Alazar moved swiftly to the small room off of his office and stripped off his crimson robe. He grabbed a long tattered black robe from the closet and slid it on. He reached into the pocket and withdrew a cloth eye patch and slid it on, adjusting the wide cloth strap so it covered his scar. He knotted up his long black hair and stuffed it into a seaman’s cap. Next he removed his fine court shoes and put on a pair of scuffed sandals. As a finishing touch, he treated his goatee, eyebrows, and any other exposed hair with a dusting of fine gray powder.
Alazar moved to the mirror and inspected himself. He smirked at the reflection. Razala! It had been some time since Razala had shown his face in Okata. The capital of Omunga was a den of many vipers and Razala knew how to find them. He opened a chest and extracted several bags of gold and stuffed them in his pockets. With a practiced limp, Razala returned to the office of the First Minister of Omunga and flipped the lever for the secret passageway. The bookcase slid silently open and Razala entered the dark corridor.
The secret passageway ended in a potter’s shed in the public garden just outside the palace walls. The shed had not been in use for many years and everything in it was covered with dust except the floor. Klaarg was efficient in keeping the floor clean so that no sign of passing would be noticed should someone happen to visit the abandoned building.
Razala peered through the spy hole in the shed door. It was already dark out and nothing moved in the garden. He quietly opened the door and stepped into the garden. Excitement wound its way through Razala as it always did when he used one of his disguises. Strange he thought, but he would miss this part of his scheming when he became Katana.
Razala limped out of the garden and onto the city streets. He kept to the darkness and those few souls out and about, gave the ominous looking sailor a wide berth. Razala was a tall man and although he looked old and lame, the maliciousness of his face let others know he was not to be crossed.
The streets in the vicinity of the palace were fine homes and, unfortunately for Razala, well lit. He was forced into the light more times than he cared for, but he soon limped his way out of the area into a less opulent section of the city. He picked up his pace here, the limp becoming less pronounced, until he neared the waterfront. The waterfront was lined with taverns, shops, and warehouses with rundown homes behind them. One could purchase anything in this seedy area of town. The trick lies in getting your purchase home without becoming victim to a pickpocket or thief.
Razala adopted a permanent scowl on his face as he neared the waterfront, having learned that thieves typically went for the easiest prey. He stumbled into the first sailor’s tavern he came to and limped up to the bar.
“Harac?” he croaked.
The bartender looked at him briefly and shook his head. Razala scanned the room as he turned back towards the door and shuffled out into the street. The waterfront was just starting to come alive at this time of night as workers finished their tasks for the day and migrated down to waterfront to procure whatever pleased them. Razala entered the next tavern and scanned the room before approaching the bar.
“Harac?” he croaked again.
This bartender had been pouring ale and stopped, putting the mugs down, and approached Razala. “Ain’t seen him,” the barkeep slurred. “If you finds him, you tell him he still owes me and I’m getting impatient. Now get outa here.”
Razala scowled at the man and left. The next three taverns were no better and Razala was getting impatient himself. He entered another tavern and this time the barkeep nodded over his shoulder. Razala nodded and made his way along the bar to a doorway leading to a back room. A burly man blocked the doorway and Razala limped straight for him.
“Harac,” he stated simply as he approached the man.
The man nodded and stepped aside. Razala went through the doorway and down a short hall, turning into another room crowded with people. He could barely squeeze into the room and had to push his way, which earned him hard looks and a few shouted insults. In the center of the room two men sat at a table with their left hands palm down, while their right hands held sharp knives. Their right arms were intertwined with each other and they were trying to stab their opponent’s left hand.
It was an old sailor game that had resulted in many a lost finger or maimed hand. All around the table, other men were betting on the outcome of the match. Across the room in the crowd was a seedy looking man with week old stubble on his face and only three fingers on his left hand. Razala headed straight for him.
“Harac,” he said when he reached the man.
The short man looked up annoyed, but his eyes widened when he saw Razala. “Just a moment,” he said. “After this match. I got 5 coppers on this one.”
Razala took a gold piece out of his purse and placed it in Harac’s hand. Harac looked at it and his eyes opened wide. He grinned as he shoved the coin into his pocket and nodded.
“C’mon out back,” he said as he led the way through the crowd and out the back door into an alleyway. “‘Tis good to see you again Razala. You must want something big to be throwing gold around like this.”
“Something big,” Razala confirmed. “And I want it done right. It is going to take a lot of men. Can you handle that?”
“A lot of men is a lot of gold,” reasoned Harac. “What do you need done?”
“Are you familiar with the Campanil area?” Razala asked.
“Sure, I’ve been there before,” answered Harac. “Decent taverns and not much else.”
“It is the main producing area for watula,” explained Razala, “and it is almost harvest time.”
“Hey, you don’t mean to harvest watula, do ya?” asked Harac.
“No,” sneered Razala. “I want the entire crop destroyed. Burn it all down.”
“Are you crazy?” asked Harac. “Why do you want us to burn crops?”
“Do you care?” Razala queried as he placed a bag of gold in Harac’s hand.
Harac opened the bag and looked in. “I don’t care,” laughed Harac. “I will even burn the city down if you want.”
“There is more to it,” Razala stated as he handed another bag of gold to Harac. “I want it to look like it was done by Sakovans.”
Harac raised an eyebrow as he stuffed the two bags of gold in his pocket. “How do I do that?” he inquired. “I don’t know what Sakovans even look like.”
“Leave some bodies behind with some stars in their backs,” Razala suggested. “Maybe mutilate a few bodies. The important thing is that nobody knows it was not Sakovans. That means it all goes up at the same time. It will take a lot of men and a lot of closed mouths.” Razala handed him two more bags of gold.
Harac swiftly stuffed the gold away. “I can get the men,” he assured. “I won’t say anything to them about Sakovans, but I will tell them what to do. I think the easiest way to make it sound like Sakovans is to tell the Imperial Guard that we seen them do it after it happens.”
“Whatever,” Razala said. “As for your men talking about it afterwards, I will give you ten times the amount of gold when you return successfully. The fewer men who return with you, the more gold there is to share.”
“You mean burn my own men?” Harac grinned.
“You could be a very wealthy man if you do this properly,” smirked Razala, “or a dead one if you mess it up. Plan your attack well before you attempt it. If the destruction is not blamed on Sakovans, do not come back.”
Harac squinted at the old man. He made good money off this man in the past, but nothing on this scale. Ten times the four bags of gold would make him rich. He wouldn’t need his men for anything after this job anyway.
“How do I find you when I come back?” Harac asked.
“I will find you as I always do,” smiled Razala. “Do not worry about getting paid. Your work will make a small fortune for me and I do not mind sharing. In fact, you do this job successfully and I will have another for you.”
Harac nodded his head vigorously as the old cripple
limped off into the darkness.
Chapter 18
Mekin
The young impish woman opened the door to the Sakovan leader’s office and marched to the desk, her long golden hair swaying about her waist as she walked. “We found him wandering aimlessly around the Sakova,” MoonFlow reported.
“Have you verified his identity?” RavenWing asked as he peered out the open door at the young man waiting in the corridor.
“He knows his father’s Sakovan name and bears his father’s ring,” MoonFlow responded. “I am afraid we have little information on Mekin in our files. He is around the right age and his physical description matches what is in the files. Is there some concern that he might be a spy?”
“There is always concern,” sighed RavenWing. “Send him in and I will speak with him. You should remain and see if you detect anything out of place.”
MoonFlow called to Mekin and the young man entered the office. His eyes darted left and right absorbing every detail of the office as he entered and came to a stop before RavenWing’s desk. He smiled at the white-haired old man and extended his hand in greeting.
“Thank you for saving me,” Mekin greeted. “I was beginning to wonder if I would travel the Sakova forever in search of you.”
RavenWing grasped the young man’s hand and held it firmly as if measuring the depth of the man behind it. “Tell me what happened to your father,” he ordered.
“It was fairly sudden,” Mekin explained. “The night before he was taken, he gave me his ring with instructions to come here if anything happened to him. He must have known they were on to him. He refused to elaborate further when I pressed him for an explanation of what was happening and why I should come here. My father never told me of the Sakovans before that night. I had no idea that I was Sakovan. You can imagine how confused I was by his abrupt disclosure. All he would tell me was that his name was GoldenEar and that I must come here. The next morning he was arrested while leaving the house. I hid in the rafters when I heard the noise and the guards that searched the house did not notice me.”
“What did you do then?” RavenWing asked as he released the young man’s hand and indicated that he should sit.
“At first I refused to believe that they would hold him,” frowned Mekin. “I remained hidden for a few days. At night I would sneak out and try to learn of his fate. Finally I heard that he was executed as a Sakovan spy. I could not believe my ears. I am afraid that I became hysterical for a while and lost track of time, still refusing to believe that he was gone and I was alone in the world.”
Mekin’s eyes dropped to the floor between his feet and he stopped talking. RavenWing walked around the desk and sat behind it. “Continue,” he prompted. “It is important that we know what happened to him.”
“There is nothing more I can tell you about him,” sniffed Mekin. “They issued a bulletin for my arrest and I knew that I had to flee. I had traveled extensively with my father and I knew most of the roads and trails out of the city so I set about escaping Okata. I managed to elude the patrols looking for me and made it to the Sakova, but I had no idea of what to do once I entered. I fear I might have died out there if your people had not found me.”
“Are you saying that you had no inkling that your father was a Sakovan spy?” RavenWing inquired.
“None,” Mekin shook his head. “I still find it hard to believe, but here I am so I guess it is true.”
RavenWing breathed a slight sigh of relief that GoldenEar had been so closemouthed. “What skills do you have?” he queried. “Can you cast magic? Handle a sword?”
“I am a merchant’s son,” replied Mekin. “I know how to trade and measure and negotiate a good deal. I have never known magic and my skill with a sword is minimal. I would never have been able to resist the Imperial Guard if they had found me. Only my knowledge of their patrols allowed me to get this far.”
RavenWing nodded noting the relatively unused condition of the young man’s short sword. He did not feel comfortable with unexpected visitors to the Sakova, but he had an obligation to care for all Sakovans and Mekin was alone after the death of his father. The young man certainly did not appear to be a threat to their security as long as he remained in StarCity, and remain he would until RavenWing was convinced that he was genuine.
“Very well,” RavenWing stated. “We share your loss of GoldenEar. You are alone no longer. We will take care of you. First we must get you situated in quarters and then we must see that you learn some skills to defend yourself. Please wait in the corridor while I speak with MoonFlow.”
The young man smiled and nodded as he left the room. “These are indeed strange times,” RavenWing sighed after Mekin’s departure. “Put him near the other outlanders,” he ordered. “Perhaps the comfort of people who share his culture will aid the healing process. Have him start sword practice with the two Omungan boys. They will be closer to his skill level.”
“It shall be done,” MoonFlow replied. “Perhaps when StarWind returns she can review his case. She has a much better knack at seeing the truth behind words.”
“Yes,” frowned RavenWing. “I am not sure why, but I am still uncomfortable about this visit, although he does not appear to be able to fight his way out of a closet. His hands are weak and have never seen a hard day’s work. Learning to use a sword will raise blisters on those tender hands. Perhaps I am just too skeptical these days.”
“It never hurts to be safe,” smiled MoonFlow. “I will see that he gets settled in.”
MoonFlow left the office and took Mekin to his room. He deposited his meager belongings and she took him down to the practice yard and introduced him to Syman, Antello, and the rest of the students assembled there. Mekin smiled and waved as MoonFlow left the yard.
***
Lyra felt the energy flare along her arm as her fingers sparkled with lightning. She remembered to adjust the spell for her magic ring and watched in amazement as the fireball grew in her hand. When it had reached the energy level she wanted, she tossed the flaming orb towards the lake. The fireball screamed through the air, trailing sparks and wisps of smoke before plunging into the calm water.
“Excellent,” pronounced LifeTender. “You have such power for one so young. You should remove the ring and see what real power you have.”
“No,” smiled Lyra. “I must learn to cast with it on. My concentration still wavers slightly when I remember what the ring did to my first attempt at casting fireballs. I must rid myself of those thoughts and wearing the ring will help.”
“As you wish,” conceded LifeTender. “We should concentrate on healing spells now. They are my specialty and you do not seem to be having any problems with the fireball. Your father taught you well on the fundamentals of the gentler magics and I think it will not be long before you surpass me in the healing arts.”
“You are too generous with your praise,” laughed Lyra. “My father taught me the basics of control and concentration. Most of the spells he taught me have no practical use.”
“Not true,” protested LifeTender. “I think he taught the spells but left the student to discover the application for them. Do you remember telling me about the calming spell you used on your friends during the attack?”
“Sure,” Lyra replied. “I was disturbed to find that they passed out from it.”
“That is because he taught you to use it for calming a patient,” instructed LifeTender. “The same spell can immobilize a sentry or guard and you do not need to have skin contact for it to work. The reason that Syman and Antello passed out is because you used more energy than you should have for the effect you wanted. You were distracted by the attack and did not concentrate on the spell. If you remember how your father taught that spell, I am sure you will recall that he said to cast it soothingly. Perhaps he told you to transfer the calmness of yourself into the patient?”
“Something similar to that,” Lyra agreed. “He stressed the smoothness of the touch and the need for concentration on the gentle fl
ow of energy.”
“Exactly,” shined LifeTender. “Imagine utilizing the same spell in a confrontational setting.
LifeTender tossed her brown hair to one side and pointed to a clova not far off. “See that clova?” she asked. “Imagine that it is possessed with an evil spirit and that it intends to charge us and eat us.”
“A clova is going to eat us?” laughed Lyra. “Not unless we turn into grass.”
“Okay,” chuckled the small Sakovan healer. “Pretend that it is a rabid wolf then. I want you to calm the animal, but do not approach it. Visualize that your touch can reach it from where you stand and instead of trying to calm it, try to paralyze it.”
Lyra shook her head but followed the healer’s instructions. She easily visualized the extension of her arm and smiled when she could almost feel herself touching the clova. She cast the spell and nothing happened. Frowning she tried again and the clova bleated.
“Are you touching it?” asked LifeTender.
“Yes, yes,” answered Lyra. “I can almost feel it. Amazing. The spell, however, appears to have no effect on the animal.”
“You are casting the spell at a distance,” LifeTender stated. “You must supply more energy into the spell for it to work at such a distance. Try harder.”
Lyra nodded as she forced more energy into the spell. She could almost feel the wool rise to meet her hand as she cast the spell again. The clova bleated and rolled its head slightly.
“Harder,” prompted LifeTender. “You are being too gently with it.”
Lyra frowned as she concentrated on increasing the flow towards the animal. “I can’t get anymore into it,” she complained. “I guess I do not have the power.”
“Its teeth are sharp and pointed,” suggested LifeTender. “It is drooling foam.”
Lyra continued to struggle with the spell, her brow knitted in concentration and her teeth gritted.
“It’s attacking!” screamed LifeTender. “It is going to kill us.”
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