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."
)
Jiadin armies are infiltrating rogue Khadoran clans with a plan to bring havoc to the country, and Lord Marak appears to be the only lord willing to risk his troops to stop them. Badly outnumbered, the Torak lord seeks help in the capital only to find out that several powerful Khadoran lords are trying to assassinate him. Joined by Sakovan spies and a Fakaran thief, Lord Marak realizes that he may have underestimated his enemies as all of the lords of Khadora turn against him. Meanwhile, Aakuta, a mysterious male mage appears in Khadora. No one knows who he is or what he wants, but his path is sure to cross Lord Marak's. This fourth volume of the Forgotten Legacy highlights the treachery and deceit that Lord Marak must unravel if he is to save the Khadorans from extinction.
