“Will a few days be soon enough?” questioned the Balomar lord. “The Jiadin must be close to ready for their attack.”
“Army to the west,” announced Botal. “This may be trouble. It is not one that we are expecting.”
Lord Marak turned around and squinted into the setting sun. The distance was great, but he was able to make out the colors of their banner.
“Neju,” frowned Lord Marak. “What are they doing out here?”
“Lord Woton was a close ally of Mirakotto’s,” interjected Gunta. “We should alert our troops to be ready for mischief.”
“Lord Jamarat is easily swayed,” nodded Lord Marak, “but I did not think he would allow Mirakotto to use him again. I wonder why Latril has not given me some advance word of this movement?”
“Perhaps she was not able to,” frowned Botal. “Shall I ride out to meet them?”
“We all shall,” decided Lord Marak. “If he has come to aid the Jiadin, we are in grave trouble. I would prefer to talk him out of it before his troops are committed.”
“He could attack you instead,” warned Lord Oktar. “I think you going to meet him is not wise.”
“Lord Jamarat is simple-minded,” declared Lord Marak, “but I do not think his heart is black. He will not act dishonorably.”
Lord Marak gave the signal to head back to the mansion and onto the road to Khadoratung. Botal led the squad down the hill. His hand signals when he reached the bottom of the hill alerted the Torak troops there to potential danger. The word spread quickly as soldiers of each clan prepared for battle.
An hour later, the Torak squad halted in the middle of the road to Khadoratung. The vanguard of the Neju army halted. Lord Marak rode slowly forward towards the Neju. Halman and Gunta followed as visible shadows. Suddenly, the ranks of the Neju parted. Lord Jamarat, sitting proudly atop his warhorse started forward. Latril rode right behind him. The soldiers sat in silence as the two lords approached one another.
“Greetings Lord Jamarat,” welcomed Lord Marak. “What brings you to the eastern frontier?”
“You do, Lord Marak,” answered the Neju lord. “I understand that Latril has sworn Vows of Service to you. I wish those bonds to be broken.”
Lord Marak frowned as he tried to gaze at Latril, but she was blocked from his vision by the hulk of Lord Jamarat. Lord Marak raised his eyes and gazed into the face of Lord Jamarat.
“Her bonds to me are for her protection,” he declared. “Does she wish these bonds to be broken?”
“She does,” nodded Lord Jamarat.
“Then I shall absolve her of her vows on one condition, Lord Jamarat,” Lord Marak said. “You will vow to provide for her protection. Without your vow, I will not release her.”
“You are a wise man,” grinned Lord Jamarat. “Latril said you would do what you have done.”
“May I ask why you desire the vows broken?” questioned Lord Marak. “And why have you felt that an army was required to ensure that they were broken?”
“The vows were in the way of our betrothal,” grinned Lord Jamarat. “I cannot marry a woman who owes allegiance to another lord.”
“No, that would not be practical,” grinned Lord Marak. “I am very happy for both of you. May Kaltara bless your union.”
“I do not know this Kaltara,” frowned Lord Jamarat, “but your blessing will do. The army is not to force you into giving up Latril. It is our gift to you to help deal with the Jiadin. Treat them well and return them whole.”
“I shall do my best,” responded Lord Marak, “but that is not something that I can promise. A good many of your men may die.”
“I have brought twenty cortes with me,” frowned Lord Jamarat. “That is more than enough to even the odds against the Glamaraldi.”
“We no longer face just the Glamaraldi,” explained Lord Marak. “The Vessi and Lejune clans are gathering against us at this very moment. I suspect the Pikata will join with them soon. There will be between three hundred and four hundred cortes against us here.”
“Mercy!” frowned Lord Jamarat. “I should have brought more men.”
“There are other armies on the way from the Imperial Valley,” offered Lord Marak. “The Walkan, Organila, and Scratti clans are sending close to ninety cortes. We will give the Jiadin a battle that they will never forget.”
Lord Jamarat turned and waved Latril forward. Lord Marak saw the glow of love on her face, and he smiled at her. Lord Jamarat looked down at Latril and smiled.
“I cannot leave my men to battle against such great odds without me,” he said to Latril. “I know we spoke of returning home, but I cannot. I must stay and fight. I will arrange an escort to take you back.”
“I am not leaving,” Latril said adamantly. “If you are to stay, then I will stay by your side.”
“You do not understand,” Lord Jamarat shook his head. “This will be war. It is no place for women.”
“You promised that you would listen to my advice,” Latril said stubbornly. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself in battle. You lead your men, and I will battle as I know how to. We shall compare the piles of dead Jiadin when the battle is over.”
Lord Marak could not suppress his chuckle as he watched the lovers argue. “Let us get your men settled in, Lord Jamarat,” he interrupted. “Then the three of us can sit and discuss the need for you and Latril to go into battle.”
* * *
The merchant slipped away from his wagon on the Ronan estate. He slid around the corner of the mansion and pressed his back to the barracks that the two officers had just walked into. He hoped to hear the rest of the conversation they had been having as they waled past his wagon. He moved silently along the wall of the barracks until he was underneath one of the windows.
“I doubt the general will live up to his end of the bargain,” said the first officer. “The Omungans do not value honesty as Khadorans do. Theirs is a culture of deceit.”
“It is hardly our decision to make in any event,” responded the second officer. “Lord Garic has the final say in these things. He appeared to view General Didyk skeptically. I say we just wait and see what happens.”
“What have we here?” scowled a low voice from behind the merchant as a sword was extended towards the merchant’s neck. “Spy in the compound,” the voice shouted.
Suddenly, the air was rent with dozens of voices shouting and the trampling of many feet. Fisher soon found himself the center of attention in the middle of the Ronan barracks area. He knew that one day he would slip up. It was bound to happen to even the best of spies.
“Take him to Lord Garic,” commanded an officer. “Search him for weapons first.”
A dozen hands immediately converged on Fisher’s body. All of his weapons were found and removed. The searchers gave little care to being gentle, and Fisher ached all over as he was pushed towards the mansion door. Fisher’s mind worked frantically to develop a story that might cause the Ronan lord to spare his life. He knew that he must not let it appear as if he had loyalty to any one clan. The fact that he was a spy was not in question. No merchant would have been where he was found.
Six soldiers shoved Fisher into the meeting room of the estate. They stood guard over him while someone ran to summon Lord Garic. Several minutes later, the lord of the Ronan clan stepped into the room.
“I am told you were caught spying,” accused Lord Garic. “Your life is now in my hands. Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps I will spare you. Who are you working for?”
“I have no one client,” Fisher declared. “I sell information where I think it will bring the highest price.”
“And who is paying you to spy on me?” asked Lord Garic.
“Nobody,” answered Fisher. “At times I pose as a merchant when I have no pressing needs from clients. It pays enough to be worthwhile. My only fault is that I heard two officers talking about an Omungan general. I could not resist trying to get more information. Any talk of Omungans seems to bring a high price.”
“And who would pay for such information?” asked Lord Garic.