“We no longer face just the Glamaraldi,” explained Lord Marak. “The Vessi and Lejune clans are gathering against us at this very moment. I suspect the Pikata will join with them soon. There will be between three hundred and four hundred cortes against us here.”
“Mercy!” frowned Lord Jamarat. “I should have brought more men.”
“There are other armies on the way from the Imperial Valley,” offered Lord Marak. “The Walkan, Organila, and Scratti clans are sending close to ninety cortes. We will give the Jiadin a battle that they will never forget.”
Lord Jamarat turned and waved Latril forward. Lord Marak saw the glow of love on her face, and he smiled at her. Lord Jamarat looked down at Latril and smiled.
“I cannot leave my men to battle against such great odds without me,” he said to Latril. “I know we spoke of returning home, but I cannot. I must stay and fight. I will arrange an escort to take you back.”
“I am not leaving,” Latril said adamantly. “If you are to stay, then I will stay by your side.”
“You do not understand,” Lord Jamarat shook his head. “This will be war. It is no place for women.”
“You promised that you would listen to my advice,” Latril said stubbornly. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself in battle. You lead your men, and I will battle as I know how to. We shall compare the piles of dead Jiadin when the battle is over.”
Lord Marak could not suppress his chuckle as he watched the lovers argue. “Let us get your men settled in, Lord Jamarat,” he interrupted. “Then the three of us can sit and discuss the need for you and Latril to go into battle.”
* * *
The merchant slipped away from his wagon on the Ronan estate. He slid around the corner of the mansion and pressed his back to the barracks that the two officers had just walked into. He hoped to hear the rest of the conversation they had been having as they waled past his wagon. He moved silently along the wall of the barracks until he was underneath one of the windows.
“I doubt the general will live up to his end of the bargain,” said the first officer. “The Omungans do not value honesty as Khadorans do. Theirs is a culture of deceit.”
“It is hardly our decision to make in any event,” responded the second officer. “Lord Garic has the final say in these things. He appeared to view General Didyk skeptically. I say we just wait and see what happens.”
“What have we here?” scowled a low voice from behind the merchant as a sword was extended towards the merchant’s neck. “Spy in the compound,” the voice shouted.
Suddenly, the air was rent with dozens of voices shouting and the trampling of many feet. Fisher soon found himself the center of attention in the middle of the Ronan barracks area. He knew that one day he would slip up. It was bound to happen to even the best of spies.
“Take him to Lord Garic,” commanded an officer. “Search him for weapons first.”
A dozen hands immediately converged on Fisher’s body. All of his weapons were found and removed. The searchers gave little care to being gentle, and Fisher ached all over as he was pushed towards the mansion door. Fisher’s mind worked frantically to develop a story that might cause the Ronan lord to spare his life. He knew that he must not let it appear as if he had loyalty to any one clan. The fact that he was a spy was not in question. No merchant would have been where he was found.
Six soldiers shoved Fisher into the meeting room of the estate. They stood guard over him while someone ran to summon Lord Garic. Several minutes later, the lord of the Ronan clan stepped into the room.
“I am told you were caught spying,” accused Lord Garic. “Your life is now in my hands. Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps I will spare you. Who are you working for?”
“I have no one client,” Fisher declared. “I sell information where I think it will bring the highest price.”
“And who is paying you to spy on me?” asked Lord Garic.
“Nobody,” answered Fisher. “At times I pose as a merchant when I have no pressing needs from clients. It pays enough to be worthwhile. My only fault is that I heard two officers talking about an Omungan general. I could not resist trying to get more information. Any talk of Omungans seems to bring a high price.”
“And who would pay for such information?” asked Lord Garic.
“Any of the clans along the border with Omunga,” shrugged Fisher. “They all live in fear that Omunga may one day cross the Kalatung Mountains. I would try to sell whatever I found out to each clan in the southern frontier.”
“Hmm,” muttered Lord Garic as he turned to stare at the wall map. “Have you done business with any clans down there recently?”
Fisher tried to think of something he could reveal without causing any harm. Lord Garic’s questioning seemed not as harsh as he had expected. He wondered why and decided to take a chance.
“Not in the spying business,” answered Fisher, “but I did have some lucrative business with the Torak clan. It did help me to establish a relationship there that would allow me to sell information.”
“And what lucrative business did you have with Lord Marak?” asked Lord Garic.
“I purchased his mother from the Situ clan and sold her to Lord Marak,” grinned Fisher. “He paid handsomely. I do think he has more gold than he knows what to do with. If I could learn about Omungans, he is the one I would approach first.”
“Would he grant you a visit?” Lord Garic questioned skeptically.
“Certainly,” Fisher nodded vigorously. “He could not thank me enough for getting his mother. Even though he paid a great deal, he acted as if he still owed me something.”
Lord Garic waved his hand to dismiss the soldiers guarding Fisher. He waited until they had exited the room and closed the door.
“Sit,” commanded Lord Garic. “I want to know more about you.”
Fisher sat as he was told to. He waited expectantly for Lord Garic to speak, but the Ronan lord appeared deep in thought for some time.
“Do you have any weapons skill?” Lord Garic finally asked.
“Of course,” frowned Fisher. “No man can survive for long without being able to defend himself.”
“What do you think of Lord Marak?” asked Lord Garic as he switched thoughts faster than the runoff from a spring storm.
“Think?” echoed Fisher as his mind whirled with questions of where this all was leading. “He is a lord. I treat him with respect as I would any lord. I seek to gain clients whenever I can.”
“I understand that,” Lord Garic snarled with impatience. “What do you think of the man? Do you like him?”
“Like him?” Fisher repeated. “I have no reason to like any man, Lord Garic. I seek only clients, not friends. What Lord Marak does is his business, and what you do is yours. I do not take sides in disputes. Politics is not my game.”
“That is good for you,” smirked Lord Garic. “A wrong answer to that question would have ended your life. What is your name?”
“I am called Fisher,” the spy admitted knowing that if he gave another name and was betrayed by anyone who knew him, he would die instantly.
“Well, Fisher,” asked Lord Garic, “have you ever killed a man?”
“On occasion,” admitted Fisher as he wondered if Marshal Chack had informed the Emperor of the details surrounding Andretti’s death. “I only do so when my life is threatened.”
“Would you kill a man if I could promise you riches beyond your wildest imagination?” questioned Lord Garic.
“I have a rather large imagination,” grinned Fisher as he began to see a way out of his predicament. “How well guarded is this man?”
“He is well guarded,” admitted Lord Garic. “I am not offering such a large amount for an easy task. You will be hunted down after the assassination. Of that I am sure.”
“I have many disguises,” offered Fisher. “I think I can do it and get away. Who is the man?”
“He is a powerful lord,” Lord Garic said vaguely. “That is all
you need to know at this point.”
“I cannot kill someone who is unknown to me,” argued Fisher. “If this man is a lord, then I am anxious to accept the task. I will also forgive the large amount of gold that you are offering. Instead, I want the holdings of this lord.”
“Impossible,” scowled Lord Garic. “You have no idea what you are asking. One cannot step in and take over a clan. It cannot be done. Only the Emperor could authorize such a thing.”
“If this task does not have the Emperor’s blessing,” frowned Fisher, “I cannot do it. I am a loyal Khadoran, not a man without honor.”
Lord Garic stared into space for a long time before shaking his head. “The Emperor would approve of it,” he finally said, “but he would never see you. You must trust me that the Emperor would approve. You would be performing a duty of honor for Khadora.”
“You are a member of the Lords’ Council,” pushed Fisher. “I am sure that you have the Emperor’s ear. You will be rid of your rival, and it will have cost you nothing. We can all win with this proposal.”
“You are bold,” frowned Lord Garic. “I doubt you could even pull it off.”
“It would be extremely difficult to kill Lord Marak,” grinned Fisher, “but I can guarantee success. I am one of the few people outside of his clan who can get near him in private. You will never find another person to accomplish the task.”
“I never said it was Lord Marak,” frowned Lord Garic. “How did you know?”
“What good would a spy be if he could not discern the simplest of information?” retorted Fisher. “Many people would love to see Lord Marak dead. His rapid rise to the Lords’ Council has caused many to grumble. I also know that there have been recent attempts to kill him. They all failed because they were attempted by someone who does not know him. I know the man. I know his mother. I can get close to him.”
Lord Garic’s eyes brightened as he listened to Fisher. Still, he was skeptical. “How do I know you will perform the task and not try to disappear on me?” he asked.
“Because I want his holdings desperately,” answered Fisher. “No longer will I have to sneak around picking up small tidbits of information to earn a living. I will be a lord of a clan. There is nothing I want more than that. Why would I turn it down?”
“I told you that I cannot promise you the Torak clan,” Lord Garic repeated. “Only the Emperor can disband a clan and allow you to create a new one.”
“Then arrange for me to speak with the Emperor,” insisted Fisher. “I must have his personal guarantee of my payment.”
“Impossible,” Lord Garic shook his head. “He cannot be seen in your company. To do so would be to tie him to your deed. He would never allow that.”
“I said that I am a man of many disguises,” smiled Fisher. “Would he see a merchant, a foreigner, or a priest? I can become any of those instantly. Let me get some clothes from my wagon, and I will demonstrate for you.”
* * *
“Let me tell him,” Latril pleaded with Lord Marak. “He is to be my husband. I do not wish for him to be deceived.”
Lord Marak frowned, but he nodded to Latril. “The time for secrecy is over,” declared Lord Marak. “Soon all of Khadora will know what we have been hiding. Lord Jamarat may as well be the first to know.”
Lord Jamarat looked from Latril to Lord Marak with confusion on his face. Latril took his large hand and held it gently.
“I am a mage,” she said to the Neju lord.
“That does not matter to me,” replied Lord Jamarat. “I love you no matter what you are.”
“I know,” Latril smiled, “but there is more that you do not know. Lord Marak’s people have been training mages for some time now. Some of his mages have discovered new ways to use our powers. We can use our magic in battle.”
“In battle?” echoed Lord Jamarat. “How can magic be used for something other than tending to crops?”
“A number of ways,” interjected Lord Marak. “The primary use is a new means of communication. It allows us to coordinate our armies instantly to react to changes made by the enemy. There are other forms of magic that can disrupt a charge and rain havoc on the enemy’s army. The point Latril is trying to make, Lord Jamarat, is that she is a warrior just as you are. She feels she has a right to be on the battlefield with you.”
“But I want her kept safe,” frowned Lord Jamarat. “I do not want her in battle.”
“The Pikata have arrived,” Botal said as he stuck his head into the room.
Lord Marak rose instantly. “Join with me in a journey to our lookout,” Lord Marak invited Lord Jamarat and Latril. “I will have Latril give you a demonstration of her skills while we view the battlefield.”
Lord Jamarat nodded and led Latril out of the mansion. They mounted horses and rode with Botal’s squad to the top of the hill. Lord Marak gazed across the battlefield as they dismounted. He saw the Pikata banner atop a distant ridge on the other side of the massing Jiadin.
“Latril,” ordered Lord Marak, “weave an air tunnel to the center of that far group of Pikata atop the ridge. Maximum pressure so that we can all hear what they are saying.”
Latril nodded and wove the air tunnel. She adjusted it until she found an interesting conversation. She then adjusted the pressure to allow everyone on the hill to listen in.
“We will hold the Pikata in reserve,” declared the voice of Lord Damirath. “Let the Vessi, Glamaraldi, and Lejune attack them. From up here we should be able to see where they are the least defended. When we find the weak spot, we will exploit it.”
“It will be a bloody battle,” said another voice. “We may need to get more Jiadin warriors when this battle is over.”
“There are plenty of them,” laughed Lord Damirath. “Having Lord Marak gather our opposition on the eastern frontier may actually work to our advantage. We will cripple their greatest armies and still be close enough to Fakara to replenish our forces before we move on to Khadoratung.”
“They are planning on destroying the Imperial Valley,” scowled Lord Jamarat. “I thought that was only a story so you could get more men.”
“It is not a story,” assured Lord Marak. “That was Lord Damirath you heard speaking.”
“I recognized his voice,” nodded Lord Jamarat. “This magic of yours is wonderful. Can Latril remain up here and listen to their plans?”
“I think it is the perfect spot for her,” grinned Lord Marak. “Perhaps you and I should be up here too. We can make decisions based on what we see and hear, and have Latril relay our commands to the armies below.”
Chapter 30
Battle of Balomar
Lord Marak dressed and left his room in the Balomar mansion. He moved quietly down the stairs and out the front door of the mansion. Lord Kiamesh was standing on the porch staring up at the stars. He turned as the door closed and saw Lord Marak.
“You rise early,” greeted Lord Kiamesh.
“Not as early as you,” retorted Lord Marak. “Today is the day we test the mettle of these Jiadin. Are your troops ready for it?”
“They are,” nodded Lord Kiamesh. “My cortes will guard the road outside the estate. The Jiadin will not use it to get around your defenses. Have no fear.”
“Good,” smiled Lord Marak. “Remember to keep Jarri near you at all times. She will be your communications link to me. I will keep you appraised of how the battle is going from the hill.”
“She will always be by my side,” promised Lord Kiamesh. “Their ability to speak over great distances is amazing. You must tell me how this was discovered.”
“After the battle,” promised Lord Marak. “I want to take one last ride through our defenses before heading up the hill.”
Lord Marak mounted his horse and rode off. The Balomar estate had been turned into a natural fortress. Three wide, cleared areas had been cut the length of the estate through the eastern forest. The felled trees were piled in the cleared areas. Wider bands of mature forest separated the cleared stri
ps. Lord Marak rode directly to the outermost cleared strip. As he rode slowly along the cleared strip, couples came out to greet him. Each couple was composed of a female mage and male archer. Lord Marak’s conversations were generally the same for each couple. He warned them that the battle would begin in a few hours. He asked if they understood their tasks, and they assured him that they were ready.
When Lord Marak reached the end of the fortifications, he turned inward until he was well past the innermost cleared strip. A series of trenches ran the length of the estate. Here resided the bulk of the Khadoran army. The squad leaders were just awakening the men as he rode by. He smiled and greeted the men, offering words of encouragement as they prepared for a day of battle. The men were nervous, but they tried not to let Lord Marak see it.
A warm feeling ran through Lord Marak as he reviewed the troops. The men were nervous, but optimistic. They showed a kindred spirit with one another regardless of the uniform they happened to be wearing. They were a unified army fighting a common foe.
Lord Marak gazed skyward and saw the first lightening of the sky. He had spent several hours reviewing the fortifications and knew the battle would begin soon. He quickened his pace and rode to the top of the hill. Already gathered at the summit were the other clan lords and a group of twenty air mages.
“Lord Marak,” greeted Lord Chenowith. “On the ride here I tried to visualize what four hundred cortes would look like if they were assembled in one place. My imagination was not as grim as reality. I fear the troops that we brought will have proved to be too little.”
Lord Marak turned his gaze to fields just beyond the border of the Balomar estate. Whatever crops had been grown there had been trampled to dust by the arriving Jiadin. The fields were packed with mounted Fakaran warriors as far as he could see in either direction. High on a ridge on the other side of the trampled fields were the Pikata Jiadin.
“There are a lot of them,” nodded Lord Marak, “but that alone will not allow them to win. Our people are ready for them. I just spent a few hours reviewing the troops. They are ready.”
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