“Any of the clans along the border with Omunga,” shrugged Fisher. “They all live in fear that Omunga may one day cross the Kalatung Mountains. I would try to sell whatever I found out to each clan in the southern frontier.”
“Hmm,” muttered Lord Garic as he turned to stare at the wall map. “Have you done business with any clans down there recently?”
Fisher tried to think of something he could reveal without causing any harm. Lord Garic’s questioning seemed not as harsh as he had expected. He wondered why and decided to take a chance.
“Not in the spying business,” answered Fisher, “but I did have some lucrative business with the Torak clan. It did help me to establish a relationship there that would allow me to sell information.”
“And what lucrative business did you have with Lord Marak?” asked Lord Garic.
“I purchased his mother from the Situ clan and sold her to Lord Marak,” grinned Fisher. “He paid handsomely. I do think he has more gold than he knows what to do with. If I could learn about Omungans, he is the one I would approach first.”
“Would he grant you a visit?” Lord Garic questioned skeptically.
“Certainly,” Fisher nodded vigorously. “He could not thank me enough for getting his mother. Even though he paid a great deal, he acted as if he still owed me something.”
Lord Garic waved his hand to dismiss the soldiers guarding Fisher. He waited until they had exited the room and closed the door.
“Sit,” commanded Lord Garic. “I want to know more about you.”
Fisher sat as he was told to. He waited expectantly for Lord Garic to speak, but the Ronan lord appeared deep in thought for some time.
“Do you have any weapons skill?” Lord Garic finally asked.
“Of course,” frowned Fisher. “No man can survive for long without being able to defend himself.”
“What do you think of Lord Marak?” asked Lord Garic as he switched thoughts faster than the runoff from a spring storm.
“Think?” echoed Fisher as his mind whirled with questions of where this all was leading. “He is a lord. I treat him with respect as I would any lord. I seek to gain clients whenever I can.”
“I understand that,” Lord Garic snarled with impatience. “What do you think of the man? Do you like him?”
“Like him?” Fisher repeated. “I have no reason to like any man, Lord Garic. I seek only clients, not friends. What Lord Marak does is his business, and what you do is yours. I do not take sides in disputes. Politics is not my game.”
“That is good for you,” smirked Lord Garic. “A wrong answer to that question would have ended your life. What is your name?”
“I am called Fisher,” the spy admitted knowing that if he gave another name and was betrayed by anyone who knew him, he would die instantly.
“Well, Fisher,” asked Lord Garic, “have you ever killed a man?”
“On occasion,” admitted Fisher as he wondered if Marshal Chack had informed the Emperor of the details surrounding Andretti’s death. “I only do so when my life is threatened.”
“Would you kill a man if I could promise you riches beyond your wildest imagination?” questioned Lord Garic.
“I have a rather large imagination,” grinned Fisher as he began to see a way out of his predicament. “How well guarded is this man?”
“He is well guarded,” admitted Lord Garic. “I am not offering such a large amount for an easy task. You will be hunted down after the assassination. Of that I am sure.”
“I have many disguises,” offered Fisher. “I think I can do it and get away. Who is the man?”
“He is a powerful lord,” Lord Garic said vaguely. “That is all you need to know at this point.”
“I cannot kill someone who is unknown to me,” argued Fisher. “If this man is a lord, then I am anxious to accept the task. I will also forgive the large amount of gold that you are offering. Instead, I want the holdings of this lord.”
“Impossible,” scowled Lord Garic. “You have no idea what you are asking. One cannot step in and take over a clan. It cannot be done. Only the Emperor could authorize such a thing.”
“If this task does not have the Emperor’s blessing,” frowned Fisher, “I cannot do it. I am a loyal Khadoran, not a man without honor.”
Lord Garic stared into space for a long time before shaking his head. “The Emperor would approve of it,” he finally said, “but he would never see you. You must trust me that the Emperor would approve. You would be performing a duty of honor for Khadora.”
“You are a member of the Lords’ Council,” pushed Fisher. “I am sure that you have the Emperor’s ear. You will be rid of your rival, and it will have cost you nothing. We can all win with this proposal.”
“You are bold,” frowned Lord Garic. “I doubt you could even pull it off.”
“It would be extremely difficult to kill Lord Marak,” grinned Fisher, “but I can guarantee success. I am one of the few people outside of his clan who can get near him in private. You will never find another person to accomplish the task.”
“I never said it was Lord Marak,” frowned Lord Garic. “How did you know?”
“What good would a spy be if he could not discern the simplest of information?” retorted Fisher. “Many people would love to see Lord Marak dead. His rapid rise to the Lords’ Council has caused many to grumble. I also know that there have been recent attempts to kill him. They all failed because they were attempted by someone who does not know him. I know the man. I know his mother. I can get close to him.”
Lord Garic’s eyes brightened as he listened to Fisher. Still, he was skeptical. “How do I know you will perform the task and not try to disappear on me?” he asked.
“Because I want his holdings desperately,” answered Fisher. “No longer will I have to sneak around picking up small tidbits of information to earn a living. I will be a lord of a clan. There is nothing I want more than that. Why would I turn it down?”
“I told you that I cannot promise you the Torak clan,” Lord Garic repeated. “Only the Emperor can disband a clan and allow you to create a new one.”
“Then arrange for me to speak with the Emperor,” insisted Fisher. “I must have his personal guarantee of my payment.”
“Impossible,” Lord Garic shook his head. “He cannot be seen in your company. To do so would be to tie him to your deed. He would never allow that.”
“I said that I am a man of many disguises,” smiled Fisher. “Would he see a merchant, a foreigner, or a priest? I can become any of those instantly. Let me get some clothes from my wagon, and I will demonstrate for you.”
* * *
“Let me tell him,” Latril pleaded with Lord Marak. “He is to be my husband. I do not wish for him to be deceived.”
Lord Marak frowned, but he nodded to Latril. “The time for secrecy is over,” declared Lord Marak. “Soon all of Khadora will know what we have been hiding. Lord Jamarat may as well be the first to know.”
Lord Jamarat looked from Latril to Lord Marak with confusion on his face. Latril took his large hand and held it gently.
“I am a mage,” she said to the Neju lord.
“That does not matter to me,” replied Lord Jamarat. “I love you no matter what you are.”
“I know,” Latril smiled, “but there is more that you do not know. Lord Marak’s people have been training mages for some time now. Some of his mages have discovered new ways to use our powers. We can use our magic in battle.”
“In battle?” echoed Lord Jamarat. “How can magic be used for something other than tending to crops?”
“A number of ways,” interjected Lord Marak. “The primary use is a new means of communication. It allows us to coordinate our armies instantly to react to changes made by the enemy. There are other forms of magic that can disrupt a charge and rain havoc on the enemy’s army. The point Latril is trying to make, Lord Jamarat, is that she is a warrior just as you are. She feels she has a right to be on the battlefield with you.”
“But I want her kept safe,” frowned Lord Jamarat. “I do not want her in battle.”
“The Pikata have arrived,” Botal said as he stuck his head into the room.
Lord Marak rose instantly. “Join with me in a journey to our lookout,” Lord Marak invited Lord Jamarat and Latril. “I will have Latril give you a demonstration of her skills while we view the battlefield.”
Lord Jamarat nodded and led Latril out of the mansion. They mounted horses and rode with Botal’s squad to the top of the hill. Lord Marak gazed across the battlefield as they dismounted. He saw the Pikata banner atop a distant ridge on the other side of the massing Jiadin.
“Latril,” ordered Lord Marak, “weave an air tunnel to the center of that far group of Pikata atop the ridge. Maximum pressure so that we can all hear what they are saying.”
Latril nodded and wove the air tunnel. She adjusted it until she found an interesting conversation. She then adjusted the pressure to allow everyone on the hill to listen in.
“We will hold the Pikata in reserve,” declared the voice of Lord Damirath. “Let the Vessi, Glamaraldi, and Lejune attack them. From up here we should be able to see where they are the least defended. When we find the weak spot, we will exploit it.”
“It will be a bloody battle,” said another voice. “We may need to get more Jiadin warriors when this battle is over.”
“There are plenty of them,” laughed Lord Damirath. “Having Lord Marak gather our opposition on the eastern frontier may actually work to our advantage. We will cripple their greatest armies and still be close enough to Fakara to replenish our forces before we move on to Khadoratung.”
“They are planning on destroying the Imperial Valley,” scowled Lord Jamarat. “I thought that was only a story so you could get more men.”
“It is not a story,” assured Lord Marak. “That was Lord Damirath you heard speaking.”
“I recognized his voice,” nodded Lord Jamarat. “This magic of yours is wonderful. Can Latril remain up here and listen to their plans?”
“I think it is the perfect spot for her,” grinned Lord Marak. “Perhaps you and I should be up here too. We can make decisions based on what we see and hear, and have Latril relay our commands to the armies below.”