Prologue

Khador halted his horse atop the small rise and dismounted. He gazed westward towards the mouth of the mighty river and the ocean beyond. As his eyes surveyed the fertile valley, he began to nod appreciatively.

"What are we searching for?" asked one of his generals as the vanguard of Khador's army halted behind him.

"We are no longer searching," Khador replied with a smile upon his lips. "Look at the mouth of this river. What do you see?"

"A wide delta," shrugged the general. "The river is wide enough to provide a defensive border for one side of our troops should we be attacked, but that is not likely. The Chula are running from our army, not seeking to confront it. They will be exterminated completely before long."

"Must you always be a soldier, General?" Khador shook his head. "We have not come to this land just to exterminate the Chula. We have come to found a civilization. Look at the fertile valley below us. It is the finest land that we have seen since coming to this accursed place."

"You plan to make camp here for some time then?" asked the general.

"Not a camp," corrected Khador, "a country. This valley will become Khadoratung, the capital city of our country of Khadora. Every piece of land between the Fortung Mountains and the Kalatung Mountains will be ruled from this valley. This is where Khadora will be governed from."

"From here?" questioned the general. "Why such a remote area? I can see the valley is fertile, but we will be far removed from your brothers."

"Brother you mean," scowled Khador. "Only Omung lives now, and his people will settle the land south of the Kalatung Mountains. North of the Kalatung Mountains is my land."

"And Fakar's army?" asked another general.

"Fakar's army must stay east of the Fortung Mountains," declared Khador. "Nobody lives in Khadora that is not subjected to my rule."

"Are we to stop them from coming to Khadora then?" asked the first general.

"Certainly," nodded Khador. "Traders may cross the mountains to sell their wares, but this land is mine. There will be no migration allowed. How Omung handles his people and his land is up to him, but I plan to make sure the Khadora is the most secure nation of them all."

"That could lead to fighting with the men from Fakara or Omunga," frowned the general. "Are you sure this is wise?"

"It is necessary," stated Khador as his brow creased in frustration. "I cannot remember what has caused us to flee our homeland, but the terror will seek us out. That is why this valley is perfect for our capital. It is as far away from everyone as it can be. Here we will build our city and set the course for our future. The highest-ranking generals will be gifted land around the new city. Others will also be gifted land, but as their rank decreases, the distance from their land to the capital will increase. The lowest ranking will receive their land near the Fortung Mountains or the Kalatung Mountains. They will be our border defenses."

"So the more loyal the troops, the closer they are to protect you," the general nodded appreciatively.

"Exactly," affirmed Khador. "Also the size of the grants will dwindle as the distance from Khadoratung increases. Those who have proven their loyalty to me will be amply rewarded."

"And those less loyal will be spread out over great distances and unable to pose much of a threat to your rule," nodded the general. "I can see that you have thought on this subject for some time. What is to stop those clans on our borders from conspiring with others across the mountains?"

"They will not be able to conspire without us knowing of it," Khador said. "The first law of Khadora will make lying a grievous offense. Any person who is caught in a lie will forfeit his life. This will be the law of Khadora. I have chosen six among the most loyal of the generals. Those six will form a council of lords to enforce the law and settle disputes. I, as the emperor, will have the final say on all matters. Together, our armies will ensure that the laws of Khadora are obeyed."

"There will be grumbling when only six are chosen to be above the rest," sighed the general.

"Each clan shall be headed by a lord," smiled Khador. "Each lord shall have a seat in a national assembly. Its powers will be minimal, but it will give them a sense of participation. In the future the assembly of lords shall choose who sits on the Lords' Council. The lesser clans will believe that they actually have a say in how the country is governed. That will keep the rabble quiet."

"In reality," grinned the general, "it will always be the strongest of us to rule the land. Our armies will ensure that. The rest of the lords will squabble amongst themselves."

"Precisely," declared Khador, "and in the future, the six shall choose the emperor. Together our seven clans will rule Khadora forever. See to your men, General. In the morning we begin to create a new country."

Chapter 1

Netura's eyes scanned the sides of the road in a continuous motion. He was aware of the Three Sisters Mountains rising sharply off to the right, but he did not allow the scenery to distract him from his duty, even though he had never been this far north before. The young Torak soldier was excited to have been chosen to guard the caravan on its way to Chantise, as he had never been to a large city before, but he also realized that the previous two caravans had failed to show up in Khadora's second largest city. He vowed to guard the valuable shipment and enjoy the scenery on the trip back home.

Netura saw the squad leader signal for him to come forward. He passed three wagons loaded with golden ripe watula and a squad of black-clad soldiers escorting them until he was riding alongside Hira. The two soldiers rode in silence for several long minutes before the squad leader spoke.

"Netura," Hira said, "it is getting late in the day. I want you to ride ahead and find a suitable spot to make camp for the night. Remember what I taught you. Choose a location that is easily defendable and where our sentries can be concealed. Also choose a location where wires can be strung during the night to alert us to any intruders."

"Are you expecting trouble during the night?" asked Netura.

"I always expect trouble," sighed Hira. "You must learn to do the same. All day I have had a nagging feeling that today is the day we will be attacked. I cannot logically explain the feeling, but it is making me nervous."

Netura's eyebrow rose as he gazed at the squad leader. Hira was known by everyone to be confident even under the greatest stress, so his admission unnerved Netura.

"I have detected nothing so far," Netura offered sheepishly.

"I have not detected anything either," admitted Hira. "Still, the other two squads had far more experience escorting caravans than we do, and they have not been heard from. I will rest easier when we arrive at Chantise."

Netura nodded and started moving ahead of the caravan, his eyes constantly shifting from side to side. He heard a slight whistle and turned to see Hira motioning him back to the caravan. He immediately obeyed.

"Was I making too much noise?" Netura asked nervously when he was once again riding alongside the squad leader.

"No," Hira smiled weakly. "You were doing fine. You have learned your lessons well, Netura."

"Then why did you recall me?" questioned Netura.

"The feeling," the squad leader stated flatly. "Look, Netura, if we are attacked, I want you to avoid the battle."

"Avoid the battle?" scowled Netura. "I could not walk away while my fellow soldiers are fighting. How can you ask this of me? It would be a violation of my Vows of Service."

"It would not be a violation," assured the squad leader. "You are under my command, and you shall do as I order. Caravans do not just disappear, Netura. The real danger in this mission is that we do not know what to expect. Part of me wants the attack to happen so that we can get word back to the estate about who our enemy is. I want you to be that messenger."

"I am an able fighter," protested Netura. "I am sure that we can repel any attackers."

"We will do our best to defeat our enemies," nodded Hira, "but I still want you to get word back to Lord Marak if anything goes wrong. It is important. Vow that you will carry that word if we are attacked."

Netura rode silently for several minutes before finally nodding. "I vow to carry word of any attack to Lord Marak's ears," declared Netura.

"You're a good lad, Netura," smiled Hira. "Go and find us that secure location to camp for the night. Daylight is fast escaping us."

Hira frowned as he watched Netura ride off. He knew that his orders had been like a slap across Netura's face. No Torak soldier willingly walked away from a fight while his friends were in danger, but Hira knew that Netura had the best chance of evading an enemy if the need arose. The lad had a natural stealth to his movements, and the squad leader had promised the Lord Marshal that this caravan would not disappear without a clue as to why.

Squad Leader Hira pushed the thoughts from his mind as he watched Netura disappear around a bend in the road. He turned and let his eyes roam over the small caravan and the escorting soldiers. He smiled inwardly as he made eye contact with each member of his squad. They were all good lads, he thought to himself as he turned his attention to the road ahead. He tried to smile as he scanned the road ahead, but the feeling of doom clung to him, as it never had before.

Twenty minutes later, Hira knew that the feeling was genuine. The caravan had just rounded a bend in the road when he detected movement off to one side. The squad leader's fingers instantly moved in what appeared to be a random fashion. The entire squad of Torak soldier became instantly alert as the squad members recognized their leader's signal. Hands went automatically to hilts, and the soldiers nonchalantly maneuvered their horses alongside the wagons on the opposite side of the disturbance.

Suddenly, flaming arrows soared towards the caravan from both sides of the road. The Torak soldiers dismounted and drew their swords as the wagon drivers whipped the horses to speed them away from the attack. It was a move designed to take the prize away from the bandits while allowing the soldiers to counterattack. In normal circumstances, it would have worked well, but Hira instantly understood that he had been defeated. He jumped out of the way of the speeding wagons as they tried to escape.

"Take cover," Hira shouted. "They do not want the cargo. They want to destroy it."

Hira dove into a small gully that ran alongside the road. Some of the other squad members also dove for the gully, but most had already committed themselves to the fight by charging into the forest.

"Bows and throwing knives," shouted Hira. "They have no intention of coming to us. They plan to finish us off from the safety of the trees."

Hira turned and saw the three wagons of ripe grain engulfed in flames. The drivers' bodies littered the road. The horses ran frantically to escape the fires that were steadily devouring the wagons behind them. He turned his attention to the far side of the road where several of his squad had disappeared. He nocked an arrow to his bow and sought a target.

"I can't see a thing," snarled one of the Torak soldiers in the gully. "They are just gray shapes moving from tree to tree. No clan colors that I can see."

"Must be gray bandits," called another Torak warrior just before an arrow pierced his neck.

"These are not gray bandits," snarled Hira. "Bandits want to be paid for their work. They don't intentionally destroy a caravan. Besides, these men have worked together for a long time. You can tell by the lack of orders for the attack. Not a word has been heard since before the attack started. No, lads, we are facing a clan that doesn't want to show its colors."

"There will be no surrendering then," spat one of the Torak soldiers. "The cowards will want to kill us all."

"Certainly not," Hira agreed as he slid behind a large rock in the gully. "Their task is to destroy any trace of us before some traveler stumbles upon this fight. We only need to hold out for a while men. Keep them nervous with your arrows."

Even as Hira spoke, he heard the screams of his dying men. The attackers tried lobbing arrows high into the air to pierce the men in the gully without risking their own lives.

"These bandits are cowards," shouted a Torak soldier. Why don't they come out of the woods and finish us?"

The soldier's words died in a gurgle as an arrow pierced his head. An eerie silence fell over the battlefield, and Hira realized that he was the only Torak soldier left alive. That was when he heard the first words spoken by the attackers.

"Is that it then?" one of the bandits asked.

"Shut up," growled another voice.

Hira's mind whirled around the question of why the bandits were acting so cowardly. They were good archers; the results of the ambush had proved that. Judging from the number of arrows that flew in the initial volley, Hira knew that there were at least two squads involved in the attack. Probably more. So why weren't they coming out of the forest to kill the survivors? If they wanted the caravan to disappear, they would need to clean up the attack site before someone stumbled across it. That should require a certain amount of haste on the part of the bandits, yet they remained hidden in the forest. Hira nocked another arrow to his bow and peered across the road for a target.

"They cannot afford to have one of their own slain," Hira mumbled under his breath. "They would have a hard time explaining the death to others on the estate they are from. That means that their task is hidden from even their own families."

Nodding to himself, Hira let his arrow fly into the forest even though he had no target to aim at.

"I must keep them engaged until a friendly squad of soldiers happens down this road," Hira said to himself.

Several arrows flew from the forest in answer to his, and Hira sheltered his head behind the large rock. At least two of the arrows hit the rock protecting him, verifying his evaluation of the skill of the bandit archers. The squad leader's eyes rose to watch the darkening of the sky as he wondered what the odds were of an army coming along the road. The road to Chantise was a fairly busy road, but Khadorans did not care much for night travel. Most trips were planned to end before sunset.

Hira thought about his own plans to stop for the night, and he frowned when he remembered Netura. The Torak soldier would be returning at any moment, the squad leader realized. Suddenly, he knew why the bandits were waiting patiently. They must have seen Netura ride on ahead, and they wanted him eliminated. Hira's head swiveled to look down the road. His eyes scanned the dimness of dusk as he searched for any sign of Netura. A lump formed in his throat when he saw Netura crawling slowly along the gully towards him.

Hira frowned and waved his arms towards Netura. He signaled the Torak soldier with his fingers and ordered him to retreat. Netura signaled back that he would circle around behind the bandits and distract them so that Hira could escape. Hira shook his head vigorously and repeated his order to retreat, but he knew that Netura would ignore his commands. Hira frantically sought a solution that would carry the word back to Lord Marak.

"Who are you?" Hira shouted to the bandits. "What do you want?"

Silence was the only answer that Hira received. He had not expected an answer, but he needed to draw attention away from Netura.

"I am the only one left," shouted Hira. "Will you accept my surrender?"

Hira already knew the answer to that question, but he wanted Netura to understand it as well. Silence hung in the air. Hira shot a glance towards Netura and saw the lad still approaching. Netura was still far enough away to escape if only he would. Once again Hira used his fingers to demand that Netura retreat. The Torak soldier ignored him.

"Ignore my order will you, lad?" Hira whispered to himself. "Well, you will not die today to save someone who is already dead. May the gods travel with you, my friend."

Hira nocked another arrow to his bow and stood up. He marched onto the road and stood defiantly for several seconds until the arrows soared out of the forest. Hira aimed at the source of the arrows and released the bowstring. His arrow was released just as he felt the first bite of metal piercing his chest. As his body fell to the road, Hira turned and gazed towards the distant Netura. He smiled inwardly as he saw the lad turn and scramble away.

The wind swept across the arid desolate plain, sending plumes of sand and dirt spiraling into the sky. It tore at the clothing of the lone rider leading the driverless caravan of six wagons, but it did not appear to bother the tall lanky man. His eyes did not deviate from his destination, as it grew larger on the horizon.

Karnic's face was calm and dispassionate, hiding the rage he felt inside. When the wind tore the hood from his head, exposing his short white hair and neatly groomed beard, Karnic casually waved his hand in the air before him. The windstorm suddenly parted, leaving the caravan to proceed through a corridor of still air. Karnic turned and looked at the six driverless wagons. The horses continued to plod along behind him as if ropes attached them to his horse. He nodded satisfactorily as he returned his attention to the pyramid before him, as it grew steadily larger.

As Karnic approached the Vandegar Temple, his eyes surveyed the surrounding area. The place was devoid of the massive armies that were supposed to attack Khadora. His rage intensified as he viewed the remnants of what used to be a large army encampment. Cooking circles dotted the landscape. Makeshift corrals held no horses, and the forges sat cold and unused. Scraps of old cloth flew through the air, and weapon racks were empty and abandoned. Karnic's mouth opened slightly in a rare display of emotion as he bared his gritted teeth.

Karnic halted the caravan in front of the Vandegar Temple. He dismounted and waved his hand over the dozen horses pulling the wagons. With a final look at the desolate encampment, Karnic turned and strode up the steps of the temple, his long white robe swaying with his movement. He paused at the top of the steps and pulled his hood over his head and then stepped through the large entry doors.

He stopped inside the great doors to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior of the temple. His eyes narrowed as he viewed the debris scattered about the floor of the entrance hall. Walking silently, Karnic moved through the hall into the center room of the pyramid. The center of the pyramid was open to the apex and his eyes were automatically drawn upward to view the magnificence of the monument to Vand. He stood there for a long time, his eyes viewing the balconies of each level as he sought for any signs of life.

Karnic did not see anything but the leavings of the massive army that used to be housed there, but his ears did detect the sound of distant voices. Karnic scowled as the rage inside him grew to a fury. He headed to one of the stairways and started climbing upward. He walked quietly and let his ears guide him towards the voices. When he had climbed seven levels, Karnic turned along a corridor, the voices becoming decipherable. He listened to the conversation of the two men as he silently moved towards the speakers.

"I should kill you now," shouted Zygor. "Your actions have brought failure to our endeavors."

"My actions?" retorted Brakas. "You are the one who brought that cargo of poisoned fruit for Grulak to eat."

"I had not way of knowing what effects the fruit would have," snapped Zygor. "Remember that it was you who brought the fruit to me in the first place."

"Like yourself," countered Brakas, "I had no way of knowing its effects either. At least I tried to redeem myself by scattering the horses of that traitor General Winus. You merely hid here in the temple to see who would win."

Karnic paused outside the room as he heard a sword being pulled from its sheath.

"You think that sword will save you from my powers?" cackled Zygor. "You are a foolish man, Brakas."

"Look, Zygor," Brakas pleaded, holding his sword up for defense as he backed away from the magician, "There is no reason for us to quarrel. We are both committed to the same goal. If we work together, perhaps we can salvage this mission yet."

"Salvage it?" screamed Zygor. "Our army is scattered all over Fakara. Worse, they have lost the leadership needed to make them into a viable fighting force. We will both be dead when Vand sends someone to find out what went wrong."

Karnic chose that moment to clear his throat and step into the room. "Your display of emotion is unbecoming, Zygor," Karnic declared as the two men in the room turned towards the new arrival.

"Karnic?" Zygor said hesitantly. "How long have you been listening?"

Brakas frowned as he gazed at Karnic. He still held his sword defensively in front of him and continued to edge further backwards.

"Put the sword away, Brakas," Karnic commanded in a voice that left little doubt as to his feeling of superiority. He turned to Zygor and said, "I have heard enough to determine that our operation in Fakara has failed. Vand will not be pleased."

Zygor opened his mouth to explain, but Karnic held up his hand to stifle the excuses. "I will hear no more bickering and excuses," he stated sternly. "What I will hear is the state of our army here in Fakara."

Karnic turned to glare at Brakas, and the Fakaran hesitated slightly before returning his sword to its sheath.

"We have no army," Brakas stated nervously. "The free tribes have scattered them across the breadth of Fakara."

"He speaks the truth," admitted Zygor. "The free tribes have aligned with the Astor. Grulak and Veltar are both dead."

"Grulak is of no consequence," replied Karnic, "and Veltar has been rewarded for his failure."

"Of no consequence?" frowned Brakas. "He was the leader that a hundred thousand followed. Nobody can replace him. The army is gone."

"Never tell me what cannot be done," Karnic spat as he fixed his gaze on Brakas. "Grulak was a fool, but a useful one. His life brought us the Time of Calling. His death cost us nothing. We do not need a hundred thousand men to bring chaos to Khadora. The task can be accomplished with much less."

"You plan to continue the attack on Khadora?" questioned Zygor.

"No," smiled Karnic, "I have plans for you to conquer Khadora. My services are needed in Omunga."

"It is not possible," interjected Brakas. "We could never get a quarter of the men that Grulak had amassed."

"You need even less than that," declared Karnic. "We have three clan lords in Khadora that have agreed to work with us. Do you know of them, Zygor?"

"I do," Zygor nodded. "They agreed for their own selfish reasons, though. I believe they planned to use Grulak as a distraction to gain more power for themselves. I warned him about that."

"We do not care about their reasons for cooperating," Karnic said. "We are changing the agreements made with them, and the terms are not negotiable."

"What do you wish for me to do?" asked Zygor, feeling relieved that he was not going to be executed for his failures.

"I have brought a caravan of food with me from Khadora," explained Karnic. "Brakas will gather the former Jiadin warriors. The food will lure them in. You, Zygor, will visit these three lords in Khadora. You will change our agreements with them. Each of their estates will host five thousand Jiadin warriors. The Jiadin will wear the uniforms of the host clans."

"So no one will know that the three groups are aligned," Zygor nodded appreciatively.

"Precisely," continued Karnic. "You will assume the leadership of a fourth clan. That estate will also host five thousand warriors under your direct command."

"Assume?" frowned Zygor. "The clan lords of Khadora are very old men. Surely you know what you are asking of me?"

"No more than I am asking of myself," nodded Karnic. "I will also assume a leader in Omunga to prepare for the Time of Cleansing."

"But you are already old," protested Zygor. "I have many years ahead of me yet."

"You have given away your youth by your failure here in Fakara," Karnic replied sternly. "Do you wish to refuse this order from Vand?"

Sweat broke out upon Zygor's brow. He bit gently on his lip before bowing low before Karnic.

"I am most grateful for this opportunity to serve our master," recited Zygor.

Brakas looked puzzlingly at the two magicians. He did not understand what horrors were alluded to by assuming a clan lord, but he knew that Zygor was fearful. He could smell the fear emanating from the young magician.

"How will we get these clan lords to accept five thousand Jiadin?" Brakas asked.

"Zygor will tell them to expect some new warriors to bolster their ranks prior to their expansion," explained Karnic. "By the time they realize the magnitude of the number of new warriors, it will be too late for them to do anything about it. The clan lords will be told to follow the instructions of the lord that Zygor chooses to assume."

"Still," Zygor interjected as he regained his composure, "twenty thousand men is not enough to conquer Khadora."

"You do not need to conquer the whole country," replied Karnic. "I have spent much time in Khadora since the Time of Calling began. We will use their own culture to defeat them, one small step at a time. Your four clans will slowly, but steadily, encroach upon your neighbors. When you devour an estate, annihilate the family of the clan lord and dissolve the clan. There will be no survivors to appeal to the Lords' Council. You will gobble up half the country before anyone thinks to object, and by that time it will be too late for them to object."

"You mean to grow the army by assimilating other clans?" nodded Brakas. "That is brilliant."

"It is perfection," nodded Karnic. "Brakas you will gather up the Jiadin that are required for this plan. Offer them whatever you wish. There will be gold aplenty when we descend on Khadoratung. In the meantime, there is food outside that you can use to gather the starving men."

"If the free tribes get wind of this," frowned Brakas, "they will come here and destroy our new armies."

"Then make sure that word does not pass to them," shrugged Karnic. "Move the men out as soon as they reach five thousand in number. Then start with the next recruitment group. Even if the free tribes find out, we will have only five thousand men at risk at any time. Also, order the first group of men to clean up this area. Vandegar Temple is a holy shrine. I will not see it desecrated with filth and garbage."

"It shall be as you command," declared Zygor. "How will I report our successes to you?"

"There will be no need to report to me," answered Karnic. "If you are successful, the world will know. And if you fail, you will not be alive to report. You will not find me in any event. I will be bringing chaos and mayhem to Omunga."

Zygor opened his mouth to offer some vague praise to Karnic, but the elder magician was no longer in the room. Zygor blinked and gazed about the room, but Karnic was gone.

"Did you see him leave?" Zygor whispered to Brakas.

"No," Brakas replied unsteadily. "What is this assuming that he talks about?"

"I have been ordered to take another's body," frowned Zygor. "It is irreversible. It is how Vand has managed to live for thousands of years. When he ages, he assumes a fresh young body."

"And you can do that?" Brakas gasped. "Why then do you fear doing it when it means that you can live forever?"

"We can only do it once," replied Zygor. "Only Vand can do it multiple times. By assuming the body of an old man, I am shortening my lifespan. It is my punishment for failure here in Fakara."

"I think I would prefer dying," mused Brakas as he thought about being an old frail man.

"That is the only choice available to you," spat Zygor. "I am paying for my part in the failure here. You are not. Fail me again and you will surely beg for death, but that death will linger for an excruciatingly long time. Do not fail me again, Brakas."

Chapter 2

Marak flicked his wrist towards the target. A bright stream of light shot forth from his hand and streaked towards the vertical log. As the stream of light traveled, it flattened into a disc, and tendrils of light spread out from the center. The mass appeared much like a spinning disc with multiple blades of shiny steel rotating rapidly around the center. The disc struck the log with tremendous force. Chunks of bark and wood splinters flew through the air as the disc sped through the log. It was cleanly sawed in half, and Marak watched in amazement as the top portion of the log toppled over and fell to the ground.

"See how the disc disintegrated after cutting through the log?" smiled Ukaro. "If that was an enemy's body, it would have continued onward to strike what was behind it. You must learn to gauge the amount of force needed in any given situation. Sometimes you can use the spell to fell multiple foes. Other times you will prefer not to harm what is behind your enemy. You must practice this spell until you learn how to measure the force needed."

"Amazing," Marak muttered as he stared at the severed log. "I would not have believed that it would be so simple."

"It is not simple, son," replied the Chula shaman. "You have great power. Were you to live with the Chula, you would become a powerful shaman."

"Like you are," nodded Marak. "Sometimes I wish for nothing more than to do exactly that. Mother and you are so happy here."

"We are," grinned Ukaro, "but your path lies elsewhere, Marak. The Torak cannot walk away from his responsibilities."

"The Torak," frowned Marak. "I still do not have a clear idea what the Torak is, or what I am supposed to do."

Ukaro stared at his son, his split lips pressed tightly together. He absently brushed his golden mane away from his face and suddenly smiled.

"Come and sit with me by the lake," Ukaro said. "Enough practice for one day and you must return to your flatlanders in any event."

"I must, father," nodded Marak. "The Sakovans are preparing to leave for home, and I would be remiss if I was not there to bid them farewell."

The young lord of the Torak clan and his Chula father strode across the open field and sat beside the lake. Marak gazed at his father's face. The shaman's face resembled the face of a lion. Long whiskers spread outward from above his split lips, and his mane was more than just long hair. It flowed from every portion of his face and head. His eyes sparkled with the clarity of a hunter.

"You still find my appearance strange," smiled Ukaro. "It can only be achieved by a powerful shaman. It demands respect within the Chula. You have the power to look like me, although I doubt your flatlanders would find it appealing."

"I suppose they would not accept it very well," Marak conceded. "Do you like looking that way?"

"I do," grinned Ukaro. "It is a constant reminder of who I am, but I do understand how others could find it discomforting."

"Perhaps when I am finished doing whatever it is that I must do," posed Marak, "I will live with the Chula and learn the ways of my ancestors."

"If you survive," frowned Ukaro. "Do not make light of what the Torak must endure. Your task will be fraught with danger."

"What is my task, father?" asked Lord Marak. "Tell me about the Torak."

"I think you already know much more than you let on," declared Ukaro. "The painting you saw in Angragar must have made you think about what god will require from you."

"God," mused Marak. "I grew up with the flatlanders, father. They speak of many gods, but value none of them."

"I understand," nodded the shaman, "but you have learned from your Sakovan friends that the one true god is Kaltara. Have you not?"

"Yes," agreed Marak, "but I know little about him. Why does this god put his favor on me? What makes him think that I can change the world?"

"He has chosen you, my son" Ukaro smiled proudly. "Do not question his motives. As to why he thinks you can change the world, he will endow you with what is necessary, and he will guide you. This you must believe with all your heart."

"So he will just make everything turn out all right?" questioned Marak.

"No, no," Ukaro shook his head vigorously, causing his mane to sway from side to side. "You must work hard to achieve his goals. By choosing you to be the Torak, he is giving all of humanity a chance to redeem itself, but only a chance. You must strive to make sure that you do not fail us. Another Torak may not come for thousands of years."

"So I can fail," pondered Marak. "What exactly is prophesized about this Torak?"

"Our scrolls state that the Torak will rise to reclaim our lands," stated the shaman. "Most people believe that means that you will reclaim the land of the Chula from the flatlanders. It is said that you will destroy their armies and chase these invaders from our shores."

"Most people believe that," puzzled Marak. "I know you well enough to understand by your choice of words that you do not share that interpretation. What do you believe?"

"I used to believe as the others do," explained Ukaro, "but hearing about your journeys to Sakova and Fakara has changed my perception of what must be done."

"How has the telling of my travels changed your thinking?" inquired Marak.

"The painting in Angragar for one causes me to see things from a different perspective," Ukaro continued. "It is clear that your future is tied to the Star of Sakova and the Astor of Qubari as they are pictured by your side in the painting."

"I agree with that," nodded Marak. "I have seen that painting many times in my dreams. It causes me to wonder what is to come."

"I have spent many days since your return from Angragar going through the oldest of our archives," stated Ukaro. "The invaders that came to our shores were fleeing from some great evil. There is nothing in our records to indicate what they were fleeing from, but I cannot help thinking that whatever was chasing them is what you must truly battle."

Lord Marak nodded slowly as his mind drifted back to his short time in Angragar. They had found a scroll in the old temple that spoke of burning ships and searing minds.

"I believe you are correct," declared Marak. "An old prophecy spoke of a great evil. It was an evil that defied Kaltara thousands of years before the invaders came. The evil was banished from the land to a new land. I suspect the invaders came from that new land. I think they were fleeing from that evil."

"That would explain the great fear that pervaded the invaders," mused Ukaro. "The histories tell much about the trials of my people during the invasion. The invaders were skilled warriors, much greater than anyone who lived here. They certainly were not cowards and did not shy from battle, but they were driven by fear of something chasing them. Our records offer no hint as to what that evil was."

"One of the Qubari suspected that the great evil was a priest named Vand," offered Marak. "Vand declared himself a god and gathered a great host of followers. Legend states that he defied the other gods and was banished to some unknown land."

"Then the pieces fall into place," sighed Ukaro.

"How?" Marak shook his head. "This all happened thousands of years ago. Some priest who thought he was a god would not be alive today to bother us."

"Can you be sure of that?" questioned the shaman. "You already know of many things that defy what is supposedly known to be true. The flatlanders believe that magicians can only be female. An untruth. They believe that slavery is necessary for the survival of their economy. A lie. You were told that nobody ever escapes the Qubari jungle, yet here you are. Do not be so quick to rule out an old priest as the source of the evil that will plague you. Even if this Vand no longer lives, the evil that lived within him might still exist."

"All right," shrugged Marak. "The prophecy stated that the people of his new land would flee from him. It states that they will burn their ships and sear their minds, whatever that means."

"I will tell you what it means," the shaman said. "The invaders that came to our shores so long ago burned their ships upon arrival. It made no sense to the Chula of that age, but it was recorded, so it is true. I have read all of the histories from that time. There is little in them except the harrowing tales of brutal slaughter, but I do recall reading one that spoke of captured invaders. I said before that the invaders were afraid of something, but that we never found out what it was. One of the scrolls suggested that the invaders did not know what they were fleeing because their memories were destroyed."

"Do you mean intentionally erased?" asked Marak.

"The scroll did not make that judgment," shrugged Ukaro, "but if it was intentional, would not that be a searing of minds?"

"It would," nodded Marak. "Is that possible? Do you know of magic that can block a memory?"

"No," admitted Ukaro, "but that does not make it impossible. Tell me more of this scroll you found in Angragar."

"It mentioned that the searing magic would fail because of intermarriage and that the evil would be summoned because of that failure," Marak continued. "The scroll called this the Time of Calling. It is during this Time of Calling that Kaltara will send forth the Torak, the Star of Sakova, and the Astor. The three of us are to gather the faithful and the faithless to stand against the evil in the Time of Cleansing."

"When is the Time of Cleansing?" interrupted the shaman.

"It starts when the evil arrives," answered Marak. "That is all the scroll stated."

"So you are to gather the faithful AND the faithless," mused Ukaro. "The faithless to me are the flatlanders. I feel more strongly than ever that what the others expect of the Torak is not what is required of you. If you were here merely to reclaim our land from the flatlanders, then why did Kaltara send the Star and the Astor?"

"They each have their own lands to reclaim," Marak offered weakly.

"Perhaps that is how others will interpret it," shrugged Ukaro, "but I see both of them as being among the faithful. It is the Khadorans, the Omungans, and the Fakarans that are the faithless. It is not referring to the Chula, the Sakovans, and the Qubari. They could never be considered faithless. We have lived for many generations waiting for you to come. We have not wavered in our faith."

"So I am to make allies with the flatlanders in all three countries?" Marak questioned skeptically.

"It would appear so," nodded Ukaro.

"Impossible," Marak shook his head. "The Khadorans will kill me. It is only a matter of time before they do, but I am sure that they will succeed. In any event, there is absolutely no chance that the Khadorans would ever agree to follow me."

"Come," Ukaro smiled as he rose. "It is time for you to leave the Chula and return to your flatlanders. Have you found a mate a yet?"

Lord Marak rose and stared at his father with his mouth hanging open.

"A mate?" he echoed. "With everything that is going on, how can you ask such a question?"

"Life continues even through troubled times," chuckled the shaman. "I wonder what kind of parent you will make."

"This is no time for me to be distracted by such things, father," Marak shook his head. "Whatever brings such thoughts to your mind?"

"Let me ask you a question, son," grinned the shaman. "When you do have a son, no doubt he will be a rascal like you. How will you protect him from making mistakes?"

Marak stopped walking and gazed at the ground with a puzzled frown. "I suppose that I will explain right from wrong to him at the earliest opportunity," he replied. "Some mistakes he must endure to grow into a man, but I will explain the need for him to avoid the deadly ones."

"And if he doesn't listen to you?" pushed Ukaro. "What will you do when you have explained what is right, but he insists on doing what is wrong?"

"He will listen," Marak answered firmly. "I will not raise a fool."

"But if he doesn't?" Ukaro persisted.

"As I said," Marak shook his head, "sometimes letting him make a mistake will be good for him. I will not try to control his every thought. I will only seek to protect him from harm."

"Fair enough," smiled Ukaro. "It is wise to give a young man a long leash as some lessons are best learned through our own failures, but what if his life is endangered by his own folly?"

"I will explain the need for him to choose wisely," answered Marak.

"And if he still doesn't listen?" pushed the shaman.

"If it is a matter that threatens his life," frowned Marak, "I will impose my will upon him to protect him."

"By force?" questioned Ukaro. "Would you actually use force on your child to make him behave?"

"If his life was in danger?" Marak sighed with frustration. "Of course I would. Then I would again explain things to him so that he truly understood. What good is sparing the rod if the child is to die? Why are you pursuing this conversation, father? I have no intention of starting a family anytime soon, if at all."

"You will make a great father," Ukaro said seriously. "I mention this now because you already have a family. The Chula are your children now. The Khadorans are your children, too. Teach them what they need to know to survive. If they refuse to listen, punish them with force until they obey, and then explain things to them again. As I said before, Kaltara will guide you. You already seem to know how to manage unruly children."

Marak shook his head in wonder, but he eventually smiled and hugged his father. "If I grow up to be as wise as you, Ukaro," he chuckled, "I will be a good father indeed. I must return to Fardale now. I will try to visit again after the Sakovans have left."

Lord Marak detoured to his secret mage training field on the way back to the Fardale mansion. When he arrived at the field, he saw Master Malafar talking to a group of women. He scowled inwardly as he turned abruptly and headed towards the mage, Klora.

"What is he doing here?" snapped Lord Marak. "How did he find out about this field?"

Klora looked at the Torak lord with surprise in her eyes. "You did not tell him about the field?" she asked. "He has been here since you left the estate. I assumed that you had sent him to explain Omungan magic to us. He has been doing just that for the last three days."

"I did not send him," Lord Marak retorted sharply, more sharply than he had intended to. "I am sorry, Klora. I should not be taking this out on you. I wonder how many others now know about our secret field?"

"Nobody else has been around, if that helps," Klora shrugged. "Calm yourself. He has seen us and is coming this way. He really has taught us new approaches, Lord Marak. Do not be too hard on him."

"Ah, Lord Marak," greeted the Omungan mage. "You have the makings of a wonderful academy here. Why do you hide them?"

"I hide them because knowledge of their existence can threaten the survival of my people," Lord Marak retorted. "How did you find out about this field?"

"You cannot hide the use of such magic from a trained mage," shrugged Master Malafar. "I hope that I have not transgressed too much by being here, but I did want to offer you something for what you did for me in Omunga. Teaching your mages was the least I could do."

Lord Marak sighed in frustration as he tried to calm himself. "Walk back to the mansion with me, Master Malafar," he eventually said. "Now that you have spent time with my mage corps, tell me what you think of them."

"I think they are wonderful students," smiled Master Malafar as they started walking towards the distant mansion. "There is much talent among them, and it appears that they are extremely dedicated to learning. A master could not wish for a better group of students."

"A pity that you are returning to Sakova," Lord Marak said. "Knowledge of Omungan magic could be helpful to them."

"Actually," Master Malafar said hesitantly, "I am not returning to Omunga. I have not told Lyra yet, but my mind is made up. I have caused more than my fair share of grief for both the Omungan and Sakovan people."

"What are you planning to do?" asked Lord Marak as his mind suddenly gave thought to having the mage stay and teach his mage corps.

"I need time alone," answered Master Malafar. "You know from your trip to my homeland that I have messed things up rather badly down there. I no longer can live among the Omungans, and I do not feel at home with the Sakovans, even though my daughter rules them."

"You are welcome to stay here in Fardale if you wish," offered Lord Marak as his attitude towards the mage softened, "but I think you are judging the Sakovans harshly. They have accepted Lyra as their leader, and I know enough about them to know that they would welcome you into their homes."

"I am sure that Lyra would demand that they welcome me," sighed Master Malafar, "but I have wronged them as well. No, it is better for everyone if I just disappear. I have given this a tremendous amount of thought, Lord Marak, and I am determined in what I plan to do. I would like to spend another three days with your mages before I leave, but I cannot stay here any longer than that. I need time alone and I suspect it will be years before I sort out my own problems. Hopefully by that time, some of my mistakes will have been forgotten."

"You are very harsh with yourself, Master Malafar," declared Lord Marak. "Most of your mistakes were not of your own making. Others used you. Do not blame yourself for such things."

"What you say is true," nodded Master Malafar, "but I have erred plenty by myself. I have to atone for what I did to Rhodella and Alfred, and I cannot begin to understand what I can do to make things up to Lyra. She is in a difficult position now and having me around will only complicate things unnecessarily. I will leave Fardale in three days."

"Where will you go?" questioned Lord Marak.

"I have no idea," shrugged the Omungan mage. "I seek solitude, and if I did know my destination, I would not tell anyone in any event. Frankly, I want to be forgotten. If you are concerned about the secrecy of your mage corps, do not be. I will not tell anyone that it exists, but I think you are making a mistake."

"A mistake?" echoed Lord Marak. "You surely do not understand my situation here in Khadora. I am as much a foreigner to these Khadorans as Lyra is to the Omungans. They will seek every avenue to eliminate me. The mage corps is my secret army for when it is needed. If people learn of it, they will hasten to destroy me. Besides, I am buying mage slaves from every clan in Khadora. If they found out that the mage could be a military asset, those people would never see their freedom. I can not allow that."

"I understand more than you give me credit for," grinned Master Malafar. "If Khadora is anything like Omunga, you are correct in your assumption about the other clans learning of your secret mage corps. They would attack instantly to nip you before you became too powerful. There is another way, however. Can I make a suggestion?"

"Please do," nodded Lord Marak. "I am always open to new ideas."

"Make your mage corps very public," chuckled the magician. "Set up a mage school in one of Khadora's cities. Do not align it with yourself, but make it appear as a legitimate business, a school for training those with magical talent. Other clans might send their mages to your school, and unless I am mistaken about human nature, those mages will become excellent spies for you. You could also hire out the services of the mages at the school to estates so that the clans would no longer have need to maintain their own mages."

"They would be eager to shed their estates of the untrained mages they already have," brightened Lord Marak, "especially if I were to sell the mage services inexpensively."

"Exactly," Master Malafar nodded vigorously. "You will actually end up controlling all of the mages in Khadora. Oh, someone might try to start another school to be in competition with you, but mages cannot be treated as slaves and still prosper. No Khadoran would free his slaves to be your competition."

"You are a genius, Master Malafar," laughed Lord Marak. "We have acquired so many mages that I am having a hard time keeping up with the housing needs here in Fardale. Sooner or later their practice field would have to become known to my enemies. I shall see to having that school set up right away. I do wish you would stay here longer. You may have other ideas that would prove helpful."

"I cannot delay any longer," Master Malafar objected. "Three days is all I will spend here. I should have left when we first arrived last month, but I wanted to do something for you as a payment for your help in Omunga. Without your interfering, I would have remained ignorant of my own people's deceit. Now I can consider you repaid."

"Very well," Marak frowned as he realized the Master Malafar was being helpful just to ease his conscience and not because he wanted to help with the problems facing Fardale or Sakova. "How will you break this news to your daughter?"

"Lyra has no say over what I do," Master Malafar stated sternly. "She must rule her Sakovans, and I want no part of that. That chapter of my life is over. I merely want to find a hole to crawl into and disappear. She will just have to accept it."

"I am having a meeting tonight with Lyra and some of the clan lords that swear allegiance to me," Lord Marak mentioned in a last attempt to lure Master Malafar into helping out. "I would like you to attend if you don't mind. As long as you are spending three more days here, let me see if I can tap into your brilliant mind for some more help."

"Were I a woman, Lord Marak," chuckled Master Malafar, "I would learn to be leery of your soft-spoken words. You sprinkle honey across the ground hoping to attract something useful. I will attend your meeting, but you will be disappointed if you expect me to suddenly carry your banner. I know the future of my life, and it does not intersect with yours or Lyra's. In fact, it does not intersect with anyone's. I just want to be left alone."

Chapter 3

As Lord Marak and Master Malafar approached the mansion in Fardale, the bursar, Kasa, ran down the steps to greet them.

"You are safe," Kasa blurted out. "I wish you would not go off without letting me know. All of the lords of your other estates and clans arrived yesterday for the meeting that you requested. I have had trouble avoiding their questions about where you were."

"I am sure that you handled it well," smiled Lord Marak. "I want to invite Lyra and Master Malafar to attend the meeting as well. When it is over, I want you to meet with Master Malafar. He has some interesting ideas about a mage school that I think you should hear."

Kasa glanced at the Omungan mage as she nodded. "I also have a stack of contracts that require your signature, and the Lord Marshal needs to see you immediately upon your arrival."

"Is there trouble?" the Khadoran lord asked.

"Lord Marshal Yenga would not reveal it if there was," frowned Kasa. "He shares nothing until you have heard it first."

"As he should," Lord Marak smiled as he saw the frustration in Kasa's face. "You worry too much, Kasa. Why don't you and Master Malafar discuss the mage school now and I will see Lord Marshal Yenga. The meeting can wait a few more minutes. Don't forget to invite Lyra."

Kasa nodded, and Lord Marak vaulted up the stairs and into the mansion. He moved swiftly to Yenga's office before any of the visiting lords had a chance to notice that he had returned to Fardale. He hesitated in the doorway and viewed the Lord Marshal talking to a merchant.

"Come in," prompted Yenga. "I have been waiting for you to return."

Lord Marak entered the office and gazed at the merchant. Suddenly he grinned broadly and slapped the merchant on the back.

"I should have realized that no ordinary merchant would be visiting my Lord Marshal," smiled Lord Marak. "What brings you to Fardale, Fisher?"

"Your service," answered the spy. "I have been picking up bits of information that I felt must be shared with you."

"Then let the three us talk," nodded Lord Marak as he pulled a chair over towards the desk and sat down. "First, what is so important that my Lord Marshal demands my immediate presence?"

"Another caravan has been ambushed," replied Lord Marshal Yenga as deep lines etched across his forehead.

"How did we find out about it?" asked Lord Marak.

"One of our men, Netura, sent a message via an air tunnel from River's Bend," stated Lord Marshal Yenga. "He is a smart lad to have stopped in River's Bend. Most would have ridden all the way back here to Fardale."

"So we had survivors this time," responded Lord Marak.

"Only Netura," frowned Yenga, "and he survived only because Hira had ordered him to flee. Netura was not happy about abandoning his squad leader."

"Hira was a good squad leader," Lord Marak said sadly. "He will be missed. What do we know about the attackers?"

"They were dressed as gray warriors," replied the Lord Marshal, "but Netura believes that it was a disguise. The attack was efficiently executed, and the enemy took pains to ensure that not a single one of their men was exposed to danger."

"So it is a clan that wishes to hide these attacks from even their own people?" questioned Lord Marak. "Why?"

"That is what Fisher and I have been discussing," answered Yenga. "The only plausible reason that we can think of is the troops that are doing the ambushing are not from the local estate."

"You are saying that a large clan is attacking us," Lord Marak asked, "but they are using troops from a different estate? Why would they do that if they have an estate close to the ambush site?"

"Loyalty," answered the Lord Marshal. "Typically, the troops under the direct control of a lord marshal can be counted on to remain quiet about their missions. The local troops might gossip too much, and the ambushes would become known to others."

"So a lord sends troops to an outlying estate with special orders from the lord marshal of the clan," interjected Fisher. "The local estate will house them and feed them, but will not interfere in any other way. The local marshal would not even be informed of what their mission is."

"That does not help a great deal," frowned Lord Marak. "There are many clans in Khadora that have multiple estates."

"We can narrow it down," declared Fisher as he rose and walked to a wall map of Khadora. "We now know the location of the attacks. The ambushers were foolish to allow one of your men to escape."

"Where was the attack?" asked Marak as he walked to the map.

"At the foot of the Three Sisters Mountains," Fisher said as he pointed to a spot on the map. "The road is fairly well traveled, but the ambush was timed well. Netura was away from the squad at the time. He was selecting a camping spot for the night. Few travel the road at night, and journeys are normally planned in the mornings, or at least scheduled so that they can be completed by nightfall. Only Imperial troops would travel the road at night. The road was deserted."

"So they knew the caravan was coming," nodded Lord Marak. "I suspect they had scouts checking its progress during the day."

"They may have," interrupted Lord Marshal Yenga, "but these troops would not be sitting idle at the local estate waiting for your caravans. They would have to know approximately what day the caravan would be passing through the area."

"But how could they possibly know that?" questioned the lord of the Torak clan. "We do not run our caravans on a schedule. We do not know the day of our departure ourselves until we decide it is leaving."

"It is possible that they have scouts several days out from the ambush site," shrugged Yenga.

"More likely," stated Fisher, "they have someone telling them when a caravan leaves Fardale. That is certainly how I would do it. It would be a simple matter then to know the day that the caravan would pass any particular spot on the route."

"You understand what you are implying?" inquired Lord Marak.

"That you have a spy in your ranks," nodded Fisher. "I know that you do not wish to hear such theories, Marak, but that is the most likely of scenarios."

"Have any other caravans been ambushed besides our Torak caravans?" questioned Lord Marak.

"None," Fisher shook his head. "A Sorgan caravan passed the ambush site the day before yours. I should also point out that the caravan was not stolen. They destroyed it. Intentionally. This was not done for someone's profit as much as it was done to harm you."

"Destroyed?" echoed Lord Marak.

"Yes," replied Lord Marshal Yenga. "I suspect the attack site was well cleaned up before morning, too. Your caravans are supposed to simply disappear."

"What clans have estates in the area?" Marak asked with rage almost detectable in his voice.

"Fisher and I have been going over that," answered Yenga. "There are at least a dozen possibilities. And that is only counting the estates that are close to the ambush site. We really need to include any estate that could effectively move their troops to the attack area without being seen on a road. That adds another dozen clans."

"Too many choices," Lord Marak said as he began to pace the floor. "We must narrow it down some more. Fisher, can you snoop around and see if any estates are regularly hosting troops of their clan from another estate?"

"It is already on my list," nodded the spy. "Such information will not be easy to come by, and it may take me some time. What of your next caravan? You cannot halt shipments until I report back."

"We could send the watula in a caravan under another clan's colors," suggested Lord Marshal Yenga. "You have other clans that owe allegiance to you."

Lord Marak was silent for some time as he stopped pacing and stood staring at the map. Finally, he sat down in his chair and waved for the others to sit down.

"How large an escort did Lord Sevrin bring with him to the meeting?" asked Lord Marak.

"Just a squad of Ragatha soldiers," answered the lord marshal.

"And how large does Netura estimate the ambushers to be?" inquired the lord.

"He suspected at least two squads," replied Yenga, "probably a corte."

"That is what I would expect to make the ambush easy," nodded Lord Marak. "When Lord Sevrin leaves Fardale, I want him to leave with two cortes of Ragatha troops in addition to his squad. We should have spare Ragatha uniforms at Woodville. It used to be a Ragatha estate."

"The uniforms will be no problem," nodded Yenga. "What do you want me to order the two cortes to do?"

"I am not sure yet," admitted Lord Marak, "but if you are correct about a spy in our midst, then I want some troops smuggled out of Fardale. This meeting of the lords is the perfect time to do it. Also, make sure that we have a mage who is capable of using an air tunnel among the soldiers."

"Make sure that Lord Sevrin is the last lord to leave," suggested Fisher. "We do not want the other lords to notice his escort."

"You suspect one of my lords is the spy?" asked Lord Marak as his eyes narrowed.

"The average clan member does not have the consistent capability of getting word out to the attackers," shrugged Fisher. "If there is a spy, it is from someone high up in the clans that owe their allegiance to you."

"Make it so," Lord Marak said to Lord Marshal Yenga. "Fisher, find yourself a Torak uniform quickly. I want you to be one of the guards in the meeting room today. Observe everyone, and we will meet again afterwards."

"I have a uniform with me," grinned Fisher as Lord Marak gave him a puzzled look. "There is one other thing that you should be aware of. Lord Marak and the Torak clan are the talk of Khadoratung. Everyone is trying to figure out how you came into power here in Fardale, obtained Woodville from the Ragatha clan, and two other estates from the Situ clan. As you are aware, people in the capital do not normally think of clans this far away as anything worth talking about, so it should cause you some concern that you are the topic of their conversations."

"That is troubling," agreed Lord Marak. "All of my clans together are nothing compared to the rest of Khadora. Why do you suppose they have taken notice of dealings out here on the frontier?"

"Primarily your abolition of slavery," shrugged Fisher, "but I feel that there is more to it than that. I think some important people have taken notice of you, and that is not healthy in Khadora. Power has always resided in Khadoratung. The Emperor and the Lords' Council rule this country. The Assembly of Lords really has no power at all. I would advise you to avoid the assembly meeting later this month."

"You think there is a risk to me by going to Khadoratung?" questioned Lord Marak.

"Absolutely," affirmed Fisher. "Most people in Khadora would not have known Lord Ridak's name if they heard it. Merchants and lower officials mention your name on the streets of the capital. Someone powerful is out to get you. Stay away until something else grabs their attention."

"I will consider your warning, Fisher," sighed Lord Marak, "but you know that I do not easily shy away from confrontations. Get into your uniform, and hear what you can in the meeting room."

Fisher nodded as he left the office. Lord Marak left shortly after Fisher and met Kasa in the hallway outside the lord marshal's office.

"Master Malafar's idea sounds quite promising," the bursar said. "I think I might even know a place in Chantise where we can house it."

"Excellent," Lord Marak answered distractedly. "Set it up, but it is not to be associated with the Torak clan in any way."

"Understood," agreed Kasa. "Everyone is gathering in the meeting room. Now would be a good time for you to sign those contracts."

"I think they need to wait," Marak shook his head. "In fact, do not enter into any more contracts until we have had a chance to discuss prices."

"Prices?" echoed the bursar. "There is little we can do to change prices on the contracts."

"Why not?" questioned the lord of the Torak clan.

"We are not the only seller of watula in Khadora," explained Kasa. "If our price is too low, we simply will lose potential profits, and if it is too high, nobody will buy from us. We do not have much room to play with prices."

"What percentage of the Khadoran watula harvest do we control between the Torak clan and the Sorgan clan?" inquired Lord Marak.

"About twenty percent," replied Kasa. "Eighty percent is grown in the Imperial Valley between Khadoratung and Chantise."

"And haven't you told me before that our quality is much better than the other watula producers?" prompted Lord Marak.

"Yes, it is," nodded Kasa, "but that will matter little if our price is too high. We need to control the market before we can dictate prices."

"What would the other producers do if we increased our prices by ten percent?" Marak asked. "Would the other producers seek to sell more watula than they have? Or would they match our price and seek greater profit?"

"I am not sure," puzzled Kasa. "If you changed the prices of only the Torak crop, the other clans would ignore it and we would be hard pressed to sell our watula, but if the Sorgan prices also went up, the other clans might seek the higher profit. I really don't know."

"Think about it during the meeting," grinned Lord Marak. "We will talk about it again."

Lord Marak turned and strode into the meeting room. Kasa hurried after him as he went to the head of the table and stood looking around at the assembled guests. All conversations died when Lord Marak entered the room and the lords, who all owed allegiance to Lord Marak, looked to him with anticipation. Lord Marak smiled inwardly as he saw Fisher slip into the room and close the doors.

"Thank you all for coming here today," smiled Lord Marak as he addressed the assembled lords. "I apologize for not being available to greet each of you individually, but other matters demanded my attention. In fact, another one of my caravans was ambushed."

The room was abuzz with whispers and murmurings when Lord Marak mentioned the ambush. He let it continue for a short while and then brought order to the meeting.

"I called you all here today to get news of how your estates are prospering," Lord Marak said. "I would like to hear from each of you and then we can discuss things that affect all of us. If you would begin, Lord Rybak."

For several hours, the lords of the Torak, Sorgan, Ragatha, Situ, and Litari clans gave reports on the status of their estates. Each of the clans had sworn Vows of Service to Lord Marak and were, in effect, one large clan. Lord Marak had kept the identities of the clans separate, and the rest of Khadora was unaware of the arrangements. This maneuver allowed Lord Marak to control five seats in the Assembly of Lords. When the reports were completed, Lord Marak addressed the lords.

"This month is the annual Assembly of Lords," he began. "I have never been to one of these meetings before, and I will probably be at a loss as to what proper procedures are. Any hints of proper decorum from those of you who have attended it in the past would be most welcomed."

"I would advise against you attending the Assembly of Lords," stated Lord Burdine of the Litari clan. "The Assembly has little real power, and I have heard your name mentioned more than once from merchants calling upon me. This is not a good sign, Lord Marak. One rule in Khadora that is never spoken of, but one that we must all live by, is do not get noticed too much. Small lords are easily crushed in Khadora, and with no disrespect meant, you are a small lord. Even if it was known that you controlled all five of these clans, you would still be a gnat on the face of Khadora."

"Nonsense," blustered Lord Quavry of the Sorgan clan. "I have not heard any such inquiries, and I deal with a great many merchants. "Besides, I am sure that you would like to impress upon the rest of Khadora the need for us to rid ourselves of our slaves. I would be happy to join my escort with yours if you think there may be problems."

Lord Rybak, like Lord Marak, had never attended a meeting of the Assembly of Lords, so the leader of the Torak clan looked expectantly to Lord Sevrin of the Ragatha clan.

"Lord Burdine's words are accurate," declared Lord Sevrin. "There would be great risk to you in attending the Assembly of Lords. However, I think there is much to be gained by you going. As you know, I was skeptical of swearing Vows of Service to you, Lord Marak. Your ideas seemed ridiculous, especially the abolition of slavery. I have learned since that time that your ideas are exactly what Khadora needs to prosper. As you heard when I gave my report, my estates have blossomed under your new rules. I think a case should be made in the Assembly of Lords for the abolition of all slavery in Khadora. I am willing to make that case for you, should you feel that the personal danger to yourself is too great, but I cannot think of a better spokesman than the person who had the vision in the first place."

"Do you think there is a chance that the Assembly of Lords would actually listen to such an appeal, Lord Sevrin?" asked Lord Marak.

"Listen?" mused Lord Sevrin. "They will listen. I doubt that they will agree, but I have found that if you keep hammering on the same subject each year, eventually you can get a decent chance to make your point. We have to start somewhere."

"You will be sticking your nose in a bee's hive," Lord Burdine shook his head. "I agree with Lord Sevrin's sentiments, but I think he underestimates the danger. The Lords' Council is not something to mess with, and they do keep a close eye on the Assembly of Lords. It is really the Lords' Council that sets the rules. By speaking openly in the Assembly of Lords about abolishing slavery, you will be poking a stick in the eye of each of the members of the Lords' Council. Their estates are the largest and the most dependent upon slaves. They will see you as a threat to their way of life."

"Perhaps Lord Burdine is correct," Lord Sevrin admitted. "I have gotten my points across before by being stubborn and continually raising the issues, but slavery may very well be a special case. I am afraid that I did not think through the danger inherent in such a speech."

"Lord Marak is not a whimpering lord who runs and hides from danger," chided Lord Quavry. "Besides, he would reside in the Imperial Palace for the duration of the Assembly of Lords meeting days. None would dare to touch him in that setting. There is no safer place in all of Khadora."

Lord Marak raised his hand for silence as his eyes scanned the faces around the table. He thought back on the long road that had brought him to his position of relative prominence in the frontier of Khadora. Finally, he nodded, more to himself than to anyone else.

"I will be going to the Assembly of Lords," declared Lord Marak. "The reforms that we have started out here on the frontier are too important to be ignored. I do expect each of you to support me when I speak to the other lords in Khadoratung. One last item before we adjourn. I do not want any contracts negotiated between now and when I issue new pricing instructions."

"How long will that be?" asked Lord Rybak of the Situ clan.

"I am not sure," answered Lord Marak. "I will let you know when I have decided."

The assembled lords all looked to Lord Marak with questioning gazes, but the lord of the Torak clan left the table and the meeting room. He walked swiftly to his private office and sat behind his desk. He went through the stack of contracts that Kasa had left on his desk, but his mind was on other things. Thirty minutes later, Fisher quietly entered the office and closed the door.

"What did you think?" asked Lord Marak.

"Too early to tell," answered Fisher, "but I think Lord Quavry was anxious for you to attend the meeting, and not for the same reasons as Lord Sevrin."

"I doubt that Lord Quavry has ever fully embraced my reforms," nodded Lord Marak. "How do we find out for sure?"

"We watch and listen," shrugged Fisher.

"Not good enough," declared Lord Marak. "If Lord Quavry is working against me, I want him replaced before the Assembly of Lords meeting."

"So you really are planning on going," Fisher said with surprise. "I thought you were just fishing for reactions."

"I must go," Lord Marak stated. "Lord Sevrin is correct about the need to constantly raise the question before those who rule Khadora. A great evil is coming, Fisher. Khadora cannot stand against it if we are divided."

"Perhaps preparing Khadora for our enemy is more important than your reforms," suggested the spy. "Perhaps you should not pursue the slavery issue."

"I see the uniting of Khadora and slavery as the same thing," retorted the Torak lord. "We cannot be a united people when some of us own the others. Besides, we will need battle mages to survive. I do not know what kind of creature Veltar was, but there is no doubt that he was a magician."

"You think he was not human?" inquired Fisher.

"He disappeared when he was struck down," sighed Lord Marak, "much like the hellsouls in Angragar. I do not know if he was human or not, but he was magical."

"I will be in Khadoratung when the Assembly of Lords meets," Fisher said. "You may need my help there. Be sure to wear your Qubari armor."

"I will not leave Fardale without it," nodded Lord Marak. "If Lord Quavry was sending messages, how would he do it?"

"Probably by bird," guessed Fisher. "You could have someone north of his estate when you expect the next message to be sent. A good archer could down the bird and recover the message."

"And we would never learn who the recipient was meant to be," Lord Marak shook his head. "I think an air mage would be a better choice. She could force the bird to the ground and retrieve the message. Once we know who has sent it, and what it says, we can send it on its way."

"You mean to let the message be delivered?" questioned Fisher.

"What better way to find out who my enemy is?" grinned Lord Marak.