Aakuta: the Dark Mage (21 page)

“Nothing could destroy what he is doing more than branding him and his people as criminals,” explained Fisher. “He wants us to solve the mystery of who really is behind the assassination.”

“Well that’s easy,” StarWind quipped sarcastically.

Suddenly, a loud explosion rent the air. The whole palace shook, and dust filtered down from the ceilings.

Lord Marak watched Fisher leave the cell. As the door closed, he returned to his bunk and stretched out. He stared at the ceiling as he wondered if his people could find the real assassin in time to save him. His mother had never taught Lord Marak about religion, but he found his thoughts drifting to the god of the indigenous peoples. He wondered if the god Kaltara had really chosen him to be Torak, and if that meant that Kaltara would be looking out for his welfare. It was difficult for Lord Marak to believe in anything that he could not touch, but he found his nervousness strangely calmed as he thought about Kaltara. In fact, his spirits rose as he meditated.

Barely audible noises invaded his thoughts, and Lord Marak looked at the door to his cell. He heard distant shouting and then screaming. More shouts came from somewhere closer, probably right outside his door. He heard something slam against his door and then more screaming. Suddenly it was very silent.

Lord Marak remained frozen on his bunk when the small viewing slit in the cell door opened. Marak’s eyes rose to stare at the slot in the door. A dark visage filled the slot as a pair of eyes scanned the room. The slot slammed closed, and Lord Marak wondered what was going on outside the cell.

Without warning, the cell door exploded inward. It flew across the small room and impacted the rear wall of the cell. Lord Marak’s arms instinctively rose and covered his face as the whole building shook from the impact. The noise was deafening and Lord Marak shook his head as his ears rang loudly. In seconds it was all over. Lord Marak uncovered his head and looked about the tiny cell. Sunlight streamed through the rear wall of the cell where the cell door had torn through the stone wall. The sunlight highlighted the millions of dust particles that floated in the air.

Lord Marak rose off his bunk and gazed at the destruction. The cell door was gone, and he could see the remains on an Imperial guard in the corridor beyond. He ran to the door and gazed out. Another Imperial guard rested in an awkward position at the end of the corridor. His head was cocked at an impossible angle, and Lord Marak knew the man was dead.

Lord Marak strode to the hole in the rear of the palace and gazed out. He looked out into the garden behind the Imperial Palace and saw a few people pointing towards him. He also saw Latril standing by a bench. Although there was nobody near her, Latril’s mouth was moving rapidly. Marak realized that she was talking to Fardale. Swiftly, he wove an air tunnel of his own and directed it towards Latril.

“A male mage just destroyed my cell,” he said hurriedly. “Fisher is in the palace, probably in our quarters. Tell him that he must leave the palace immediately. The Imperial soldiers will not take this breach in security very well.”

Latril latched onto Lord Marak’s air tunnel and adjusted it to work in both directions.

“The Sakovans and Mistake are here, too,” she reported.

“Get them out of the palace,” ordered Lord Marak. “It is not safe for anyone who does not belong here.”

“Are you all right?” asked Latril. “You could just leave through that hole in the wall.”

“Physically I am fine,” replied Lord Marak. “I am not running from this battle. Hurry and get our friends out of here.”

Lord Marak did not wait for a response. He abandoned the air tunnel and walked to his bunk. He sat down and waited to be discovered. Amazingly, it took nearly five minutes for the first Imperial soldier to arrive. The soldier stared at the hole in the wall before even noticing Lord Marak sitting on his bunk. He shouted for reinforcements.

Several Imperial soldiers ran into the cell and drew their swords. They did not threaten Lord Marak, but their presence was meant to ensure that he did not escape. A few minutes later, Marshal Chack stormed into the room. He glared at Lord Marak and then the hole in the wall.

“Bind his hands behind his back,” ordered Marshal Chack. “And get some men in here to shore up this hole before the whole wall crumbles.”

Lord Marak rose and turned his back to the soldiers. He placed his hands behind his back and waited for them to be tied. Marshal Chack waited until Lord Marak was bound before he walked to the hole in the wall and gazed out. He shook his head in confusion.

“Why didn’t you run while you had the chance?” he asked Lord Marak.

“I will not flee from false charges,” Lord Marak answered. “I have faith that your investigation will clear me and find the true assassin.”

“You are a fool,” snapped Marshal Chack. “Do you really think the Emperor will show you any mercy after your people have killed Imperial soldiers and destroyed the Imperial Palace? You will hang before nightfall.”

“My people had nothing to do with this,” Lord Marak replied calmly. “Whoever framed me for the assassination wants me to escape. I will not oblige them.”

“Preposterous,” Marshal Chack responded as his face clouded over with doubt.

“What do we do with him now?” asked one of the soldiers. “Should we put him in another cell?”

Marshal Chack did not respond for several moments. Finally, he shook his head. “No,” the marshal said softly. “We will take him to see the Emperor. He is not leaving my side until he hangs. Bring him along.”

Two men stepped forward and grabbed Lord Marak by his arms. Marshal Chack strode out of the cell. The two soldiers guided Lord Marak as they followed. They climbed the staircase until they reached the top and proceeded to the Emperor’s office.

“Wait here,” Marshal Chack ordered the two soldiers as he opened the door to the office and walked in.

After a rather long wait, the marshal opened the door and ordered his men to bring Lord Marak into the room. He then asked the men to wait outside the door. Lord Marak noticed the Emperor staring at him. He met the Emperor’s gaze without emotion.

“There are very serious charges against you, Lord Marak,” stated the Emperor. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Only that I am innocent of the charges,” declared Lord Marak. “I have no wish to see you harmed, Emperor Bagora. I hope that your investigation will prove the truth of my words.”

“Investigation?” questioned the Emperor. “What need do we have for an investigation when you were caught at the scene of the attack?”

Lord Marak’s face frowned with worry. “You must investigate,” he demanded. “If you just assume that I am the assassin, your life will remain in danger. Even if you do not care what happens to me, you certainly must care for your own life.”

“So you think this mysterious assassin will try to strike me again?” the Emperor retorted with disbelief. “You told Marshal Chack that you thought someone was framing you for the assassination. If that is to be believed, then how can you justify your thoughts that I would be attacked again? There would be no need for another attack if you are already set to pay for the crime.”

“Unless my enemy is yours as well,” Lord Marak pointed out. “Can you dismiss the possibility that an enemy would like to see you dead and have me blamed for it?”

“I cannot,” conceded the Emperor, “but neither am I ready to accept it as fact. You were the only person present during the attack. You have already made it quite clear that you dislike the way Khadora is being run, and the weapon used to kill Lord Woton is undoubtedly yours. Why should I waste my time discussing your innocence?”

“The weapon was stolen from my quarters during the evening meal last night,” Lord Marak replied.

“And you failed to report it,” interrupted Marshal Chack. “That is hardly believable.”

Emperor Bagora turned and stared at the marshal. “How do you know he failed to report it?” he asked.

“Squad leader Botal gave me the same story when I gathered their weapons,” answered the marshal. “Supposedly they thought the loss was too insignificant to bother reporting it.”

“A star is hardly a valuable item,” interjected Lord Marak. “I bought my first one right here in the marketplace in Khadoratung when I was but a soldier under Lord Ridak.”

“Has Lord Marak had any visitors since he was captured?” asked the Emperor.

“Of course not,” Marshal Chack shook his head.

“Then I find it interesting that their stories regarding the theft agree,” stated the Emperor. “Continue, Lord Marak.”

“As for being at the scene of the assassination,” Lord Marak continued, “I was here because you sent for me.”

“I sent for you?” interrupted the Emperor. “That is a patent falsehood. I did not send for you.”

“But that is what I was told,” frowned Lord Marak.

“Who told you that the Emperor wished to see you?” asked Marshal Chack.

“An Imperial soldier,” answered the Torak lord. “I was in the garden with Latril. This was during the midday meal break from the assembly. We went out there to talk, and a soldier informed that the Emperor had asked to see me. He gave me directions and then asked if I required an escort. I declined the escort, but he still walked with as far as the staircase. I ascended the stairs and he went down. A moment later is when the assassination took place. I saw you and Lord Woton exit this room. I remember feeling disappointed that you were leaving when you had asked to speak to me. I heard the song of a star flying through the air and then looked up to see Lord Woton fall. A soldier pushed you into this office. I turned to search for the assassin and was then tackled and arrested.”

“What did this supposed Imperial soldier look like?” asked Marshal Chack.

“He was tall,” answered Lord Marak. “He had red hair and a rather square face. I do not remember anything else remarkable about him.”

Marshal Chack walked to the door and eased it open. He said words to the soldiers outside, but Lord Marak could not hear them. He closed the door and walked to the window and stared out. The Emperor nodded to himself as he observed the marshal’s actions.

“Your story will be checked,” declared the Emperor. “That still does not address your motive.”

“I have no motive to see you dead,” Lord Marak stated. “Yes, there are parts of Khadoran culture that I find distasteful and wasteful, but killing you would not alter those practices one bit. The government of Khadora has been nothing if not helpful to my rise to power. You allowed me to start the Torak clan, and you have not stopped me from running my estates as I see fit. What grudge could I possibly have against you?”

“We sanction slavery,” replied the Emperor. “Can you deny that you hate the practice? If you see me as standing as a symbol for the slavery that you hate, most lords would accept that as a motive to strike me down.”

“Hate is a very strong word, Emperor,” frowned Lord Marak, “but you are correct in describing my abhorrence of slavery. Still, that does not mean that I hate those who employ it. I see them as misguided, but my weapon against them is reason. You heard my words in the assembly this morning. I offer my estates as proof of the efficiencies of a slave-free Khadora. I have offered discounts for my goods to any clan that rids itself of slaves. Not once did you hear me threaten anyone because they owned slaves. I am a warrior, Emperor, and I know how to wage a battle, but I only fight when I am forced to. I prefer negotiations to battle.”

“Yet you did fight the Situ clan to free your mother from slavery,” posed the Emperor. “Is that not correct?”

“It is not correct,” declared Lord Marak. “I purchased my mother’s freedom. I battled the Situ clan because Lord Ridak refused to accept a ruling of the Lords’ Council. Instead he sent his armies to Fardale to crush me. He miscalculated.”

The Emperor looked to the marshal for verification and the marshal nodded. “I stand corrected, Lord Marak,“ conceded the Emperor. “Will you approach my desk and verify that the star upon it is yours?”

Lord Marak looked to the marshal for permission to move, but Chack stood far away at the window and did not bother to even turn around. Lord Marak walked towards the massive desk and gazed down at the star upon it.

“It certainly looks like mine,” agreed Lord Marak, “but it has been altered.”

The Emperor frowned and reached for the star.

“Don’t touch it,” warned Lord Marak causing the Emperor to hesitate and the marshal to turn and stare at Lord Marak. “The alterations that I speak of are the brown stains on each of the tips of the star. Unless I am mistaken, that star was dipped in poison. I assume that any wound caused by it would result in certain death.”

“How could it be thrown then?” questioned the marshal. “Surely you would chance a nick of your own skin just by gripping it?”

“Absolutely,” nodded Lord Marak. “If I were to use such a weapon, I would make sure that my hands were gloved.”

The Emperor drew his hand back and nodded as he swallowed hard. Lord Marak turned and walked back to where he had been positioned by Marshal Chack. A knock sounded on the door and the marshal hurried over to it. He opened it only slightly and spoke to someone on the other side. The Emperor waited patiently for the marshal to return.

“Latril validates your story about the garden,” Marshal Chack said as he closed the door and walked back to the window. “In fact, she noticed a slight detail that you did not. She described a slight scar on the back of the man’s neck.”

“Do you know this soldier?” the Emperor asked the marshal.

“I do,” Chack answered. “I sent men to find him and bring him here. We will get to the bottom of this foul mess.”

“Untie Lord Marak’s hands,” ordered the Emperor. “I think there is sufficient evidence to support his innocence.”

The marshal moved to obey, and Lord Marak gazed around the room as he waited. The office was extremely large and rather sparsely furnished. A massive desk sat near one end of the room with two chairs in front of it. At the far end of the room was a comfortable reading chair with a small table beside it. A bell hung on a rope next to the chair, presumably to be used to call a servant. The walls of the office were a busy mosaic of gaily-painted geometric figures of various sizes. It was too loud for Lord Marak’s tastes.