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  Island of Darkness

  ( Forgotten legacy - 5 )

  Richard S. Tuttle

  Richard S. Tuttle

  Island of Darkness

  Prologue

  Omung stood by the mouth of the great river. He watched with pride as his great armies converged at the southwest terminus of the continent and began setting up camps. His most favored general approached and bowed low to the conqueror.

  “All of your armies should be here before the week’s end,” declared the general. “Why have you called them all together before we have finished the task of annihilating the Sakovans?”

  “The Sakovans are no threat,” replied Omung. “They do not even fight our troops. They run and hide. There will be time to deal with them later. Now is the time to start our new country. Our armies have been on the march for far too long. We shall rest here and build the first of our great cities. When we are comfortable, then we will finish off the Sakovans. Do you fear they will attack us here, General?”

  “Of course not,” the general replied with confidence. “Killing Sakovans is akin to slaughtering clova. It is only a matter of rounding them up.”

  “That is how I see it,” Omung nodded in satisfaction. “At the mouth of this great river we shall build our capital. I have decided to call it Okata after my mother.”

  “Why here?” questioned the general. “By agreement with Khador, you own all of the land up to the Kalatung Mountains far to the north. This is at the southernmost tip of the land.”

  “That is precisely why the city will be located here,” replied Omung. “We must avoid contact with Khador’s people.”

  “You fear your brother?” questioned the general. “Do you think he will attack us?”

  “Not Khador,” Omung shook his head. “He would never do such a thing, but he yields too much power to others. His country will be set up with the clans intact. Some of those clans will border our country. They will be the least loyal of his people. It would not surprise me if in future generations, some of those clansmen will set their eyes on the fertile valleys south of the Kalatung Mountains. I plan for Omunga to be ready for them when it happens.”

  “So you plan to disperse our clans?” frowned the general. “There have been rumors to the effect.”

  “There will be no clans in Omung,” confirmed Omung. “We will build a city right here for now, but that is only the start. When Okata is complete, we will build the next city further north. We will continue to build great cities along the entire coast of Omung. People will move from city to city without regard for clans. There will be no squabbling among my people. I will be the emperor and sole ruler of the country. My word will be law, and that is how future emperors will rule.”

  “Many will fight this,” warned the general. “The clans have been a part of our history since the beginning. Many feel that their clans have been blessed by the gods.”

  Omung frowned and his eyes moved distractedly over the gathering armies. He was silent for a long time before he spoke.

  “I will determine who the gods bless,” Omung finally declared. “I shall not be known as the emperor, but rather as Katana, a holy ruler. Let it be known that the gods have spoken to me today. Our country is to be ruled by a Katana chosen by the gods.”

  “That will quell most of the dissent,” frowned the general. “Some will still question you.”

  “Then they will die,” shrugged Omung. “I will not tolerate any dissension. If they must have some feelings of control over their own lives, I will set up a council to advise the Katana. That will make them feel important enough to squash objections. If it is not, I will depend on your troops to enforce my laws.”

  “You know that I will remain loyal to you no matter what happens,” pledged the general.

  “I know,” smiled the Katana. “When our cities encircle the wilderness in the center of our country, then we will pursue the extinction of the Sakovans. They will not be going anywhere between now and then.”

  Chapter 1

  First Minister of Omunga

  Aakuta swept into the Vandegar Temple Through the unnatural windstorm that blew great columns of sand across the face of the building. Thousands of Jiadin warriors dressed in various Khadoran uniforms were converging on the ancient temple. The dark mage knew that the Jiadin had nowhere else to go. Both the free tribes of Fakara and the clans of Khadora now hunted them. Vandegar Temple was the only place that many of them could think of to return to. That is exactly why Aakuta had chosen to visit the ancient temple himself.

  As Aakuta stepped through the door of the temple, he released the magical dust storm and cast a spell causing the interior of the building to be filled with an unnatural fog. Jiadin warriors shouted with alarm as the dense fog spread through the building. Aakuta ignored their shouts and headed for the stairs. With the aid of another magical spell, the dark mage swept the temple for the sound of a familiar voice. He smiled darkly as he detected the voice that he was looking for. Using the spell as a guide, Aakuta worked his way through the fog towards the voice.

  The mage moved cautiously as he avoided the Jiadin warriors that were trying to navigate through the thick fog. Eventually, he found the room that he was looking for. He slipped through the doorway and moved silently to one of the corners of the room. He listened carefully as he allowed the fog to dissipate from everywhere except his corner of the room.

  “This place gives me an ill feeling,” commented a Jiadin warrior. “No fog should come out of nowhere like that one did. I think the spirit of Grulak has poisoned this place.”

  “Stop with the nonsense,” chided Brakas. “Grulak knew no magic, and if he had a spirit it would be killing people not filling the temple with fog. I think you are just trying to avoid the conversation.”

  “What is there to avoid?” snapped the warrior. “Whatever scheme you have hatched since our defeat in Khadora is nothing more than a wish. Twice we have been misled into battle by the likes of you. There is not a man left alive who will ever follow you again.”

  “It is not me that you have to follow,” retorted Brakas. “With Zygor dead, Vand will send another mage to lead you. You just have to gather the men and wait for him to arrive.”

  “Why should we wait?” countered the warrior. “Veltar led thousands to their death. Zygor did as well, and what do we have to show for it? While we starve to death, the free tribes are filling their bellies. You are wasting our time, Brakas.”

  “I am just asking you to wait around for a few days,” pleaded Brakas. “I know Vand will send a replacement promptly. He seems to have some way of knowing when one is needed.”

  “You are not listening, Brakas,” snapped the Jiadin warrior. “It is not the amount of time that we have to wait that matters here. The men are not going to fight for some wizard again. We were not only attacked by Khadorans this last time. We were also attacked by our Jiadin brothers.”

  “I know,” frowned Brakas. “I was there, too, you know. I do not understand where they came from. And just who was that other mage? I have never seen him before.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that this Vand just might have opposition where he comes from?” questioned the warrior. “I am not comfortable around mages any more. I just don’t trust them.”

  “Well I am not a mage,” assured Brakas.

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” spat the warrior. “I don’t trust you any more either. You have been nothing but trouble since you joined the Jiadin. We were strong enough to conquer all of Khadora before you and the mages showed up. Look at the Jiadin now. We are nothing but starving beggars. You wait for your mage, Brakas. Me and the men will be long gone from here.”

  “And where will you go?” inquir
ed Brakas. “There is no place for you to go now. You are all hunted men. The Khadorans will kill you on sight. The free tribes will do worse. Worst of all, the new mage will be looking for you when he arrives. You might as well make yourselves comfortable and wait for him to arrive.”

  “Not in this lifetime,” snarled the Jiadin warrior as he turned and stormed towards the door. “In fact, I may just come back up here with a few dozen men to teach you a lesson about toying with the Jiadin.”

  The warrior stormed out of the room, and Brakas kicked a chair across the floor. Aakuta could almost feel the fury and frustration in Brakas from his place of concealment. When he was sure that the warrior was long gone, Aakuta flicked his wrist at the door. It slammed shut. Brakas turned abruptly and stared at the door. Aakuta chose that moment to walk out of the small pocket of fog in the corner.

  “You?” exclaimed Brakas. “You are the one who killed Zygor and led the Jiadin against us in Khadora. What are you doing here?”

  “Aren’t you afraid that the warriors will come back up here and tear you to shreds?” asked Aakuta.

  “No,” scowled Brakas. “They talk tough, but they don’t want to mess with me. They know that Vand’s mages favor and protect me. Who are you?”

  “You may call me Aakuta,” the dark mage smiled under his hood as he approached Brakas. “I heard you mention that Vand was sending a replacement. Where and when will he arrive?”

  “I don’t give that information out to anyone,” Brakas replied adamantly. “Who paid you to attack us in Khadora? I can pay you more to work on our side.”

  “That is very generous of you,” Aakuta said charmingly. “When and where will this magician arrive?”

  “I don’t sell out my friends,” insisted Brakas. “I will tell you nothing.”

  Aakuta’s hand shot out and grabbed Brakas by the throat. The Fakaran’s eyes bulged as the mage tightened his grip, cutting off the air to the Jiadin’s lungs.

  “You don’t have any friends,” scowled Aakuta, “and if you did, you would sell them for a copper, just like you did to the Zaldoni. And as for Vand’s people protecting you from me, you just need to dwell on what happened to Zygor. I will ask you one more time. Where and when? Answer or die.”

  Terror covered the face of Brakas as the Jiadin tried to indicate that he would tell the mage what he wanted to know. His lungs burned, and his eyes felt like they would pop out of their sockets. Suddenly, Aakuta released Brakas. The Jiadin dropped to his knees and gasped for breath.

  “Speak,” commanded the dark mage.

  “Down near the mouth of the Meliban River,” gasped Brakas. “He will arrive by boat. I don’t know exactly when, but I think it will be soon. Vand has spies all over the place. He seems to know everything that goes on here.”

  “Will it be one man alone?” asked Aakuta. “Or will others drop him off?”

  “He will arrive in a small boat,” answered Brakas. “He will destroy the boat. Zygor said they never come more than one at a time. That is all that I know.”

  “Then you have outlived your usefulness,” Aakuta declared as he grabbed Brakas by the throat again.

  Brakas tried to scream for help, but the mage’s grip was already too tight. Aakuta tightened his grip and lifted the Jiadin off the floor. He held Brakas aloft as the man struggled for breath. Eventually, Brakas stopped struggling. Aakuta tossed the body to the floor and strode for the door, a new dense fog already forming before him.

  * * *

  The morning sky was gray, and a light drizzle dampened the air as Larst, First Minister of Omunga, rode towards the small farmhouse on the outskirts of Okata. The squad of Imperial Guards, which was escorting the highest-ranking official of the country, looked around warily. The mood was always tense when the First Minister met secretly with the Star of the Sakova, as the two nations had been bitter enemies for centuries. The squad leader’s eyes scanned the dim landscape looking for any sign of Sakovan warriors. He saw nothing that posed a threat to the dignitary, yet he remained tense and ready to spring into action.

  Larst’s mind was preoccupied with the upcoming meeting with Lyra, the young woman who led the Sakovan nation. He paid little attention to where he was going. He left such trivial details to the Imperial Guards, so it was slightly startling to him when the squad leader called a halt and issued orders for his men to disperse and secure the area.

  “We are here already?” Larst asked distractedly.

  “We are,” replied the squad leader. “Please wait until my men have secured the area and searched the building.”

  “That is hardly necessary,” shrugged the First Minister as he dismounted. “The Sakovans have shown that they harbor no ill will towards us. This is not my first meeting with Lyra, and it will not be my last. Have your men wait outside.”

  Larst strode to the door of the small farmhouse and knocked loudly. The door opened immediately, and Lyra smiled at the Omungan.

  “You are early,” greeted the Star of Sakova. “Please come in.”

  “You are a ray of sunshine in this dreary day,” smiled Larst as he entered the farmhouse. “Did you travel here alone?”

  “I am never permitted to travel alone,” replied Lyra as she led the First Minister into a small sitting room, “but we are alone in this house. We can speak honestly about the situation regarding our two nations.”

  “That is refreshing,” Larst said as he sat down next to Lyra. “The Imperial Guards wanted to search the house before allowing me to enter. I suppose it will take a long time before our peoples can trust one another.”

  “The history of our struggle is not so easily washed away,” agreed the Star of Sakova. “These meetings are historic. They mark the first generation to actually sit down and discuss our differences. It is exciting.”

  “That is it,” nodded Larst as he gazed at the notes he had prepared for the meeting. “We have covered much in the last few meetings. I believe we left off in the last session while discussing a road through the Sakova. It would aid travel for Omungans seeking to reach the opposite coast. Have you thought about it?”

  “I have,” nodded Lyra. “I think several roads will be permissible. A road from Gatong to Zaramilden would be fairly short and connect the two cities that are currently the farthest apart by existing roads. Another road from Campanil to Tanzaba, and one from Tanzaba to Breele, would make travel much easier for all Omungans.”

  “That is much more than I had hoped for,” smiled the First Minister. “Zaramilden has long been cut off from the rest of Omunga by the Wall of Mermidion, and the other two roads would speed commerce greatly. Your offer will bring cheers from my people. No one will doubt the sincerity of the Sakovan desire for peace.”

  “We are sincere about peace,” smiled Lyra. “Sakovans and Omungans will work side-by-side to build these roads. By the time they are completed, our peoples will have learned to trust one another.”

  “Excellent,” beamed the First Minister. “What can we do in return for your offer?”

  “We do not seek anything in return,” answered Lyra, “but I still have concerns about the Omungan army. I heard that General Didyk has recently journeyed to Khadora. The general has never embraced peace with Sakova. Do you know why he was in Khadora?”

  “Didyk in Khadora?” frowned Larst. “This is the first that I have heard of it. I agree with your apprehensions. There is no valid reason for such a trip as far as I know. Are you sure about this?”

  “I am positive,” nodded Lyra. “As you are aware, not too long ago some Omungans used the pretense of war with Khadora as an excuse to attack Sakovans. I do not wish to see that happen again.”

  “Nor I,” Larst said adamantly. “I will look into this trip when I return to Okata. I will not allow our generals to foment trouble between our peoples. We have enough problems with this strange disease affecting our crops and animals. We do not need to add war to the mix.”

  “Is the disease still spreading?” Lyra asked with concern.
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  “Rapidly,” nodded the First Minister. “It is unlike anything we have ever encountered. It not only infects our crops, but now our animals are dying. It has spread around the country like a flash fire. There is no part of Omunga that does not suffer from it now. I think the first priority of the new Katana will be to address the starvation of the people.”

  “Has a new Katana been chosen yet?” questioned Lyra.

  “Not yet,” Larst shook his head, “but I expect it to be addressed at tomorrow’s meeting of the Katana’s Council. The council’s search has been exhaustive this time. Every town and city has been questioned for nominees. The next Katana will truly represent the people of Omunga.”

  “Excellent,” smiled Lyra. “There is little chance of someone like Alazar gaining control of Omunga then. He was a disaster for all of us. I would not be surprised to see your name at the top of that list, First Minister.”

  “That has been mentioned,” blushed Larst. “I am humbled by such praise from my countrymen, but I will assume nothing until the council votes. Whoever is chosen, I will back him completely.”

  “I am sure that you will,” nodded Lyra. “I would like a full report on this disease issue, if you can arrange that. Sakovan crops have not been stricken. Perhaps we can make food shipments to those areas that suffer the worst.”

  “That would earn the Sakovans great praise from my people,” beamed the First Minister. “Still, I feel like our agreements are all one-sided. The Sakovans are always the givers, and the Omungans the receivers. This hardly seems fair.”

  “Peace means more to the Sakovans than anything else you could offer,” smiled Lyra. “We are happy to help our peaceful neighbors in any way that we can. Do not feel as if these agreements are one-sided. We are very happy with what you are offering.”

  Larst stood and bowed slightly to the Star of Sakova. “You are a wise leader, Lyra,” he said. “You have given me much to bring to the Katana’s Council tomorrow. We will see peace between our two countries. There is no other possibility when we can sit and work out agreements such as these. Have a safe trip back to your homeland.”