“I am not sure,” admitted Wicado. “They started coming in droves the day after Marshal Ulmreto died. I am still confused about that day’s events. Lord Damirath has never been the same since.”
“I don’t understand,” Mistake said. “Why does your lord allow them to come?”
“I don’t understand it either,” confessed Wicado. “We have more warriors than we can ever possibly use, and yet they keep coming. Worse, Lord Damirath has given free reign over them to a Fakaran! It is not right. Brakas runs around like he is the marshal, and the man is not even Khadoran.”
“Brakas?” echoed Mistake as her body twitched. “How did Brakas get into this?”
“You know him?” inquired Bursar Wicado.
“I do,” nodded Mistake, “but I do not like him.”
“Nor do I,” Wicado admitted softly.
“Why is he in Khadora?” inquired Mistake.
“He appears to be a friend of Lord Damirath’s,” shrugged the bursar, “but I cannot understand why. I am sure they never met before the day that he and Zygor arrived. How can one become a friend of a lord in only an hour?”
“Zygor is at the Pikata estate as well as Brakas?” asked Mistake as an ill feeling began to worm its way into her body.
“Well Zygor and Brakas did come together on the first day,” replied the bursar. “That was the day that the marshal died. I never saw Zygor leave, and I have not seen him since, but that is when all of this began. I do not know what to make of it.”
“You had best be careful, Bursar Wicado,” warned Mistake. “Those are people that will kill you if they feel like it. Never mention my name or Rejji’s to them. They will mark you for death.”
“They know Rejji?” asked the bursar.
“Oh yes,” nodded Mistake. “I told you that Rejji united the free tribes and destroyed the Jiadin. I was not exaggerating. Rejji is the ruler of Fakara. Brakas and Zygor were both working for Grulak. They would do anything to strike back at Rejji or anyone who knows him. Your life would be in danger.”
“I knew he was a bright lad,” mentioned Wicado, “but I never imagined what he would become. If you see him again, tell him how happy I am for him.”
“I will,” promised Mistake as she turned and left.
The Kamaril family member who had been examining the wares at the nearby stall abruptly put down the merchandise he was holding and walked swiftly away.
* * *
Lord Marak stood at the rear of the Assembly Chamber following the closing statements of the Assembly of Lords. Lords gathered around him to hear his words of wisdom concerning slavery, but none of them seemed eager to be the first to abandon their slaves. Finally, Lord Marak realized that it would take more than a discount and his ascension to the Lords’ Council to start his reforms. He excused himself from the group and returned to his quarters.
“Halman, Gunta, and Latril,” Lord Marak said as he entered the room, “you will be joining me for a trip into the city. I have heard about a house for sale and would like to inspect it.”
Gunta and Halman immediately retrieved their weapons and strapped them on. Gunta brought Lord Marak’s weapons to him.
“Botal,” Lord Marak continued as he strapped on his own weapons, “I want the rest of the men to mingle with the other troops before they leave for home. Try to make some friends that we can use for future contacts. I would be especially interested in a contact at the main Neju estate. I want to know who Lord Jamarat’s main advisors are.”
Botal nodded and Lord Marak and his escort left the room. A group of lords stood in the foyer outside the Assembly Chamber, and Lord Marak’s group had to pass through them. Marak felt a slight warming sensation on his shoulder. He stopped just past the group and turned to look at them. His hand reached over his shoulder and felt the hilt of his sword. It was warm to his touch. His eyes scanned the large group of lords, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He shook his head and continued towards the entry foyer. He did not notice Lord Damirath’s eyes burning with hatred behind his back.
Lord Marak left the Imperial Palace and strode through the large park and towards the marketplace. As they entered the marketplace, someone shouted that the new member of the Lords’ Council was coming. Lord Marak was unprepared for the onslaught.
Dozens of people raced towards Lord Marak and soon the large crowd encircled him. Women tried to kiss his hand or shove flowers into his hair. Men tried eagerly to be the one to shake the Lord Marak’s hand. Halman and Gunta tried furiously to remain next to Lord Marak without harming the mass of admirers. It was a losing battle. People started shoving, and Halman and Gunta became more adamant about maintaining security.
Within moments, the Imperial guards stationed around the marketplace rushed to disperse the group. The Imperial guards were not gentle as they forcibly pulled people away from Lord Marak. Latril was grabbed by an Imperial guard and shoved away from Lord Marak. Other citizens were pushed and shoved, some of them sprawling on the ground only to be stepped upon by others.
“Make way,” shouted Gunta as he and Halman moved in front of Lord Marak and tried to force a path through the crowd.
The Imperial troops worked their way towards Lord Marak, clearing away the citizens. Suddenly, Lord Marak felt a jab in his back. He involuntarily leaped forward, knocking into Gunta. Gunta spun and saw a look of pain on Lord Marak’s face. He immediately drew his sword from his sheath and shouted for everyone to get away. Halman also drew his sword, and the crowd ran away screaming.
Lord Marak’s face was sweating and Gunta sheathed his sword and wrapped his arms around Lord Marak because he feared that the Torak lord might fall. The Imperial troops formed a protective ring around the three Torak warriors and kept the citizens away. Halman sheathed his sword and shook his head as he gazed at the debris upon the ground. Flowers with broken stems, jewelry, and pieces of cloth littered the ground, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the dagger. He raced to the dagger and picked it up. Its blade was coated with a brown substance.
“Assassin,” Halman shouted to Gunta. “Get him somewhere safe. Now!”
Gunta hoisted Lord Marak over his shoulder and dashed towards the nearest inn. The Imperial troops that had made a ring around the trio had heard Halman’s warning. They saw where Gunta was heading, and they pushed the crowd out of the way. Halman sprinted past Gunta and threw open the door to the common room. He drew his sword menacingly and ordered everyone out the back door. The few patrons in the common room fled as Gunta entered the inn.
Gunta placed Lord Marak face down on one of the tables. Halman ran to the front door and ordered the Imperial guards to surround the building. They immediately obeyed. Gunta saw the hole in Lord Marak’s cape and frowned.
“He has been stabbed,” Gunta announced, “but the hole is small. I doubt it can be too bad.”
“Get his clothes off,” ordered Halman. “The blade was poisoned.”
“What type of poison?” asked Lord Marak with a pained voice.
“The blade is brown,” answered Halman as he helped Gunta remove Marak’s clothes.
“It is not quick acting,” Lord Marak sighed with relief. “Cut the affected area out quickly.”
“I never saw the innkeeper or the kitchen staff leave,” commented. Halman. “Unless they have a door to the outside from kitchen, they will still be in there. I will get some water boiled up.”
Gunta merely nodded as he removed the Qubari armor from Lord Marak’s back. He ran his fingers over the Torak lord’s back until he found the cut.
“It is small,” he remarked.
“Amazing,” commented Lord Marak. “The force of the blow was quite staggering. I shudder to think what would have happened without the Qubari armor.”
“You would be dead,” frowned Gunta. “You can no longer move about with just the two of us for an escort. We failed you today.”