“No,” Lord Marak stated adamantly. “Never give in to such bullying tactics. We will present your case to the Lords’ Council and return with enough troops to push the Jiadin back into Fakara.”
* * *
A cold raw wind suddenly burst through the trees around the gate of the Kamaril estate. The night guards felt a chill envelope their body as they sat near the gate. One of them wrapped his arms around his body to ward off the chill, but it passed quickly.
The sentries outside the front door of the mansion were sleepy and anxious for the dawn to approach so that they would be relieved and could go to bed. One of them pointed and remarked about the oddity of the sudden cloud of mist rolling along the drive towards the mansion. They watched it approach with a strange combination of apprehension and curiosity. All too soon it was all around them, thick and opaque. A click reverberated through the air, but it was directionless, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. The soft sound of a door closing caused one of them to spin around and look towards the front door to the mansion, but the fog was too thick to see even those few feet.
Inside the Kamaril mansion wind chimes suddenly tingled, their light tinny tones drifting aimlessly through the air. The stairs creaked softly and a chilled wind swept through the rooms, gaining access through every crack and under every door. The sleeping inhabitants subconsciously pulled the covers tighter around themselves or curled their bodies into balls to keep warm.
One particular inhabitant, young Yargot, son of the late Lord Druck, tossed fitfully. Strange dreams invaded his sleep, nightmares really. Once again his body was covered in oozing boils, but this time they were slowly exploding one at a time. Each explosion brought forth a wave of incredible pain. Each wave was more terrifying than the one before. Suddenly, Yargot sat up and opened his mouth to scream.
Yargot opened his eyes to the darkness of the night. He could not see anything, but he felt a hand covering his mouth. His arms rose to claw at the restraint.
“Be quiet,” demanded a cold voice. “You have made a vow, and I am here to see you make good on it.”
The hand moved away from his mouth, and suddenly the room was illuminated. He turned and saw the shape of a man lighting a candle. He stared at the apparition in black for a long moment before he realized who he was looking at. A shiver raced down his spine as he recalled the nightmare.
“Do you remember your vow?” Aakuta asked in a sinister voice.
Yargot nodded his head silently as the dark mage stepped closer to the bed.
“Do you remember the vow?” Aakuta asked again.
“I remember,” gulped the frightened boy. “I owe you a debt.”
“And I am here to collect,” declared Aakuta. “You may pay the debt, or pay the consequences. Which will it be?”
“I will pay the debt,” the boy said quickly. “What do you want?”
“You will name me as your regent,” demanded the dark mage. “I will rule the Kamaril until I tire of it. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” the boy nodded exaggeratedly.
“Good,” smiled Aakuta. “You will do this at first light. I will arrive here an hour after that. I expect everyone to bow before me when I arrive. If they do not, I will consider your debt not paid.”
“They will all bow before you,” promised Yargot. “All of them. I promise.”
Chapter 26
Appeal for Justice
Lord Chenowith walked into his father’s suite and closed the door behind him. He stood silently for a long time as his eyes scanned the room. Memories flooded the mind of the lord of the Walkan clan as he pictured his father sitting behind the large desk near the windows. Tears sprang unbidden from his eyes as he heard his father’s laughter. Time ceased to matter as Lord Chenowith watched his father explaining the finances of the clan to the young boy sitting before the desk. The young boy was eager to learn and idolized Lord Bagora. They both laughed as they shared some private humor. Tears flowed down Lord Chenowith’s face, and he closed his eyes tightly.
When he opened his eyes, the vision was gone. The suite was empty except for Lord Chenowith himself. He wiped the tears from his face and walked to the desk. He sat in the chair that he had sat in as a boy and stared across the desk at the empty chair on the other side.
“Your time had not yet come,” Lord Chenowith said to the empty chair. “There was too much life left in your bones. Did you know when we spoke that night that your life was in danger? You could have told me. I would have broken every rule to save you.”
“Perhaps you knew that,” Lord Chenowith said after a long silent pause. “You always knew what I would do long before I did it. You always knew everything.”
Lord Chenowith closed his eyes and put his head down on the desk. The coolness of the wood radiated through his head and brought a surreal calmness with it. He sat immobile for a long time. Suddenly he raised his head and opened his eyes. His turned and stared at the metal box his father had asked him to bring home. He knew that Bagora would frown upon him opening it, but Lord Chenowith couldn’t help but wonder if Bagora had written anything that would pinpoint his assassin. His father did, after all, always know everything.
Lord Chenowith rose and walked to the metal box. He picked it up and held it as if weighing his actions. With determination and anger at the death of his father, Lord Chenowith placed the box on the desk and drew his knife. He nervously attacked the lock with his knife. The lock could not withstand the assault. It was never meant to. The lock was merely a reminder to anyone who would peer into another man’s belongings. Lord Chenowith did not care. He would never have done such a thing while his father lived, but things felt different now. The box might contain a clue to the identity of the assassin, and Lord Chenowith vowed to avenge his father’s death.
Lord Chenowith opened the box and peered into it. The box was stuffed with papers. Lord Chenowith recognized some of them as Imperial decrees that should have been deposited with the Imperial archives. He frowned at the thought that his father had taken the documents out of the Imperial Palace. Picking up the box he moved to sit behind the desk, but he halted as he began to sit. He stood there for a few moments before walking back around the desk to sit where he had before. Even after Emperor Bagora’s death, it felt disrespectful to sit in his father’s chair.
Lord Chenowith started lifting documents out of the box and reading them. He saw that most of the Imperial decrees dealt with an extensive network of spies. Names, locations, and compensation amounts indicated a spy network that was far vaster than anything he could have imagined. Lord Chenowith’s eyes grew wide as he read the secret documents. It suddenly became very clear why the Emperor had not entrusted the documents to the Imperial archive. Emperor Bagora had been spying on everyone. Members of the Lords’ Council, members of the Imperial troops, and even individual clan lords, Bagora had spies watching them all.
At the bottom of the box was a small journal. Lord Chenowith took it and held it for a moment before he opened it. He felt as if he were intruding into his father’s inner mind as he started reading the daily log of random thoughts, meetings, and conclusions. Hours later, Lord Chenowith had to light a new candle. He paused and stared out the window of his father’s study. He saw that the dawn was only hours away. He returned to his chair and sighed as he delved back into the journal. He was beginning to see the life of an Emperor in a way that few men could ever understand.
* * *
Lord Marak and Lord Oktar arrived at the Imperial Palace. Already other lords and their escorts were converging on the capital in preparation for the Assembly of Lords that would begin the following day. It had already become clear to Lord Marak that Khadora had a new Emperor. Word of the rise of Lord Mirakotto had met them halfway in their rush to Khadoratung. Lord Marak did not dwell upon the news. His mission was to secure help from the Lords’ Council for the coming battles with the Jiadin.