The crimson-clad guards posted at the gilded doors straightened stiffly as the man approached. They each reached swiftly to open the doors leading to his inner sanctum, careful not to let their eyes rest upon the thin scar, which ran between the robed man’s left eye and ear. Guards had been dismissed for merely seeming to notice the dark man’s blemish and dismissal from the Crimson Guard was dangerous to one’s health.
First Minister of Omunga, Alazar, swept through the doors without the merest indication of the guards' presence and the doors closed quietly behind him with a soft click. The office of the First Minister was large and lavishly appointed, befitting his position as the right-hand of the Holy Katana. A visitor would be immediately impressed with the walls, which were lined with books from floor to ceiling, and conclude that the First Minister was an avid reader and a learned man. Indeed, Alazar thirsted for information and not just the type of information contained in books.
Alazar strode past the numerous couches, tables, and upholstered chairs to the large well-polished wooden desk as the far end of the room. He adroitly flipped the safety mechanism hidden within the ornate carvings of one of the legs of the desk and sat down. Sliding open one of the drawers of the desk, Alazar withdrew a gleaming crystal set within a highly polished square of blue-gray metal and placed it on the desk. The First Minister’s right hand strayed to his black goatee as his black eyes gazed into the crystal. Images flashed in the crystal while the fingers of Alazar’s left hand tapped impatiently on the rich desktop. A sneer spread across his thin face as the images ceased and Alazar return the crystal to the safety of its compartment.
The First Minister glanced briefly at the pile of official forms placed in the center of his desk and pushed them to one side. He had no time for the trivialities of legal dealings right now. Now it was time for a bold move. Past time, he thought irritably as he glared at the gems embedded in the fireplace. Suddenly, one of the rubies embedded in the fireplace began to glow softly and Alazar rose and walked over to one of the bookcases built into the wall of his office. He maneuvered his long thin hand deep into the shelves and flipped a release lever allowing a section of the bookcase to swivel open.
Alazar tapped his foot impatiently as a tall robust man dressed in black entered the room. “You are late,” Alazar snarled.
“Only a few moments,” the visitor replied brushing his bushy black hair away from his eyes. “A member of the Monitors was loitering in the area of the secret entrance. I thought a few moments of your time was worth the security of secrecy.”
Alazar turned swiftly and huffed his way back to his desk and sat down. “What results do you have for me?” he demanded.
“Temiker must have been warned,” the visitor began. “He left his home in the middle of the night and slipped out of the city. I have men tracking him and I am sure we will have him soon.”
“Soon?” Alazar snorted. “Soon? I will not stand for incompetence, Klaarg. Your men bungled the raid on the Academy and killed Malafar’s wife. You have let his fool daughter escape and your men are running all over the country trying to capture her. Now you report that an old man has escaped your highly trained assassins? Unbelievable. Why has it taken so long to get the report on Temiker back to me?”
“My men had trouble picking up his trail,” Klaarg admitted. “They thought it better to hold off reporting until they could assure me that they were within days of capturing him. He may be old, but Temiker is a crafty one. He somehow managed to leave south of the city, only to have my men pick up his trail well north of the city. They are not sure how he managed it, but they are finally on his tail now.”
“And the daughter, Lyra?” Alazar demanded. “How soon will we have her?’
Klaarg sighed and slumped into one of the richly upholstered chairs across the desk from the First Minister. “I am worried about that one,” Klaarg reported, shaking his head slowly. “She has two boys from the Academy with her. I still don’t know how she managed to escape the attack, but they made it to Gatong before we picked up their trail again. I put out a report on her to the Imperial Guard as the slayer of the Academy and they are hunting for her as well. Unable to traverse the road safely, she entered the Sakova. We may never see her again.”
“The two boys with her, do we know about them?” Alazar questioned. “Can we use their parents to achieve our goals?”
“No,” Klaarg shook his head. “We know who they are, but there is little that benefits us in that knowledge. One is an orphan and the other was thrown out of his home by his father after an argument years ago. The parents will be no help.”
“Have you sent your men into the Sakova after her?” questioned the First Minister.
“Of course,” nodded Klaarg. “I have forty men trailing her and another forty waiting at the other end near Alamar. She will not get across the Sakova.”
“And suppose she does not intend to cross the Sakova?” queried Alazar. “Have you thought that maybe her destination is StarCity? Will your men attack the Sakovan stronghold to retrieve her?”
“Attack StarCity?” laughed Klaarg and immediately adopted a frown when he saw the displeasure on Alazar’s face. “Nobody knows where StarCity is. Besides my men are assassins, not an army. I did not even like sending them into the Sakova, but you were insistent that we capture the girl, but they are not equipped to attack the stronghold even if we could find it.”
“At least you know your limitations,” Alazar sighed. “I have spent years going over every account of penetration into the Sakova and I think I have a fair idea where StarCity is. Your men would never survive, at least not yet.”
“What do you mean not yet?” the assassin inquired. “Do you have a plan?”
“Indeed I do,” snickered Alazar as he reached into his desk and pulled out a large envelope. “And I will need your help with it. Are you familiar with the young mage we arrested last month? The one who killed his girlfriend’s lover in a magical rage?”
“I do remember hearing about it,” frowned Klaarg, “but it does not concern me.”
“It does now,” smiled Alazar. “I want you to break him out of prison and offer him a chance of freedom.”
“A prison break in the Imperial Palace?” asked a shocked Klaarg. “You can’t be serious. Why?”
“Because he has been condemned to die,” explained the First Minister,” and we can use him. We captured another Sakovan spy last night, one posing as a merchant. He has a son, Mekin, who looks remarkably like this rogue mage and I wish to make a substitution. Our little prisoner will become Mekin and scamper home to StarCity to perform an act of heroism for us.”
“Does the son know where StarCity is?” questioned the assassin.
“He doesn’t, but it matters little,” stated Alazar. “The son is already dead. I am afraid we used a little too much persuasion on him to get the father to talk. What we do know now though is that the ring is the key to entering StarCity and we have one.”
“You mean all you have to do is wear a certain ring and they let you in?” inquired Klaarg. “That is pretty foolish.”
“Not exactly,” replied Alazar. “Unfortunately, the ring must be worn by a Sakovan, but I have a plan around that.”
The First Minister emptied the contents of the large envelope onto the desk. “These files will tell our little prisoner all he should need to know about Mekin and his father to play the role properly. He must study them until he can recite them from memory and then destroy them. The ring he must wear at all times.”