Young Lord of Khadora (18 page)

“You are a logical and thorough man,” laughed Marak. “I have never understood why Khadorans refuse to attack at night. It seems perfectly logical to me to attack when your enemy is not likely to see you coming. Anyway, it is a gift I will treasure forever. You have been gone a long time. What brings you here tonight?”

“A bit of disturbing news, I’m afraid,” whispered Fisher as he slid down into a chair. “I have been scouting around the Sorgan estate to find out what they are up to. Lord Quavry had a busy day today. Lord Burdine of the Litari Clan was an early morning visitor. His meeting with Lord Quavry did not last long, but it culminated in the release of a pigeon. Some Clans who have multiple estates use pigeons to communicate with their Clan Lord, but Lord Quavry could only be sending a message to the capital.”

“What message could Lord Quavry and Lord Burdine be sending that would be a joint message?” quizzed Lord Marak.

“Well, it could be a joining of their Clans, though I doubt it,” remarked Fisher. “It could also be some joint business deal. By itself it means really very little, but the rest of the day Lord Quavry spent in meetings with Marshal Yenga. Yenga’s troops are also on short duty, which would indicate that they are going to see action soon. There were no troops from the Litari at Lord Quavry’s so I don’t think the Litari are involved in any military action unless they are attacking separately.”

“Do you think they would dare attack Fardale?” queried Lord Marak.

“If they did so without at least some provocation,” considered Fisher, “ they would appear very aggressive to the other Clans and that is not a view to be desired. Khadora has a way of subduing aggressive Lords. The proper way to wipe out your neighbor is to anger him into attacking you first, then you appear to be forceful in defending your estate while you are expanding it. You haven’t done anything to anger Lord Quavry have you?”

“Certainly not,” frowned Lord Marak. “I have enough trouble managing Fardale without looking for trouble elsewhere. I did intend on visiting Lord Quavry in an attempt to better relations, but I have not had the time yet.”

“As I expected,” grimaced Fisher. “So you have not authorized Bursar Tachora to negotiate with the Sorgan?”

“Tachora?” mouthed Lord Marak. “You, of all people, should know that I would never use Tachora as an envoy. Why do you ask?”

“Because he visited Lord Quavry this evening,” declared Fisher. “And judging by the reactions of the mansion guards, he was not unknown to them.”

“So, Tachora is playing games with the Sorgan, as well,” suggested Marak. “I was planning on retiring him this morning and letting Kasa take over as Bursar. If he has somehow indebted Fardale to Lord Quavry, my treatment of him will not be so polite.”

“As Bursar,” asked Fisher, “does Tachora have any authority which might be used to anger the Sorgan?”

“I can’t think of any,” answered Marak. “We have no financial dealings with Lord Quavry or Lord Burdine. Tachora and Lord Lashendo entered an agreement with Lord Zawbry of the Ragatha to allow for their transit across Fardale, but I know of no other agreements with local Lords. What could Tachora be scheming with Lord Quavry? Do you think he might be entering into grain agreements with them?”

“That is a possibility,” admitted the spy. “I will try to delve a little deeper into Sorgan affairs. Where were you heading when I came in?”

“Someplace where you would not be welcome,” stated Marak. “I was going to visit some friends.”

“You consider the Kywara friends?” asked Fisher.

“Yes, I . . . how do you do that?” demanded Lord Marak. “I never once mentioned the Kywara and you knew where I was going. Do you read minds as well as your other crafts?”

“No,” laughed Fisher. “I just learn to listen to everything and logically put facts together. You would never wear the blacksuit to visit any of your own men and, according to Kasa, you have not looked at a woman since you arrived in Fardale. You are not on friendly terms with any of your three Khadoran neighbors. The logical assumption is you are going to meet with the Kywara, who would, incidentally, appreciate your choice of garments.”

“And how do you know they would appreciate my clothing?” pushed Lord Marak.

“I have known Tmundo for many years,” smiled Fisher.

“How is it that you know the leader of the Kywara?” queried Lord Marak. “Surely they are not clients of yours.”

“I am half Kywara,” frowned Fisher. “I sought Tmundo’s advice when my family was killed. My mother was Kywara and my father served in a Khadoran Army. She left the tribe to be with him. They were very much in love.”

“Who is the Lord who had your family killed and why?” asked Marak.

“That is something I do not wish to discuss,” straightened Fisher. “Come, I will accompany you to the Kywara. It has been a long time since I have tasted the good life. Perhaps Tmundo will have some wisdom concerning Lord Quavry. You will find that not much escapes Kywara eyes.”

“All right,” agreed Lord Marak as he donned his blacksuit. “I will get a horse for you. Or did you bring your own?”

“We do not need horses,” chuckled Fisher. “We have legs that work very well. Have you never ridden a tiger?”

Marak paused and stared at the spy. “Are you serious?” gaped the Lord of Fardale. “I look at those beasts and am thankful they don’t eat me.”

“Then you shall have a treat tonight,” Fisher laughed. “The big cats are much faster for this type of journey. You said the Kywara were your friends. Would you insult a friend by refusing his food or drink?”

Lord Marak paused as he shoved his double-edged sword into its sheath. “I intend to learn a great deal from you, Fisher,” Marak said softly, “but if you get me killed, you have to find another client.”

The two blacksuited men crept out of the mansion and made their way to a small service gate in the wall. Marak unlatched the gate and led Fisher out. Fisher hesitated outside the gate and Marak turned to see him rigging the latch with a thin piece of stiff cord. “We might want to reenter the same way,” whispered the spy.

Marak simply shook his head in disbelief and waited. When Fisher completed his preparations on the latch, he turned and took the lead. Together they ran silently, keeping to the darkest areas of the estate. Marak marveled at the comfortable feel of the blacksuit and the firmness with which his back sheath rode while he ran. Once they were well beyond sight of anyone guarding the walls, Fisher stopped and issued a series of bird calls. It sounded to Marak as if Fisher was conversing in bird talk. Another series of calls answered Fisher’s and then they waited in silence.

“What are we waiting for?” whispered Lord Marak.

Fisher just smiled and pointed. Marak’s mouth hung open as a Kywara warrior approached riding a tiger. It was not the sight of the warrior that shocked Marak. It was the two unburdened tigers that accompanied him.

“You can’t be serious,” protested Lord Marak.

“Did you not feel terrorized the first time you straddled a horse?” laughed Fisher. “They are very intelligent and you will be exhilarated by their swiftness. Just don’t kick them to make them go faster. You only need to pat their shoulders with a rhythm. The faster the rhythm, the faster the ride. If you wish to slow or stop, smooth your hand over its shoulder.”

Marak shook his head in disbelief, but he watched Fisher mount the tiger and then did the same maneuver and found himself astride a beast that would terrorize most Khadorans just by looking at them. The Lord of Fardale was amazed at the relative smoothness of the ride. It was not the bouncy wobble of a horse, but a powerful lope as the beast seemed to barely touch the ground. Marak leaned far forward as the giant cat sprang up the mountainside and the ride was over before the novelty wore off.

“So, you have decided to become a Kywara?” greeted Tmundo. “I wondered when you and Fisher would get together.”

Marak slid off the tiger as an involuntary spasm rippled through his body. “I have never experienced such a ride,” commented Lord Marak. “Such power and yet so graceful. No wonder you scorn horses.”

“Flatlander,” chuckled Fisher. “It is an honor to be welcomed back to your home, Tmundo. It has been a long time.”

“Too long, favored son of the Kywara,” embraced Tmundo. “I heard that you were skulking around these parts and knew you could not resist a visit before long.”

“You keep good company, Lord Marak of Fardale,” Tmundo said as he turned to greet Marak.

“So I have come to learn,” agreed Marak. “I have been meaning to visit for some time. You have my deepest gratitude for your people’s efforts in Fardale. You have become a most welcome neighbor.”

“As have you,” greeted Rykoma. “An old Kywara proverb states that a prosperous neighbor is a peaceful neighbor.”

“I wish all of my neighbors agreed with your proverbs,” sighed Marak. “Still, your help is a blessing to the people of Fardale. Admittedly, there is still some fear of the Kywara and their strange beasts, but the people of Fardale are a good people and they will learn to appreciate their neighbors.”

“As their Lord already has,” interjected Fisher. “Tmundo, what do you hear of the Sorgan?”

“Come,” motioned Tmundo towards his hut, “let us sit and refresh ourselves while we talk. Join us, Rykoma. Your insight is always useful.”

“At least one flatlander has learned how to dress,” remarked Rykoma as they entered Tmundo’s hut.

“We know that Lord Quavry is blocking you from getting to Lord Ridak,” Tmundo offered, “but we did not think you would care. He would probably not be pleased if he had word of the improvements you have made at Fardale. The bandits do not trouble anyone but the green and yellow of the Situ Clan. One of your laborers could walk through the valley unmolested if he wore nondescript clothing and I assume the same is true for Lord Ridak’s men. The Sorgan have not been a concern of the Kywara in many generations. They learned early not to invade our lands and have kept a respectable distance away ever since.”

Marak did not need to ask how the Sorgans learned their lesson. The tales of the Situ massacres were still too fresh in Fardale. That was one of the problems Marak faced in convincing his people that the Kywara were friends.

“We do know that the Ragatha are leery of you,” Tmundo continued. “They are bitter enemies of the Litari and Fardale is their only route to the outside world. They do not respect the Kywara and we do not allow them on our land. They, too, have had to learn a lesson, but they are slow learners. There will certainly be trouble if you attempt to restrict their access. We have seen some of their spies watching you to see what you will do, but they do not get close enough to tell what you are doing. It is a rather foolish way of gathering information.”

“I should have made contact with my neighbors by now,” admitted Marak, “but I have become engrossed in daily affairs of Fardale. I will attempt to rectify that soon.”

“Making contact with these other flatlanders will not necessarily result in better relations,” Tmundo pointed out. “They are as likely to take your revisions to Fardale as a sign of weakness as they are to accept them. Tread carefully, friend.”

“That seems to be the motto of Khadoran life,” sighed Lord Marak. “Do the Chula have infighting like the Khadorans?”

“Perhaps it was so once,” offered Rykoma, “but if it was, it is past anyone’s memory. The Chula once roamed the breadth of what is now Khadora. There was no need for territorial disputes. In fact, we were primarily nomads and farmers. The wars that drove us to the mountains started with the coming of the Khadorans. We had few warrior skills back then. Our people hid in the forests and in the mountains and learned how to fight. If we had the skills then that we do now, there would be no Khadora. That is why no Chula will give up another grain of land to Khadora. Once they start to take our land, nothing will stop them but death.”

The talk continued well into the night and Marak and Fisher were given a hut to rest in until morning.

* * *

Lord Quavry stood on the mansion porch watching his returning soldiers. Marshal Yenga dismounted and ordered the men dismissed.

“Well?” questioned Lord Quavry as his Marshal mounted the steps to the porch. “How did it go?”

“It didn’t go,” growled Marshal Yenga. “There was nothing in the field except women and children. Tachora promised the field would be guarded.”

“You didn’t attack!” screamed Lord Quavry. “I gave you orders to attack that field.”

“As I said,” reiterated Marshal Yenga, “there were no Situ soldiers. Did you expect my men to murder a bunch of women and children?”

“I expected you to follow your orders,” howled Lord Quavry. “You are not to make the decision about which battles you will fight. Your actions will ruin me. Get your men back out there and kill those Situ and do it now.”

“My men are trained soldiers, Lord Quavry,” Marshal Yenga declared. “They always stand ready to fight and die for the Sorgan Clan, but I will not order them to massacre innocents. If you wish, I will send them to crush the entire Situ garrison. They are well trained and ready for the task and . . . ”

“You insolent whelp,” screamed Lord Quavry. “I said to take your men and kill everyone in that field and that is what you will do. Now, move your men out.”

“I can not order my men to kill women and children,” repeated Marshal Yenga.

“You are refusing a direct order?” yelled Lord Quavry. “The message has already been sent to the capital. We must strike now. Fardale must be provoked into attacking us today. You have received my direct order, Marshal Yenga. You are under the Vows of Service to this Clan and I will invoke my rights if you refuse, Marshal. Get your men back to that field and do your job.”

“I can not and will not order my men to kill innocents,” confirmed Marshal Yenga.

Lord Quavry reached up and slapped Yenga across the face. “Lectain Meltord,” shouted Lord Quavry.

A soldier sporting the plume of a Lectain in the Sorgan Clan stepped smartly forward. “Yes, Lord Quavry,” he saluted.

“You are the new Marshal of the Sorgan Clan, Meltord,” declared Lord Quavry. “This . . . this Chula chip before me is now a slave. Throw him in the slave compound. If he tries to escape he is to be killed. Then get your men back to that field and kill everyone there.”