“Forgive the intrusion,” the scout bowed. “I was told the Grand Shaman was here and my report is urgent.”
Tmundo nodded to Rykoma and the Grand Shaman told the scout to report.
“Yellow plume has left the mansion and is riding this way, but without his plume,” reported the scout. “He is alone and left secretively. I saw only one flatlander who saw him leave. The rest continue to party and appear incapable of defending Fardale.”
“Why would a yellow plume travel alone and unescorted?” puzzled Tmundo.
“I can only speculate,” replied the scout. “We tried to remain within the walls, but some of the soldiers threw stones at us and it was not safe, even as kittens. Yellow plume gave a speech at the party. I believe he is their new Lord, but he is very young, perhaps he is the son of a Lord. He stated that he had plans for the Chula and the crowd was very pleased with his statement. Perhaps he plans to spy on us and find out if we have any weaknesses.”
“Why would a Lord do this himself?” questioned Tmundo. “Certainly he would find some other soldier to risk his neck.”
“I do not know,” admitted the scout, “but this Lord is a warrior. I can see it in the way he walks and holds himself, like a wary wolf waiting to leap at the first sign of trouble. Whatever he plans, we will know soon. He was riding straight for Sitari Valley and his horse was not walking. I ran all the way to make sure you had this information before he arrived.”
“Very well,” decided Tmundo. “Let us provide a welcoming committee for this new Lord. Maybe he thinks to challenge me in personal combat. Rykoma, have your shaman prepare for battle.”
* * *
Lord Marak slowed as he reached the entrance to Sitari Valley. Looking around under the dark sky, Marak could see nothing. He did not like the feeling of entering the valley alone in the dark, but the matter could not be put off any longer. He hoped the author of the book that he read was as knowledgeable about the Chula as he claimed to be. Marak rode slowly along the animal path and kept his eyes straight ahead. He wouldn’t be able to see anything in the dark woods to either side of himself and roving eyes would only distract from his other senses. Marak kept his ears perked for any sounds and let his nose adjust to the scent of the fargi trees. The forest smelled musty in areas, like piles of wet leaves from last fall. Other areas smelled fresh as if spring was just taking hold of the valley.
The forest got darker as he quietly rode deeper into the valley. The path was relatively clear of leaves and the horse caused only a minor disturbance. Still, he dismounted and tied the horse to a tree and continued along the path on foot. His legs trembled slightly when he heard a sound off to his right. The noise did not sound like a person sneaking up on him, but rather like an animal stalking its prey. Marak thought back to the descriptions of the tigers that the Fardale men said their woodsman saw. He silently berated himself for losing concentration and steeled himself for attack as he continued along the path.
Marak came to a small clearing and could just make out the scar of a woodsman’s ax on one of the trees. He stopped walking and slowly turned in a circle. There were very slight noises all around him, but nothing he could identify. His eyes picked up several shapes moving on the path he had just walked along and tried to follow them, but they merged with the darkness of the forest and Marak returned to concentrating on his other senses.
Lord Marak was startled by a brilliant flash of light in the woods and his head turned instinctively towards it, even as his body was dropping to the ground. The flash was a strange blue-white light and Marak watched in slow motion as the projectile soared towards him.
Chapter 8
Kywara
Lord Marak hit the ground and hugged it as the blue-white light exploded above him, creating eerie shadows and illuminating the warriors and tigers surrounding him. Marak glanced up at the brilliant globe of light spinning high over his head and quickly clamped his eyes shut. Still, the light sparkled through his eyelids and Marak slowly and cautiously pushed himself off the ground.
With steady hands, Marak slowly and obviously removed his sword from its sheath and laid it gently on the ground. Next he removed the two belt knives and placed them on the ground. Looking towards the path at the Chula sitting calmly but attentively on their tigers, Marak removed the two throwing knives from their sheaths attached to his forearms and gently laid them next to the sword. Finally, while scanning the hillside from which the light had come, Marak removed two Omunga Stars from his broad Situ belt and placed them on the ground.
Marak distinctly heard a chuckle when he had finished discarding his weapons and stood with his arms outstretched and his palms facing upward.
With a loud voice that reverberated through the woods, Marak called out. “I have not come to invade you by myself. I have come to talk about an ending to the bloodshed. Will your Tribe Leader hear my words or is the senseless killing to continue?”
A tall, muscular Chula, clad only in a breechcloth, materialized out of the trees and walked up to Marak. The Chula warrior quickly ran his hands over Marak and stood back, waving to some unseen person. Another Chula warrior stepped out of the bushes and gathered up Marak’s weapons. Marak was impressed by the stealthiness of the Chula warriors. The first Chula warrior gently reached up and pulled Marak’s headband down over the Lord’s eyes, effectively blindfolding him.
Marak felt firm hands take hold of each of his arms and start leading him up the hillside. His two escorts managed to make the trip uneventful and fifteen minutes later Marak was set down on the floor near a fire.
“You may remove your blindfold,” offered a deep, solid voice.
Marak pushed his headband back up onto his forehead and glanced around the hut. Across from him was a muscular, powerful looking man dressed in deerskin. Marak assumed the voice belonged to the deerskin-clad man because the person sitting next to him looked like he should purr, rather than speak in a deep voice. The second person resembled a man with pronounced cat-like features. He had a full mane of hair, which Marak could picture as being appropriate on a lion. His eyes were narrow slits and long whiskers extended from above his split lips.
“Thank you,” stated Marak. “I am Lord Marak of Fardale and I have come to talk about peace between our peoples.”
“Peace?” purred the cat man. “Do you call sneaking, heavily armed, onto our lands in the dark of night a proper prelude to peace?”
“If the people of Fardale knew I was coming here,” explained Marak, “they would have tried to come with me. You would have taken it for another invasion and we would not be sitting here talking. Yes. I call it a proper prelude to peace talks.”
“Well spoken,” smiled the deerskin-clad man. “I am Tmundo, Leader of the Kywara Tribe. With us is Rykoma, our Grand Shaman. We shall honor your bravery in coming here with talk of peace. It is well that you did not bring another army onto our lands.”
“It is my desire to never bring another army onto your lands,” declared Marak. “It is also my intention to make sure that the Kywara never sneak into Fardale and murder my people again.”
“Murder?” cried Rykoma. “Your people were warned of the consequences of invading the Sitari Valley before they came. Our people only delivered what we promised.”
“If that is true,” questioned Marak, “how can I make sure that it does not happen again?”
“If that is true?” scolded Rykoma. “If that is true? Do you doubt the word of the Kywara?”
Tmundo gently laid his hand on Rykoma’s arm and the shaman fell silent. “The Kywara are known for the truth of their word,” Tmundo stated softly. “Not only the literal truth, like the flatlanders, but the spirit of the truth, as well. If I give my word that no flatlanders will be harmed by Kywara inside Fardale, you may trust it with my life.”
“I will accept your words as truth,” conceded Marak, “but I do not seek your life. I could order my people to stay out of the Sitari Valley, but I would not guarantee their performance with my l
ife. I would guarantee it with the forfeited lives of any offenders, though.”
“So, you fear a lack of control over the people of Fardale,” Tmundo pointed out. “You appear to be wise and honest. Does this mean that you will order your people to stay out of the valley?”
“I will so order,” Lord Marak offered, “if you give your word about Fardale in return.”
“Before I do so,” hesitated Tmundo, “I want to know more about you and Fardale. I know that you have brought fresh soldiers to Fardale with you. Why have they come?”
“I was scheduled to lead them here in two weeks' time to assist Lord Lashendo in defeating you,” admitted Marak. “The men I have brought with me are the men of my Corte. I was a Cortain when we heard of the murders and our departure was moved up to leave Lituk Valley immediately.”
“So, you admit that the soldiers were sent here to destroy us?” interrupted Rykoma.
“I admit that those were the orders I was to follow before we heard of the murders,” continued Marak. “Things have changed since then and I am now in a position to redirect their efforts.”
“I am confused,” Tmundo said. “You are a minor officer in the Situ Army. You had orders to assist Lord Lashendo in destroying us. Now you show up as Lord Lashendo’s replacement, with the same troops, and you expect us to believe that we are in no danger of attack?”
“Yes,” declared Lord Marak. “My men and myself have no reason to wish you harm. We follow orders and those orders were to assist Lord Lashendo with his military operation. Lord Lashendo is dead and no longer in control of Fardale. I am Lord of Fardale and the soldiers will follow my orders. I do not wish war with the Kywara. I also do not wish to send my men back to serve under Lord Ridak. They will stay in Fardale.”
“You are very young to be a Lord,” observed Rykoma. “Is Lord Ridak your father, or are you the son of another Situ Lord?”
“No,” answered Lord Marak. “I am the son of a slave who serves Lord Ridak. Before you ask how I became Lord of Fardale, I will explain it for you. Lord Lashendo wanted to clear Sitari Valley to gain more land to increase his amount of harvestable crops. Without an increase in the amount of crops, Lord Lashendo would not be able to deliver on contracts he has already made. Your murder of Lord Lashendo did not alter the problem for the Situ Clan, but it did alter the available replacements for his position. I do not know how my selection will help the Situ Clan if I fail, but Lord Ridak thinks there is some way it will help. Basically, they allowed me to be Lord because they didn’t want one of themselves to fail, but I do not intend to fail.”
“How, then, will you succeed?” asked Tmundo. “You face the same problems that Lord Lashendo faced, plus there will be no comforting support from Lituk Valley. Is there not more reason for you to seek control of Sitari Valley than Lord Lashendo?”
“I can not tell you how I will succeed,” admitted Marak, “but I can tell you that invading Sitari Valley will not be the solution. I am a warrior and I respect what I have seen of your warriors. It would be foolish of me to waste my men by fighting over a valley that would have little yield this year. If I am able to make my contracts for this year, I can reduce the amount for next year and not require any more tillable land. My problem is getting a large enough harvest this year. The extra men I brought with me may end up tilling the fields.”
“Your words ring with logic,” smiled Tmundo. “Will you be replaced as Lord of Fardale if you succeed?”
“Not if I can help it,” Marak said. “I have bargained for a pronouncement that makes me the absolute ruler of Fardale. Lord Ridak cannot order my people to do something other than what I want. If he removes me, he cannot force me to relinquish my people. He can enslave me for defying him, but there is nothing he can do to regain the Vows of my people short of killing me.”
“It would appear that Lord Ridak is playing with a tiger when he thought he had hold of a housecat,” interrupted Rykoma. “Why should the Kywara make the same mistake?”
“Do not the Kywara have better things to do than watch over their neighbors?” retorted Marak. “Lord Ridak has enslaved my mother and perhaps killed my father. His treatment of people is indecent. I wanted this position as Lord of Fardale to prove that things can work without enslaving people. Do you think I would unburden my people just to turn them back over to Lord Ridak when all of the problems are solved?”
“Do you really intend to free your slaves?” asked Tmundo.
“I have many changes planned for Fardale,” declared Lord Marak. “Freeing the slaves is but one. I have read that the Chula are capable of powerful magic. Is this true?”
Rykoma and Tmundo exchanged uneasy glances. “What would knowledge of Kywara magic have to do with Fardale?” questioned Rykoma.
“Situ magic is limited and not properly used,” answered Marak. “I said my mother was a slave to Lord Ridak. What I did not say is that she is also a soil mage. I spent my younger years in her care and met other mages of air, sun, and water. I believe that the four types can be combined into more powerful magic. I have read that the Chula have different types of magic that have been long forgotten to those whom you call the flatlanders. If your shaman could instruct my mages to increase the fertility of my fields, my yield would increase without the need for more land.”
“Kywara magic is never revealed to flatlanders,” Rykoma replied promptly. “If we were able to help your mages, we would not do so.”
Tmundo sensed the disappointment on Marak’s face, but said nothing about it. “Was your father also a mage?” the Kywara Leader asked.
“I do not know,” Marak answered. “I was young when we were separated and I do not remember him. All I have of him is my necklace and my mother’s memories. She never mentioned him having magical capabilities.”
Rykoma reached over and plucked the necklace from beneath Marak’s shirt so he could see it. “It is very handsome,” the Grand Shaman appraised as he gently pushed it back into place. “It is sad to lose your parents at a young age.”
If Lord Ridak comes with soldiers to forcibly retake Fardale,” asked Tmundo, “will your soldiers fight for you?”
“Lord Ridak will try many other methods of regaining control before he sends his soldiers,” Marak remarked. “I will have plenty of notice. I believe that by then the answer will be yes. I have much work to do to win the hearts of my people first.”
Tmundo smiled as he realized that he was taking a liking to the young warrior-turned-Lord. “I think your courage and devotion to your ideals will win their hearts soon enough. I am willing to make a pact with Fardale. This is the offer of my pact. If the people of Fardale will recognize Sitari Valley as the property of the Kywara and respect our boundaries, the Kywara will refrain from any attacks on Fardale . . . as long as Lord Marak reigns.”
“But what if . . . “, started Marak. “You are a wise man, Leader Tmundo. You not only seek peace with your neighbor, but seek to keep a peaceful neighbor. I am indebted to you on behalf of the Fardale people. It would please me to visit with you again, if that is permissible.”
“You are welcome to visit, Lord Marak,” extended Tmundo. “May I assume that you also offer such an invitation?”
Marak hesitated before answering. “I would welcome such a visit,” he finally replied. “I have a favor to ask in addition to our pact. When I return to Fardale I would like to be escorted by two of your warriors riding their beasts. It will help my people to accept you as friends and neighbors if they can see you as people instead of nightmares.”
“A wise request,” smiled Tmundo. “As long as we can keep your beast from shying, I think it will do us both well. I would like to send some of my people, unannounced, to look at your fields. Perhaps there is some advice we can give you. Will such a journey be safe for my people?”
“I will make it so,” guaranteed Marak. “Still, it would be best if they were small groups at first.”
“No more than one or two,” grinned Tmundo, “and they will leav
e their beasts behind. Now, we should all need time for sleep. I will have someone show you a place to sleep and in the morning two of my men will escort you to Fardale.”
Marak nodded his thanks and was led to an empty hut where he found his weapons waiting for him. A simple mat adorned the floor of the hut with fresh blankets folded alongside. Marak stripped off his uniform and covered himself with a blanket. The mat was very comfortable and the Lord of Fardale swiftly drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Squad Leader Zorkil opened the door and shook Tagoro. Tagoro rose up on one elbow and squinted at the rising sun. “What is it Zorkil? Has he returned?”
“No,” worried Zorkil. “He has been gone all night and I am worried about him. The Chula are barbarians and will torture him if he is caught. I wish you would tell me what his secret weapon is.”
Tagoro laughed as he scooped water from the basin to his face and wiped it dry with a towel. “You never asked what his secret weapon was, Zorkil,” chuckled Tagoro. “Lord Marak’s secret weapon is his mouth. He believes that many problems can be solved just by talking about them. The thought is quite foreign in Khadora and Marak and I have always joked about it. He has gone to talk with the Chula. That is why he did not want any company. They will not consider one man a threat, but two or three would be treated differently.”
“So that is why he was so adamant about me staying behind,” understood Zorkil. “But I do not think the Chula will stop to talk with him. They will kill him before he gets one word out.”
“Do not underestimate your new Lord,” laughed Tagoro. “Marak has many strange ideas, but they make sense after he has a chance to explain them. If anyone can talk the Chula into being peaceful, he will succeed. Still, I share your apprehensions. He should have been back many hours ago.”
“Do you think we should go looking for him?” asked Zorkil.
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