Young Lord of Khadora

by Richard S. Tuttle

  Lord Marak got into position and waited until he could confirm that Halman was ready. Marak knew his time was limited. The Air Mage stationed with the troops he had just passed through would have already sent the word of his arrival. Within moments, the entire ring of Fardale soldiers would start moving inward to capture Lord Zawbry’s men.

  Halman got into position and turned toward Lord Marak. Lord Marak nodded and the two men rose and hurled knives at their targets. Quickly sprinting across the distance separating them from their targets, the two blacksuited warriors grabbed at the falling bodies. Marak’s target dropped his lit pipe and the Fardale Lord had to extinguish the glowing bocco before someone noticed it. Halman and Lord Marak each propped their victims against trees in a seated position. The blood pouring down their chests would make it obvious that all was not well if anyone should happen by, but from a distance they would appear to be just slacking off their guard duty.

  Lord Marak signaled and Gunta brought Iscala forward. There were only three small tents between them and Lord Zawbry’s tent. Lord Marak viewed the scene with his eyes attuned for any movement. Satisfied that they had a clear path to the large tent, Lord Marak led the small group forward. He halted at the rear of Lord Zawbry’s tent and listened alertly. He could just hear the muffled conversation of two men and it took a moment of listening to realize that they were door guards at the front of the Ragatha Lord’s tent.

  Lord Marak pulled a knife and quietly slit the rear of the tent so that he could peek in. Lord Zawbry’s sleeping form was the only person visible and Lord Marak cut a larger slit in the fabric. Keeping his ears tuned to the conversation of the two guards, Lord Marak slipped into the tent and was quickly followed by the other three members of his team. He signaled for Halman and Gunta to take up positions on either side of the door flap, while he crouched next to Lord Zawbry’s sleeping body. Iscala positioned herself in the center of the tent and wove an Air Tube toward the Meeting Chamber in Fardale.

  Once the connection to Fardale was established, Lord Marak placed his knife to Lord Zawbry’s throat. The Ragatha Lord’s eyes snapped open and he stared up at Lord Marak. Despite the knife at his throat, Lord Zawbry uttered a cry and the door flap was thrown open to admit the two guards. Halman and Gunta were ready for them as they ran in. Each of them quickly stepped behind their victim and grabbed his head while slicing his throat.

  “Another outcry and more of your men will die,” scolded Lord Marak. “The first casualty will be you, though.”

  Fear and hatred lanced into Lord Marak from Lord Zawbry’s eyes, but the Ragatha Lord kept his voice low. “What do you want?” Lord Zawbry demanded.

  Lord Marak reached into his pouch and withdrew a black headband and thrust it into Lord Zawbry’s hands. “Put this over your eyes so we don’t have to watch you,” ordered Lord Marak.

  Lord Zawbry’s hate-filled eyes fixed on Lord Marak’s briefly before he took the headband and placed it over his head so that his eyes were covered. “You will never get out of this camp alive,” threatened Lord Zawbry.

  “I seem to remember hearing those words before,” chuckled Lord Marak, “but it is touching to see that you are concerned for my safety. You have a decision to make, Lord Zawbry. Do you want to live, . . . or do you want to die?”

  “So, that is your game, Marak,” spat Lord Zawbry. “Do you think I will call off the attack so you will let me live? I have a different deal to offer you. Leave immediately and I will spare your life when Fardale is crushed.”

  “You are a slow learner, Lord Zawbry,” Lord Marak said coldly. “You have no Army to attack Fardale with. Surrender to me now and you will be spared along with your men. Refuse and I will deal with your successor.”

  “Even if I surrender to you,” Lord Zawbry stated defiantly, “you will not hold me for long. What do you hope to gain?” Lord Zawbry knew that the morning would bring Lord Sevrin’s men streaming into Fardale and to die tonight would be a waste of his life.

  “We are running out of time,” scowled Lord Marak. “Issue your Vows of Service to me or I shall leave you here dead. It is your choice, but the decision must be made now.”

  Lord Zawbry had barely finished giving his Vows of Service to Lord Marak when shouts erupted outside the tent. The entire camp was coming alive with shouts and frenzied replies. Lord Marak nodded to his team members and they all pulled their headbands over their eyes. Lord Marak did the same and the last thing he saw before the darkness was Lord Zawbry’s pitiful smile. The Ragatha Lord obviously thought he was about to be rescued.

  Suddenly, the night sky burst into blinding brightness. Even through the opaque headband and the tent walls, Lord Marak winced at the brightness that enveloped the camp. Throughout the encampment men screamed and fell down as they were blinded by the blazing light. The flash was over in an instant, but Lord Marak’s eyes still held the afterglow left by the incredibly brilliant light as he peeled off his headband.

  “What in the name of the Lords Council was that?” hollered Lord Zawbry.

  “That was the end of your campaign to destroy Fardale,” explained Lord Marak as his sight began returning to normal.

  Gunta stuck his head out of the tent and raised a hand signal to Lord Marak. The signal meant that the Fardale forces were streaming into the camp from all sides and taking the Ragatha soldiers captive. Lord Marak signaled Halman to take over guarding Lord Zawbry and then left the tent.

  Outside the tent, the camp was in utter chaos. Blinded men stumbled around screaming. Others crawled around looking for someone to help them. Lord Marak saw his men coming into the camp and with cool efficiency, rounding up the prisoners. Some of the Ragatha soldiers tried to fight without being able to see their enemy, but they were quickly subdued. Each Woodville soldier had his hands tied behind his back and was seated before one of the tents. Klora told him that the blindness would vary from man to man, but most of them would be blind for about an hour.

  Lord Marak walked around the camp until he found Marshal Tingo. Gently lifting the Ragatha Marshal to his feet, he led him back to Lord Zawbry’s tent. Once inside the tent, he seated Marshal Tingo on one of the chairs.

  “Marshal Tingo is here, Lord Zawbry,” Lord Marak began. “You will instruct him to issue his Vows of Service to me.”

  “You!” exclaimed Marshal Tingo. “I would know that voice anywhere. What kind of animal are you to blind men like this?”

  “I am truly sorry to subject your men to this,” stated Lord Marak, “but it would appear that their leaders were blind already. You did not even have a provocation for this attack. We have let all of your men go safely through Fardale. What kind of man are you that would attack a friendly neighbor?”

  “I follow the lead of my Clan Lord, like every decent Marshal must,” insisted Marshal Tingo.

  “Then follow his lead now,” ordered Lord Marak. “Lord Zawbry has given me his Vows of Service. It is your turn to do so.”

  “Is this true, Lord Zawbry?” Marshal Tingo asked. “Have you given your Vows to Lord Marak?”

  Halman had to prod the Lord of Woodville to get him to respond. “I have,” he conceded. “Not that it will do him any good, though.”

  “Nor will it do the rest of us any good, either,” frowned Marshal Tingo. “A blind army will be of no use to anyone. I would give you my Vows, Lord Marak, because they are due you, but I would rather die than face life without my sight. What I can give you is warning of an attack by Lord Sevrin in the morning.”

  “Quiet, you fool!” exclaimed Lord Zawbry.

  “You call me a fool,” accused Marshal Tingo. “You swear allegiance to a man and do not tell him that he is to be attacked in the morning. Do your Vows mean nothing to you? Have you no honor at all?”

  “Your blindness is temporary, Marshal,” informed Lord Marak. “You will regain your sight in about an hour. As for Lord Zawbry having any honor, I think the answer is obvious. Woodville will need a new Lord in the morning.”

  “Are you
not listening?” cried Marshal Tingo. “Two thousand men are going to swarm into Fardale in the morning from the East. They will run over Fardale like it is a picnic basket and they are the ants. You and your men will be devoured.”

  “That is something I will deal with in the morning,” declared Lord Marak. “I have known of your plan for some time and I am ready for Lord Sevrin and his Army. Are you ready to give me your Vows?”

  “You shall have my Vows and the Vows of my men,” affirmed Marshal Tingo, “but only when I can look you in the eye. I do not doubt your word, Lord Marak, but there is a chance that you are mistaken. If that is the case, I would prefer to die.”

  “Fair enough,” accepted Lord Marak. “I will not expect your men to fight against the other Ragatha Clan Armies, but I must be assured that they will not hinder my attack. If there are men among your force who would give their Vows and not expect to honor them, like Lord Zawbry, you must identify them so they can be isolated from the rest.”

  “They will honor their Vows,” insisted Marshal Tingo. “In fact, you would honor us if you would allow us to deliver justice to Lord Zawbry for his duplicity.”

  “I will leave his fate in your hands,” agreed Lord Marak. “He is not fit to rule Woodville. I need to survey the camp. When your sight returns, come and find me so I may accept your Vows of Service. Do not delay because my time is short here.”

  Lord Marak strode out of the tent to inspect his new Army. They would not see him observing them, but he knew Marshal Tingo was right. They would take their Vows and they would honor them. Only the Lords of Khadora seemed to think the Vows were breakable. That, too, would change. The Born Warrior would instruct the Lords.

  Chapter 21

  The Pits

  The first lightening of the sky arose before Lord Marak as he galloped eastward toward the new battle lines. Off in the distance he could see the thick, billowing fog as it lay hugging the ground. He knew the fog was not natural, but the enemy didn’t. Lord Sevrin would feel compelled to attack this morning even through the fog. If he failed to come to Lord Zawbry’s aid, he stood a chance of losing Woodville. Lord Marak smiled slightly as he pondered what Lord Sevrin’s reaction would be if he knew he had already lost Woodville. The last thing Lord Marak saw when he left the Woodville camp was Lord Zawbry hanging from a tree. Marshal Tingo and his men had less stomach for a liar than Lord Marak did himself.

  Lord Marak slowed as he approached his own soldiers. Lectain Zorkil was manning the communications in the Meeting Chamber this morning. Marshal Yenga wanted to be on the field for this battle. Lord Marak saw the tall figure and headed for him. The Marshal’s aide pointed to Lord Marak and everyone’s head swiveled. The aide took his horse as Lord Marak dismounted and walked over to Marshal Yenga.

  “Lord Zawbry’s camp took longer than I cared for,” explained Lord Marak. “How are the preparations proceeding?”

  “Very well, so far,” answered Marshal Yenga. Their camp is up and moving around. They aren’t trying to be quiet. I guess they think we are too busy at the Woodville border to be concerned about what happens out here.”

  “Do you think we will be able to split them up?” inquired Lord Marak.

  “I certainly hope so,” remarked Marshal Yenga. “If we don’t, there will be a tremendous amount of blood spilled today and a fair bit of it will be ours. Couldn’t you pull one of your commando raids on them and avoid this battle?”

  “We have been through this before,” sighed Lord Marak. “I would love to do just that, but I would never get near Lord Sevrin. This is not the army of one estate, although it may be when we get done. Are the trenches holding up?”

  “They are,” confirmed Marshal Yenga. “I had them checked just a few moments ago. They feel as firm as the earth on either side of them. Someday I want to know how that is done.”

  “It’s really pretty simple,” remarked Lord Marak. “The pressure of the air in the trenches is great enough to keep the turf from dropping. Once the pressure is released, the soil suspended over the trench will suddenly drop to the bottom.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for that,” replied Marshal Yenga while shaking his head. “We are still going to have a problem getting them to go the way we want them to.”

  “That, Marshal Yenga, is your job,” frowned Lord Marak. “The more men you can lure into these traps, the less we will have to kill. I wish you the greatest success. Have you talked with the Litari and Sorgan Clans this morning?”

  “I have, and they are right where they are supposed to be,” nodded Marshal Yenga. “The Ragatha Army is not going to get around us. I just hope they don’t go over our bodies.”

  “If they do, you are fired,” chuckled Lord Marak. “Is there anything to eat around here?”

  The Marshal’s aide nodded and hurried off to fetch some food for the Fardale Lord. Is there any way you can determine where Lord Sevrin is in that mess?” probed Lord Marak.

  “None,” lamented Marshal Yenga. “I have never met the man and wouldn’t know his voice from anyone else's.”

  * * *

  Deep within the billowing fog, Lord Sevrin was holding council with his Lord Marshal, Orteka. “We can not wait for this infernal fog to lift,” reasoned Lord Sevrin. “Lord Zawbry was to have started his attack yesterday. If we fail to move forward and attack the rear of the Fardale forces, we will lose too many of our Woodville soldiers.”

  “I understand the need to move forward,” retorted Lord Marshal Orteka, “but we can not see where we are going. Surely the fog will lift within an hour and that small amount of time will have no bearing on the outcome of the battle.”

  “And if it doesn’t lift on schedule?” queried Lord Sevrin. “Will you then request another hour? The battle is taking place quite a distance from here. I am just suggesting that we move forward slowly. Maybe we can get out of the fog and regroup.”

  “Very well,” replied Lord Marshal Orteka. “I will lead the men forward myself. I don’t want to get so close to the Fardale forces that we will be noticed before we regroup.”

  “Do it whichever way you want,” agreed Lord Sevrin, “just get us out of this fog.”

  “As you command, My Lord,” saluted Lord Marshal Orteka.

  Lord Marshal Orteka left the tent and strode over to the gathering of his Marshals. “Lord Sevrin has ordered us to proceed,” he stated. “Each of us is going to lead our own forces until we regroup outside the fog. I do not want anyone getting within sight of the Fardale Army. If this fog stretches all of the way to Woodville, we will avoid contact with the enemy until we regroup. Is that understood?”

  Lord Marshal Orteka waited until each of the Marshals indicated his acknowledgement of the orders before continuing. “We will break into four units for the move forward,” he continued. “Move slowly and carefully. I do not want to hear any shouts because a man has fallen and broken his leg. Remember that sound travels far in a fog such as this. The first group to find air clear of this fog is to stop and report back to me so the rest of us can head in that direction. Do remember that this is supposed to be a surprise attack.”

  The Marshals nodded and headed toward their respective units. Lord Marshal Orteka shook his head as he related the plan to his Lectains and waited patiently while they informed their Cortains. Within five minutes the Ragatha Army was on the move, creeping forward at a cautious pace. Each footstep was carefully placed and each man tried to maintain a constant distance from his neighbor. Had the fog not existed, one would have been impressed with the line of advancing men that stretched across a broad front from one side of the valley to the other.

  Lord Marshal Orteka was not the type of officer who would ask his men to do something that he would not do, so he marched near the head of his troops. Only the forward scouts preceded him.

  The fog appeared to be endless and the march dragged on. Lord Marshal Orteka was grateful that the Situ from Lituk Valley were not going to be involved in this battle. If he had not received assura
nces of their neutrality, he would have been extremely nervous with his back exposed in the thick fog. With a sigh of relief, Lord Marshal Orteka quickened his step as the brightness increased before him. Knowing he would be out of this infernal fog brightened his spirits.

  Lord Marshal Orteka saw his forward scouts halt and he hurried to move toward them. As he stepped out of the fog he realized why his scouts had stopped. Arrayed before him was the entire Fardale Army with their shields reflecting the rising sun directly into his face. Lord Marshal Orteka glanced left and right to view the units of the other Marshals under his command. The fog appeared to cut off in a straight line and he saw the long line of troops extending from both his right and left sides.

  For a long moment, nobody moved. Not a sound was heard from the two massed Armies facing each other. Lord Marshal Orteka’s plan of regrouping after the fog was hopeless but, still, he wielded a potent army and he had clear, numerical superiority over his enemy. Lord Marshal Orteka shouted as loud as he could. His command to charge echoed in the stillness of the valley as his men surged forward.

  Lord Marshal Orteka stood his ground as his men raced past him, raced into the dazzling blindness of the sun-reflecting shields. At first, Lord Marshal Orteka mistook the screams for the cries of clashing soldiers, but he soon noticed that the Fardale Army was just standing there and not fighting. He also recognized with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that his men were not reaching the Fardale enemy. They were simply disappearing.

  Lord Marshal Orteka shouted for his men to stop, but his shouts were drowned out by the mounting roar of men screaming their last breath. He finally succeeded in getting his surging troops to halt. He stopped those rushing past him and had them stop their neighbors until the rush ceased.

  The Fardale soldiers remained passive and held their reflecting shields securely. Lord Marshal Orteka slowly walked forward, pushing his way through the knot of Ragatha soldiers ahead of him. When he reached the front line of his troops, he stared in horror at the wide trench before him. Extending up from the base of the trench were sharpened sticks and the bodies of his Ragatha soldiers were impaled upon those sticks. He surveyed the moat of destruction with a mixture of disgust and fear. Looking to his right and his left, Lord Marshal Orteka saw that the trench extended to the limits of his sight. Far off to his left, he continued to hear the screams of soldiers falling into the trench and silently cursed the Marshal in charge of those men for allowing his men to continue forward.