Netura's eyes scanned the sides of the road in a continuous motion. He was aware of the Three Sisters Mountains rising sharply off to the right, but he did not allow the scenery to distract him from his duty, even though he had never been this far north before. The young Torak soldier was excited to have been chosen to guard the caravan on its way to Chantise, as he had never been to a large city before, but he also realized that the previous two caravans had failed to show up in Khadora’s second largest city. He vowed to guard the valuable shipment and enjoy the scenery on the trip back home.

Netura saw the squad leader signal for him to come forward. He passed three wagons loaded with golden ripe watula and a squad of black-clad soldiers escorting them until he was riding alongside Hira. The two soldiers rode in silence for several long minutes before the squad leader spoke.

“Netura,” Hira said, “it is getting late in the day. I want you to ride ahead and find a suitable spot to make camp for the night. Remember what I taught you. Choose a location that is easily defendable and where our sentries can be concealed. Also choose a location where wires can be strung during the night to alert us to any intruders.”

“Are you expecting trouble during the night?” asked Netura.

“I always expect trouble,” sighed Hira. “You must learn to do the same. All day I have had a nagging feeling that today is the day we will be attacked. I cannot logically explain the feeling, but it is making me nervous.”

Netura’s eyebrow rose as he gazed at the squad leader. Hira was known by everyone to be confident even under the greatest stress, so his admission unnerved Netura.

“I have detected nothing so far,” Netura offered sheepishly.

“I have not detected anything either,” admitted Hira. “Still, the other two squads had far more experience escorting caravans than we do, and they have not been heard from. I will rest easier when we arrive at Chantise.”

Netura nodded and started moving ahead of the caravan, his eyes constantly shifting from side to side. He heard a slight whistle and turned to see Hira motioning him back to the caravan. He immediately obeyed.

“Was I making too much noise?” Netura asked nervously when he was once again riding alongside the squad leader.

“No,” Hira smiled weakly. “You were doing fine. You have learned your lessons well, Netura.”

“Then why did you recall me?” questioned Netura.

“The feeling,” the squad leader stated flatly. “Look, Netura, if we are attacked, I want you to avoid the battle.”

“Avoid the battle?” scowled Netura. “I could not walk away while my fellow soldiers are fighting. How can you ask this of me? It would be a violation of my Vows of Service.”

“It would not be a violation,” assured the squad leader. “You are under my command, and you shall do as I order. Caravans do not just disappear, Netura. The real danger in this mission is that we do not know what to expect. Part of me wants the attack to happen so that we can get word back to the estate about who our enemy is. I want you to be that messenger.”

“I am an able fighter,” protested Netura. “I am sure that we can repel any attackers.”

“We will do our best to defeat our enemies,” nodded Hira, “but I still want you to get word back to Lord Marak if anything goes wrong. It is important. Vow that you will carry that word if we are attacked.”

Netura rode silently for several minutes before finally nodding. “I vow to carry word of any attack to Lord Marak’s ears,” declared Netura.

“You’re a good lad, Netura,” smiled Hira. “Go and find us that secure location to camp for the night. Daylight is fast escaping us.”

Hira frowned as he watched Netura ride off. He knew that his orders had been like a slap across Netura’s face. No Torak soldier willingly walked away from a fight while his friends were in danger, but Hira knew that Netura had the best chance of evading an enemy if the need arose. The lad had a natural stealth to his movements, and the squad leader had promised the Lord Marshal that this caravan would not disappear without a clue as to why.

Squad Leader Hira pushed the thoughts from his mind as he watched Netura disappear around a bend in the road. He turned and let his eyes roam over the small caravan and the escorting soldiers. He smiled inwardly as he made eye contact with each member of his squad. They were all good lads, he thought to himself as he turned his attention to the road ahead. He tried to smile as he scanned the road ahead, but the feeling of doom clung to him, as it never had before.

Twenty minutes later, Hira knew that the feeling was genuine. The caravan had just rounded a bend in the road when he detected movement off to one side. The squad leader’s fingers instantly moved in what appeared to be a random fashion. The entire squad of Torak soldier became instantly alert as the squad members recognized their leader’s signal. Hands went automatically to hilts, and the soldiers nonchalantly maneuvered their horses alongside the wagons on the opposite side of the disturbance.

Suddenly, flaming arrows soared towards the caravan from both sides of the road. The Torak soldiers dismounted and drew their swords as the wagon drivers whipped the horses to speed them away from the attack. It was a move designed to take the prize away from the bandits while allowing the soldiers to counterattack. In normal circumstances, it would have worked well, but Hira instantly understood that he had been defeated. He jumped out of the way of the speeding wagons as they tried to escape.

“Take cover,” Hira shouted. “They do not want the cargo. They want to destroy it.”

Hira dove into a small gully that ran alongside the road. Some of the other squad members also dove for the gully, but most had already committed themselves to the fight by charging into the forest.

“Bows and throwing knives,” shouted Hira. “They have no intention of coming to us. They plan to finish us off from the safety of the trees.”

Hira turned and saw the three wagons of ripe grain engulfed in flames. The drivers’ bodies littered the road. The horses ran frantically to escape the fires that were steadily devouring the wagons behind them. He turned his attention to the far side of the road where several of his squad had disappeared. He nocked an arrow to his bow and sought a target.

“I can’t see a thing,” snarled one of the Torak soldiers in the gully. “They are just gray shapes moving from tree to tree. No clan colors that I can see.”

“Must be gray bandits,” called another Torak warrior just before an arrow pierced his neck.

“These are not gray bandits,” snarled Hira. “Bandits want to be paid for their work. They don’t intentionally destroy a caravan. Besides, these men have worked together for a long time. You can tell by the lack of orders for the attack. Not a word has been heard since before the attack started. No, lads, we are facing a clan that doesn’t want to show its colors.”

“There will be no surrendering then,” spat one of the Torak soldiers. “The cowards will want to kill us all.”

“Certainly not,” Hira agreed as he slid behind a large rock in the gully. “Their task is to destroy any trace of us before some traveler stumbles upon this fight. We only need to hold out for a while men. Keep them nervous with your arrows.”

Even as Hira spoke, he heard the screams of his dying men. The attackers tried lobbing arrows high into the air to pierce the men in the gully without risking their own lives.

“These bandits are cowards,” shouted a Torak soldier. Why don’t they come out of the woods and finish us?”

The soldier’s words died in a gurgle as an arrow pierced his head. An eerie silence fell over the battlefield, and Hira realized that he was the only Torak soldier left alive. That was when he heard the first words spoken by the attackers.

“Is that it then?” one of the bandits asked.

“Shut up,” growled another voice.

Hira’s mind whirled around the question of why the bandits were acting so cowardly. They were good archers; the results of the ambush had proved that. Judging from the number of arrows that flew in the initial volley, Hira knew that there were at least two squads involved in the attack. Probably more. So why weren’t they coming out of the forest to kill the survivors? If they wanted the caravan to disappear, they would need to clean up the attack site before someone stumbled across it. That should require a certain amount of haste on the part of the bandits, yet they remained hidden in the forest. Hira nocked another arrow to his bow and peered across the road for a target.

“They cannot afford to have one of their own slain,” Hira mumbled under his breath. “They would have a hard time explaining the death to others on the estate they are from. That means that their task is hidden from even their own families.”

Nodding to himself, Hira let his arrow fly into the forest even though he had no target to aim at.

“I must keep them engaged until a friendly squad of soldiers happens down this road,” Hira said to himself.

Several arrows flew from the forest in answer to his, and Hira sheltered his head behind the large rock. At least two of the arrows hit the rock protecting him, verifying his evaluation of the skill of the bandit archers. The squad leader’s eyes rose to watch the darkening of the sky as he wondered what the odds were of an army coming along the road. The road to Chantise was a fairly busy road, but Khadorans did not care much for night travel. Most trips were planned to end before sunset.

Hira thought about his own plans to stop for the night, and he frowned when he remembered Netura. The Torak soldier would be returning at any moment, the squad leader realized. Suddenly, he knew why the bandits were waiting patiently. They must have seen Netura ride on ahead, and they wanted him eliminated. Hira’s head swiveled to look down the road. His eyes scanned the dimness of dusk as he searched for any sign of Netura. A lump formed in his throat when he saw Netura crawling slowly along the gully towards him.

Hira frowned and waved his arms towards Netura. He signaled the Torak soldier with his fingers and ordered him to retreat. Netura signaled back that he would circle around behind the bandits and distract them so that Hira could escape. Hira shook his head vigorously and repeated his order to retreat, but he knew that Netura would ignore his commands. Hira frantically sought a solution that would carry the word back to Lord Marak.

“Who are you?” Hira shouted to the bandits. “What do you want?”

Silence was the only answer that Hira received. He had not expected an answer, but he needed to draw attention away from Netura.

“I am the only one left,” shouted Hira. “Will you accept my surrender?”

Hira already knew the answer to that question, but he wanted Netura to understand it as well. Silence hung in the air. Hira shot a glance towards Netura and saw the lad still approaching. Netura was still far enough away to escape if only he would. Once again Hira used his fingers to demand that Netura retreat. The Torak soldier ignored him.

“Ignore my order will you, lad?” Hira whispered to himself. “Well, you will not die today to save someone who is already dead. May the gods travel with you, my friend.”

Hira nocked another arrow to his bow and stood up. He marched onto the road and stood defiantly for several seconds until the arrows soared out of the forest. Hira aimed at the source of the arrows and released the bowstring. His arrow was released just as he felt the first bite of metal piercing his chest. As his body fell to the road, Hira turned and gazed towards the distant Netura. He smiled inwardly as he saw the lad turn and scramble away.

* * *

The wind swept across the arid desolate plain, sending plumes of sand and dirt spiraling into the sky. It tore at the clothing of the lone rider leading the driverless caravan of six wagons, but it did not appear to bother the tall lanky man. His eyes did not deviate from his destination, as it grew larger on the horizon.

Karnic’s face was calm and dispassionate, hiding the rage he felt inside. When the wind tore the hood from his head, exposing his short white hair and neatly groomed beard, Karnic casually waved his hand in the air before him. The windstorm suddenly parted, leaving the caravan to proceed through a corridor of still air. Karnic turned and looked at the six driverless wagons. The horses continued to plod along behind him as if ropes attached them to his horse. He nodded satisfactorily as he returned his attention to the pyramid before him, as it grew steadily larger.

As Karnic approached the Vandegar Temple, his eyes surveyed the surrounding area. The place was devoid of the massive armies that were supposed to attack Khadora. His rage intensified as he viewed the remnants of what used to be a large army encampment. Cooking circles dotted the landscape. Makeshift corrals held no horses, and the forges sat cold and unused. Scraps of old cloth flew through the air, and weapon racks were empty and abandoned. Karnic’s mouth opened slightly in a rare display of emotion as he bared his gritted teeth.

Karnic halted the caravan in front of the Vandegar Temple. He dismounted and waved his hand over the dozen horses pulling the wagons. With a final look at the desolate encampment, Karnic turned and strode up the steps of the temple, his long white robe swaying with his movement. He paused at the top of the steps and pulled his hood over his head and then stepped through the large entry doors.

He stopped inside the great doors to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior of the temple. His eyes narrowed as he viewed the debris scattered about the floor of the entrance hall. Walking silently, Karnic moved through the hall into the center room of the pyramid. The center of the pyramid was open to the apex and his eyes were automatically drawn upward to view the magnificence of the monument to Vand. He stood there for a long time, his eyes viewing the balconies of each level as he sought for any signs of life.

Karnic did not see anything but the leavings of the massive army that used to be housed there, but his ears did detect the sound of distant voices. Karnic scowled as the rage inside him grew to a fury. He headed to one of the stairways and started climbing upward. He walked quietly and let his ears guide him towards the voices. When he had climbed seven levels, Karnic turned along a corridor, the voices becoming decipherable. He listened to the conversation of the two men as he silently moved towards the speakers.

“I should kill you now,” shouted Zygor. “Your actions have brought failure to our endeavors.”

“My actions?” retorted Brakas. “You are the one who brought that cargo of poisoned fruit for Grulak to eat.”

“I had not way of knowing what effects the fruit would have,” snapped Zygor. “Remember that it was you who brought the fruit to me in the first place.”

“Like yourself,” countered Brakas, “I had no way of knowing its effects either. At least I tried to redeem myself by scattering the horses of that traitor General Winus. You merely hid here in the temple to see who would win.”

Karnic paused outside the room as he heard a sword being pulled from its sheath.

“You think that sword will save you from my powers?” cackled Zygor. “You are a foolish man, Brakas.”

“Look, Zygor,” Brakas pleaded, holding his sword up for defense as he backed away from the magician, “There is no reason for us to quarrel. We are both committed to the same goal. If we work together, perhaps we can salvage this mission yet.”

“Salvage it?” screamed Zygor. “Our army is scattered all over Fakara. Worse, they have lost the leadership needed to make them into a viable fighting force. We will both be dead when Vand sends someone to find out what went wrong.”

Karnic chose that moment to clear his throat and step into the room. “Your display of emotion is unbecoming, Zygor,” Karnic declared as the two men in the room turned towards the new arrival.

“Karnic?” Zygor said hesitantly. “How long have you been listening?”

Brakas frowned as he gazed at Karnic. He still held his sword defensively in front of him and continued to edge further backwards.

“Put the sword away, Brakas,” Karnic commanded in a voice that left little doubt as to his feeling of superiority. He turned to Zygor and said, “I have heard enough to determine that our operation in Fakara has failed. Vand will not be pleased.”

Zygor opened his mouth to explain, but Karnic held up his hand to stifle the excuses. “I will hear no more bickering and excuses,” he stated sternly. “What I will hear is the state of our army here in Fakara.”

Karnic turned to glare at Brakas, and the Fakaran hesitated slightly before returning his sword to its sheath.

“We have no army,” Brakas stated nervously. “The free tribes have scattered them across the breadth of Fakara.”

“He speaks the truth,” admitted Zygor. “The free tribes have aligned with the Astor. Grulak and Veltar are both dead.”

“Grulak is of no consequence,” replied Karnic, “and Veltar has been rewarded for his failure.”

“Of no consequence?” frowned Brakas. “He was the leader that a hundred thousand followed. Nobody can replace him. The army is gone.”

“Never tell me what cannot be done,” Karnic spat as he fixed his gaze on Brakas. “Grulak was a fool, but a useful one. His life brought us the Time of Calling. His death cost us nothing. We do not need a hundred thousand men to bring chaos to Khadora. The task can be accomplished with much less.”

“You plan to continue the attack on Khadora?” questioned Zygor.

“No,” smiled Karnic, “I have plans for you to conquer Khadora. My services are needed in Omunga.”

“It is not possible,” interjected Brakas. “We could never get a quarter of the men that Grulak had amassed.”

“You need even less than that,” declared Karnic. “We have three clan lords in Khadora that have agreed to work with us. Do you know of them, Zygor?”

“I do,” Zygor nodded. “They agreed for their own selfish reasons, though. I believe they planned to use Grulak as a distraction to gain more power for themselves. I warned him about that.”

“We do not care about their reasons for cooperating,” Karnic said. “We are changing the agreements made with them, and the terms are not negotiable.”

“What do you wish for me to do?” asked Zygor, feeling relieved that he was not going to be executed for his failures.

“I have brought a caravan of food with me from Khadora,” explained Karnic. “Brakas will gather the former Jiadin warriors. The food will lure them in. You, Zygor, will visit these three lords in Khadora. You will change our agreements with them. Each of their estates will host five thousand Jiadin warriors. The Jiadin will wear the uniforms of the host clans.”

“So no one will know that the three groups are aligned,” Zygor nodded appreciatively.

“Precisely,” continued Karnic. “You will assume the leadership of a fourth clan. That estate will also host five thousand warriors under your direct command.”

“Assume?” frowned Zygor. “The clan lords of Khadora are very old men. Surely you know what you are asking of me?”

“No more than I am asking of myself,” nodded Karnic. “I will also assume a leader in Omunga to prepare for the Time of Cleansing.”

“But you are already old,” protested Zygor. “I have many years ahead of me yet.”

“You have given away your youth by your failure here in Fakara,” Karnic replied sternly. “Do you wish to refuse this order from Vand?”

Sweat broke out upon Zygor’s brow. He bit gently on his lip before bowing low before Karnic.

“I am most grateful for this opportunity to serve our master,” recited Zygor.

Brakas looked puzzlingly at the two magicians. He did not understand what horrors were alluded to by assuming a clan lord, but he knew that Zygor was fearful. He could smell the fear emanating from the young magician.

“How will we get these clan lords to accept five thousand Jiadin?” Brakas asked.

“Zygor will tell them to expect some new warriors to bolster their ranks prior to their expansion,” explained Karnic. “By the time they realize the magnitude of the number of new warriors, it will be too late for them to do anything about it. The clan lords will be told to follow the instructions of the lord that Zygor chooses to assume.”

“Still,” Zygor interjected as he regained his composure, “twenty thousand men is not enough to conquer Khadora.”

“You do not need to conquer the whole country,” replied Karnic. “I have spent much time in Khadora since the Time of Calling began. We will use their own culture to defeat them, one small step at a time. Your four clans will slowly, but steadily, encroach upon your neighbors. When you devour an estate, annihilate the family of the clan lord and dissolve the clan. There will be no survivors to appeal to the Lords’ Council. You will gobble up half the country before anyone thinks to object, and by that time it will be too late for them to object.”

“You mean to grow the army by assimilating other clans?” nodded Brakas. “That is brilliant.”

“It is perfection,” nodded Karnic. “Brakas you will gather up the Jiadin that are required for this plan. Offer them whatever you wish. There will be gold aplenty when we descend on Khadoratung. In the meantime, there is food outside that you can use to gather the starving men.”

“If the free tribes get wind of this,” frowned Brakas, “they will come here and destroy our new armies.”

“Then make sure that word does not pass to them,” shrugged Karnic. “Move the men out as soon as they reach five thousand in number. Then start with the next recruitment group. Even if the free tribes find out, we will have only five thousand men at risk at any time. Also, order the first group of men to clean up this area. Vandegar Temple is a holy shrine. I will not see it desecrated with filth and garbage.”

“It shall be as you command,” declared Zygor. “How will I report our successes to you?”

“There will be no need to report to me,” answered Karnic. “If you are successful, the world will know. And if you fail, you will not be alive to report. You will not find me in any event. I will be bringing chaos and mayhem to Omunga.”

Zygor opened his mouth to offer some vague praise to Karnic, but the elder magician was no longer in the room. Zygor blinked and gazed about the room, but Karnic was gone.

“Did you see him leave?” Zygor whispered to Brakas.

“No,” Brakas replied unsteadily. “What is this assuming that he talks about?”

“I have been ordered to take another’s body,” frowned Zygor. “It is irreversible. It is how Vand has managed to live for thousands of years. When he ages, he assumes a fresh young body.”

“And you can do that?” Brakas gasped. “Why then do you fear doing it when it means that you can live forever?”

“We can only do it once,” replied Zygor. “Only Vand can do it multiple times. By assuming the body of an old man, I am shortening my lifespan. It is my punishment for failure here in Fakara.”

“I think I would prefer dying,” mused Brakas as he thought about being an old frail man.

“That is the only choice available to you,” spat Zygor. “I am paying for my part in the failure here. You are not. Fail me again and you will surely beg for death, but that death will linger for an excruciatingly long time. Do not fail me again, Brakas.”