Tachora was visibly shaken and the angry crowd was beginning to look at him as if he were the perpetrator of the attack. He rose from his chair and stood behind his assistant. “If you will not attack Watula Valley,” sneered Tachora, “then I can at least ensure that they attack you, Lord Marak. You see, my assistant is Lord Quavry’s son and when it is learned that he was killed by the Situ, nothing will be able to stop the Sorgan Army from tearing Fardale apart.”
Marak gazed in horror as he saw the knife in Tachora’s hand dripping fresh blood on the floor. He looked at Tachora’s assistant and saw his head pressed against the tabletop as if he was sleeping. Without hesitation, Marak flipped one of his wrist knives across the room and into Tachora’s arm. Tachora howled in pain as he dropped his own knife. Before Tachora could react, two of Zorkil’s men took hold of him and removed Marak’s knife from his arm.
“Lock him up,” demanded Lord Marak, “and see that his arm is bandaged. I want him alive.”
“He’s dead,” announced Seneschal Pito as he checked Mogry for signs of life. “Tachora is right about the Sorgan reaction if Lord Quavry finds out about his son.”
“Is there anyone here who is anxious to run over to Watula Valley and tell him?” Marak snapped. “This meeting is over. Everyone leave and try to find some way of keeping busy for the rest of the day.”
Marak signaled for his four closest advisors to stay as the rest of the people filed out of the Meeting Chamber. Kasa, Zorkil, Klora, and Pito moved to chairs near Lord Marak.
“Seneschal,” Marak began, “what other family members does Lord Quavry have?”
“Only his son,” Pito answered. “His wife died five years ago and he had only one son. I had never met Mogry so I did not know who he was.”
“Understandable,” Marak responded. “I do not think Lord Quavry would be fool enough to send his son here if anyone knew what he looked like. Who would take over the Sorgan now if Quavry died?”
“I don’t know,” admitted the Seneschal. “I would have guessed Marshal Yenga, but he may be dead, as well, if he is no longer Marshal. I suppose there will be several contenders and some nasty battles before it is determined.”
“What is the financial condition of the Sorgan, Kasa?” inquired Marak.
“They have always been healthy in finances,” Kasa answered. “They have a very good yield each year and their expenses should be lower than Fardale’s because they are not required to pay a portion to anyone. I think their cash reserves should be large.”
“What about the strength of their army, Lectain?” queried Marak.
“Their army is larger than ours,” offered Zorkil. “Marshal Yenga has long been considered one of the finest Marshals in Khadora and with him to lead the Sorgan Army, I would not give high odds to our survival. If he is dead and his successor is dead, maybe we will stand a chance. It is possible that their army will be disorganized by the deaths.”
“Yet, moments ago you were ready to lead our men into battle against this superior force,” interrupted Marak. “Why?”
“It is the proper thing to do,” claimed Lectain Zorkil. “They have attacked us. We can not ignore the offense or they will attack us again.”
Marak sat staring at the table for some time. He distantly heard the door open and close again, but paid no attention to it. Things were starting to look good for Fardale and he wasn’t about to throw it all away on some border skirmish, yet he could not let the dispute fester, either. Suddenly, a solution popped into his head and he desperately wished for Fisher’s knowledge.
“The Sorgan Marshal was Meltord,” interrupted Lectain Zorkil. “The last we knew, he was a Lectain under Marshal Yenga. He is also a cousin to Lord Quavry and not very well liked by his men.”
Lord Marak looked up and nodded. “Very well,” he concluded. “It looks like Lord Quavry is running out of relatives.”
“There is something else, Lord Marak,” Zorkil continued. “Meltord was identified by a Priest of Sunnu who is inside the walls. Nobody remembers when he arrived and he said that he has been waiting all morning to talk with you.”
Lord Marak was about to direct the Lectain to get rid of the priest when a nagging thought reversed his decision. “Okay,” agreed Marak, “send him in. The rest of you may leave. If anything comes up that I should know about, Zorkil will inform me.”
Marak watched the door expectantly as the Priest of Sunnu was ushered in. He managed to conceal his grin when he recognized Fisher despite the man’s disguise.
“I have come to console you, my son,” the priest began as the door closed.
“Console me later,” smiled Marak. “Right now I want you to describe the layout of the Sorgan mansion. I plan to have a meeting with Lord Quavry tonight and I don’t have an invitation.”
“You are crazy,” offered Fisher. “I will go in your place. He will be dead by morning.”
“I don’t plan on killing him,” assured Lord Marak. “I plan on talking with him. Can you give me the details which I require?”
“It would be easier to kill him,” Fisher replied while shaking his head. “I can detail every room in the Sorgan mansion. They had an insect infestation two years ago which I rectified for them. You are aware that he will not let you leave his mansion alive, aren’t you?”
Lord Marak nodded and Fisher started drawing detailed diagrams of the Sorgan estate. The time passed quickly as Marak memorized the layout of the Sorgan mansion and he was surprised to find out the sun had set. He ordered a dinner for two and he dined quietly with Fisher. After dinner, the Priest of Sunnu was escorted through the main gate and Marak called for Lectain Zorkil.
“Lectain,” announced Lord Marak, “I am going to see Lord Quavry tonight. “You are the only person inside Fardale to have this information. I hope to return sometime in the morning with a solution to our problem, but there is a chance that I will not.”
“Lord Marak,” interrupted Zorkil, “you can not trust Lord Quavry. I know you intend on getting some settlement which will avoid bloodshed, but he will have you killed.”
“That is not part of my plan,” confided Marak. “I am telling you so that no one else will discover that I am gone. If I should not return, the people of Fardale are to resist any attempts by anyone who tries to bring them under his control. That includes Lord Ridak. Everyone here owes allegiance to me and me alone. I will not have these people enslaved again. If you must have leadership, I would suggest the Council of Advisors. Let Fardale be Khadora’s first cooperative estate. Bursar Kasa and Seneschal Pito, if they work together, can run the estate quite well.”
“This talk is very depressing, My Lord,” sighed Zorkil. “There is no one who can replace your leadership. Fardale is alive with hope for the very first time. I hear the talk of the soldiers and the workers. There is not one among them who would not die for you. Whatever your plan, let me go in your stead.”
“This can only be accomplished by myself,” declared Lord Marak. “You have much to learn yet, Lectain. I did not want to mention this in front of the Council, but you have to start thinking logically, instead of thinking as Khadora expects you to. Your reaction to the attack this morning was what Lord Quavry expects. Never, never, do what your enemy expects. I do not mean this as a rebuke. You are one of the finest officers I have ever met and you are going to be a very valuable asset to me. Now, after I change my clothes, I need your help in getting outside the walls undetected.”
Lectain Zorkil saluted smartly as Lord Marak rose and made his way to his suite. He donned his blacksuit and checked the contents of his field bag before returning to the Meeting Chamber. He paced the floor as he waited for the Lectain to return and pondered the odds of his success for this risky mission.