The voice Lord Marshal Orteka heard could have come from someone standing next to him. “This is Lord Marak of Fardale speaking,” the voice stated simply. “I demand the surrender of your forces. I have no wish to inflict more carnage upon your men. Surrender now and your men will be accepted into our fold.”
Lord Marshal Orteka straightened and peered into the opposing forces. A tall, muscular, black clad man stood defiantly on the other side of the trench staring back at him. Cocking his head, Lord Marshal Orteka wondered if the black specter was the origin of the voice. The man did not wear the green and yellow of the Situ Clan like the rest of the soldiers across from him. He watched the black nightmare across from him and saw his lips move as the voice continued.
“Why subject your men to a needless death?” whispered the voice. “Woodville will not be coming to your aid. Lord Zawbry has already submitted and Woodville is mine. Throw down your weapons and surrender.”
Lord Marshal Orteka scowled at the enemy and shouted an order for his archers to kill the man in black. Scores of arrows arched into the air towards the enemy line. Lord Marshal Orteka watched with a wicked grin upon his face. If the black clad fool thought his army was defeated because there was a trench between him and his enemy, he was sadly mistaken. The Ragatha Army had some of the finest archers in Khadora.
An expression of shock and disbelief illuminated Lord Marshal Orteka’s face as the arrows halted in the air and dropped into the trench. He ordered another volley and another, as the arrows continued to fall into the trench, piercing the bodies of the men who had the misfortune to lead the charge against the Fardale Army. It was not until the third volley failed to reach its target that Lord Marshal Orteka realized his hair was blowing in the stiff head wind. Cursing his luck, Lord Marshal Orteka ordered a retreat.
Before Lord Marshal Orteka reached Lord Sevrin and his personal guards, he heard the Lord’s shouting. If Lord Sevrin thought he was going to order his men forward across the trench, Lord Marshal Orteka would straighten him out. He was not going to throw away the lives of his men filling a trench for others to walk across.
“There you are,” shouted Lord Sevrin. “What is going on? Why are your men retreating?”
“We can not reach the enemy,” explained Lord Marshal Orteka. “They have dug a wide trench and filled it with sharpened sticks. Quite a few of my men discovered it too late. There is such a strong headwind that our arrows can not reach the enemy, either. We are better off retreating and regrouping before we attack.”
“We can not retreat,” declared Lord Sevrin. “Woodville is depending on us.”
“If Lord Marak can be believed,” continued Lord Marshal Orteka, “Woodville has already fallen. I can not verify it, but it looks like we are facing the entire Fardale Army. I don’t think anyone would be so foolish as to amass his army out here against us if he knew he still had an enemy behind him.”
“How could that be possible?” questioned Lord Sevrin. “Lord Zawbry had instructions not to engage in an all out battle. He was only supposed to skirmish with Lord Marak.”
“It may be that this Lord Marak is more clever than Lord Zawbry thought,” posed Lord Marshal Orteka. “Certainly the trenches were an ingenious idea. I do not wish to underestimate my foe. We need to retreat and regroup to take the advantage away from Lord Marak.”
“Are we going to let five hundred men rout us?” quizzed Lord Sevrin. “Surely, you can devise a way to get across the trench.”
“I will get us across the trench,” assured Lord Marshal Orteka, “but I will not be able to do it while they are watching me from the other side. His men will not pursue us. They are not strong enough nor do I think our opponent is that foolish.”
“Very well,” conceded Lord Sevrin, “but I will not leave Woodville in Lord Marak’s hands.”
Lord Marshal Orteka sent runners to inform the other Marshals of his plan and scout out the path of retreat. He turned his efforts to plotting a new attack plan while he waited for the runners to return. This was not the only entrance to Fardale which his Army could take, but it afforded the easiest path to Fardale. He was turning his attentions to the other routes when the first of the runners returned.
“Lord Marshal,” the runner panted. “I can not reach the other Marshals. The trench extends between us.”
Lord Marshal Orteka stared at the young runner with disbelief. Before he could reply, another runner appeared and issued a similar statement. Lord Marshal Orteka could not believe his ears. His men had marched over the area of the trenches not long ago and, even in the fog, the trenches could not be missed. The runners scouting the retreat path also appeared.
“There are trenches all around us,” declared one of the scouts. “The Sorgan Army blocks our path out of the valley. We’re surrounded.”
“The Sorgan Army?” puzzled Lord Marshal Orteka. “Why are they getting involved in this?”
Without waiting for a answer, Lord Marshal Orteka ordered the scout to show him the Sorgan Army and followed the young man through the fog. After a relatively short trek, Lord Marshal Orteka stood at the edge of the trench gazing at the Sorgan Army amassed on the other side. Like their Situ counterparts, the Sorgan soldiers stood passively with their shields before them. Unlike the Situ, the sun was at the Sorgan Army’s back and was not reflecting off their shields. Once again, Lord Marshal Orteka felt the air blowing his hair. This really confused the Lord Marshal. A wind could blow East or it could blow West, but he had never experienced a wind that always blew towards him.
Determined to find answers to his puzzling questions, Lord Marshal Orteka made his way back to where Lord Marak stood. Walking out of the fog, Lord Marshal Orteka stood defiantly on the edge of the trench.
“What are you playing at?” shouted Lord Marshal Orteka. “Why is the Sorgan Clan involved in this conflict?”
Lord Marak’s voice returned with the same strange quality of coming from right alongside Lord Marshal Orteka. “Why are the Ragatha Clans assembled here?” asked Lord Marak. “You have come to take what is mine. I am here to take what is yours. Throw down your weapons and surrender. There is no escape for your men. You are surrounded.”
“You may block both ends of the valley,” shouted Lord Marshal Orteka, “but I will not surrender. We will defeat you and the Sorgan Clan and use your bodies to fill this trench of yours.”
Lord Marak turned and said something to a woman behind him. The headwind on Lord Marshal Orteka increased with such fury that the Lord Marshal had trouble maintaining his stance. When he turned his head to avoid the wind, he saw that the fog had lifted. He filled his eyes with the might of the Ragatha Army before catching a glint in the hills above the valley. He stared at the line of soldiers above the valley and squinted to make out their colors.
“It is the Litari Army,” the voice explained. “They are on both sides of you. You take a great deal of convincing, Lord Marshal. I know that flights of our arrows will speed your decision, but I am loathe to kill soldiers that will be mine before the day is out. You have half an hour to make your decision. After that, I will do what I must do to secure your surrender or defeat. Use your time wisely.”
Lord Marshal Orteka hurried back towards Lord Sevrin. He noticed the dividing trenches between himself and the men of the other Ragatha estates and wondered how they had been made. He found Lord Sevrin arguing with the group of runners he had left behind.
“Lord Sevrin,” he began, “we are, indeed, surrounded. The Sorgan Army blocks our retreat and the Litari Army holds the high ground on each side of the valley. Whatever we have heard about this Lord Marak, he has a way of solving his problems by making allies out of his enemies. We are in serious trouble.”
“Even with his puny allies,” Lord Sevrin debated, “what is that compared to the entire Ragatha Clan? You have two thousand men, Lord Marshal. Fill the trenches with dirt and get us out of here.”
“An excellent idea,” retorted Lord Marshal Orteka, “if we had time to do i
t. The enemy has not fired a single shot at us yet, but Lord Marak has given us half an hour to surrender. If we do not, I believe he will start cutting down our men.”
“The Ragatha Clan has the finest archers in Khadora,” declared Lord Sevrin. “If they want an archery fight, we are well suited for it.”
“Yesterday I would have agreed with you,” commented Lord Marshal Orteka, “but we can not shoot into the wind while their arrows are raining down on us. I think you should parley with Lord Marak.”
“Surely, you can chose a side where the wind favors us,” insisted Lord Sevrin. “It doesn’t matter which direction we go as long as we break free from these trenches.”
“I do not understand it,” admitted Lord Marshal Orteka, “but the wind is coming at us from all directions. I would suspect magic, but I have never heard of such a use for it. It is ingenious.”
“You sound like you admire this Lord Marak,” scolded Lord Sevrin. “Remember, your job is to kill him.”
“I will do my job as directed,” straightened Lord Marshal Orteka, “but I cannot help admiring the architect of this trap. He has bottled up a superior force and made us helpless. We can not even communicate with the rest of our forces without shouting across his trenches. I have never surrendered in my entire career and I will not now without your leave, but I would not be truthful if I told you that I saw a way out of this. I fear that we will lose all of our men trying and still not succeed.”
“You are serious,” remarked Lord Sevrin. “I have never known you to balk at a battle, even when you faced overwhelming odds. I will talk with Lord Marak and ask the price for our release.”
Lord Marshal Orteka accompanied Lord Sevrin to the trench across from Lord Marak. “Lord Marak,” shouted Lord Sevrin, “I am Lord Sevrin, head of the Ragatha Clan. What is it you want to remove your men?”
“You have no need of shouting, Lord Sevrin,” replied the calm and close voice. “I can hear you just fine. What I want is the complete surrender of the Ragatha Clan. Are you prepared to offer it?”
“I will give you Woodville in return for safe exit from this trap,” bargained Lord Sevrin. “Certainly, you will agree that the offer is generous.”
“I already own Woodville,” answered Lord Marak. “You have attacked Fardale without provocation. Only your complete surrender will satisfy me. I would prefer it if the surrender was bloodless, but I am determined to have it, in any event.”
“You speak a falsehood,” accused Lord Sevrin. “We have provocation. You have revoked an agreement made in good faith with your predecessor. I am willing to put this matter before the Lords Council and let them decide. There is no need for bloodshed. My army will camp here and await an emissary.”
“You have been misinformed,” corrected Lord Marak. “Fardale has not revoked the agreement, nor have we attempted to stop Lord Zawbry from using Fardale land for transit. Lord Zawbry saw an opportunity to seize my land and took it. Unfortunately, Lord Zawbry is no longer available to explain the situation to you, but I do have Marshal Tingo available.”
Marshal Tingo stepped forward and confirmed Lord Marak’s words. Lord Marshal Orteka fixed Lord Sevrin with his eyes and shook his head. “I now believe the devious circumstances that have brought us together out here on the battlefield,” conceded Lord Sevrin, “but I still have a problem with your demands. Your own Situ brothers had foreknowledge of our intentions to attack Fardale. I will not submit my people to their rule. They are no better than Lord Zawbry and they deserve his fate. You ask something of me, Lord Marak, that I can not give you. Better my people should die than to be ruled by Lords without honor. Let your arrows fly.”
“I have not made demands that are onerous to you, Lord Sevrin,” insisted Lord Marak. “I do not propose joining you to the Situ Clan. You will continue to rule the Ragatha estates with the exception of Woodville, which will be mine. I will demand Vows of Service from every Ragatha clansman including yourself, but the Vows will be given to me, not the Situ Clan.”
“But you are a Situ,” protested Lord Sevrin. “If Lord Ridak can control you, he controls everyone whom you control.”
“Lord Ridak has no control over me,” declared Lord Marak. “I am Lord Marak of the Torak Clan and you have heard me state so. Lord Ridak is no better than Lord Zawbry and he does deserve the same fate. I intend to see that he receives it.”
Lord Sevrin and Lord Marshal Orteka whispered between themselves for a few moments before responding. “A Vow of Service to you,” Lord Sevrin asked, “makes the Lord of the Ragatha Clan your subject. Do you plan to exercise control over the Ragatha Clan?”
“I do,” admitted Lord Marak. “I do not intend to manage your estates, Lord Sevrin, but I do plan to change some of the ways you operate. I will expect you to utilize your expertise to enact my reforms. I believe that you will find life actually better for yourself and your subjects after my reforms and I will try to give you as much control over the Ragatha Clan as I can. You will remain a separate Clan and you will retain your seat in the Assembly of Lords. I have similar arrangements with the Sorgan Clan and the Litari Clan and it is working quite well. Do you accept?”
Lord Sevrin turned and reviewed his mighty Army. He stood silent for a long time as he balanced the thought of being subject to Lord Marak’s control versus the death of his men. In the end, he realized that Lord Marak would rule the Ragatha Clan in either event.
“I accept, Lord Marak,” Lord Sevrin finally replied.
Chapter 22
Sword of Torak
Fardale was overcrowded with the Ragatha soldiers. Lord Marak had dispatched one thousand of the red and yellow soldiers to Woodville, but the other fifteen hundred had to erect tents and the Fardale estate resembled the overflow area during the festival days. After the initial confusion, a circus-like atmosphere developed and the Ragatha soldiers mixed freely with the people of Fardale. Some of the Ragatha soldiers wielded musical instruments and the children of Fardale hung around the encampment and ran errands for the visiting soldiers. The ultimate prize for performing an especially hard chore was a pair of the red and yellow feathers which symbolized the Ragatha Clan.
Yenga, who had finally accepted the title of Lord Marshal of the Torak Clan, hosted the other Marshals. Marshal Tingo was told that he would remain the Marshal of Woodville and would be reporting directly to Lord Marshal Yenga. Lord Marshal Orteka probed Yenga about the use of magic as a battlefield weapon and continually asked questions about the trenches and wind currents which were employed against him. Lord Marshal Yenga freely discussed Lord Marak’s fighting techniques and set up demonstrations for the visiting Ragatha soldiers.
Lord Marak spent a great deal of time with Lord Sevrin. The Lord of the Ragatha Clan adapted quickly to his new status after Lord Marak discussed the reforms he wanted to make. Lord Sevrin actually became enthusiastic about the reforms when he observed the former slaves of Fardale working and participating in all manner of Clan life. Like most Khadoran Lords, Lord Sevrin had been taught the necessity of slavery, but unlike most of the other Lords, he did not enjoy enslaving people.
The evening after the battle, Lord Marak lay awake in his bed staring at the ceiling. He should have been very content with his stunning victory, but the problems still facing him rolled through his mind. Foremost on his mind was Cortain Rybak. He must devise a plan to get Rybak free of Lituk Valley, but short of a full-scale confrontation, no plan emerged. He also needed to make a trip to the Ragatha estates to receive his Vows of Service and find a new Lord for Woodville.
There was also Lord Ridak’s reaction to worry about. Lord Marak learned of Lord Marshal Grefon’s assurances that the Situ would stay out of the battle. Lord Marak no longer had any qualms about raising his Torak banner over Fardale and Woodville, but Lord Ridak would not accept the loss of Fardale easily. There were times in history when a Clan Lord did not fight to keep one of his estates, but Lord Marak had never heard of one where the Lord Marshal guaranteed in advance that the
Clan would not respond. It was now clear to everyone involved that Lord Ridak was through with Lord Marak.
Lord Marak jumped at the sound of a creaking board and sprang out of bed, grabbing his sword from the stand next to the bed as he rolled across the floor. Lord Marak saw a tall man in the doorway holding a wicked, sinuous sword in his hand and prepared to attack.
“Perhaps my manners could be better,” whispered the voice from the doorway, “but your house appears to be full of people I would rather not meet.”
Lord Marak eased his posture and lowered his sword as he recognized the voice. “If this was a test of my reflexes,” sighed Lord Marak, “rest assured you have eased a few years off my life.”
“My apologies,” chuckled Tmundo. “I wanted to congratulate you on your victories today. You do not find time to visit anymore.”
“I would like to,” answered Lord Marak, “but life is so busy these days. Sometimes I yearn for the simple days of a soldier, but when I do, I think of my mother as a slave again.”
“An effective remedy for such thoughts . . . ,” smiled Tmundo as Lord Marak lit a candle. “I have brought something which belongs to you.”
Lord Marak turned and saw Tmundo holding out the sinuous sword to him. “This is the Sword of Torak,” declared Tmundo. “Is it a sword worthy of a warrior . . . and you are a warrior worthy of it. Use it as the symbol of the Torak Clan. Make it synonymous with freedom and honor.”
Young Lord of Khadora Page 27