Marak dashed into the mansion and changed out of his blacksuit, wondering what had become of Fisher. The spy did not follow Marak through the main gate but Marak could use his advice right now. Lord Marak hurried to the Meeting Chamber and found it filled not only with Council Members, but others as well. This was one session in which Marak did not object to the others being present. He recognized that some of the extras were spouses or parents to those whose bodies lay in the courtyard. Marak walked to the head of the table and called for silence.
“I want an eyewitness to describe what happened this morning,” he ordered.
A dirty woman with blood on her tunic walked over to the table and stood facing Lord Marak. “I am Elsa and I was in the field when it was attacked,” she began. “We assembled early this morning to get some time in the field before our regular duties began. There was no warning of the attack until their leader yelled for the men to shoot their arrows. They were hidden in the woods along the edge of the field and they just started shooting arrows. There were so many arrows in the air that I didn’t know what to do. I saw a child who had been hit in the back with an arrow and hurried over to help her. It was all over very quickly and my only thought was in helping the poor child. I put my pitchfork down and was pulling the arrow out when I heard a horse and looked up.”
The room was silent as Elsa tried to compose herself. Seneschal Pito handed Elsa a handkerchief to dry her tears and after a moment she continued. “The Sorgan Marshal rode his horse onto the field and rode toward an old woman who was hysterical. She was kneeling in the dirt and screaming and he just rode up to her and . . . and he just sliced her head off. Just like that. She wasn’t doing anything but screaming. I must have screamed because he looked up and stared directly at me. The next thing I remember is the Marshal riding toward me with his sword held high. His face was twisted with rage and he was . . . he was laughing. He was actually laughing as he rode to kill me. I knew I couldn’t outrun him and I couldn’t leave the child there to be killed. I . . . I picked up my pitchfork and shoved it into his chest and he fell off his horse.”
Elsa’s voice was breaking and the Seneschal gave her a glass of water. There was not a whisper in the room as everyone waited for Elsa to continue. “When he fell, Elsa continued, “I saw three arrows protruding from his back. I looked towards the woods and saw that the Sorgan soldiers were leaving. No one came for his body and they didn’t appear to have any interest in firing more arrows, so I started to help the survivors. That’s all I remember of the attack, Lord Marak.”
“Thank you, Elsa,” Marak consoled. “I am sorry that I had to ask you to relive the attack, but I need to know what happened. Have you ever seen Sorgan soldiers around the field before?”
“No, Lord Marak,” Elsa sobbed. “Even when we tried to cultivate that field in prior years, there was no sign of Sorgans. The only time I remember seeing Sorgans before was when they came to talk with Lord Lashendo.”
Marak looked toward Lectain Zorkil. “Have you heard about any provocation toward the Sorgan, Lectain?” asked Marak.
“No, Lord Marak,” Zorkil replied. “All encounters with anyone outside Fardale are supposed to be reported and we have had no reports. I can not see how the Sorgans were provoked.”
“Have you detected any Litari troop movements?” queried Marak.
“None,” Lectain Zorkil answered.
“I doubt the Litari would be involved with this,” offered Bursar Tachora. “They do not get along well with the Sorgan.”
Marak whipped his head around to stare at the Bursar and noticed that Mogry, the Bursar’s assistant, was with him. Marak intended to replace Tachora with Kasa as Bursar this morning, but that was an item that could wait until this crisis was resolved. Or could it? Tachora surely knew that the Litari and the Sorgan were on speaking terms, at least.
“Lord Marak,” interjected Lectain Zorkil, “when shall we attack? I have the men prepared and I am sure it will be a vicious battle. Lord Quavry undoubtedly has his men ready for the attack. If we delay too long, we will run the risk of nightfall before the battle is over.”
“Who put the arrows in their Marshal’s back?” Marak asked without answering Zorkil’s question.
“They were Sorgan arrows, Lord Marak,” Zorkil replied. “The man shot was not Marshal Yenga, though. He was in the uniform of the Sorgan Marshal, but I have met Yenga before and the body was not his.”
“Pardon, Lord Marak,” interrupted Bursar Tachora, “but does it really matter whose arrows they were? The Sorgan have brutally attacked us and we must retaliate immediately. If we delay, they will see it as a sign of weakness and attack us.”
Murmurs of agreement resonated through the room with more than one voice vowing swift revenge for the lost Situ. The mood of the Meeting Chamber was ugly. Each person in attendance, from poor bloodstained Elsa to old Seneschal Pito, appeared ready to march on the enemy themselves.
The whole Sorgan attack smelled of a baiting to Marak. The strategy was similar to the one Marshal Garouk had planned for the Chula, force the enemy to attack and annihilate them when they struck back. Well, Lord Marak was not going to play by their ridiculous rules. If the Sorgan wanted war, they would get it, but on Marak’s terms, not Lord Quavry’s.
“There will be no attack today,” declared Lord Marak. “I want the body of their Marshal identified.”
Angry protests filled the room. None were so loud nor directed at Lord Marak to be offensive, but it was clear that the Situ of Fardale wanted revenge and they wanted it now. Marak had served with the Army long enough to recognize the actions of men who had performed their duty although they didn’t want to. It was clear to him where the three arrows had come from and he had no desire to kill men whose only crime was following orders which they had to.
Elsa dropped to her knees alongside Lord Marak and cried. “Please, Lord Marak,” she pleaded, “you must allow us to avenge our loved ones. I will gladly go with the soldiers to pay our revenge.”
Angry shouts echoed her plea, but Lord Marak knew that no one would break their Vows of Service to lead an Army into Watula Valley. He gently raised Elsa to her feet. “Your loved ones will be avenged,” Marak promised, “but it will be done the way I want and when I want.”
Tachora's voice carried easily over the angry murmuring. “It must be today, Lord Marak,” he insisted knowing the mediator from the Lords Council would arrive from the capital soon. “As Bursar, I must inform you that we will face financial ruin if we delay. Even as we speak, none of our fields are being tended.”
Lord Marak eased Elsa into his chair and turned to face Tachora. “As Bursar,” Marak said clearly, “you will advise me of nothing. You are no longer the Bursar for Fardale. Kasa is now our Bursar. I should also tell you that Khadora Grain Importers is bankrupt. You will never see payment for our grain because of a clause you failed to notice in your recent transaction with the Ksaly Company.”
Tachora turned white with shock as Marak’s words registered. Somehow Marak had found out about his little side business and turned the tables on him. Financially, Tachora was ruined unless he could depose Lord Marak. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Tachora stubbornly lied.
“Perhaps . . . ,” smiled Lord Marak as everyone in the room tried to figure out what was going on, “you can help identify the Sorgan Marshal’s body. Maybe it was somebody you saw yesterday when you were secretly meeting with Lord Quavry? Whatever plan you two have cooked up, I am not going to follow the script. The Situ are not going to launch a vengeance attack on the Sorgans.”