Star of Sakova

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “How did he know someone would be up here?” asked MistyTrail.

  “He was told that someone would meet him,” StormSong said. “We weren’t down on the beach, so he figured we must be up here. “I’ll tie the answer to the rope and we can throw it over the side.”

  HawkShadow nodded as he rose, handed the paper to StormSong, and picked up the rope. StormSong scribbled StarWind’s name on the back of the slip of paper and tied it to the free end of the rope. When she had the note secured, HawkShadow threw the coil of rope over the edge and they waited with swords drawn. They watched as a lean, muscular man reached the lip of the cliff and pulled himself up. He was dressed completely in black except for silver wristbands, headband and waistband, each of which had the symbol of a sinuous sword stitched on them.

  “I am Halman,” he proclaimed, “and I am escorting Lord Marak. May I ask who you are?”

  HawkShadow stared at the man for a moment, studying his obvious military posture, before responding, “I am HawkShadow. This is StormSong and the little one is MistyTrail. We have been sent to meet you.”

  “I am the leader,” chirped MistyTrail, shooting a look of annoyance at HawkShadow. “Tell the others to come up so we can leave quickly.”

  “I understood that we were to meet Lyra here,” Halman objected. “Are there others nearby?”

  “No,” answered MistyTrail. “We are going to take you to see her.”

  “This is not what was arranged,” the Khadoran stated. “Why was a change made?”

  MistyTrail looked puzzled and HawkShadow interrupted. “The Omungan Katana was assassinated after this meeting was arranged,” he explained. “I objected to our leader leaving the stronghold for safety reasons and she agreed that it would be safer for all if the meeting were held in StarCity. I hope this is not an inconvenience for Lord Marak.”

  “I will find out,” Halman nodded as he grabbed the rope and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

  “Sorry, little one,” HawkShadow apologized after Halman left, “but we cannot keep an eye on the other two as long as we are distracted by this one. Better for all of them to be in the same place.”

  “At least you didn’t introduce me as the elf,” smiled MistyTrail. “They certainly do appear to be cautious.”

  “More so than I gave them credit for,” admitted StormSong. “That Halman just walked into the jaws of death for his lord. He makes me appreciate the fact that this lord is taking quite a risk as well by coming here.”

  Within moments, Halman returned up the rope and waited while the other two black-clad figures ascended. The tall blond man with the cape stepped forward and held out his hand to MistyTrail.

  “I am Marak,” he smiled. “I understand that you will lead our escort to StarCity, MistyTrail. I am pleased with the opportunity to see how the Sakovans live rather than meet in the wilderness.”

  MistyTrail blushed slightly and straightened her posture as if suddenly aware of her short stature. “We are pleased to be given the honor of escorting you, Lord Marak,” she smiled.

  “You must be StormSong,” Marak smiled as he extended his hand to the tall female Sakovan.

  StormSong took his hand but merely nodded at the introduction and Marak turned towards HawkShadow and introduced himself.

  “You have already met Halman,” Marak continued. “This is Gunta, my other escort. Are we going to ride on the famous Omungan birds?”

  “Omungan?” spat StormSong. “An Omungan would not know a choka until it had ripped his throat out.”

  “Sorry,” Marak apologized. “I guess the books that I have read tend to call everything on this side of the Kalatung Mountains Omungan. I would appreciate it if you would enlighten me whenever I chose the wrong words, StormSong. It would not speak well of me to make such mistakes when talking with your Star.”

  StormSong’s brow furrowed as she tried to figure out if Lord Marak was sincere in his comments or making fun of her. In either case, she was not his tutor or babysitter so he would have to learn on his own. She wondered briefly about the books Marak had read and smiled when she thought about the difference in reading about something and actually confronting it. The choka might very well be Lord Marak’s first lesson on Sakovan hospitality.

  “The trip to StarCity will require a longer stay for you, Lord Marak,” declared MistyTrail. “We should leave immediately so that you can return in time for your appointment with the boat.”

  Marak nodded and followed MistyTrail through the trees to where the chokas were left. He stopped as soon as he sighted one and stared in wonder. He had read descriptions of the giant warbirds but had never seen one before. His eyes scanned the features of the ten-foot tall bird, especially the sharp claws at the end of its short forearms.

  “Those claws look very sharp,” he noted. “How do they know friend from foe?”

  “They know us,” HawkShadow answered. “They can also sense how we are feeling towards others around us. They will let you ride them because that is why we brought them, but if you were to try to steal one, it would kill you.”

  “I will definitely not try to steal one then,” chuckled Marak. “Lead the way.”

  HawkShadow held a choka while Marak mounted and then did the same for Gunta and Halman. Marak’s two escorts had not said a word since the Lord had reached the top of the cliff. They were silent shadows, observing everything and giving nothing away as their faces remained expressionless. MistyTrail signaled for StormSong to lead and rode alongside Lord Marak. Gunta and Halman followed closely with HawkShadow bringing up the rear. MistyTrail fought the urge to ask the thousand questions she had bundled inside as she observed the rules of trail silence and the column moved swiftly and quietly throughout the day.

  Lord Marak also fought the urge to ask questions, questions that had been bottled up inside him since he had first read about Omunga. He had jumped at the chance to meet with the Sakovans, in part, to learn more about them. The books that he had read never spoke of the Sakovans, but Marak was beginning to think that the tomes were attributing the characteristics of the Sakovans to the Omungans. Before the trip was over, he would know the differences between the two peoples.

  Sometime after high sun, Marak began seeing some of the huge ancient fargi trees that in Khadora were only found in the areas occupied by the indigenous Chula. Most Khadorans had never seen a fargi tree, but they were indirectly responsible for Lord Marak’s rise to power when he was given control of an estate where the previous leaders had been massacred for trying to clear a fargi forest on Chula land. By sunset the sevemor trees had vanished completely and the group rode through a dark and ominous forest populated with the old giants. That was when MistyTrail called for camp to be set up.

  “May we help with the duties of setting up camp?” Marak asked as he dismounted his choka.

  “We make a simple camp,” MistyTrail answered, “and I have stopped early tonight because I thought you would be weary from your long day of travel. StormSong and HawkShadow will have everything set up in no time, but thank you for asking. What did you think of your first ride on a choka?”

  “It was thrilling,” beamed Marak. “If they are as good in battle as I have read, they would easily be my choice of a mount instead of a horse.”

  “They are very much like having a partner in battle,” smiled MistyTrail. “You do appear to be enjoying yourself on this trip. I guess it is like a vacation for you.”

  “Hardly,” Marak frowned. “I mean I am enjoying the trip and I anticipate learning a great deal about the Sakovans, which excites me, but it is hardly a vacation in which I can enjoy myself without thinking about the problems I have left behind. As much as I would have taken this trip just to learn about your people, my real reason is to discuss our mutual problems with the Omungans. Your news that the Katana has been assassinated disturbs me. Can you tell me if it was a Sakovan who killed him?”

  “It was not,” frowned MistyTrail without her perpetual smile. “It is being portra
yed as such though and there is really little difference when it comes right down to it. The Omungan government will use the excuse to wage war upon us. We should leave such weighty discussion to the Star though. It is not my place to speak of such things and I am curious about your homeland. Can you tell me what it is like?”

  “I can try,” offered Marak. “I am not sure anyone can offer a short discussion of Khadora because the culture is so complex but I will do my best if you will reciprocate.”

  MistyTrail nodded and smiled and Marak began describing Khadora to the young woman while StormSong and HawkShadow set up camp and Halman and Gunta tended to their weapons. The discussion was interrupted by a simple meal of fruits and dried meat and afterwards everyone sat around the small campfire HawkShadow had started. Marak and MistyTrail continued to share cultural experiences and trade humorous stories. HawkShadow, Halman, and Gunta listened to the conversation, but StormSong wandered off into the woods tired of the parlor talk about lords and ladies and wondering why her time was being wasted escorting some pampered youngster while the armies of Omunga were gathering to attack her home.

  After a while, Marak rose and excused himself and strode out of the campsite. He heard rustling in the woods and stealthily moved towards the sounds. He stopped when he saw StormSong with her sword unsheathed going through the movements of battle. He stared at her for a while, watching her graceful but efficient movements, with admiration. Eventually, StormSong stopped dancing and Marak walked towards her. Her sword came up reflexively and angled towards his chest.

  “Isn’t it a little early in your trip to be spying?” she snapped.

  Marak raised his hands and backed up a few steps. “My apologies,” he offered. “I did not think admiring a warrior’s dance was considered spying in Sakova. In fact, I have never known anyone to shadow practice other than myself. You are very talented.”

  “Well thank you my Lord,” she snapped sarcastically. “I don’t practice as a form of entertainment though. I practice to perfect my skills, not for some display of false ability.”

  “As you should,” Marak sighed. “Have I offended you in some way, StormSong? I have detected your hostility since we met and if I have erred in my behavior, I would like to apologize and understand what it is that I have done.”

  “Your behavior has been impeccable,” stated HawkShadow as he stepped out of the dark shadows. “StormSong probably just has a lot on her mind.”

  “Do not apologize for me, HawkShadow,” berated StormSong. “I merely want to practice in peace without babysitting some youngster whose daddy made him a lord for his birthday.”

  Marak smirked and shook his head. “Shadow dancing in a great way to stay in shape, StormSong” he said, “but it is more efficient to practice with a partner. Perhaps you will let me practice with you. A vigorous workout will peal that anger out of your system as the perspiration cleanses your pores.”

  “Lord Marak,” HawkShadow interjected quickly knowing what it could mean to the upcoming meeting to have the Khadoran guest show up in bandages, “it is not a good idea to practice with StormSong. If you wish lessons, I will gladly offer myself for your training.”

  “No, I might enjoy ridding myself of my anger,” sneered StormSong. “Better it be at night when the shiny hilt of your unused sword will not blind me by reflecting the sun.”

  “Excellent,” smiled Marak as he removed his cape and tossed it aside. “What are the rules?” he asked as saw the rest of the party gathering around.

  “There is only one rule,” snarled StormSong. “The match ends when you cry for mercy.”

  “I will make a point of crying loudly then,” chuckled Marak as he drew the Sword of Torak, its long sinuous blade as black as the hilt that had been hidden under his cape.

  HawkShadow’s face frowned at the sight of the ominous sword, but StormSong did not appear intimidated. She waited impatiently for the pampered lord to come at her. Marak held his sword awkwardly, as if he was not used to its feel in his hands, and moved towards StormSong. The Sakovan warrior lunged at him and Marak twirled his black blade upward deflecting his opponent’s sword. StormSong moved immediately to her left and spun, bringing her sword around in a deadly waist-high swing. Marak swiftly dropped to the ground and pivoted so that his feet swept into StormSong’s legs and she tumbled to the ground. StormSong jumped to her feet as swiftly as the Khadoran Lord and smiled at him.

  Both warriors feinted and attacked, probing the other for weaknesses, for a while and then settled into a brutal match of clashing blades and amazing acrobatic displays. The match dragged on with Marak and StormSong perspiring heavily and still neither party seemed to gain the upper hand.

  “Why is he holding back?” MistyTrail heard Halman whisper.

  MistyTrail smiled as she heard Gunta reply, “He is accomplishing the mission at hand, which is breaking her anger without breaking her spirit. She is really a fantastic fighter. She may be holding back herself.”

  After a grueling two hours, MistyTrail ordered a stop to the fighting. “As much as we are enjoying this display of fighting prowess,” she smiled, “we must get an early start in the morning.”

  Marak and StormSong needed little excuse to stop as both of them were dripping wet and fatigued to the point of exhaustion. StormSong held her hand out to Lord Marak and he shook it firmly.

  “You are a mighty fine warrior, StormSong,” congratulated Marak. “That was the best spar I have had in a long time.”

  “You dropped your pampered Lord act too soon,” laughed StormSong. “I really enjoyed that fight. I would like to do it again before you leave.”

  “As would I,” agreed Lord Marak. “Preferably somewhere where a bath is available afterwards though.”

  Everyone laughed and the group moved back to the campsite where Marak and StormSong sat together with their backs against a huge fargi tree and talked for a while before turning in for the night.

  Chapter 30

  Convergence

  “Where are we?” growled Master Malafar. “What happened to my clothes?”

  “We are several leagues outside Okata,” answered StarWind, “and your clothes will be here shortly. We could not smuggle you out of the capital dressed as yourself.”

  “So you drugged me?” accused the Katana killer. “What gives you the right to do whatever you wish with me? How dare you presume to know what is best for me.”

  StarWind shook her head and bit her lower lip. “Look,” StarWind spat, “we risked our lives to get you out of the city and it was not to hear you act like a child. If you are so determined to commit suicide there is little I can do to stop you, so when Goral brings your clothes, you can get dressed and march back into town.”

  “A child?” raged Malafar. “I should blast you so hard that the rest of your merry little band can fit in the crater where you stood.”

  Goral came into the clearing carrying a bundle and looked quizzically at StarWind. “I hid the litter where it will not be found for some time,” he reported. “Is there a problem here?”

  “No, Goral,” she sighed. “Give Malafar his clothes so he can leave. I will leave so he can get dressed.”

  StarWind spun and stomped out of the clearing and Goral watched her leave before giving Malafar the bundle of clothes. “You were not very nice to her,” he said softly to the old mage.

  “And what business is it of yours?” scowled Malafar.

  “She is my friend,” Goral declared. “Have you never had a friend you would die for?”

  “What are you talking about?” murmured Malafar as he shed the womanly disguise and started dressing.

  “You threatened to kill her,” Goral frowned. “That is not a nice thing to do. Then I would have to kill you and that would make me sad because of Lyra.”

  Malafar stopped dressing and stared at the balding giant. “What makes you think you would live long enough to kill me?” quizzed Malafar. “And what does this have to do with Lyra?”

  “I did
not say that I would survive when I killed you,” clarified Goral, “I just said I would have to kill you. Neither of us would probably survive.” He walked closer to Malafar to sit on a stump and the old man backed away nervously. “You do not need to be afraid of me,” he stated, “unless you kill my friends. We smuggled you out of the city to take you to Lyra. I thought you would be happy, but that just shows how smart I am I guess.”

  “Where exactly is Lyra?” Malafar asked as he continued dressing.

  “She is in StarCity,” Goral responded. “Don’t you want to see her?”

  “Is she well?” inquired the father of the Sakovan Star. “Is she a prisoner?”

  “She is very well,” smiled the gentle giant. “She is not a prisoner and free to leave whenever she wants, but I do not think she wants to leave.”

  “And what makes you think she would be happy with a bunch of killing savages?” snarled Malafar.

  “I don’t think she would be,” admitted Goral. “Is that what you thought of Rhodella, that she was a savage?”

  Malafar whirled with his teeth bared and his hand started to rise, but he caught himself at the sight of Goral sitting casually on the stump and merely clenched his fists. “If you are trying to anger me,” growled Malafar, “you are doing a good job of it.”

  “I am not trying to anger you,” assured Goral. “I am trying to understand you, but I cannot. I am afraid that I am a little slow with such complicated things. Your wife was a famous and well-respected Sakovan and I heard that you loved her deeply, so I cannot understand how you can hate Sakovans so much.”

  “Because they are dedicated to destroying the government,” Malafar hissed through clenched teeth. “Rhodella gave up those revolutionary ideals when we married. ”

  “I am sorry Master Malafar,” pleaded Goral, “but that makes even less sense to me. If being Sakovan means that you are a savage, can you just renounce being a Sakovan and then not be the same person you were before? I mean does wanting to hurt the Omungan government make one a savage and when she didn’t want that anymore then it was okay?”