Aakuta: the Dark Mage fl-4

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “A Glamaraldi talking party is at the gates,” gasped the soldier. “Should we let them in?”

  “How many in the party?” asked Marshal Berman.

  “A single corte,” reported the soldier.

  “Where is Lord Marak?” asked Lord Oktar.

  “He has not been around all morning,” answered Marshal Berman. “I heard that he was atop the great hill watching the enemy.”

  “Let the talking party in,” decided Lord Oktar. “If there is more than a corte, close the gates quickly. Then find Lord Marak and have him get here immediately.”

  “I will send some men to line the drive,” stated Marshal Berman. “I do not trust the Glamaraldi.”

  “That is wise of you,” agreed Lord Oktar as he rolled up the maps of the estate. “Return right away.”

  The soldier caught his breath and ran out of the room and exited the mansion. He ran back along the drive to the gates. When he arrived he climbed up on the gates to estimate the strength of the enemy. He estimated them to be no more than a corte. He turned and saw soldiers running to line the drive. He climbed down and unlocked the gates.

  Lord Yungis of the Glamaraldi clan nodded to his men and his cortain led the escort onto the Balamor estate. They rode slowly along the drive as Lord Yungis turned his head and viewed everything that he could see. By the time he reached the mansion, the Glamaraldi lord had noted the changes since his last visit. He was impressed. Lord Yungis was escorted into the meeting room while his troops stood in formation in front of the mansion.

  “What do you want?” Lord Oktar asked abruptly when the Glamaraldi lord entered the room.

  “An end to this conflict,” smiled Lord Yungis. “I will allow you and your people to leave the estate without harm. You have two days.”

  “Leave the estate?” echoed Lord Oktar in disbelief. “Why in the world would I leave my home?”

  “You must realize that my armies are vastly superior to yours,” declared Lord Yungis. “If you do not take my offer, I will have to crush you like a fresh grape.”

  “We will never leave,” declared Lord Oktar. “Your army is full of Jiadin that will turn on you the moment you turn your back. It is you who should be afraid of your provocation.”

  “My provocation?” spat Lord Yungis. “Your estate is full of troops from many clans. This is clearly a provocation to the Glamaraldi. Your only reason for such troops is to wage war on me.”

  “If that is your concern,” smiled Lord Oktar, “then we shall call for a mediator of the Lords’ Council. Let them decide who caused the first provocation. There is no reason for the bloodshed to continue.”

  “The Lords’ Council would surely side with me,” bluffed Lord Yungis. “Why should I waste my time with them?”

  “To save your clan,” Lord Marak stated as he entered the room.

  Lord Yungis spun and glared at Lord Marak. “Who are you to enter this private conversation?” he snapped.

  “I am Lord Marak of the Torak clan,” stated the Torak lord, “and I am a member of the Lords’ Council. Your Jiadin troops invaded this estate this morning. I am demanding that you rid your armies of the foreigners, and send them home. If you do so, peace will be restored here.”

  “So you are Lord Marak,” snarled Lord Yungis. “Your position on the Lords’ Council does not impress me. Even a member of the Lords’ Council must obey the law. Your gathering of clans here is a violation of the law and a provocation to the Glamaraldi clan. I just might appeal to the Emperor and have your clan disbanded.”

  “Nice try,” grinned Lord Marak. “I see two problems with your approach. The first is that you were not aware of any clans residing here until you attacked this morning. Therefore, there was no provocation before your attack. The second is that I have already spoken with the Emperor about my presence here. No law has been violated, and the presence of other clans here has the Emperor’s blessing. Your attack this morning is another matter. You have clearly attacked this estate without provocation. You will adhere to my terms or face ruin. My terms are simple. Disband your foreign armies and send them back to Fakara.”

  “I don’t think so, Lord Marak,” spat Lord Yungis. “You have no idea what you are starting. You will rue the day you spoke to me like this.”

  “I don’t think so, Lord Yungis,” Lord Marak said with a steely voice. “Bigger lords than you have tried to nip my toes. When you are in Khadoratung next week, I will introduce you to them.”

  “And why would I be in Khadoratung?” questioned Lord Yungis.

  “For the Assembly of Lords meeting,” declared Lord Marak. “There is a need to elect another member to the Lords’ Council. Have you not been advised yet?”

  “No,” snarled Lord Yungis. “Nor do I care. The Lords’ Council means nothing to me. Two days, Lord Oktar,” he snapped as he turned towards the Balomar lord. “You have two days.”

  Lord Yungis turned and stormed out of the room. Everyone remained silent until they heard the front door of the estate close.

  “What was that about a meeting of the Assembly of Lords?” asked Marshal Berman. “We just had one.”

  “The Emperor has been assassinated,” Lord Marak informed them. “I did not wish to share that information with Lord Yungis, but that will require another meeting of the Assembly of Lords. In fact, I came down off the hill to prepare for that trip. There will also be a meeting of the Lords’ Council that I must attend. You should be ready to leave within the hour, Lord Oktar.”

  “We are going to leave in the middle of the war?” asked Lord Oktar. “That does not make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” explained Lord Marak. “We have the provocation we need to call upon the Lords’ Council.”

  “But Lord Yungis will never go before the Lords’ Council,” argued Lord Oktar. “You heard his despicable contempt for the government. No ruling can stop this now.”

  “We do not need him there,” declared Lord Marak. “We will not be asking for a negotiated settlement. We will be asking for troops. Lord Yungis does not care for a fair fight. That is why he amassed five thousand Jiadin warriors. We took him by surprise this morning, and now he is worried. He came here to scare you into leaving your home.”

  “Why would he think that we would leave?” asked Lord Oktar.

  “He doesn’t,” said Lord Marak. “It was a desperate attempt to bully you. Because the odds are not so lopsided in his favor, he will now call upon the other Jiadin clans to come to his aid.”

  “How many more Jiadin will come?” asked Marshal Berman.

  “Instead of five thousand,” frowned Lord Marak, “we will be facing fifteen to twenty thousand.”

  “Mercy!” exclaimed Lord Oktar. “Maybe we should give up.”

  “No,” Lord Marak stated adamantly. “Never give in to such bullying tactics. We will present your case to the Lords’ Council and return with enough troops to push the Jiadin back into Fakara.”

  * * *

  A cold raw wind suddenly burst through the trees around the gate of the Kamaril estate. The night guards felt a chill envelope their body as they sat near the gate. One of them wrapped his arms around his body to ward off the chill, but it passed quickly.

  The sentries outside the front door of the mansion were sleepy and anxious for the dawn to approach so that they would be relieved and could go to bed. One of them pointed and remarked about the oddity of the sudden cloud of mist rolling along the drive towards the mansion. They watched it approach with a strange combination of apprehension and curiosity. All too soon it was all around them, thick and opaque. A click reverberated through the air, but it was directionless, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. The soft sound of a door closing caused one of them to spin around and look towards the front door to the mansion, but the fog was too thick to see even those few feet.

  Inside the Kamaril mansion wind chimes suddenly tingled, their light tinny tones drifting aimlessly through the air. The stairs creaked softly and a chilled
wind swept through the rooms, gaining access through every crack and under every door. The sleeping inhabitants subconsciously pulled the covers tighter around themselves or curled their bodies into balls to keep warm.

  One particular inhabitant, young Yargot, son of the late Lord Druck, tossed fitfully. Strange dreams invaded his sleep, nightmares really. Once again his body was covered in oozing boils, but this time they were slowly exploding one at a time. Each explosion brought forth a wave of incredible pain. Each wave was more terrifying than the one before. Suddenly, Yargot sat up and opened his mouth to scream.

  Yargot opened his eyes to the darkness of the night. He could not see anything, but he felt a hand covering his mouth. His arms rose to claw at the restraint.

  “Be quiet,” demanded a cold voice. “You have made a vow, and I am here to see you make good on it.”

  The hand moved away from his mouth, and suddenly the room was illuminated. He turned and saw the shape of a man lighting a candle. He stared at the apparition in black for a long moment before he realized who he was looking at. A shiver raced down his spine as he recalled the nightmare.

  “Do you remember your vow?” Aakuta asked in a sinister voice.

  Yargot nodded his head silently as the dark mage stepped closer to the bed.

  “Do you remember the vow?” Aakuta asked again.

  “I remember,” gulped the frightened boy. “I owe you a debt.”

  “And I am here to collect,” declared Aakuta. “You may pay the debt, or pay the consequences. Which will it be?”

  “I will pay the debt,” the boy said quickly. “What do you want?”

  “You will name me as your regent,” demanded the dark mage. “I will rule the Kamaril until I tire of it. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” the boy nodded exaggeratedly.

  “Good,” smiled Aakuta. “You will do this at first light. I will arrive here an hour after that. I expect everyone to bow before me when I arrive. If they do not, I will consider your debt not paid.”

  “They will all bow before you,” promised Yargot. “All of them. I promise.”

  Chapter 26

  Appeal for Justice

  Lord Chenowith walked into his father’s suite and closed the door behind him. He stood silently for a long time as his eyes scanned the room. Memories flooded the mind of the lord of the Walkan clan as he pictured his father sitting behind the large desk near the windows. Tears sprang unbidden from his eyes as he heard his father’s laughter. Time ceased to matter as Lord Chenowith watched his father explaining the finances of the clan to the young boy sitting before the desk. The young boy was eager to learn and idolized Lord Bagora. They both laughed as they shared some private humor. Tears flowed down Lord Chenowith’s face, and he closed his eyes tightly.

  When he opened his eyes, the vision was gone. The suite was empty except for Lord Chenowith himself. He wiped the tears from his face and walked to the desk. He sat in the chair that he had sat in as a boy and stared across the desk at the empty chair on the other side.

  “Your time had not yet come,” Lord Chenowith said to the empty chair. “There was too much life left in your bones. Did you know when we spoke that night that your life was in danger? You could have told me. I would have broken every rule to save you.”

  “Perhaps you knew that,” Lord Chenowith said after a long silent pause. “You always knew what I would do long before I did it. You always knew everything.”

  Lord Chenowith closed his eyes and put his head down on the desk. The coolness of the wood radiated through his head and brought a surreal calmness with it. He sat immobile for a long time. Suddenly he raised his head and opened his eyes. His turned and stared at the metal box his father had asked him to bring home. He knew that Bagora would frown upon him opening it, but Lord Chenowith couldn’t help but wonder if Bagora had written anything that would pinpoint his assassin. His father did, after all, always know everything.

  Lord Chenowith rose and walked to the metal box. He picked it up and held it as if weighing his actions. With determination and anger at the death of his father, Lord Chenowith placed the box on the desk and drew his knife. He nervously attacked the lock with his knife. The lock could not withstand the assault. It was never meant to. The lock was merely a reminder to anyone who would peer into another man’s belongings. Lord Chenowith did not care. He would never have done such a thing while his father lived, but things felt different now. The box might contain a clue to the identity of the assassin, and Lord Chenowith vowed to avenge his father’s death.

  Lord Chenowith opened the box and peered into it. The box was stuffed with papers. Lord Chenowith recognized some of them as Imperial decrees that should have been deposited with the Imperial archives. He frowned at the thought that his father had taken the documents out of the Imperial Palace. Picking up the box he moved to sit behind the desk, but he halted as he began to sit. He stood there for a few moments before walking back around the desk to sit where he had before. Even after Emperor Bagora’s death, it felt disrespectful to sit in his father’s chair.

  Lord Chenowith started lifting documents out of the box and reading them. He saw that most of the Imperial decrees dealt with an extensive network of spies. Names, locations, and compensation amounts indicated a spy network that was far vaster than anything he could have imagined. Lord Chenowith’s eyes grew wide as he read the secret documents. It suddenly became very clear why the Emperor had not entrusted the documents to the Imperial archive. Emperor Bagora had been spying on everyone. Members of the Lords’ Council, members of the Imperial troops, and even individual clan lords, Bagora had spies watching them all.

  At the bottom of the box was a small journal. Lord Chenowith took it and held it for a moment before he opened it. He felt as if he were intruding into his father’s inner mind as he started reading the daily log of random thoughts, meetings, and conclusions. Hours later, Lord Chenowith had to light a new candle. He paused and stared out the window of his father’s study. He saw that the dawn was only hours away. He returned to his chair and sighed as he delved back into the journal. He was beginning to see the life of an Emperor in a way that few men could ever understand.

  * * *

  Lord Marak and Lord Oktar arrived at the Imperial Palace. Already other lords and their escorts were converging on the capital in preparation for the Assembly of Lords that would begin the following day. It had already become clear to Lord Marak that Khadora had a new Emperor. Word of the rise of Lord Mirakotto had met them halfway in their rush to Khadoratung. Lord Marak did not dwell upon the news. His mission was to secure help from the Lords’ Council for the coming battles with the Jiadin.

  They entered the Imperial Palace. Botal led the Torak squad to the Torak quarters while the Balomar squad retreated to theirs. Only Gunta and Halman remained to escort Lord Marak and Lord Oktar. Lord Marak let the small group up to the Lords’ Council Chamber. The room was empty except for Katzu, a Lords’ Council mediator.

  “Greetings Lord Marak, Lord Oktar,” welcomed Katzu.

  “Greetings, Katzu,” Lord Marak replied. “I would like to call a meeting of the Lords’ Council. How do I do that?”

  “Calling a meeting is fairly simple,” answered Katzu. “I can carry the word to the other members. They are all in residence today. It is most unusual though to call a meeting before the sixth member is elected. Perhaps you should wait until after the Assembly of Lords elects the new member of the Lords’ Council.”

  “Time is not my ally,” replied Lord Marak. “Lord Oktar has the provocation needed to ensure help from the Lords’ Council. I fully expect the attacks to commence as soon as the Assembly of Lords is over and the lords make their way back home. I want our troops in place before then.”

  “Then I shall contact the other members immediately,” nodded Katzu. “Lord Oktar should wait outside until the council calls for him.”

  Lord Marak led Lord Oktar into the corridor outside the Lords’ Council Chamber as Katzu dis
appeared around a corner. The first member to arrive was Lord Patel and Lord Marak accompanied him into the chamber.

  “So it has begun?” asked Lord Patel.

  “It has,” nodded Lord Marak. “It is going to be much worse than I imagined. The Jiadin may be untrained as a group, but their skills are impressive. How did Bagora die?”

  “An assassin while he was in bed,” frowned Lord Patel. “The knife was poisoned.”

  “Has he been found?” asked Lord Marak.

  “No,” Lord Patel shook his head. “He vanished without a trace. Marshal Chack is quite upset. Lord Marak, I tried to delay the vote for Emperor until you returned, but I was blindsided by Mirakotto. I left the chamber during the vote thinking that he would have to suspend the meeting. Instead he continued the vote. I am sorry.”

  “It does not matter to me, Lord Patel,” replied Lord Marak. “I do not care who rules as long as we work together to defeat our common enemy. I do grieve for Bagora, though. He was a good man and a patriot. All of Khadora will miss him.”

  The conversation halted as the other lords entered the chamber. Lord Quilo walked to the head of the table as the other lords took their seats. Katzu closed the door and stood near it.

  “Lord Marak,” Lord Quilo began, “I understand that you have requested an urgent meeting of the Lords’ Council. For what purpose do you cause this body to gather?”

  “Thank you for coming together so quickly,” Lord Marak began. “Lord Oktar waits outside this room. He would like to register a grievance and request the assistance of the Lords’ Council in preserving his clan.”

  “Is this the same matter that you brought before this council before?” asked Lord Quilo.

  “It is,” affirmed Lord Marak. “There has been an attack on the Balomar estate. An estimated five thousand Jiadin wearing the Glamaraldi uniform attacked the estate. They were repelled, but I fear that the defenses will not hold long.”