Young Lord of Khadora (12 page)

Zorkil selected a chair next to Marak and sat down. “Already you have done more for the people’s spirits than Lord Lashendo ever did. So, you don’t know what to do next. Is that a major problem? You will tackle the problems one at a time like you would attack a superior force of men. You can not kill them all at once, so you select one to kill and hope the others don’t kill you while you are whittling down their numbers.”

Marak looked queerly at his new Squad Leader. “You see running this estate as a battle?” quizzed Marak.

“Why not?” Zorkil persisted. “All of life is a battle. You may use different tools and methods to accomplish your goals, but the strategy is the same. Put your first efforts toward the problem which will hurt you the most, use your resources wisely, take advantage of your people’s special skills, and never underestimate your opponent.”

“You make it sound so easy, Marak chuckled. “If it were a battle, I would feel more at home in dealing with it.”

“So I have heard,” smiled Zorkil. “Do not look so amazed. Even in Fardale, tales of Squad Leader Marak’s skill in battle have been heard. That is one of the reasons the Army didn’t object to taking the Vows. They respect a warrior, even a relatively young one, over some Seneschal or Bursar who has been given a promotion. They will test you to see what you are made of but, until you fail, they will support you.”

“You carry surprising wisdom for a Squad Leader,” complimented Marak. “Is that why you were chosen over the other Squad Leaders to report to Lord Ridak?”

“I have grown up with the Army,” Zorkil replied. “My father was a Lectain before he died. He taught me much about what motivates men. I do not understand your hesitation. Surely, you do not think that leadership is reserved for the babes of Lords. You have proven your own leadership skills already. Now you must do so again, but in a different arena. Consider everyone in Fardale as part of your Squad and attack.”

“Careful, Zorkil,” laughed Marak, “I may appoint you the Clan Philosopher. But you are right. I am letting the overwhelming odds distract me. Tell Seneschal Pito and Bursar Tachora that I want complete reports on the status of Fardale on my desk in the morning. Where is my desk, by the way?”

“I took the liberty of having your things taken to the Lord’s Suite,” smiled Zorkil. “I will show it to you when you are ready.”

“Not tonight,” frowned Lord Marak. “Have my horse prepared instead. I am going to take care of the Chula tonight.”

“Tonight?” gasped Zorkil. “You can’t mean tonight. I tried to spur you into action, but this is not sane. Your men will be weary from the long ride and the others have already had too much ale. You can not attack the Chula tonight.”

“As you said, Zorkil,” nodded Marak, “take care of your biggest problem first. You are right and I will not wait any longer. Until the Chula are removed as a distraction, we can not move on to our other problems.”

“Very well, Lord Marak,” Zorkil sighed. “I will be among the men going with you. How many do you wish?”

“None,” declared Marak, “I am going alone. I have a secret weapon to use on the Chula and it is something they will never expect.”

Squad Leader Zorkil stared in astonishment at his new young Lord. “As a Situ warrior, I will not permit my Lord to go into battle alone. If you do not allow me to accompany you, I will follow anyway. You may punish me for breaking my Vows of Service, but you will not be able to do so until we return.”

“I admire your bravery, Squad Leader Zorkil,” remarked Lord Marak, “but this is something which does not require your help. At the best, your presence will add nothing to the solution. At worst, you will have died for nothing. This is something I must do alone. Your place is here to keep things running smoothly and to hide the fact that I am gone. Your skills will also be needed here if I do not return.”

“Return from where?” asked Squad Leader Tagoro as he quietly stepped into the Meeting Chamber.

“I should think a new Lord would get more respect than I get from the two of you,” admonished Marak. “Nobody would dare to talk to Lord Ridak this way.”

“You are not Lord Ridak,” stated Tagoro. “You are someone we care about. He is just a figurehead. If you are planning on running away from your responsibilities, I am sure Zorkil will help me tie you to your desk.”

“He is planning on using some secret weapon on the Chula,” blurted Zorkil. “He thinks we will let him go off alone and face those savages.”

Marak glared at Zorkil for disclosing his mission, but Tagoro broke out laughing. “Well, his secret weapon is one that only he has the skill to use,” chuckled Tagoro.

Turning more serious, Squad Leader Tagoro sat down. “Are you sure this is a good idea so soon?” he asked. “Your weapon has failed you before and there are many people whose lives depend on you.”

“I am sure,” nodded Lord Marak. “I can not sleep knowing the Chula might attack at any moment and slaughter these people needlessly. I am going alone. If Zorkil even goes near a horse, I want you to lock him up.”

Tagoro had seen his friend’s look of determination before and simply nodded. Zorkil looked back and forth between the two men from Lituk valley and shook his head. “I will have your horse made ready,” Zorkil sighed as he left the room.

* * *

Rykoma, Grand Shaman of the Kywara, walked through the trees to the hut of Tmundo, Leader of the Kywara Tribe. He pushed aside the deerskin flap and inhaled the scent of venison as he entered.

“A scout has returned from Fardale,” Rykoma announced without preamble. “The Situ have sent more men to reinforce their garrison, one of them wears a yellow plume.”

Tmundo waved his family out of the hut. Tmundo’s wife gathered the two small boys, who had been wrestling over a snake’s rattle, and ushered them outside.

“One yellow plume is all that they sent?” questioned Tmundo. “Perhaps they will cause no further difficulties for us.”

“You do not believe that any more than I do,” stated Rykoma. “It will take time for them to rebuild their leadership, but they will not cease their expansion into our lands. I say we should attack now and end the need to keep watch on them.”

“Is our watch that costly in manpower that we cannot watch a while longer?” posed Tmundo. “These flatlanders are no real threat to the Kywara. Look how easily we removed their leaders. The troops were probably sent in to stop the others from running away and abandoning the settlement.”

“Our scout reports there were signs of celebration,” remarked Rykoma. “This does not sound like a bunch of frightened deer to me. I think they hail a new warrior who has promised to lead them to victory. We should strike tonight while they are still deep in their ale.”

Tmundo tore off a piece of venison and savored it in his mouth. “Perhaps we should keep a close eye on the new arrivals to see what they are planning,” Tmundo suggested. “When is your next scout due?”

“Soon,” Rykoma answered as he took the liberty of retrieving a piece of venison for himself. His eyes grew wider as he waved the deer meat before his large nose. The senses of a shaman were acute and Rykoma could actually taste the venison before it entered his mouth.

“I have dispatched another pair of scouts to replace those on watch,” Rykoma continued as he licked his lips. “They should have arrived at Fardale already and we will have an updated report shortly.”

“Then we will wait a while longer before making the decision,” declared Tmundo. “If we kill all of the flatlanders at Fardale, some other Lord will take over and our troubles will continue. We must make them afraid to approach us, only then will we live in peace.”

“If they are not afraid after witnessing our magic,” Rykoma persisted, “we will never scare them off. The only smart flatlander is a dead flatlander.”

“You forget, “reminded Tmundo, “that the only flatlanders who have witnessed your magic are dead flatlanders. We will wait for the next report.”

The Leader of the Kywara and the Grand Shaman did not have long to wait. The flap disappeared momentarily and the scout entered.

“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.

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.