Aakuta: the Dark Mage

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “The first men into the trenches must immediately bring up their bows to target the enemy,” shouted Cortain Tagoro. “I did not see many bows readied that last time. Do you want the Jiadin to follow you into your trenches? If you are not ready for a retreat, that is exactly what they will do. Get back to the skirmish line, and for goodness sake, be mindful of the corn. I understand that during battle the corn will be ruined, but there is no reason to destroy it now. The attack may not be until after harvest, and the paths through the field are already plenty wide.”

  The soldiers bowed their heads and grumbled under their breath as they trudged back through the field to the imaginary skirmish line.

  “Stop!” shouted Lord Marak as he and Lord Oktar approached the exercise.

  Everyone froze and turned towards the voice of the Torak lord.

  “Tagoro, bring out your corte for a demonstration,” ordered Lord Marak. “Let these men rest and see what it is you are trying to teach then.”

  Cortain Tagoro nodded as he waved the muddy men to the side of the trench opposite the cornfield. The men lined up and watched as a corte of black and silver soldiers marched into the field. They took up a position at the skirmish line, which was barely visible through the rows of corn. Suddenly, Cortain Tagoro blew a whistle.

  One third of the Torak soldiers immediately turned and ran for the trench, sheathing their swords and unstrapping their bows as they ran. Another third mimicked the behavior of the first, but only retreated halfway before kneeling and nocking arrows. The last third acted as if they were still fighting some invisible enemy with their swords. After a short delay, the last third of the Torak soldiers turned and ran for the trench. They ran past their kneeling brethren and switched their swords for bows as they leaped into the trench and turned to fire at the nonexistent enemy. Finally, the men kneeling rose and also scrambled into the trench.

  Lord Marak stepped forward and bowed exaggeratedly to the men in the trench. “That is an ordered retreat,” Lord Marak said loudly to the muddy men that were watching. “A retreat is not turning around and running for safety so that you will not be injured. A retreat is moving back to a fortified position in a synchronized manner that provides cover to save your fellow soldiers from getting injured. Always keep your mind on protecting the others. Someone else will be looking out for your welfare. Now get out there and try it again.”

  The men of many clans leaped over the trenches and ran towards the skirmish line. The difference this time was one of attitude. The soldiers were excited to duplicate the artistry of the Torak retreat.

  “Thank you, Lord Marak,” smiled Cortain Tagoro. “You have a way with words that escapes me.”

  “Nonsense, Tagoro,” smiled Lord Marak, “I am just more rested. You have been training these men night and day for over a week now. You should assign someone to take your place for a day and get a healthy amount of sleep. Tiredness dulls the mind.”

  “I will, Lord Marak,” saluted the cortain.

  “Your troops are the best trained that I have ever seen,” commented Lord Oktar. “Marshal Berman has said as much to me earlier. Your men take their soldiering very seriously.”

  “They will live or die depending upon their skill,” shrugged Lord Marak as he turned to head towards the mansion. “Your Marshal Berman has done a fine enough job with your army, considering that your clan is not aggressive, and there has been no real expectation of battle. Times are different now, though. Everyone must be prepared for the battle of their lives.”

  “Do you really think we can win this, Lord Marak?” asked the Balomar lord as his marshal joined the group.

  “That depends upon what you call winning,” frowned Lord Marak. “What is your goal?”

  “To defeat the Glamaraldi,” declared Marshal Berman.

  “And after the battle here has been fought,” asked Lord Marak, “do you intend to chase the Glamaraldi back to their estate to finish them off?”

  “That is the only way we can win,” answered Marshal Berman.

  “That is a recipe for defeat,” Lord Marak shook his head. “We are outnumbered badly.”

  “I estimate their strength at five thousand,” argued Marshal Berman. “We may only have three thousand, but if this training continues, I think we have a chance.”

  “Are you aware that the Vessi and Lejune clans also have five thousand warriors?” inquired Lord Marak.

  “What do they have to do with this?” asked the marshal. “We are only fighting the Glamaraldi.”

  “For now that is true,” nodded Lord Marak, “but will that be true if you attack one of them?”

  “You think the others would come to the aid of the Glamaraldi?” asked Lord Oktar.

  “I do,” asserted Lord Marak. “Each of those estates has five thousand Jiadin warriors. It is not coincidence that this is so. Those foreign troops have been arranged by someone who wants to see Khadora crumble. If their plan is endangered, they will all join forces.”

  “Then we are doomed in spite of all of this preparation,” sighed Lord Oktar.

  “Not necessarily,” smiled Lord Marak. “The Lord Council has refused to get involved out here because there has been no dispute brought to their attention. My plan is to successfully repel the Glamaraldi attack and then appeal to the Lords’ Council to send troops.”

  “So we are to hold the borders of this estate and nothing more?” questioned the marshal.

  “That is the plan,” nodded Lord Marak.

  “Surely the Glamaraldi will call for help if they understand what we intend to do,” retorted Marshal Berman. “Holding off the second attack may be harder than defeating the initial one.”

  “Quite true,” agreed Lord Marak. “They will be more wary the second time around. That is why I intend to evacuate your citizens after the first attack.”

  “Evacuate?” echoed Lord Oktar. “To where?”

  “Somewhere where they will be safe from battle,” replied Lord Marak. “Look at the number of clans represented here. Each of those clans will host some of your people until it is safe to return.”

  “Will they have an estate to return to?” questioned Lord Oktar.

  “Either they will,” declared Lord Marak, “or we will help them rebuild it. It is not this land that holds the heritage of the Balomar clan, Lord Oktar. The heritage lives within your people. It is them that you must safeguard.”

  “Then why don’t we just evacuate the people and let the Glamaraldi run over the estate?” asked Marshal Berman.

  “There are other clans in danger, Marshal,” answered Lord Marak. “We must find a way to halt these Jiadin and their Khadoran hosts. We need a provocation to bring to the Lords’ Council.”

  “What of the soldiers’ families?” asked Lord Oktar. “You stand ready to evacuate my people, yet you continue to bring in wagonloads of women from your own estates. Surely the soldiers’ wives should have remained at home.”

  Lord Marak smiled as he understood that Lord Oktar thought the wagonloads of mages being brought in were wives of the soldiers. He did not care to correct the Balomar lord.

  “All noncombatants will be moved to safety,” smiled Lord Marak.

  * * *

  Werner rode into the Valley of the Ram just after sunrise. The bright sun was full in his face as he came out of the pine forest, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When he was finally able to look at the valley, he was amazed at what he saw. Thousands of Jiadin warriors covered the landscape. Fields of every imaginable crop flourished and were ready for harvesting. Great herds of wasooki and clova overflowed the pens. Wooden buildings rose in every direction. It was indeed a miracle valley. He rode straight for the castle and dismounted. He raced up the stairs to Aakuta’s study and walked through the open door.

  “Tell me of my new estate,” Aakuta said without turning to acknowledge Werner’s presence.

  “I have not been able to find one,” Werner reported. “I looked everywhere and nothing is available.”


  Aakuta turned slowly and glared at Werner. The Khadoran’s body began to shake as he stared at the two eye-slits in Aakuta’s hood. The slits appeared to smoke, and Werner was sure there was nothing but two burning orbs behind them.

  “Nothing?” scowled Aakuta. “That is not acceptable. Why have you failed me?”

  “Failed?” croaked Werner. “I looked everywhere. There are no estates for sale in all of Khadora. I truly tried, Aakuta. I almost got caught several times by my old clan, the Kamaril. You know they would kill me on sight, even if old man Druck is dead. I have risked my life to find an estate, but there are none.”

  “Druck is dead?” questioned the dark mage. “How?”

  “I am not sure how,” answered Werner as he tried to calm his shaking body. “It was not by foul means. Some think his heart just stopped.”

  “Wasn’t the boy his only son?” asked Aakuta.

  “Yes,” Werner nodded. “Yargot is all that is left of the Kamaril family.”

  “Who will run the Kamaril clan now,” questioned Aakuta. “Surely the boy is too young?”

  “He is too young,” agreed Werner. “All of the advisors of the clan will meet and choose a successor to rule until the boy comes of age.”

  “The advisors will choose?” frowned Aakuta. “Does not the boy have a say in the matter?”

  “Oh he does,” nodded Werner. “He ultimately will chose the ruler, but the advisors will decide who they should present to the boy. Yargot can refuse and the advisors will meet again and choose someone else.”

  “Can the boy just name the ruler?” asked Aakuta.

  “I suppose so,” shrugged Werner, “but I have never heard of such a thing. Why would he not take advantage of his advisors?”

  “Because they do not know what is best for the boy,” grinned the mage. “Get me Gregnic.”

  Werner ran out of the study. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he placed his back to the wall and tried to calm himself. He had thought that Aakuta would kill him for failing to find an estate. He did not like the feeling at all. When he was finally composed, he searched for the Jiadin healer and took him to see the dark mage.

  “The time has come for your people to earn their keep, Gregnic,” stated Aakuta as he pointed to a large map he had placed on the table. “We are going here,” he said as he pointed to a spot on the map. “This will be our new home for a while.”

  “In Khadora?” questioned Gregnic. “The men will not like that.”

  “They will not be forced to go,” smiled Aakuta. “Make a list of each who refuses to live up to their agreement. I will kill them tonight. Perhaps we can make a sport of it for the amusement of the others.”

  “Kill them?” gulped Gregnic. “They will go. I just meant that they would not be happy about it.”

  “I care little for their happiness,” scowled the dark mage. “They made a bargain. I intend to see them live up to it. I want you to organize their trip to my new estate. They will travel only at night. Nobody is to see them. Is that clear?”

  “Nobody is to see them,” nodded Gregnic. “We can do that.”

  “Good,” smiled Aakuta. “Today and tomorrow they may rest. Tomorrow night they begin their travels. I want that list to be accurate, Gregnic. Any man who refuses to serve, as agreed to, will suffer greatly. Make sure that the men learn of my words.”

  * * *

  Lord Chenowith of the Walkan clan sat in the Emperor’s office.

  “You are asking me to commit troops to battle, Father,” Lord Chenowith frowned, “but I have no alliance with Lord Oktar or Lord Marak. Frankly, your request confuses me. A border dispute on the eastern frontier is no business of the Walkan clan. Even if it were, I would not commit troops until a provocation had occurred. That is the way in Khadora, and you know it.”

  “I am fully aware of the law, son,” replied Emperor Bagora, “but I also know right from wrong. The clans of the frontier are as much a part of Khadora as any other, even a founding clan. Are we not a government of all of the clans?”

  “We are,” sighed Lord Chenowith. “I have never known you to stray from the law in the past. It is your hallmark. Why have you changed your views on this?”

  “I am privy to information that I cannot repeat,” explained the Emperor. “What I can tell you is that Khadora is in serious trouble. Why do you think Lord Marak is out there to defend a small clan? Do you think he likes to stick his nose in other people’s business just because he is curious? He understands the gravity of the situation, as do I. I can only ask that you put your trust in me. Your armies are very much needed.”

  “You speak of this Lord Marak as if he is some sort of Khadoran savior,” sighed Lord Chenowith. “All that I have heard about him is that he is too young to rule.”

  “Bah,” scowled the Emperor. “Wash those thoughts out of your mind. Those are the words of men with no vision. Lord Marak may well be a savior to Khadora. If any man in this country deserves to sit in this chair that I occupy, it is him. Never forget that. His age has nothing to do with his abilities.”

  “I have never heard you speak so strongly in favor of anyone,” frowned Lord Chenowith. “Not even me.”

  Emperor Bagora sighed heavily and looked at his son. He shook his head sadly. “You know that I think the world of you, Chenowith,” the Emperor said fondly. “You are a far better man than I ever was at your age. Your people adore you, and with good reason. You are kind, yet firm. Your honesty is beyond reproach, and you are an extremely generous lord. I do not mean to hurt your feelings with this talk of Lord Marak. You are well qualified to be Emperor of Khadora, but you are not aware of what is going on in this world. There is only one man who is aware. That is Lord Marak.”

  “I thought you knew what he knows,” frowned Lord Chenowith.

  “I know but a fraction of what he knows,” confessed the Emperor. “He stands today with a minor frontier lord to battle the Glamaraldi, but there is a greater threat than even them. I have learned a great deal from Lord Marak, but there is much more to learn. My spies have uncovered more information that Lord Marak only hinted at.”

  “Why is this Lord Marak so secretive?” asked Lord Chenowith. “He should be eager to share information with the Emperor, particularly one who is so taken with him.”

  “He has shared enough with me that his life would be forfeit if I told anyone what I know,” replied the Emperor. “He has a great reason for his secrecy. He knows things that would bring shame to all Khadorans. You well know how some of your fellow lords would react to such information.”

  “He cannot possibly know anything that would bring shame to me,” Lord Chenowith said adamantly. “I am proud of the life I live.”

  “Would you be so proud if you found out that this grand life you live is founded on the misery of others?” accused the Emperor.

  Lord Chenowith stared at the Emperor for a long time. He knew his father as the most respected man in all of Khadora, yet Chenowith could see the agony of guilt in the Emperor’s eyes. It was not a personal guilt, Chenowith realized after a few moments. It was a collective guilt. Lord Chenowith searched his mind for anything in the histories of Khadora that could possibly cause such pain, but he found nothing.

  “How can you ask this of me, Father?” Lord Chenowith finally asked. “You have taught me to live according to our laws. Now you ask me to break them.”

  “No,” the Emperor shook his head. “I cannot ask you to break them, although I would like to. I do not request that you send your armies into battle in defense of the Balomar clan. I ask that you send your armies to be ready for battle. Lord Marak is expecting the Glamaraldi to provoke a crisis by attacking the Balomar. The problem as I see it, is that once that provocation takes place, our armies will be too far away to help.”

  “So you want me to send armies all the way to the eastern frontier, to wait for a potential battle?” questioned Lord Chenowith. “What are they to live on? How long shall they wait? You must be specifi
c in what you are asking me to do.”

  “I cannot be more specific,” sighed the Emperor. “Perhaps I am wrong to even ask such a sacrifice from you.”

  “Don’t do that to me, Father,” scowled Lord Chenowith. “Now you are making me feel guilty for not obeying your request without question. That is not fair.”

  “I am sorry,” apologized Emperor Bagora. “That was not my intention. I am frustrated by my inability to do what I know is right. The fault does not lie with you.”

  Lord Chenowith nodded with understanding. “If our situations were reversed, Father,” asked the lord of the Walkan clan, “What would you do?”

  “If I knew what I know,” shrugged the Emperor, “I would march my armies onto the Balomar estate and ask Lord Marak where they should take up positions.”

  “You feel that strongly about this?” Lord Chenowith asked as his eyebrow rose.

  “I do,” nodded the Emperor, “but I am wrong to ask you to do the same. It was a mistake to make such a request and then refuse to tell you my reasons.”

  “You have that much faith in this Lord Marak?” inquired Lord Chenowith. “Faith enough to violate the law?”

  “I would not violate the law,” the Emperor shook his head. “It would not be necessary.”

  “Not necessary?” frowned Lord Chenowith. “Maybe you did not understand me. I was talking about you committing Walkan troops to fight a war before any provocation has been registered with the Lords’ Council.”

  “I understand the question,” assured the Emperor.

  “How could you do that without breaking the law?” questioned Lord Chenowith. “It is not possible.”

  “It is possible,” sighed the Emperor. “I would swear Vows of Service to Lord Marak.”

  Lord Chenowith’s mouth fell open as he stared at the Emperor of Khadora. He shook his head as if to clear his ears, but he knew he had not misheard his father. For several long minutes, the silence remained unbroken. Father and son sat and stared at each other across the large desk. Finally, the son stood up and bowed to the Emperor.