Young Lord of Khadora (38 page)

“You think wisely for a flatlander,” complimented Ukaro.

Kyata took the waistband and called for the healer. He instructed the healer regarding the location of Rybak and gave him the waistband. Kyata returned and gave the Sword of Torak back to Lord Marak.

“I am surprised that Tmundo has given you the Sword of Torak and not explained what it is,” continued Kyata.

“He gave me the sword two nights ago in Fardale,” replied Lord Marak. “He said we would talk more about it when I next visited him in his village.”

“You visit with the Kywara?” questioned Ukaro. “Why?”

“I find the ways of the Kywara enlightening and value Tmundo’s advice,” answered Lord Marak. “We have both worked with our people to better relations between the Chula and the flatlanders. Is that not the way neighbors should treat each other?”

“It is,” laughed Kyata, “but I never thought I would hear such words from a flatlander. You are a strange flatlander, Lord Marak of the Torak.”

Women brought bowls of food and set them down in front of the three men. They also brought bowls of water and towels and set them down next to each man. Lord Marak had visited the Kywara village enough to know the purpose of the towels and bowls of water. He stripped off his shirt and washed his upper body with a moist towel while the Zatong men did the same. Lord Marak got the sensation of being watched again and looked up to see his two hosts staring at him.

“Who are you, Lord Marak?” demanded Ukaro.

“What do you mean?” questioned Lord Marak. “I have told you who I am. I do not understand the question.”

“I did not ask what you are,” persisted the Shaman. “I asked who you are. You have told us that you are Lord of Fardale and a friend to the Kywara, but you have not told us where you came from or who you are.”

Lord Marak detected a sudden hostility from the two Zatong men and began to worry for his safety. “I am Marak, son a slave woman. I grew up in Lituk Valley and joined the Army. I was made Lord of Fardale in order to avoid some embarrassment to the Situ Clan. They expected me to fail, but I have succeeded. There is nothing more to tell.”

“You do not mention your father,” Kyata pointed out.

“I have never known my father,” admitted Lord Marak. “My mother became a slave to protect him when I was young. I have no memories of him.”

“That is sad and not the way life should be,” softened Kyata. “Is your mother still a slave?”

“No,” replied Lord Marak. “I purchased her and freed her. She lives in my mansion in Fardale. I do not believe in enslaving people.”

Ukaro suddenly stabbed his knife into the ground and stormed off. Kyata rose and stared after him. “It is late,” Kyata declared as he signaled for a Zatong warrior. “My warrior will show you where to sleep tonight. We will talk more tomorrow. You will not leave this village until you are allowed to. Sleep well, flatlander.”

Lord Marak was confused by the changing emotions of his Zatong hosts, but he had little choice in the matter. He had come here to seek out their help and he would have to play by their rules until Rybak was safe. He was shown to a hut and settled down with the knowledge that there were Zatong guards posted outside to keep him from leaving.

Lord Marak slept well despite the feeling that he was a prisoner. He rose early and stumbled out of the tent to find the village already busy. The guard at his hut did not acknowledge his leaving nor did he try to stop him. Lord Marak wandered over to the Leader’s tent and found Kyata outside with the Shaman, Ukaro.

“I hope the morning breaks well with the Lord of the Torak,” greeted Kyata.

“Good morning,” mumbled Lord Marak. “Yes, I slept well.”

“I think our young warrior is a creature of the night, not the morning,” smiled Ukaro. “Come, join us for the morning meal.”

Lord Marak sat down and was served a plate of very large eggs and a pair of tiny legs, probably squirrel. The aroma was tantalizing and Lord Marak dug into his food with a hunger that had not been fed enough during the last two days. Again, he had the sensation of being watched but this time he didn’t even bother to look and find his hosts staring at him.

“I have sent a messenger to the Kywara,” offered Kyata. “He will inform Tmundo that you are here with us. Your people might become worried.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Lord Marak responded as he wondered what questions the messenger was sent to ask Tmundo.

“It was the least we could do for a friend of the Chula,” smiled Kyata. “What are your plans for the future? Will you battle with the Situ?”

“That will depend on Lord Ridak,” answered Lord Marak warily. “I prefer to solve my differences verbally, but I am prepared to battle if necessary.”

“Do you use magic in your battles?” queried Ukaro.

Lord Marak nearly choked on the tiny leg. “Magic?” he echoed. “What type of magic do you mean?”

“The only type of magic you flatlanders know,” chuckled Ukaro. “Certainly, I was not referring to Chula magic. You said your mother was a mage. I just wondered if you used any of that type of magic in your battles.”

Lord Marak put his food down and stared at the Shaman. “I do not wish to be rude,” Lord Marak stiffened, “but what type of game are we playing here?”

“I do not understand your hostility,” shrugged Ukaro. “I am trying to make polite conversation. Is not this the way of flatlanders? Or do you still consider us potential enemies?”

“I am not referring to your interrogation of my battle tactics,” snapped Lord Marak. “I said my mother was a slave. I never said she was a mage. I ask, again, what type of game are we playing?”

“Forgive my brother’s poor manners,” consoled Kyata. “We wish to know more about you and your family than you have offered us. Torak holds very special significance for the Chula. Ukaro sometimes thinks he is clever and is able to gain information from people with his cleverness. There was no harm intended. Tell us about your mother.”

“I am sorry,” apologized Lord Marak. “You have extended me help when I needed it badly and I have responded poorly to your curiosity. My mother is a Soil Mage. We moved to Lituk Valley when I was six years old. Lord Ridak made my mother a slave and forced her into the fields. When I came of age, I joined the Army. I was not permitted to talk with her again. I think she handled her situation better than I did. I almost became a slave myself because I broke the rules and talked to her one night.” Marak subconsciously reached into his shirt and felt his necklace as he remembered that evening. It was the only time she had ever hit him.

“She loved my father dearly,” Lord Marak continued. “For a while I hated my father because he never came to rescue my mother, but that night she explained to me that he thought she was dead. I made her a promise that night to get her out of Lituk Valley.”

“A promise you obviously kept,” praised Kyata. “Did she give you the necklace we saw last night?”

Lord Marak realized then that it was when he removed his shirt that the Zatong’s moods had changed. Rykoma Kywara had also expressed an interest in his necklace. “Yes,” answered Lord Marak. “She said it was all she had left of my father and that I should wear it always. I know this necklace means something to the Chula. Rykoma Kywara also expressed an interest in it. Why?”

“In a moment,” Kyata answered. “What . . . “

“Her name?” interrupted Ukaro. “What is your mother’s name?”

Lord Marak looked from the Leader to the Shaman. “Glenda,” Lord Marak replied. “Her name is Glenda. Why are you so interested . . . ?“

Lord Marak stopped when his eyes landed on Ukaro. The Shaman had tears running freely down his cheeks. His jaw was rigid and his teeth were clenched. His hands, which had nails that were sharp like claws, were raking his forearms and leaving bloody trails. Kyata stood and placed his hand gently on Ukaro’s shoulder. He gave a sad look to Lord Marak and turned to leave. Lord Marak started to rise also, to leave the Shaman to deal with whatever was bothering him, but Kyata shook his head and Lord Marak sat back down.

“Perhaps you have some healing powers of your own, Lord Marak,” Kyata said gently. “Stay and keep Ukaro company, nephew.”

Lord Marak looked after Kyata as he left and then the words struck him like a hammer blow between the shoulders. He looked at his necklace and, for the first time, saw the same necklace around Ukaro’s neck. It finally dawned on Lord Marak why his father had only come to Forest Deep to see his family occasionally. Few of the flatlanders would have accepted a woman with a Chula husband. The Chula might not have accepted a Shaman with a flatlander wife, either. Marak thought his punishment in life had been bad and his mother’s unbearable, but what Ukaro must have felt for the last fourteen years could only be described as torturous.

He looked across the fire at the father he had never known and did not know how to react. Finally, he stood up and walked around the fire and sat next to his father and put his arm around him. Lord Marak could not think of any words to console the grief of a lifetime. The Shaman, Ukaro, looked up at the son whose growing up he had sorely missed and hugged him. For a long time father and son sat soundlessly with their arms wrapped around each other. Marak thought back to the night his mother had slapped him and mentally kicked himself for his arrogance and stupidity. He had presumed that his father did not care enough to rescue him and his mother. Now he knew that his father would have done anything, killed anyone, to get his family back. That was why Glenda had someone tell Ukaro that she was dead. It was the only way she could think of to save him from destroying himself.

Ukaro finally broke the embrace and held Marak at arms length. “Has she remarried?” he asked.

“No,” smiled Marak. “She has no interest in other men. You are still her love. She speaks of you every time we talk, but she never told me who you are. I think she fears that you are dead and is afraid to be told so. You must come to Fardale.”

Ukaro shook his head sadly. “Look at me, Son,” the Shaman said. “Are your people so enlightened that they will accept someone who looks like me?”

“Do my ears deceive me?” scolded Marak. “Is the Head Shaman of the Zatong afraid of what flatlanders think? I rule Fardale and the people will accept what I accept . . . and I accept you as you are. Do not throw another day away, Father. You have been separated from Mother for too long. Or do you have someone else?”

“Someone else?” blustered Ukaro. “You impudent, young flatlander. Didn’t your mother give you any sense at all? There is no one like Glenda.”

“Then it is settled,” laughed Marak. “You will return to Fardale with me.”

“I shall,” promised Ukaro, “but I would like to go by way of Lituk Valley.”

“No, Father!” exclaimed Marak. “Lord Ridak is not worth the effort. I will deal with him in my own way.”

“Not worth the effort?” queried Ukaro. “The man has stolen fourteen years of my life. He has enslaved my wife and made my son a stranger. Not worth the effort? You have some things to learn about the way of the Chula, Son. Lord Ridak will wish for death for a long time, but it will elude him. I promise you that.”

“I will not accept that promise, Father,” Marak declared stubbornly. “Your time is better spent with those who have missed you for fourteen years, not the man who stole them. Let us not argue over Lord Ridak. I think he will be coming to Fardale soon, anyway. If you are there, we will both have an opportunity to deal with him.”

“Very well,” agreed Ukaro. “We will discuss this further after we have rejoined your mother. Let me inform Kyata that I will be leaving, then we will spend the day together until your friend arrives. I think he will be a guest of the Zatong for a while if he is hurt as badly as you described.”

“Will that be a problem?” asked Marak.

“No,” smiled Ukaro. “Nothing is a problem for the son of the Head Shaman and the nephew of the Leader.”

* * *

“It looks like an entire Corte,” whispered the bandit leader. “I wonder if this speaks ill of Lord Marak?”

“I don’t think so,” replied the other bandit. “If it was an attack, they would send more than a Corte. I think they are looking for Lord Marak and that means he has eluded them.”

“I hope you are right,” stated the bandit leader. “Still, you will ride to Fardale and alert Lord Marshal Yenga. I do not know how far they will go and if they reach Fardale, we should have someone waiting for them.”

The other bandit saluted and ran for his horse. The bandit leader looked off in the distance at the approaching army and hoped his companion was right. He would not feel good about the situation until he saw Lord Marak return.

* * *

Tmundo, Leader of the Kywara, gazed at the woman brought before him. “Why are you here, flatlander?” Tmundo asked. “Lord Marak has promised that our lands would not be trespassed upon.”

The woman met the gaze of the Chula Leader and returned it, measure for measure. “I have come to talk with the mighty Leader of the Kywara,” the woman stated defiantly. “Is your time so valuable that you can not spare any for me?”

“Such impertinence for a woman,” smiled Tmundo. “Why do I get the feeling that your words can cut as deeply as my sword? I will spare you time to ask your questions, but you must deliver my disappointment to Lord Marak for the behavior of his people.”

“I am as much your people as his,” rebuffed the woman. “You have no claim over this land which I can not match.”

“Who is this woman whose tongue lashes stronger than a viper’s?” chuckled Rykoma.

“I am Glenda Torak,” the woman declared proudly, “mother of Marak Torak and wife of Ukaro Zatong.”

“I knew I had seen that necklace before,” beamed Rykoma.

“This explains much about Lord Marak,” agreed Tmundo. “I knew he was too good to be a flatlander and your vision of him as the Torak confused me. I could not understand how a flatlander could fulfil our prophecy. Now it all makes sense. What can I do for you, mother of Marak, wife of Ukaro?”

“You can tell me if Ukaro still lives,” Glenda asked.

“As of a year ago, he did,” Rykoma answered. “Since then, I do not know.”