“I want the lord of the Sorgan clan to be a Sorgan,” declared Lord Marak. “I will not look elsewhere. Marshal Patoga, do you agree with Yenga’s assessment?”
“I do,” nodded Patoga. “Seneschal Shamino would manage the clan well, and his loyalty to you would be without question. He has been eager to have his people trained so that he could effectively institute your reforms, and he has done so very well. I cannot think of a better choice.”
“Good,” nodded Lord Marak. “Yenga, make sure that we have several air mages north of the Sorgan estate immediately.”
“One is already stationed there,” replied Yenga. “I will send more immediately.”
“Send Seneschal Shamino in when you leave,” Lord Marak said to Yenga. “Also make sure that every Sorgan visitor knows that the caravan is leaving. Do not make the telling of the information obvious, but ensure that each of them knows.”
Lord Marshal Yenga left the meeting room, and Seneschal Shamino entered. Lord Marak motioned him to take a seat.
“I thank you for bringing this news to my attention, Shamino,” smiled Lord Marak. “I am pleased with the work you have been doing at Watula Valley and plan to make you the next Lord of the Sorgan Clan. Is that an adjustment that you feel comfortable with?”
“It would be an honor and a pleasure to serve you in any capacity, Lord Marak,” replied the seneschal, “but to serve as a lord would be the fulfillment of my dreams. I am uncomfortable with your decision, however.”
“Why?” asked Lord Marak.
“Your words, while not promising to make me lord immediately,” frowned the seneschal, “lead me to believe that you plan on removing Lord Quavry soon. While I do believe that he is not taking his Vows of Service seriously, he has not violated them. The scant information that I have provided is hardly enough to justify such a drastic punishment. I could not accept the position knowing that his removal is unjust.”
“Your reply pleases me,” smiled Lord Marak as a puzzled frown fell over Shamino’s face. “No person should be punished without proof, and I will not remove Lord Quavry under such circumstances. There is more to this than you know, though. The last three Torak caravans have been ambushed. I have suspected that Lord Quavry was the source of information required by the ambushers, but I could not confirm it, nor could I figure out how he was being informed. You have solved the last part of that problem for me. Tonight I will have the proof that I require.”
“How so?” asked Seneschal Shamino.
“I believe that Lord Quavry has been sending information to an enemy using messages attached to birds,” answered Lord Marak. “If I am correct, Lord Quavry will release a bird tonight detailing the departure of my caravan today.”
“We do have birds on the estate that I cannot find records for,” frowned the seneschal. “We have not purchased them, and I have been forbidden to use them for messages that I send to the capital. I thought you had ordered them there. How will you stop the message from being delivered?”
“I have made arrangements for the bird to be captured after it leaves the mansion,” Lord Marak answered vaguely. “If this comes to pass, I will expect you to take Lord Quavry’s place at the Assembly of Lords. Be sure that you are prepared for departure in the morning.”
“I would like to see the message myself,” declared Seneschal Shamino. “I must be sure of his treachery.”
“I understand,” nodded Lord Marak. “Marshal Patoga will arrange for you to inspect the bird and the message. This must be done with secrecy. I will not alert Lord Quavry to my knowledge of his plans.”
“I would be willing to just view the message after your people return to the mansion with it,” offered Shamino. “After many years as seneschal, I know Lord Quavry’s handwriting well. I will know if he has written the message.”
“You must see it when it is captured,” stated Lord Marak. “The message will not be returning to the mansion.”
“Not returning?” puzzled Seneschal Shamino. “I do not understand.”
“We have not discovered who our enemy is,” shrugged Lord Marak, “and I doubt that Lord Quavry will tell us even when he is confronted with his deceit. Our only option is to allow the message to get through to its intended recipient. We have made plans to engage the enemy when they strike at the caravan.”
“I see,” murmured the seneschal. “Very well. I will be ready for Marshal Patoga when he summons me.”
* * *
Mistake walked away from her horse and greeted some old friends that she had met on her last visit to Fardale. The diminutive Fakaran talked briefly to her friends and started towards the mansion. Suddenly, a voice pierced the air, and Mistake sprinted for the cover of a large tree.
“Misty?” called the male voice. “Misty come back. What are you doing here?”
Mistake had caught a glimpse of the tall blond stranger before seeking the safety of the tree. She was sure that she had never seen the man before, and her mind whirled with questions. As she heard the man coming closer, a knife slipped from its sheath on her arm and slid smoothly into her waiting hand. She looked around frantically for a path of retreat, but the area was far to open to slip away. Bravely, she stepped out from behind the tree, her knife rising menacingly as she faced her opponent.
“Not one step farther,” Mistake warned. “I do not know who you are, but I am sure that we have never met. How do you know who I am?”
The man stopped and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the petite thief. Finally he shook his head in confusion.
“I am sorry,” he apologized. “I mistook you for someone else. Now that I can see you clearly, I know that you are not MistyTrail, but you look an awful lot like her. You move like her, too.”
Mistake dwelled on the man’s last statement. She had never known that her swiftness was a product of magic until the mages at Fardale had told her. Now this man was saying that he mistook her for another. He had to be lying, or was he?
“Who is this MistyTrail?” questioned Mistake. “Who are you?”
The man held up his hands to indicate that he was not a threat. “I am HawkShadow,” declared the man. “I am Sakovan, and MistyTrail is a friend of mine. I mean you no harm. I will leave you in peace and apologize for my actions.”
“No, wait,” Mistake blurted out. “You didn’t tell me who this MistyTrail is.”
“She is a Sakovan like myself,” shrugged HawkShadow. “That is why I was surprised to see her here in Fardale. She should be back home guarding the Sakova.”
“And I look like her?” questioned Mistake.
“From a distance,” HawkShadow nodded. “Now that I am closer I can tell that you are not her.”
“And she moves like me?” probed Mistake.
“She does,” HawkShadow nodded as he gazed questioningly at the small Fakaran. “She moves faster than anyone I know. She is also an excellent knife thrower. I would appreciate if you would put that knife away.”
Mistake nodded distractedly as she slid the knife into its sheath. She reached into her pack and extracted her carozit. She held it upside down and watched as the balls fell. They did not swing down and touch each other as gravity demanded, but they also did not stand out at right angles to the stick as they always had in the past. Instead the balls hung at an angle between the two likely positions.
“How far is this Sakova?” questioned Mistake.
“It is several days of riding to the south,” answered HawkShadow. “I cannot be more accurate than that. What is that thing you are holding?”
“It is a carozit,” answered Mistake. “It is meant to help me find my family.”
“Your family?” echoed HawkShadow. “I doubt MistyTrail could be your family. If you were Sakovan, I would know you. What is your name?”
“Mistake,” she answered. “Some people call me Missy. Is that what you call this MistyTrail?”
“Close,” HawkShadow shook his head. “We call her Misty for short at times. They do sound alike. Now we know why both of us were confused. Do you live here in Fardale? I have not seen you around before.”