“Your story will be checked,” declared the Emperor. “That still does not address your motive.”
“I have no motive to see you dead,” Lord Marak stated. “Yes, there are parts of Khadoran culture that I find distasteful and wasteful, but killing you would not alter those practices one bit. The government of Khadora has been nothing if not helpful to my rise to power. You allowed me to start the Torak clan, and you have not stopped me from running my estates as I see fit. What grudge could I possibly have against you?”
“We sanction slavery,” replied the Emperor. “Can you deny that you hate the practice? If you see me as standing as a symbol for the slavery that you hate, most lords would accept that as a motive to strike me down.”
“Hate is a very strong word, Emperor,” frowned Lord Marak, “but you are correct in describing my abhorrence of slavery. Still, that does not mean that I hate those who employ it. I see them as misguided, but my weapon against them is reason. You heard my words in the assembly this morning. I offer my estates as proof of the efficiencies of a slave-free Khadora. I have offered discounts for my goods to any clan that rids itself of slaves. Not once did you hear me threaten anyone because they owned slaves. I am a warrior, Emperor, and I know how to wage a battle, but I only fight when I am forced to. I prefer negotiations to battle.”
“Yet you did fight the Situ clan to free your mother from slavery,” posed the Emperor. “Is that not correct?”
“It is not correct,” declared Lord Marak. “I purchased my mother’s freedom. I battled the Situ clan because Lord Ridak refused to accept a ruling of the Lords’ Council. Instead he sent his armies to Fardale to crush me. He miscalculated.”
The Emperor looked to the marshal for verification and the marshal nodded. “I stand corrected, Lord Marak,“ conceded the Emperor. “Will you approach my desk and verify that the star upon it is yours?”
Lord Marak looked to the marshal for permission to move, but Chack stood far away at the window and did not bother to even turn around. Lord Marak walked towards the massive desk and gazed down at the star upon it.
“It certainly looks like mine,” agreed Lord Marak, “but it has been altered.”
The Emperor frowned and reached for the star.
“Don’t touch it,” warned Lord Marak causing the Emperor to hesitate and the marshal to turn and stare at Lord Marak. “The alterations that I speak of are the brown stains on each of the tips of the star. Unless I am mistaken, that star was dipped in poison. I assume that any wound caused by it would result in certain death.”
“How could it be thrown then?” questioned the marshal. “Surely you would chance a nick of your own skin just by gripping it?”
“Absolutely,” nodded Lord Marak. “If I were to use such a weapon, I would make sure that my hands were gloved.”
The Emperor drew his hand back and nodded as he swallowed hard. Lord Marak turned and walked back to where he had been positioned by Marshal Chack. A knock sounded on the door and the marshal hurried over to it. He opened it only slightly and spoke to someone on the other side. The Emperor waited patiently for the marshal to return.
“Latril validates your story about the garden,” Marshal Chack said as he closed the door and walked back to the window. “In fact, she noticed a slight detail that you did not. She described a slight scar on the back of the man’s neck.”
“Do you know this soldier?” the Emperor asked the marshal.
“I do,” Chack answered. “I sent men to find him and bring him here. We will get to the bottom of this foul mess.”
“Untie Lord Marak’s hands,” ordered the Emperor. “I think there is sufficient evidence to support his innocence.”
The marshal moved to obey, and Lord Marak gazed around the room as he waited. The office was extremely large and rather sparsely furnished. A massive desk sat near one end of the room with two chairs in front of it. At the far end of the room was a comfortable reading chair with a small table beside it. A bell hung on a rope next to the chair, presumably to be used to call a servant. The walls of the office were a busy mosaic of gaily-painted geometric figures of various sizes. It was too loud for Lord Marak’s tastes.
“Thank you,” Lord Marak said as he rubbed his wrists.
The marshal did not reply as he returned to the window and gazed out. Lord Marak wondered what was so interesting beyond the window that the marshal spent so much time gazing out of it. Emperor Bagora walked to the corner of the room near his desk and bent down. When he rose, Lord Marak saw that he was holding the Sword of Torak in his hands.
“This is a very interesting weapon,” remarked the Emperor. “Where did you get it?”
“It was a gift,” Lord Marak replied. “It has since become the symbol of the Torak clan.”
“A very precious gift, no doubt,” the Emperor said as he approached Lord Marak with the sword. “I would not want to see you leave without it.”
The Emperor handed the sword to Lord Marak and immediately turned and walked five paces towards his desk and stopped. Lord Marak’s brow creased in confusion as he surveyed the situation. The marshal had his back turned as he gazed out the window. The Emperor had just handed an accused assassin a sword and turned his back to him. Something did not smell right.
“Marshal Chack,” Lord Marak said loudly, “I wish to leave my sword in your safekeeping. I know the rules regarding weapons in the Imperial Palace, and I agree with them. Please hold this for me until I leave the palace.”
Marshal Chack turned from the window with a grin on his face. He walked across the floor and took the offered sword from Lord Marak’s hands. The Emperor returned to his place behind the desk.
“At least you are no fool, Lord Marak,” smiled the Emperor as he waved his hand in the air.
Lord Marak thought he heard several slight clicks echo through the room, but he was not sure. His eyes roved over the wall design and finally he saw what he was looking for. Cleverly placed in the busy wall design were small shooting holes. There were dozens of them. If he had chosen to use the sword when the opportunity was presented, Lord Marak would have been struck by dozens of arrows before he could harm the Emperor.
“A fool is something that I have never desired to be,” smiled Lord Marak as he walked towards Marshal Chack.
He stopped near the marshal and nodded to the table with the rest of Marak’s weapons on it.
“May I make a demonstration with one of those stars?” he asked.
A worried frown fell over the marshal’s face as his eyes sought the Emperor. The Emperor nodded and the marshal sighed nervously.
“What do you intend, Lord Marak?” he asked.
“Just a small demonstration to remove all doubt that I could have possibly been trying to kill the Emperor and accidentally missed,” declared Lord Marak.
“That is hardly necessary,” the marshal shook his head.
“I think it is,” Lord Marak persisted. “You are of the mind to believe me at the moment, but I sense a small lingering doubt within you. Do you see that bell hanging near the reading chair?”
“Lord Marak,” scowled the marshal, “I tend to believe your story because it is believable. Do not do something so foolish that you make me question my determinations. There is no way that you can hit that bell, and when you miss you will have lost the assurance that you so greatly desired.”
Lord Marak fixed his gaze on the marshal as he picked up the star. He turned and smoothly released the star in a high arc. It appeared at first that Lord Marak’s star would strike the ceiling, but gravity pulled it downward. As the star struck the bell, it clanged loudly. The door at the far end of the room immediately opened and an Imperial soldier came through it.
“Is there something you desire, Emperor?” he asked.