“Enter,” called RavenWing as he tossed his long white mane over his shoulders and rose.
“Tayo, RavenWing,” greeted StarWind. “We are ready to leave. There are some things you should be aware of in my absence.”
“Sit,” offered RavenWing. “First tell me the state of our visitors.”
“I think they are fast becoming more than visitors,” StarWind smiled. “The boys have taken to practicing with the troops and they show promise. Their skills are well below that of a Sakovan of the same age, but they are strong and eager learners. Given time they will make fine warriors, although neither has a lick of magic. They have both expressed a desire to remain here and I believe the sentiment to be sincere. Still a period of watching is necessary.”
“Good, good,” nodded RavenWing. “That will eliminate one problem for me. And Lyra?”
“Lyra must begin mage training today,” smiled StarWind. “I have told her about WinterWind and the reason she left. She knows all about LoneBadger. It was a troublesome time for a while, but we are past it now. She will be a strong addition to our mage corps. She has the power and learns quickly, but we must concentrate on improving her control. As I suspected, she is Sakovan, heart and soul. It was rough for her to make the transition in the midst of all that is happening to her, but she is resilient.”
“Excellent,” RavenWing smiled. “May all our news be good this day.”
“I am afraid that is not the case,” frowned StarWind. “I have reports that GoldenEar has been terminated. He was a valuable source of information from Okata.”
“When did this happen?” RavenWing asked.
“Several days ago I believe,” reported the Sakovan spymaster. “He had a son named Mekin and I have received reports that the Imperial Guard has issued orders to arrest him as he tries to reach the Sakova.”
“Then the boy is coming here?” quizzed RavenWing. “That is rather unusual. Has he ever been here before?”
“No,” StarWind declared. “It puzzles and bothers me. Mekin should not know where we are unless his father was lax in security. If GoldenEar was lax, it may bode ill for the safety of StarCity. He was a long-established asset and well informed.”
“I wish to have someone else take your place with HawkShadow,” RavenWing stated. “You are needed here right now.”
“That is not practical,” sighed StarWind. “I wish to be in both places, but we have located Temiker and I have arranged to meet him on the way to our confrontation with the assassins. I plan to enlist his aid in using magic to even the odds for HawkShadow. This will be a serious confrontation.”
“You are right,” agreed RavenWing. “I have others who can handle the Mekin boy and it will take days for the Imperial Guard to mobilize if they are indeed coming here. MoonFlow can handle the spy network in your absence as she usually does. Abayo, have a safe journey.”
“Abayo, RavenWing,” nodded StarWind.
***
“Welcome General Kapla,” greeted the First Minister from behind the desk in his office. “Please have a seat.”
The general nodded formally and sat stiffly in one of the upholstered chairs opposite Alazar. The First Minister of Omunga sat at his desk and smiled at the General.
“I want to thank you for your cooperation in supplying me with those reports,” charmed Alazar.
“It always a soldier’s duty to respond to a request from the Katana’s Council,” the general stated dryly, “however, I was disappointed that you chose to use that information to publicly humiliate the Minister of Defense. Minister Doharte is my superior and knowledge of my supplying you with those reports could adversely affect my career.”
“As First Minister, I can assure you that supplying the reports will not harm your career,” smiled Alazar. “If anything, it will enhance the opportunities available to you.”
General Kapla relaxed his overweight body and settled deeper into the chair. “It is hard to believe that I could be higher than a general,” he smiled. “It is the highest rank available in the army, but it is good to know that the First Minister will stand by me.”
“I favor those who aid me in preserving and protecting our nation,” declared Alazar. “Your career will never flounder while I have any say about it and I expect that to be for the rest of my life. There are few that know this, but I have been chosen as the Katana’s successor. I trust you will keep this information secret.”
The general was clearly impressed by this pronouncement and Alazar knew that a select few individuals would learn of it, but he was not concerned with it getting back to the Katana’s ears. The army in Omunga was rather closed-mouthed with those outside the military and the army did not talk with the Katana except through the Minister of Defense.
“I must explain myself, General,” Alazar continued. “I did not intend to embarrass Minister Doharte during the Council session, but the Minister does not seem to grasp the reality of the problems our nation is facing. The Sakovans have been a constant thorn in our side for generations. Past Katanas have allowed them to remain alive because they were thought incapable of causing us any problems, but I do not feel that is true anymore.”
“What has changed?” queried General Kapla removing his hat and ruffling his short gray hair. Do you really feel that an attack from them is imminent?”
“You a strategist, General,” smiled Alazar, “let me ask you a question. If you led the Sakovans, what would you do?”
General Kapla leaned back in his chair and stroked his double chin. “Probably nothing but maintain a good defensive posture. They cannot hope to beat us in a war and we are not currently pursuing them, so why agitate things.”
“Fair enough,” agreed the First Minister. “What would you do if Omunga was in the midst of a great war, either a civil war or with a neighboring nation?”
“That would be a different situation,” the general remarked. “I would use that opportunity to expand my land. Depending on the logistics of the Omungan war, I might try to seize a section of the coastline, which I thought would be defendable after the war. I might go for Alamar and maybe Tanzaba. Duran and Zaramilden are sea-locked and do not offer a means of support from the land side. But this is hypothetical of course. We are not in danger of going to war in Omunga.”
“Aren’t we?” quizzed Alazar. “Have you read the Khadora Report?”
“Briefly,” General Kapla replied with a quizzical look. “All I remember is that it details an internal struggle in one of the clans across the border.”
“Hardly internal,” lectured Alazar. “Perhaps I understand more of Khadoran culture than most Omungans. Khadora is a segmented society and as such as never been a threat to us, but that is changing. The clans of Khadora serve to keep their nation divided. They would rather war amongst themselves than bother their neighboring countries. This is why our policy has never considered them a viable threat. Lord Marak is changing the rules. Your analysts may look upon his victory as the end of an internal struggle, but they would be wrong.”
Alazar stood and leaned forward on his desk in an intimidating fashion. “Lord Marak was the son of a slave just a year ago. In that year, he waged war not only on his own clan, but on neighboring clans as well. At the end of his victory, he controlled practically all of the land along our northern border and this land came from many clans. Worse, he obtained this victory with the use of indigenous peoples.”
“The Chula. Yes I remember reading that,” frowned General Kapla. “Do you think they have ties with the Sakovans?”
“Certainly,” warned Alazar. “Those ties are surely informal, but they date back centuries, long before the Omungans arrived here. This Lord Marak has demonstrated that he has the capability to appeal to these barbaric savages. As you well know, the Sakovans have lacked a real leader ever since we originally attacked them.”
“I begin to see your concern,” admitted the general. “If he should unite the Chula and the Sakovans, they could cause some disruption for us.”
“Disruption?” Alazar shouted, momentarily losing his control. He eased back into his chair and stared at the fat general across from him. “There is more,” he continued quietly. “My resources in Khadora have told me that Lord Marak is not content with his gains. He has publicly stated that the whole culture of Khadora is wrong and that he wishes to change it. He wants to unite Khadora under one government, with one ruler, himself.”
“We would be forced to start paying attention to them then,” nodded the general.
“No,” Alazar said quietly, wondering what kind of fools the army bred. “We are forced to start paying attention to them now. If Lord Marak is allowed to unite Khadora and the Chula and the Sakovans, Omunga will cease to exist. There is no way we could ever hope to defend ourselves against them.”
General Kapla’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting that we attack Khadora now?” he blurted. “Minister Doharte would never sanction such a war. The Katana would never allow it.”
“Then what is the answer?” asked the First Minister. “Do we, as patriotic citizens of Omunga, just sit back and wait for our great nation to cease?”
“No, we cannot sit idle,” General Kapla stated. “If you are correct, they could attack us from both sides and we would be crushed quickly. I must bring this to the attention of the Minister of Defense.”
“But you have already correctly prophesized that he will refuse action on the matter,” smiled Alazar. “I have already discussed the matter with him, but as always, he would rather sit in luxury in the capital and pretend that anything outside the city does not matter. You will get no satisfaction from him.”
“Then we are doomed,” sighed the fat general.
“How can you give up on your country so easily?” stormed Alazar. “Think like a general. Doharte is merely an obstacle to victory. Doesn’t the general know how to remove obstacles?”
General Kapla struggled forward in his chair and panted with the exertion. “You can’t be suggesting what I think you are,” he whispered. “Assassination means death. I would be caught. It is impossible.”
“Who would suspect you?” smiled the First Minister. “You are not even in the running for the position of Minister of Defense. Of course, after it was over, I would strongly suggest your appointment to the Katana. He would never refuse me.”
“But someone could squeal,” General Kapla protested. “Whoever I got to do it could demand more money or become dissatisfied with the deal.”
“Do not obtain the assistance of anyone,” instructed Alazar. “Do it yourself and you will be safe. I will provide the alibi for you. I will swear that when he died, you and I were discussing the Sakovan problem. You cannot have a better alibi than the First Minister.”
General Kapla nodded nervously. Assassination was considered cowardly and despicable in Omungan society. The punishment was public brutal death at the hands of the citizens. The people would literally pull the offenders body apart with their hands. In addition, the entire lineage of the offenders would be killed.
“When you are Minister of Defense,” Alazar continued, “we will lay out the plan to exterminate the Sakovans. Whatever Lord Marak does at that point, we will not have to worry about attack from both sides.”
“What about the Katana?” inquired General Kapla. “He still will not sanction a war with Khadora and he cannot be assassinated. No weapon would ever get past his Monitors and magic does not affect him.”
“Let me worry about the Katana,” smirked Alazar as he moved to let the general out of his office. “With you on the Katana’s Council, he will sanction the war against Sakova. We will worry about Lord Marak when the Sakovans are finished.”
The First Minister congratulated himself after the general left. For years he had been planning to take over the country and finally he had found the right set of circumstances to put the plan into action. The general was ambitious and a fool. Anyone who could analyze data would have seen that Lord Marak was insignificant and not a threat to Omunga. The Khadoran Lord could barely keep his own clan together and most of the other Lords were already plotting to do away with him. The Sakovan threat was so fabricated that even the myopic Katana wouldn’t buy into it. What really mattered was galvanizing the army to face an external threat so that when Alazar seized power they would not react as they were supposed to. The army was the stabilizing force in Omunga. No soldier was ever permitted to become Katana and the army was to prohibit anyone else from taking power by force.
The First Minister sat at his desk with his feet on the polished surface. The problem with the designers of the Omungan government is that they had never foreseen someone with the determination of himself, Alazar chuckled. Once the new Minister of Defense was installed, he would be forced to protect Alazar or face the penalty for assassination. The First Minister had no doubt which option General Kapla would decide on.
There was still the problem of killing the Katana though. The general was not quite correct about the protections on the nation’s leader. He could be killed by magic, but not by any mage that served him. Each mage in the service of the Katana, including the First Minister, was required to accept a spell, which effectively prohibited him from casting any offensive spell intended to harm the Holy Katana. Of course a mage not so sworn, could cast the offensive spell, but the Katana also had impressive defensive shields around him at all times. It would take a Master to accomplish the deed and not just any Master, but one who was powerful enough to blast through the shields so swiftly that there would not be any time for the Monitors to react. Even then, the assassin would never survive to leave the palace.
This is where Klaarg was failing him. The fool assassin had failed to produce either the brother or the daughter needed to make Malafar do his bidding. He had not managed to provoke any Sakovan attacks on Omungan citizens yet either. Alazar rose and started pacing. He still had to galvanize the Katana’s Council to back him as the next Katana, for that was how the Katanas were chosen. If the Sakovans were to start attacking, he would be seen as a visionary and be readily backed, especially when Malafar, the Sakovan, assassinated the Katana.
The First Minister stopped in front of the wall map and stared at it. He needed to get as many of the Ministers behind him as was possible. Minister of the Economy. Minister of Agriculture. Minister of Trade. It all came down to money and crops. Alazar’s black eyes twinkled as he looked at the map and saw his future.
Alazar moved swiftly to the small room off of his office and stripped off his crimson robe. He grabbed a long tattered black robe from the closet and slid it on. He reached into the pocket and withdrew a cloth eye patch and slid it on, adjusting the wide cloth strap so it covered his scar. He knotted up his long black hair and stuffed it into a seaman’s cap. Next he removed his fine court shoes and put on a pair of scuffed sandals. As a finishing touch, he treated his goatee, eyebrows, and any other exposed hair with a dusting of fine gray powder.
Alazar moved to the mirror and inspected himself. He smirked at the reflection. Razala! It had been some time since Razala had shown his face in Okata. The capital of Omunga was a den of many vipers and Razala knew how to find them. He opened a chest and extracted several bags of gold and stuffed them in his pockets. With a practiced limp, Razala returned to the office of the First Minister of Omunga and flipped the lever for the secret passageway. The bookcase slid silently open and Razala entered the dark corridor.
The secret passageway ended in a potter’s shed in the public garden just outside the palace walls. The shed had not been in use for many years and everything in it was covered with dust except the floor. Klaarg was efficient in keeping the floor clean so that no sign of passing would be noticed should someone happen to visit the abandoned building.
Razala peered through the spy hole in the shed door. It was already dark out and nothing moved in the garden. He quietly opened the door and stepped into the garden. Excitement wound its way through Razala as it always did when he used one of his disguises. Strange he thought, but he would miss this part of his scheming when he became Katana.
Razala limped out of the garden and onto the city streets. He kept to the darkness and those few souls out and about, gave the ominous looking sailor a wide berth. Razala was a tall man and although he looked old and lame, the maliciousness of his face let others know he was not to be crossed.
The streets in the vicinity of the palace were fine homes and, unfortunately for Razala, well lit. He was forced into the light more times than he cared for, but he soon limped his way out of the area into a less opulent section of the city. He picked up his pace here, the limp becoming less pronounced, until he neared the waterfront. The waterfront was lined with taverns, shops, and warehouses with rundown homes behind them. One could purchase anything in this seedy area of town. The trick lies in getting your purchase home without becoming victim to a pickpocket or thief.
Razala adopted a permanent scowl on his face as he neared the waterfront, having learned that thieves typically went for the easiest prey. He stumbled into the first sailor’s tavern he came to and limped up to the bar.
“Harac?” he croaked.
The bartender looked at him briefly and shook his head. Razala scanned the room as he turned back towards the door and shuffled out into the street. The waterfront was just starting to come alive at this time of night as workers finished their tasks for the day and migrated down to waterfront to procure whatever pleased them. Razala entered the next tavern and scanned the room before approaching the bar.
“Harac?” he croaked again.
This bartender had been pouring ale and stopped, putting the mugs down, and approached Razala. “Ain’t seen him,” the barkeep slurred. “If you finds him, you tell him he still owes me and I’m getting impatient. Now get outa here.”
Razala scowled at the man and left. The next three taverns were no better and Razala was getting impatient himself. He entered another tavern and this time the barkeep nodded over his shoulder. Razala nodded and made his way along the bar to a doorway leading to a back room. A burly man blocked the doorway and Razala limped straight for him.
“Harac,” he stated simply as he approached the man.
The man nodded and stepped aside. Razala went through the doorway and down a short hall, turning into another room crowded with people. He could barely squeeze into the room and had to push his way, which earned him hard looks and a few shouted insults. In the center of the room two men sat at a table with their left hands palm down, while their right hands held sharp knives. Their right arms were intertwined with each other and they were trying to stab their opponent’s left hand.
It was an old sailor game that had resulted in many a lost finger or maimed hand. All around the table, other men were betting on the outcome of the match. Across the room in the crowd was a seedy looking man with week old stubble on his face and only three fingers on his left hand. Razala headed straight for him.
“Harac,” he said when he reached the man.
The short man looked up annoyed, but his eyes widened when he saw Razala. “Just a moment,” he said. “After this match. I got 5 coppers on this one.”
Razala took a gold piece out of his purse and placed it in Harac’s hand. Harac looked at it and his eyes opened wide. He grinned as he shoved the coin into his pocket and nodded.
“C’mon out back,” he said as he led the way through the crowd and out the back door into an alleyway. “‘Tis good to see you again Razala. You must want something big to be throwing gold around like this.”
“Something big,” Razala confirmed. “And I want it done right. It is going to take a lot of men. Can you handle that?”
“A lot of men is a lot of gold,” reasoned Harac. “What do you need done?”
“Are you familiar with the Campanil area?” Razala asked.
“Sure, I’ve been there before,” answered Harac. “Decent taverns and not much else.”
“It is the main producing area for watula,” explained Razala, “and it is almost harvest time.”
“Hey, you don’t mean to harvest watula, do ya?” asked Harac.
“No,” sneered Razala. “I want the entire crop destroyed. Burn it all down.”
“Are you crazy?” asked Harac. “Why do you want us to burn crops?”
“Do you care?” Razala queried as he placed a bag of gold in Harac’s hand.
Harac opened the bag and looked in. “I don’t care,” laughed Harac. “I will even burn the city down if you want.”
“There is more to it,” Razala stated as he handed another bag of gold to Harac. “I want it to look like it was done by Sakovans.”
Harac raised an eyebrow as he stuffed the two bags of gold in his pocket. “How do I do that?” he inquired. “I don’t know what Sakovans even look like.”
“Leave some bodies behind with some stars in their backs,” Razala suggested. “Maybe mutilate a few bodies. The important thing is that nobody knows it was not Sakovans. That means it all goes up at the same time. It will take a lot of men and a lot of closed mouths.” Razala handed him two more bags of gold.
Harac swiftly stuffed the gold away. “I can get the men,” he assured. “I won’t say anything to them about Sakovans, but I will tell them what to do. I think the easiest way to make it sound like Sakovans is to tell the Imperial Guard that we seen them do it after it happens.”
“Whatever,” Razala said. “As for your men talking about it afterwards, I will give you ten times the amount of gold when you return successfully. The fewer men who return with you, the more gold there is to share.”
“You mean burn my own men?” Harac grinned.
“You could be a very wealthy man if you do this properly,” smirked Razala, “or a dead one if you mess it up. Plan your attack well before you attempt it. If the destruction is not blamed on Sakovans, do not come back.”
Harac squinted at the old man. He made good money off this man in the past, but nothing on this scale. Ten times the four bags of gold would make him rich. He wouldn’t need his men for anything after this job anyway.
“How do I find you when I come back?” Harac asked.
“I will find you as I always do,” smiled Razala. “Do not worry about getting paid. Your work will make a small fortune for me and I do not mind sharing. In fact, you do this job successfully and I will have another for you.”
Harac nodded his head vigorously as the old cripple limped off into the darkness.