“It is a fine uniform,” coughed Cortain Rybak. “Why did Lord Marak come for me? He is not the debtor in our relationship. I already owe him more than I can repay. Why would he risk his life for me?”
“Because he cares for his people,” smiled Halman. “Because he cares for you. Be true to him, Cortain, and he will never desert you. He does not seek repayment from you. He only asks for your loyalty and you have shown him yours.”
Cortain Rybak turned away from Halman and cried.
* * *
Lord Marak rode hard into the night. He had escorted a caravan to Forest Deep once and remembered the terrain fairly well, but he had never ventured near the Chula there. He wondered whether the Chula would even give him a chance to talk or would they just strike him down when he entered their territory? He berated himself for his negative thoughts and cast them aside. Dwelling on death often stopped one from acting when action was necessary. If death came, it would come without being asked for.
Lord Marak was not entirely sure where he was going. The only reference he had was a conversation several years ago. One of the Forest Deep soldiers was telling tales about the Chula and had gestured towards the North when he spoke. Lord Marak veered off the road to Forest Deep and headed for the forest where the Situ did not venture. He did not know where to look for the Chula, but he knew they would notice him if he made enough noise.
Lord Marak slowed when he entered the dense forest. There were no real paths here, only game trails. The trees were old and mature and the forest was very black. He had to slow to a walk and the horse had trouble finding a way deeper into the woods. Lord Marak heard a rustle off to his left and felt his muscles involuntarily tense. He had the strange sensation of someone watching him, so he stopped dead still.
“I am Marak, Lord of the Torak, friend of the Kywara,” he called loudly. “I seek a healer and come in peace. Please hear my plea.”
“Since when is a flatlander a friend of the Chula?” asked a voice behind him.
Lord Marak nearly jumped off his horse with the sound a voice so close to him. He held his nervousness in check as he slowly swiveled in his saddle and saw a Chula warrior standing behind him.
“Since I have given my word and honor to the Kywara,” answered Lord Marak. “I beg forgiveness for my trespass, but I have great need of a healer. I have a friend who is near death.”
“Why do you come to the Zatong instead of your flatlander brothers?” asked the barbarian. “Forest Deep has a healer to tend to your friend.”
“The Situ are my enemies,” declared Lord Marak. “Their medicine would mean death for my friend and myself.”
“You fear the Situ more than the Zatong?” chuckled the naked warrior.
“I neither fear nor respect the Situ,” corrected Lord Marak. “I respect the Chula and do not wish to fear them. Have you a healer who can help?”
“Remove yourself from your horse,” ordered the barbarian. “You will follow me. Do not touch your weapons and do not stray from the path or you will die. You will be watched by many.”
Lord Marak nodded and followed the Zatong warrior through the woods. He felt as if the path they took was intentionally confusing and many times he felt like he was heading back the way they had come, but he kept his observations to himself. Half an hour later, he was lead into a Chula village similar to the Kywara village near Fardale, but much larger. The people of the village looked just like the Kywara and their movements appeared to be the same. Even the placement of the Leader’s hut was similar.
A tall, dark, muscular Chula waited in front of the Leader’s hut. Lord Marak’s horse was taken from him and he walked towards the Leader.
“Thank you for allowing me to speak,” greeted Lord Marak.
“Turn around,” ordered the Leader.
Lord Marak turned his back on the Zatong Leader and felt his sword being taken.
“You may face me now,” stated the Leader. “This is the Sword of Torak. Where have you gotten this?”
“It was a gift from Tmundo, Leader of the Kywara,” answered Lord Marak as he turned to see the Leader holding his sword.
“The Sword of Torak is not a gift,” declared the Zatong Leader. “It is a pronouncement. You have said that you are the Lord of the Torak. Explain what you mean.”
“I rule in Fardale,” began Lord Marak. “It has long been a Situ estate, but I have declared myself free of them. I have called my people the Clan of Torak after my mother’s wishes. Tmundo has given me this sword and called it the Sword of Torak. I thought he was referring to my Clan name. You indicate something different. What does it mean to you?”
Another Zatong joined the Leader and stood next to him. The second barbarian could have been a twin of the Leader except for his whiskers and lion’s mane. He certainly was as muscular as the Leader. Lord Marak knew he was the Head Shaman of the Zatong Tribe, but he was as muscular as a warrior.
“Brother,” interrupted the Shaman, “you forget your manners. Lord Marak, I am Ukaro, Head Shaman of the Zatong. My brother, Kyata, is the Tribe Leader. Come and sit by the fire so we may discuss many things.”
“Ukaro is right,” conceded Kyata. “I forget my manners. We are not used to flatlanders coming to talk with us.”
“I would like to spend time getting to know the Zatong,” smiled Lord Marak, “but my time is short and my plea is urgent. My friend is close to death and I fear every minute is important.”
“What is wrong with your friend?” asked Ukaro.
“He has been tortured by the Situ,” replied Lord Marak. “I stole him from their dungeon at Lituk Valley this evening and left him in a cave with one of my men. He is not well enough to travel.”
“Where is the cave?” queried Kyata.
“It is near the river north of Lituk Valley,” answered Lord Marak. “Less than an hour's ride from Lituk Valley. I can show your healer the way.”
“I know the place,” offered Kyata. “I will send the healer, but you will stay until he returns.”
Lord Marak nodded and removed his waistband and handed it to Kyata. “This will inform my man that I have sent the healer,” explained Lord Marak. “He will not attack a Chula, but he may be nervous because the Situ are hunting for us.”
“You think wisely for a flatlander,” complimented Ukaro.
Kyata took the waistband and called for the healer. He instructed the healer regarding the location of Rybak and gave him the waistband. Kyata returned and gave the Sword of Torak back to Lord Marak.
“I am surprised that Tmundo has given you the Sword of Torak and not explained what it is,” continued Kyata.
“He gave me the sword two nights ago in Fardale,” replied Lord Marak. “He said we would talk more about it when I next visited him in his village.”
“You visit with the Kywara?” questioned Ukaro. “Why?”
“I find the ways of the Kywara enlightening and value Tmundo’s advice,” answered Lord Marak. “We have both worked with our people to better relations between the Chula and the flatlanders. Is that not the way neighbors should treat each other?”
“It is,” laughed Kyata, “but I never thought I would hear such words from a flatlander. You are a strange flatlander, Lord Marak of the Torak.”
Women brought bowls of food and set them down in front of the three men. They also brought bowls of water and towels and set them down next to each man. Lord Marak had visited the Kywara village enough to know the purpose of the towels and bowls of water. He stripped off his shirt and washed his upper body with a moist towel while the Zatong men did the same. Lord Marak got the sensation of being watched again and looked up to see his two hosts staring at him.
“Who are you, Lord Marak?” demanded Ukaro.
“What do you mean?” questioned Lord Marak. “I have told you who I am. I do not understand the question.”
“I did not ask what you are,” persisted the Shaman. “I asked who you are. You have told us that you are Lord of Fardale and a friend to the Kywara, but you have not told us where you came from or who you are.”