The men of many clans leaped over the trenches and ran towards the skirmish line. The difference this time was one of attitude. The soldiers were excited to duplicate the artistry of the Torak retreat.
“Thank you, Lord Marak,” smiled Cortain Tagoro. “You have a way with words that escapes me.”
“Nonsense, Tagoro,” smiled Lord Marak, “I am just more rested. You have been training these men night and day for over a week now. You should assign someone to take your place for a day and get a healthy amount of sleep. Tiredness dulls the mind.”
“I will, Lord Marak,” saluted the cortain.
“Your troops are the best trained that I have ever seen,” commented Lord Oktar. “Marshal Berman has said as much to me earlier. Your men take their soldiering very seriously.”
“They will live or die depending upon their skill,” shrugged Lord Marak as he turned to head towards the mansion. “Your Marshal Berman has done a fine enough job with your army, considering that your clan is not aggressive, and there has been no real expectation of battle. Times are different now, though. Everyone must be prepared for the battle of their lives.”
“Do you really think we can win this, Lord Marak?” asked the Balomar lord as his marshal joined the group.
“That depends upon what you call winning,” frowned Lord Marak. “What is your goal?”
“To defeat the Glamaraldi,” declared Marshal Berman.
“And after the battle here has been fought,” asked Lord Marak, “do you intend to chase the Glamaraldi back to their estate to finish them off?”
“That is the only way we can win,” answered Marshal Berman.
“That is a recipe for defeat,” Lord Marak shook his head. “We are outnumbered badly.”
“I estimate their strength at five thousand,” argued Marshal Berman. “We may only have three thousand, but if this training continues, I think we have a chance.”
“Are you aware that the Vessi and Lejune clans also have five thousand warriors?” inquired Lord Marak.
“What do they have to do with this?” asked the marshal. “We are only fighting the Glamaraldi.”
“For now that is true,” nodded Lord Marak, “but will that be true if you attack one of them?”
“You think the others would come to the aid of the Glamaraldi?” asked Lord Oktar.
“I do,” asserted Lord Marak. “Each of those estates has five thousand Jiadin warriors. It is not coincidence that this is so. Those foreign troops have been arranged by someone who wants to see Khadora crumble. If their plan is endangered, they will all join forces.”
“Then we are doomed in spite of all of this preparation,” sighed Lord Oktar.
“Not necessarily,” smiled Lord Marak. “The Lord Council has refused to get involved out here because there has been no dispute brought to their attention. My plan is to successfully repel the Glamaraldi attack and then appeal to the Lords’ Council to send troops.”
“So we are to hold the borders of this estate and nothing more?” questioned the marshal.
“That is the plan,” nodded Lord Marak.
“Surely the Glamaraldi will call for help if they understand what we intend to do,” retorted Marshal Berman. “Holding off the second attack may be harder than defeating the initial one.”
“Quite true,” agreed Lord Marak. “They will be more wary the second time around. That is why I intend to evacuate your citizens after the first attack.”
“Evacuate?” echoed Lord Oktar. “To where?”
“Somewhere where they will be safe from battle,” replied Lord Marak. “Look at the number of clans represented here. Each of those clans will host some of your people until it is safe to return.”
“Will they have an estate to return to?” questioned Lord Oktar.
“Either they will,” declared Lord Marak, “or we will help them rebuild it. It is not this land that holds the heritage of the Balomar clan, Lord Oktar. The heritage lives within your people. It is them that you must safeguard.”
“Then why don’t we just evacuate the people and let the Glamaraldi run over the estate?” asked Marshal Berman.
“There are other clans in danger, Marshal,” answered Lord Marak. “We must find a way to halt these Jiadin and their Khadoran hosts. We need a provocation to bring to the Lords’ Council.”
“What of the soldiers’ families?” asked Lord Oktar. “You stand ready to evacuate my people, yet you continue to bring in wagonloads of women from your own estates. Surely the soldiers’ wives should have remained at home.”
Lord Marak smiled as he understood that Lord Oktar thought the wagonloads of mages being brought in were wives of the soldiers. He did not care to correct the Balomar lord.
“All noncombatants will be moved to safety,” smiled Lord Marak.
* * *
Werner rode into the Valley of the Ram just after sunrise. The bright sun was full in his face as he came out of the pine forest, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When he was finally able to look at the valley, he was amazed at what he saw. Thousands of Jiadin warriors covered the landscape. Fields of every imaginable crop flourished and were ready for harvesting. Great herds of wasooki and clova overflowed the pens. Wooden buildings rose in every direction. It was indeed a miracle valley. He rode straight for the castle and dismounted. He raced up the stairs to Aakuta’s study and walked through the open door.
“Tell me of my new estate,” Aakuta said without turning to acknowledge Werner’s presence.
“I have not been able to find one,” Werner reported. “I looked everywhere and nothing is available.”
Aakuta turned slowly and glared at Werner. The Khadoran’s body began to shake as he stared at the two eye-slits in Aakuta’s hood. The slits appeared to smoke, and Werner was sure there was nothing but two burning orbs behind them.
“Nothing?” scowled Aakuta. “That is not acceptable. Why have you failed me?”
“Failed?” croaked Werner. “I looked everywhere. There are no estates for sale in all of Khadora. I truly tried, Aakuta. I almost got caught several times by my old clan, the Kamaril. You know they would kill me on sight, even if old man Druck is dead. I have risked my life to find an estate, but there are none.”
“Druck is dead?” questioned the dark mage. “How?”
“I am not sure how,” answered Werner as he tried to calm his shaking body. “It was not by foul means. Some think his heart just stopped.”
“Wasn’t the boy his only son?” asked Aakuta.
“Yes,” Werner nodded. “Yargot is all that is left of the Kamaril family.”
“Who will run the Kamaril clan now,” questioned Aakuta. “Surely the boy is too young?”
“He is too young,” agreed Werner. “All of the advisors of the clan will meet and choose a successor to rule until the boy comes of age.”
“The advisors will choose?” frowned Aakuta. “Does not the boy have a say in the matter?”
“Oh he does,” nodded Werner. “He ultimately will chose the ruler, but the advisors will decide who they should present to the boy. Yargot can refuse and the advisors will meet again and choose someone else.”
“Can the boy just name the ruler?” asked Aakuta.
“I suppose so,” shrugged Werner, “but I have never heard of such a thing. Why would he not take advantage of his advisors?”
“Because they do not know what is best for the boy,” grinned the mage. “Get me Gregnic.”
Werner ran out of the study. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he placed his back to the wall and tried to calm himself. He had thought that Aakuta would kill him for failing to find an estate. He did not like the feeling at all. When he was finally composed, he searched for the Jiadin healer and took him to see the dark mage.