“I wish I had the confidence in me that others seem to have,” sighed Lord Marak. “All I can see are the problems which I have not solved. One of my Cortains lies in Lituk Valley while I celebrate my victories.”
“Why do you tell me of this?” quizzed Tmundo. “You have the skills to retrieve him. Why do you hesitate?”
“I’m not sure,” admitted Lord Marak. “It feels like I would be attacking my own home and I do not have provocation for an attack.”
“You are still playing by the flatlanders' rules,” sighed Tmundo. “Is it not provocation enough when they enslave other people? Do they have a right to seize your courier and torture him? Do they not wish you dead? Stop playing by their rules, young Marak. They are wrong and you are right. Go, get what is yours and teach them not to take your things again. Unless you are strong and firm, the flatlanders will keeping taking what is yours. This is the way the Kywara live and it is the reason we have survived.”
“If I ignore the flatlander rules,” protested Lord Marak, “they will unite against me.”
“They will do so anyway,” explained Tmundo. “They will not accept your reforms without being forced to. Limit your enemies by playing their game for a while, but discard the rules with selected opponents. Make no mistake about my advice, young Marak. Lord Ridak is your opponent. One of you will live and the other will die. Which role do you wish to fulfill?”
“Why do the Kywara accept me?” asked Lord Marak. “You do not deal with flatlanders and yet you bring me gifts and advice. Why do you see me as being different from the others?”
Tmundo stared at the floor as if in a trance for a few moments before answering. “You are Torak,” stated Tmundo. “Until you understand that, there is little I can explain. You will bring honor to the flatlanders and the Chula need that honor to survive. No Chula will stand against you as long as you remain faithful to the honor of Torak. There is nothing more I can explain at the moment.”
Lord Marak heard a sound outside in the hall and stuck his head out to investigate. When he turned back to his room, Tmundo was gone. He picked up the Sword of Torak and placed it on his stand before crawling into bed.
The next day Lord Marak hosted a reception and asked the Marshals and Lords of the Sorgan Clan and the Litari Clan to attend. At the reception Lord Marak unveiled the new uniform of the Torak Clan, a completely black outfit with a silver headband, waistband and wrist bands. The waistband sported a silver circle with the Sword of Torak embroidered within it.
“The silver is a nice touch,” chuckled Lord Marshal Orteka. “The first time I saw you I would have appreciated something to break up all that black. I wasn’t sure if you were human or if the fog had disturbed my vision.”
Lord Quavry of Watula Valley mumbled something under his breath and Lord Marak noted that the overweight Sorgan Lord did not fit in well with the rest of the people assembled. Lord Burdine had gotten over his early queasiness about serving under Lord Marak and Lord Sevrin actually seemed eager to get the reforms underway. Lord Quavry, alone, still balked at changing his ways. Lord Marak noted to keep a close eye on his Sorgan Lord. Perhaps he would have time to speak with Marshal Patoga before the Sorgans left the reception. Marshal Patoga wholeheartedly accepted Lord Marak’s reforms and Lord Marshal Yenga commented on the blossoming character of his old Lectain Patoga.
Lord Burdine and Lord Sevrin actually got along well. Their Clans had been bitter enemies ever since Woodville was founded. Lord Marak wondered how things would have worked out if the two of them had sat down and talked when the hostilities first erupted. He suspected that Lord Zawbry decided to use his sword instead of his mouth and had managed to sabotage any chance of a peaceful agreement. That was one Ragatha clansman whom Lord Marak would not miss.
Seneschal Pito entered the reception flourishing a long, black cape with a silver border and sporting a large, silver circle with the Sword of Torak in it on the back. To a round of applause and murmurs of appreciation, Seneschal Pito attached the cape to Lord Marak’s uniform. Two bearers behind the Seneschal carried a new black sheath and the Sword of Torak. Lord Marak hefted the Sword of Torak and held it high as the room buzzed with exclamations of appreciation and awe.
“This is the Sword of Torak,” Lord Marak proclaimed. “It is the symbol of the Torak Clan. With it I will restore honor and freedom to Khadora.”
The room was silent and Lord Marak flushed trying to figure out where his words had come from. He did not intend to make a speech about the Sword of Torak. He merely planned to show it to explain the new Clan symbol, but the words just flowed out of his mouth.
Suddenly, Lord Marshal Yenga drew his sword and raised it high. “To Lord Marak, Lord of the Torak Clan!” he exclaimed. “To the Sword of Torak and freedom and honor!”
They broke into a spontaneous salute to Lord Marak as everyone who had a sword raised it in a salute. Those who did not have a sword raised their hands while uttering the words. Only Lord Quavry appeared indifferent to the salute.
Lord Marak left the reception early and corralled Lord Marshal Yenga outside the mansion. “I am going to Lituk Valley tonight,” Lord Marak declared. “Cortain Rybak has been held long enough.”
Rather than the argument Lord Marak expected, Lord Marshal Yenga simply nodded. “Take Gunta and Halman with you,” he insisted. “I have placed scouts in the hills. Take their horses when you get there. You can retrieve yours on the way back.”
“You’ve kept up the bandits?” chuckled Lord Marak.
“Do you know of a better way to catch Situ spies?” laughed Lord Marshal Yenga. “I will keep everyone here entertained. If you are not back in two days, I will lead all of the armies who owe allegiance to you into Lituk Valley.”
“Two days is a rather narrow corridor,” protested Lord Marak.
“I think it is too long for you to be missing,” insisted Lord Marshal Yenga. “I know better than to try to stop you, but I will not be remiss by waiting too long. If you are a little bit late in getting back, you will not have trouble finding four thousand men heading toward Lituk Valley. You can alter my orders then.”
“Two days,” promised Lord Marak, “but the horses will be worthless after the trip.”
“Horses we can spare,” remarked Lord Marshal Yenga, “the Lord of the Torak Clan, we can not. Ride safely and return swiftly.” He snapped his fingers and Gunta and Halman emerged from the shadows. They were already outfitted in the new uniforms of the Torak Clan and were ready to ride.”
“How did you know?” demanded Lord Marak.
“It is my duty to anticipate the moves of others before they occur,” smiled Lord Marshal Yenga. “I had hoped you would allow me to send Gunta and Halman alone, but I was prepared for your decision to go with them.”
Lord Marak smiled and nodded his appreciation as the three black clad warriors headed for the stables. Three horses stood ready and the warriors mounted and galloped to the East. They rode long into the night before Gunta called a halt.
“We are in the area of the bandits,” Gunta explained. “We do not want to be skewered by our own men.”
Gunta dismounted and led his weary horse forward. Lord Marak and Halman dismounted and followed Gunta’s lead. Five minutes into their walk, an arrow streaked downward and stuck in the ground in front of Gunta.
“You are surrounded,” shouted an unseen voice. “Identify yourselves or prepare to die.”
“I am Gunta Torak,” shouted Gunta. “I accompany Lord Marak. We have need of three fresh horses.”
Lord Marak waited tensely as nobody answered. Looking from Gunta to Halman, he filled both hands with Omunga Stars and prepared to move into the darkness. Gunta shook his head and Lord Marak halted. Suddenly, Lord Marak heard the sounds of horses approaching and whirled to see one of his men leading three horses along the path they had just traversed.
“Sorry, Lord Marak,” the bandit apologized. “Lord Marshal Yenga said some riders would be coming tonight, but we didn’t recognize the new uniforms.”