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  Star of Sakova

  ( Forgotten legacy - 2 )

  Richard S. Tuttle

  Richard S. Tuttle

  Star of Sakova

  Prologue

  Ages ago…

  Khador stood in the clearing of the mountain pass and watched the small army approach out of the west. He signaled to his own men to aid and direct the arriving bodyguards, although Omung’s followers did not appear to be weary or in need of assistance. The leader of the arriving army walked over to Khador and hugged him in a familiar embrace.

  “Greetings, brother!” exclaimed Omung. “I see you are the first to arrive. I trust Fakar will be along shortly.”

  “It is the appointed day,” stated Khador, breaking the embrace.

  “Where is father?” Omung queried. “I thought he was to be with your army.”

  “I had little need for him or his men,” grinned Khador. “The people in my sector were no match for my men. Father elected to aid Fakar. He should be here shortly. What of your efforts? Your men appear to free from battle weariness.”

  “Battle?” laughed Omung. “There was no battle, only slaughter. The peasants have neither weapons nor any desire to fight. My armies control the entire coastline. They start the sweep towards the center now. The hard part is chasing them through the mountains to make sure we get them all.”

  “But get them all we must,” frowned Khador. “I too am having troubles tracking down the savages in my area. My armies also control both coasts of my sector and push towards the center. We cannot let a single soul escape.”

  “Yet you fought with father over his plan to kill everyone,” Omung pointed out.

  “True enough,” nodded Khador. “I do not relish senseless slaughter, but father is right. What chased us from our homeland, may we never say it’s name, must never be allowed here. If we must kill all to keep it from these shores, then so be it. That does not mean I must enjoy the task.”

  The makeshift camp erupted in murmurs and the two brothers turned towards the commotions. A dozen armed but ragged men were making their way into the pass from the east. Khador peered into the new arrivals and barked harsh orders to his men.

  “I see Fakar, but not father,” Khador hissed.

  Omung merely nodded as the third brother trod over to join his siblings.

  Khador received the traditional embrace of Fakar and felt the weakness in his brother’s body. He returned the hug firmly and released Fakar.

  “Where is father?” Khador asked.

  “Dead,” Fakar replied, his eyes cast down upon the dirt at their feet. “We followed the plan as instructed. We burned our ships and began the attack. It appeared easy at first as the savages were not used to warfare, but as we entered the hills, things went poorly.”

  “Poorly?” inquired Omung. “Our scouts reported no armies of any kind. What trouble beset you?”

  “Not armies,” Fakar reported as he slumped down with his back to the cliff wall. “Their horses are much faster than ours. The savages would gather in packs and poke our flanks and then outrun us as we tried to catch them. Our formations broke and were scattered. They lured our army into the jungle and that is where it happened.”

  “Where what happened?” demanded Khador. “What happened to father?”

  “The jungle was full of giant spiders,” twitched Fakar. “Spiders much larger than horses. The spiders were intelligent and attacked us from all sides. Father tried to rally the men out of the jungle. He died killing one of the huge beasts, but by doing so he allowed us to escape.”

  “Escape!,” howled Omung. “Your men fled the battlefield?”

  “Where is your army now?” questioned Khador.

  Fakar clenched his teeth and nodded towards the small knot of weary men that had accompanied him. “That is what I could find of my army and father’s army,” he spat.

  “Out of tens of thousands, you bring back twelve?” gasped Omung.

  “The rest are probably scattered all over my sector,” sighed Fakar. “I will gather them when I return there. I dared not miss this meeting. Your help may be required in conquering the east.”

  Khador paced away from the meeting as Omung continued howling at the youngest brother. The loss of the two huge armies was serious, but not terminal. Still, the savages in all three sectors had to be exterminated, lest the evil follow them to these shores. Khador nodded to himself and strode determinedly back to his brothers.

  “The three of us are the only ones left who have yet to receive the magic of forgetfulness,” Khador stated. “We shall receive those rites tonight. Tomorrow we gather all of our armies and march on the eastern sector. I want that land destroyed completely. Salt the fields and kill every living thing we find. Let our mages ensure that it becomes a wasteland forever more.”

  “What of the savages we both still chase?” asked Omung. “We cannot afford to have any survivors to stain the bloodline. One intermarriage and we have failed. You know what the mages have stated. One stray thought could bring the horror to our doorstep and nothing will save us then. Nothing!”

  “The savages in our two sectors are nothing compared to what father has faced,” declared Khador. “We will return to hunt our savages after we are done in Fakar’s sector.”

  “Will breeding really cause the memories to resurface?” puzzled Fakar.

  “I do not know,” conceded Khador, “but I will not chance it. We cannot face the likes of what we fled in our ships. We are fortunate to be alive today to talk of it and after the rites tonight, none will ever talk of it again. Even a mention of its name is enough to draw it here.”

  “We cannot survive another encounter with it,” agreed Omung. “We shall destroy the land of Fakar and return to our own battles after.”

  Chapter 1

  Academy of Magic

  Excitement rippled through Lyra’s body as she leaned out of the castle window and spied on the two figures below. She felt the morning breeze blow through her short blond hair as she watched them sally back and forth with jabs, thrusts, and deadly swings. Quickly, she pulled away from the window and scurried under her bed. Stretching against the cold stone floor, she reached into the dark corner and seized the hilt of her forbidden sword. Rising with a swagger, she smoothly slid the sword under the belt of her plain, gray tunic with a practiced flourish. Quietly, she crept to the door of her room and eased it open slightly. Her blue eyes scanned the corridor for any signs of life as she slipped her young, lithe body through the doorway. Tiptoeing down the corridor, she peered ahead for any open doorways that might spell disaster for her plan.

  Lyra stiffened as she reached the stone stairway and the dull sounds of voices drifted up to her. Bracing her back against the cold stone, Lyra edged her head around the corner and glanced down at the next landing. It was empty and Lyra swiftly raced down the steps, her bare feet gripping the rough stone steps where they met the wall. The center of the stairway was smooth, eroded by centuries of traffic, but it was also in the center of the steps where dirt gathered and Lyra could not afford to slip on any loose material, which might be present.

  Lyra halted just short of the landing and peeked around the corner. The aroma of acids and herbs permeated the air on this floor where Master Malafar taught most of his classes. All of the classroom doors were open, but only one student stood in the corridor in a position capable of seeing her. Lyra recognized him. Walak was the son of a rich Lord and a pompous brat. He had no real comprehension of magic and Lyra was sure that his father had sent him to the Academy just for the prestige associated with having a family member attend classes under the Great Master. Lyra couldn’t imagine what Walak was doing out in the corridor while classes were going on, but she could not afford to be seen
by him.

  Walak appeared to be pacing aimlessly as if waiting for someone. Lyra couldn’t afford to waste much time waiting for Walak to do whatever he was going to do. She waited until Walak was pacing away from her and quickly darted across the landing and began a swift descent down the old stairway. The next landing was empty, as was the adjoining corridor and Lyra continued down to the main floor. Her heart beating rapidly, Lyra gazed into the grand entry foyer and saw people moving around at the far end. All of the people were older and she surmised that they were probably parents of prospective students who had come to inspect the Academy.

  Standing upright, Lyra smoothly stepped off the stairs and turned down a corridor leading to a rear exit from the castle. Once she was far enough down the corridor to be safely out of sight, she broke into a run, her bare feet pounding lightly on the smooth floor. Lyra reached the door and swung it open swiftly as she stepped out into the bright glare of the morning sun. She closed the door with an authoritative slam and turned to face the two boys.

  “So,” she called, “you two are practicing without supervision again. Perhaps Master Caulder would be interested in your behavior.”

  “Oh, no,” groaned Syman, the taller of the two boys. “Lyra, shouldn’t you be learning magic with your father?”

  “Yeah,” echoed Antello, “you shouldn’t be here, either.”

  “Okay,” chirped Lyra, “I won’t tell if you two don’t. I’ve been waiting for the chance for a rematch with you two.”

  “I swear you should be taking lessons from Master Caulder instead of your father,” smiled Syman. “Come on, we don’t want to get caught out here. I’m ready for you this time. Master Caulder has taught us some new swings.”

  “You are going to need them,” chuckled Lyra as she drew her wooden practice sword from her belt and leaped off the steps to land in the dew covered grass. “Let’s see what Master Caulder can teach you to protect against this . . . ”

  Lyra swung her foot and knocked Antello’s feet out from under him. Turning quickly, she thrust a rising slash of her wooden sword towards Syman and the dark-haired boy had to leap out of the way.

  “You are a wicked girl,” laughed Syman as he raised his wooden sword and moved into a defensive stance.

  “And a cheater,” laughed Antello as he jumped to his feet and charged Lyra.

  “There is no such thing as cheating when you are fighting for your life,” instructed Lyra as she ducked Antello’s thrust and tumbled to the ground to avoid the expected swing from Syman. “Master Caulder may be a Master Swordsman, but fighting for your life is not a tournament. Every action to defeat your foe is legal in order to avoid being killed.”

  “She’s right,” agreed Syman as he ran to cross swords with Lyra, who had just regained a standing position. “Master Caulder should broaden our lessons to include situations we may face in real life.”

  Antello smiled as he circled Lyra to trap her between Syman and himself. “I guess he figures we will learn those lessons soon enough,” he stated. “What he has taught us already makes us among the best swordsmen in Omunga.”

  “Not by a long shot,” scowled Syman as he and Lyra continued to exchange blows. “He is an excellent teacher, but we have a lot to learn before we go fighting bandits or enter the Imperial Service. If we went off right now, we would be dead before nightfall.”

  “Not a chance,” laughed Antello as he tried to trip Lyra in repayment for her opening gambit. “It would be our opponents on the ground, not us.”

  “None of us are ready for bandits,” huffed Lyra as she jumped to avoid Antello’s swinging leg. “Still, I wish father would let me study with you instead of taking magic lessons. That stuff is so dry and boring.”

  “Dry and boring, is it?” shouted Rhodella from the steps. “I thought you weren’t feeling well this morning, Lyra. Your father is going to be mighty displeased.”

  Syman’s sword struck Lyra in the ribs when her mother shouted and Lyra stumbled to the ground. The wet dew felt cool against her cheek as she sat up and stared at the imposing figure of her mother with hands on her hips.

  “I couldn’t resist, Mother,” pleaded Lyra. “You know how I enjoy practicing with the boys. Why won’t Father let me study under Master Caulder?”

  “Your father is the finest mage in Omunga,” scolded Rhodella as she strode over to the errant trio. “People from all over the country send their children to his Academy to learn magic and you are one of the most gifted of all. How can you even think of wasting your efforts with this foolish nonsense? What do you think it does to his reputation to have his own daughter frolicking in the grass with two young boys who shouldn’t even be here? You waste your talents frivolously and you will end up getting hurt with this . . . this disgusting show of brute force.”

  “Mother,” appealed Lyra, “Father refuses to teach any interesting magic. I have learned what he is willing to teach, but he refuses to go any further. It is not exciting anymore.”

  “You mean he won’t teach you to use magic as a weapon,” scolded Rhodella. “You know your father’s feelings about that, Lyra. We do not need to air this problem in public. Get yourself cleaned up and report to him directly. I am sure that he will have a few choice words for you. And you two . . . Master Caulder is going to hear of this nonsense, I assure you.”

  “Mother,” pleaded Lyra, “do not involve Syman and Antello in this. I will take Father’s punishment, whatever it is, but they have no part in it.”

  “No part?” questioned Rhodella. “Master Caulder has strict rules about practice without supervision. There are reasons for this, Lyra. We cannot allow students to hurt themselves while here at the Academy. If just one student gets killed at the Omunga Academy of Magic, we will hear no end to it. There are other schools that would gleefully spread the news about our careless methods. All three of you will have your punishment.”

  Rhodella turned and stormed into the castle. Lyra rose and smoothed her tunic, trying to rid the rough fabric of dirt before she had to meet her father. “I’m sorry,” she lamented. “I guess I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. I think Walak might have seen me leave. Now I’ve gotten the two of you in trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” smiled Antello. “We can handle Master Caulder alright.”

  “Right,” snipped Syman. “We’ll just let him beat us silly and then we’ll plead for a swift death. It should all be over quickly.”

  “I’ll . . . “ started Lyra before the sounds of screaming reached her.

  All three turned towards the castle as the sounds of mayhem increased. The pounding of running horses drifted on the wind and Lyra saw dark clouds of dust from the road leading to the Academy. The road to the Academy was quite long and Lyra realized that a large group of warriors must be attacking the castle. Why anyone would attack the Academy was a mystery though. Looking at her wooden practice sword with disgust, Lyra grabbed Antello as he tried to move towards the rear door of the castle.

  “Without weapons,” she whispered, “we will just be giving them three more victims.”

  “You don’t think they will stop the killing inside do you?” quipped Syman. “In moments they will be out here to get us, too.”

  “You are right!” exclaimed Lyra looking around frantically. “Quickly, get into the moat. Maybe we can circle around to the front and find some weapons.”

  “We'd better find some,” declared Antello. “I plan on taking a few of the raiders down if I have to do it with my bare hands.”

  “Your hands are not what I would call potent weapons,” quipped Syman as he joined the other two in a mad dash to the dry moat surrounding the castle.

  Lyra looked up from the dry moat and saw the windows to the top floors. “This is not good enough,” she declared. “Whoever they are, they will still be able to see us.”

  “Can’t you use some magic to help?” inquired Antello. “They must teach you something useful in there.”

  “I wish they did,�
� frowned Lyra. “The fact is, my father doesn’t believe in using magic as a weapon. My Uncle Temiker and my Father had a falling out over this very subject and they have not talked since. They were very close when I was younger and now they won’t even talk to each other. We should move around to the front. We can hide under the old drawbridge.”

  The boys nodded as Lyra started crawling along the dirty moat. Although the moat was no longer filled with water, the ground toward the center of the moat was wet from the spring rains and Lyra tried to keep to the side where it was somewhat dryer. Still, her hands and knees were soon covered with the slimy mud. The sounds of screaming and battle floated on the air and Lyra wanted to yell and charge into the castle to battle with the attackers. She gritted her teeth in frustration as she continued crawling through the filthy moat. The sun beating down on her back made it feel as if she was being baked in a mud pit and she shivered with relief when the shadow of the castle fell over the moat as they reached the front of the academy. Looking up, she could see that riders were still coming in from the road and she scurried to the safety of the drawbridge.

  They huddled under the drawbridge in darkness as riders continued to pour into the Academy. Dust and dirt rained down on the three youngsters as they hid and covered their ears to ease the sound of the hoofs pounding on the wooden planks overhead. The thundering seemed to echo endlessly through Lyra’s mind and she pressed her forehead into the moist dirt before her. The last of the riders crossed and Lyra lifted her head and shook it. The screams of death and dying pierced her ears and she almost wished for the horses to come back.

  Syman and Antello fidgeted constantly as if they were about to leap out of the moat and join the battle barehanded. Lyra looked from one to the other and saw the same tenseness that was usually present in one preparing to spring into battle. Quickly, she guided her thoughts through the images of scrolls and books that her father used to teach magic. She sorted through her lessons to find some type of magic that could stop her two friends from running towards their deaths. She knew that the number of raiders was too great for them to make a difference to anyone inside.