send for the rest of our men?”

  “No,” Lord Marak shook his head. “There will not be a repeat of the attack today. The next time we travel in public, my enemies will be surprised to see a full squad as my escort.”

  Lord Marak dressed and sat at a table with Gunta. Several minutes later, Halman returned with Latril.

  “The Imperial guards are removing the ring of protection,” Halman stated. “They will leave two men at each door, but the rest will return to their patrols.”

  “That is fine,” nodded Lord Marak. “Our enemy knows that we will be alert now. He will not chance it again today. Are you all right, Latril?”

  “I am fine,” nodded Latril. “The Imperial troops were a little rough in disbanding the crowd, but I think everyone understood. Are you hurt?”

  “Not really,” smiled Lord Marak. “How large was the hole, Gunta?”

  “Just the very tip of the blade,” Gunta replied. “If it was not poisoned, it would not have been worth bothering with.”