“Vessi!” shouted one of the women feeding the chickens.
In seconds the call was repeated all around the mansion of Lord Hanold, but the warning was far too late. Hordes of Vessi archers rode through the front gate, easily dispatching the two Devon sentries. Hundreds of Vessi swordsmen charged out of the cornfields, the mature crop trampled under their boots. More Vessi cavalrymen charged through the small peach orchard on one side of the mansion, while Vessi archers rained arrows on the barracks area on the other side of the mansion. The Vessi attackers struck down anyone who moved in the early morning mist.
Within moments, thousands of Vessi soldiers were swarming over the small Devon estate. One rider, wearing the plumes of a cortain in the Vessi army, dismounted at the front of the mansion. Other Vessi soldiers soon dismounted near him.
“Nobody leaves the mansion,” the cortain ordered. “Round them up and bring them to the meeting room. Move!”
The Vessi soldiers threw open the door and charged into the mansion. After the long line of soldiers entered, the cortain casually walked through the doorway. He stopped inside the get his bearings and locate the meeting room. A young woman ran from under the stairs carrying a young boy. She tried to race out the front door, but the cortain was ready for her. He pulled his sword and caught her in the side as she tried to race by. She fell to the floor soundlessly, but the young boy began crying. The cortain grabbed the young boy by his arm and dragged him towards the meeting room.
“Somebody guard the front door,” shouted the cortain. “I said nobody was to escape.”
A soldier ran out of a nearby room and took up a position at the front door. The cortain kicked open the door of the meeting room and marched in. He dumped the boy on the floor and strode to the long table. He pulled at the chair at the head of the table and sat down where the lord of the Devon clan would normally sit. Within moments, Vessi soldiers began dragging people into the meeting room. One of the people shoved into the meeting room was recognizable to the cortain.
“Sit, Lord Hanold,” commanded the cortain.
The lord of the Devon clan pulled out a chair and sat down. “Who are you?” he asked. “And what is the meaning of this attack?”
“I am Cortain Skara,” answered the cortain, “and I will be asking the questions, not you. Who is your seneschal?”
Lord Hanold refused to answer. His eyes glared at the Vessi cortain, but his lips remained sealed. Cortain Skara looked around the room. His eyes came to rest on an old woman, and he nodded to one of his men. The Vessi soldier marched over to the old woman and ran his sword through her chest.
“Who is your seneschal?” Cortain Skara repeated.
Lord Hanold remained unmoved by the execution. He refused to answer. Suddenly, an old white-haired man stepped forward.
“I am the seneschal,” offered the old man. “What do you want with me?”
“I want to know the number of people authorized to wear the family pin,” demanded Cortain Skara.
“Fourteen,” answered the seneschal.
“Point them out,” ordered the Vessi cortain.
The old man frowned, but he walked around the room pointing to Lord Hanold’s family members. As he pointed someone out, a nearby soldier would push them towards the table and tell them to sit. The small boy that the cortain dragged into the room was the last to be seated. Cortain Skara counted the family members and smiled.
“Take the rest of them out of here,” ordered Cortain Skara. “Put them to work cleaning up this place. And have the morning meal prepared. I will dine in the lord’s suite.”
The Vessi soldiers shoved the people out of the meeting room, except for the lord and his family. Cortain Skara rose and walked to the door. He signaled for several of his men to return to the room.
“Kill them all,” he commanded as he pointed into the meeting room. “Then get someone to clean up the mess.”
Cortain Skara ignored the screams as he loped up the stairs in search of the lord’s suite.
* * *
The incessant hammering pounded in Lord Marak’s head. He rolled over and the sunshine lit up his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw that it was daylight out. He leaped out of bed and pulled his clothes on.
“It is about time that you got up,” quipped Botal as he stuck his head in the door. “Would you care for a morning meal?”
“Very much so,” answered Lord Marak. “What is all that hammering?”
“You wanted this house completed quickly,” replied Botal. “Norman has crews working on it from first light until the sun sets. I am surprised that you could sleep through that racket.”
“Not arriving until the middle of the night might have something to do with it,” groused Lord Marak. “Has Norman solved the problem of stabling our horses?”
“He has a great idea that he wanted to talk to you about,” nodded Botal. “There is enough room to expand the building if we are willing to give up the alley that runs between this house and the next.”
“I would prefer larger stables to an alley,” remarked Lord Marak. “Tell him to go ahead with it. Make sure he understands that I want to keep the number of Torak horses in the stables hidden from prying eyes.”
“He is well aware of you concerns,” smiled Botal. “Let me get you some food, and I will tell you the rest of the news.”
Lord Marak nodded sleepily. He was normally a rather light sleeper, rising before dawn, but the last few days running around to all of the Nordon estates to receive the Vows of Service had taken its toll. They had not arrived back in Khadoratung until the wee hours of the morning. He wondered what time it was and looked out the window to gauge the height of the sun. He blinked several times as he realized that half the morning was already gone.
Lord Marak cleaned up in a basin and ran downstairs. Construction debris was everywhere, as were the workers. The workers had been drawn from various Torak estates, and most of them greeted him as he ran by. He nodded silently and made his way to the dining room. Mistake, StarWind, and HawkShadow were already there.
“Morning, Your Highness,” grinned Mistake. “Had enough beauty sleep?”
“You are lucky my eyes are still filled with sleep,” grumbled Lord Marak, “or I would hit you with a Sakovan star.”
“I never thought I would see anyone grumpier than HawkShadow in the morning,” laughed StarWind.
“Don’t let them rile you, Marak,” chuckled HawkShadow. “None of us were awake an hour ago. It seems like a long time since we were in this city.”
“You sound homesick. Are you thinking of returning to the Sakova?” asked Lord Marak.
“Today,” nodded HawkShadow. “General Didyk has been gone for some time. There is no reason for us to delay any longer.”
“I understand,” nodded Lord Marak. “I will miss the three of you. I want to thank you for everything that you have done for me these last few weeks. Each of you has made a great difference here in Khadora.”
“Perhaps we will find a reason to visit again,” smiled StarWind. “We learned a lot while we were here.”
“You are always welcome,” replied Lord Marak. “I guess you will be taking the elf with you to the Sakova?”
“Hey,” grinned Mistake. “Behave or I will tell the Emperor on you.”
“Lyra has authorized it,” replied StarWind. “She thinks it is wise to meet with some of the Fakarans, and she is intrigued about the possibility of Mistake and MistyTrail being related.”
“I am sure that they are related,” grinned Lord Marak. “MistyTrail always gave me a hard time, too.”
The room fell silent as someone banged on the front door of the house. Lord Marak saw Gunta race past the open door of the dining room. He heard muted talking and then the door shut. Seconds later, Gunta entered the room with Botal right behind him with a plate of food for Lord Marak.