“If you try to speak over a whisper,” the black clad warrior declared, “I’m afraid you won’t get the chance to finish your first syllable.”
“Who are you?” Lord Quavry croaked. “What do you want?”
“Why, I want to talk to you, of course,” whispered Marak. “Why did you order the murder of women and children in Fardale yesterday?”
Lord Quavry’s eyes started flicking left and right again as if he sought some unseen help. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” lied Lord Quavry. “If Marak has hired you for revenge, I’ll double what he is paying you. You have my promise on that.”
“Your promise?” Marak chuckled softly. “A promise from a man whose lies roll off his tongue as easily as yours do would not be worth very much to me. I really don’t want to take the time to repeat my questions, Lord Quavry, so from now on you will tell the truth or I shall be forced to end our conversation abruptly.”
“Look,” shook Lord Quavry,” you will never get off this estate alive without my help. Tell me who you are and what you want and I will allow you to leave.”
Marak increased the pressure on his sword and the blade bit into Lord Quavry’s neck producing a trickle of blood. “I got in all right and I’ll leave in the same condition,” assured Marak. “Start answering my question now.”
Lord Quavry’s jaw grew rigid and his lips pressed tightly together. His eyes squinted as his hatred fell on the black clad warrior with a piercing glare. “The Situ have been infringing on our border,” spat Lord Quavry. “I sent my men to warn them to stay clear of Sorgan lands.”
Marak increased the pressure on his blade and a fairly rapid trickle of blood cascaded from Lord Quavry’s throat to the bed.
Lord Quavry gasped and held up his hand in a pleading gesture. “All right!,” the Sorgan Lord wheezed. “Stop with the sword. I’ll tell you what you want to know. I had information that Marak was weak, the son of a slave put into position in Fardale to help Lord Ridak avoid the embarrassment of failed contracts. I knew if I could provoke Fardale into attacking Watula Valley that I would be rid of the Situ for good, but it didn’t work. Marak must be weaker than I was told. My men slaughtered a whole field of workers yesterday morning and he has not retaliated.”
“Why didn’t you just attack Fardale and be done with it?” asked Marak.
“Attacking Fardale without provocation would be too risky,” admitted Lord Quavry as his eyes searched for the slave woman who had shared his bed for the evening. He could not see her in the room and he couldn’t remember if he had asked to be awakened this morning. Surely, someone will come to him before this madman kills him . . .
“If I attacked Fardale without provocation,” Lord Quavry continued, “Lord Ridak would retaliate for sure, but if his stooge had provoked me, he would probably not press the matter.”
“Now that Fardale hasn’t attacked,” questioned Lord Marak, “what do you plan to do about it?”
Lord Quavry stared at the black clad warrior’s hand on the hilt of his sword and decided not to test the man’s knowledge of Sorgan affairs. “We will attack Fardale this morning,” offered the Sorgan Lord. “It would have been better if Marak had attacked us, but we can not wait any longer. This whole affair must be over this morning.”
“Why the time constraints?” demanded Marak. “Your bandits have Fardale sealed off from Lituk Valley and they can not get word to bring reinforcements.”
Lord Quavry frowned at the mention of his bandits. He simply could not determine how little information would satisfy the madman, but it went against his very nature to reveal everything. Still, the warrior appeared to be getting impatient and Lord Quavry would ensure that he never lived long enough to use his information.
“I have already filed a grievance with the Lords Council about the Situ transgressions,” clarified Lord Quavry. “There will be a mediator here today or tomorrow. He must not find out that there has been no border dispute. Do you understand now?”
“What does Lord Burdine and the Litari Clan have to do with this scheme?” queried Marak.
Lord Quavry’s eyes flickered shut for a moment and Marak could hear the sharp intake of breath. “Lord Burdine has also lodged a grievance,” sighed Lord Quavry. “I thought it would make my case to the Lords Council seem better if Fardale was doing the same to its other neighbors. He has nothing to do with the attack, but I have promised him an end to the right of passage for the Ragatha Clan. I assume that Lord Burdine will attempt to strangle the Ragatha into abandoning their lands here.”
“A very clever plan,” smiled Lord Marak, “but you never thought that you might be captured by Fardale before it was over, did you?”
Lord Quavry tried to rise in anger and winced as Marak’s sword cut deeper into his neck. “Captured?” he gasped sardonically. “I am in my own bed in Watula Valley. You haven’t captured anybody. Where is Marak’s Army? All he did was send an assassin to my home. Nobody would consider this a capture. This isn’t the way things are done in Khadora.”
“Well,” smiled Marak, “the way I see things may be different, but you are either captured or you are dead. Which would you prefer, Lord Quavry?”
Sweat started pouring off of Lord Quavry’s face as he contemplated his options. Everyone heard the door to Lord Quavry’s suite shut and the Sorgan Lord’s face broke into a grin. The grin quickly faded as Marak withdrew one of his belt knives with his free hand and waited for the inner door to open. At the sound of knocking on Lord Quavry’s inner door, Marak stared at the overweight Lord as if daring him to speak.
When no one answered the knocking, the door opened and an officer wearing the Marshal plume of Sorgan walked in. He stood open-mouthed in the doorway as his eyes darted back and forth between Lord Quavry and the tall stranger with the sword and throwing knife.
“Please be so kind as to close the door, Marshal,” invited Marak. “Lord Quavry and I are having a wonderful conversation and we would like you to join us. Place your weapons on the floor . . . slowly.”
The new Marshal started when he saw the slave girl huddled in the corner, but he dutifully lowered his weapons to the floor.
“If you would stand across the bed from me,” ordered Marak, “it would make me feel more comfortable.”
Marak held his throwing knife poised as the officer moved into the requested position. “Who are you and how did you get in here?” demanded the Marshal.
“I would prefer to keep the conversation limited to answers to my questions,” smiled Marak. “Lord Quavry was just about to make a decision on retirement as Lord of Sorgan. I know this matter will be of great interest to you, so please stand there and be quiet. Now, Lord Quavry, you were about to decide if you were properly captured by the enemy or not. Have you made your decision?”
“What would it matter?” asked Lord Quavry. “You do not wear the green and yellow of the Situ and I am the only one you have captured. So you win the enslavement of an old man, so what? My son will assume leadership of the Sorgan Clan and Fardale will still be wiped out. If that makes you take your sword out of my throat, I will submit. Are you satisfied?”
“Almost,” stated Marak. “I want to hear you offer your Vows of Service to Lord Marak and I want to hear it now.”
“Impossible,” wheezed Lord Quavry. “The Vows are not binding unless they are given to the Lord in question. You will have to bring Lord Marak here to get your wish.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” smiled Marak. “I want to hear you offer the Vows and I want to hear them now. You can complain later about their authenticity.”
Lord Quavry did not miss the reference to complaining later. If this madman heard what he wanted, he really did mean to let Lord Quavry live and that was enough to offer hope to the Sorgan Lord. “Very well,” stated Lord Quavry.
Marak watched the expression on the Sorgan Marshal’s face as his Lord recited the Vows of Service. The face was stony with a mask of indifference and its eyes were fixed on Marak’s every movement. Marak could feel the tension in the Marshal as he stood poised to leap at the stranger at any moment.