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  “Tonight we will go whoring and drinking,” replied Habor

  “Tonight?” Zenak asked as he shot his broadsword through a warrior’s body. “The battle goes well—it will be this afternoon.” Habor guffawed and swung his broadsword into the knees of one of the unmounted mercenaries, slicing the lower legs off.

  In no time Zenak and Habor had sent the eight marks­men to their Destiny and for the moment did not fight. Zenak studied the battle. Every man was in a pitched contest for his very life. All the warriors, on both sides, were complete­ly at home. They were living their life the way they wanted it even though the dread specter of death hung over them. Prob­ably if the shadow of life was not there, none of them would have savored the lust they had for battle. They were warriors and they loved their work.

  “We’re winning,” Zenak said.

  “I know, and we have Soci to thank for that,” Habor re­plied.

  Zenak looked quietly at Habor and then looked back at the battle. “Our right lines are loosening a little. Get over there and order the captains to close their lines. I don’t want a mercenary left alive,” Zenak ordered Habor.

  “It is done,” Habor said and rode toward the right lines.

  Zenak stayed where he was and fell deep into thought. What was this task that he was to do? Also, who hired this army, and did whoever it was have anything to do with his predestined task? He was at a loss and resolved that as far as his task was concerned, he wouldn’t worry about it. There was nothing he could do anyway, unless the Fates fell asleep. He then turned his attention to Habor as the powerful man rode to relay his king’s orders and Zenak said to himself, “A good man.”

  Zenak’s reverie did not last long on the battlefield and his thinking was disturbed by a deep grating voice behind him. Zenak turned around quickly with his sword poised to kill. He then saw his adversary was Tabilo himself.

  “So we meet again,” Tabilo said with a sneer. A great scar ran across his pockmarked face going through an empty eye socket. It maimed his face grotesquely.

  “Tabilo, it appears Habor’s sword was not powerful enough for you,” Zenak said

  Tabilo’s dense-muscled body jumped with laughter and his one good eye stared coldly at Zenak while the black socket stared like death. “It will take more than one sword wound to take Tabilo down,” said the mercenary as he raised his sword. “Now King Zenak—King, that name does not fit a pirate such as yourself—prepare to fight hard for your life. But be even more prepared to die.”

  Tabilo rushed Zenak. Zenak, however, was able to duck the swinging scimitar Tabilo wielded. Then Gam moved back and gave Zenak time to put his broadsword into play, and swiftly did it come into play. When the two great fighters clashed together, it was as equal a match as anyone could find. Zenak’s speed was somewhat hindered by his broadsword, but the lighter scimitar of the slower Tabilo could not take the crushing blows of a broadsword well. The marks were battling also. Each of them had the other by the neck and blood from both marks made the ground beneath them slippery. Zenak kept battering his broadsword at Tabilo. And all Tabilo could do was keep up his defense. Then Tabilo’s mark got the better of Gam and forced Gam to his fore knees. This put Tabilo and his mark above Zenak and Gam. Then a rain of blows from Tabilo began crashing upon Zenak, and coupled with the advantage the enemy mark had on Gam, it was not long before Zenak was thrown from Gam as Gam crashed onto a pile of dead soldiers. Tabilo’s mark bent toward Gam in order to sever Gam’s jugular vein, but Tabilo ordered his mark to rise before Gam could be killed. The mark followed his command quickly and Tabilo bore down on Zenak with his scimitar swinging. Tabilo’s ugly face was full of evil laughter as he saw Zenak’s end. But Zenak was too swift for Tabilo and he jumped away from Tabilo’s death stroke as he rode by. Tabilo quickly turned his mark around and rushed Zenak again. His scimitar was spinning over his head faster than a windmill on a windy day. This time, however, Zenak was fully prepared for the charge and stood re­solutely awaiting his enemy. Tabilo steered his mark right at Zenak to keep Zenak guessing on which side Tabilo’s mark would pass. Zenak was not fooled, however, and when Tabilo turned his mark to Zenak’s right side, Zenak was prepared and parried Tabilo’s scimitar with such force that Tabilo was thrown off his war mark. Tabilo, though, was quicker than usual and sprang to his feet. His well-trained mark returned to his side almost as quickly as Tabilo had jumped to his feet. Tabilo jumped back onto his mark and prepared to charge Zenak again when like a flash of lightning Gam struck Tabilo’s war mark. Tabilo was once again thrown from his mark as it fell from a ripped jugular vein. Tabilo stared at his dead mark with a look of surprise, and then he looked with hatred at Gam hovering in victory above the dead mark. Zenak smiled and with his broad­sword waving rushed Tabilo. Tabilo shook his head to clear it, looked at Zenak, flexed his mighty muscles, laughed, and came at Zenak full speed. In an instant they both struck at each other with a resounding clanging of steel that could be heard for karns. At first the two warriors fought a hard fight and neither one could find an opening in the other’s defense. Sometimes Zenak would have the advantage raining strike after strike at Tabilo. But then at other times Tabilo would get the better of Zenak and keep Zenak in a defensive position while he whirled his blade all around Zenak. The heavy broadsword, as the fight progressed, proved too much for the lighter scimitar that was being wielded by a tiring Tabilo, and Tabilo was forced to take a final, defensive stance and wait for a chance to get a way or find a hole in Zenak’s offensive. He could not find that hole, though, for the strikes from Zenak’s broadsword were quick, explosive, and precise. Normally when a warrior fights with a broadsword, he fights with slow, well-aimed blows, usually because the broadsword is so heavy that it cannot be of much use in higher aims at the enemy’s body. But Zenak was not an average warrior and he fought with his broadsword as if it were as light as the foils that the Samuns use. [The foil is used only in Samu because its people are the only ones who have perfected a strong enough metal for the thin light sword.]

  Tabilo had stopped laughing and fear now characterized his face as the lightning blows from Zenak fell upon him like showers of metal. Tabilo was a well-trained fighter and could parry Zenak’s thrusts, but his position was only de­fensive—he knew that he was only delaying the inevitable.

  Zenak, however, was laughing and cursing as his broad­sword kept Tabilo jumping with swift strokes. “Who hired you?” Zenak roared above the clanging metal.

  “I cannot tell you the name of my employer,” Tabilo answered as he jumped over a dead warrior.

  “Since when is a mercenary loyal to his employer? You forget, Tabilo, I too was a mercenary. Now tell me. You’re doomed anyway,” Zenak said.

  “Why not,” Tabilo answered as he jumped into a different position causing Zenak to knick him in the shoulder. “A priest.”

  “What’s his name?” Zenak asked.

  “Vokar,” Tabilo replied. Even in his fear Tabilo smiled a little at Zenak’s obvious discomfort.

  At this reply Zenak hesitated for only a slight moment, but Tabilo, mature in battle like Zenak, took full advantage of the long-awaited hesitation and turned and ran for the nearest mark a half karn away. Zenak did not chase him but dropped the point of his sword to the ground and watched his adversary run.

  “Shall I ride him down?” Habor asked.

  Zenak looked up at Habor somewhat dazedly and looked around him. He had become so engrossed in his duel against Tabilo that he had not realized that the battle was over, the mercenaries soundly defeated. He was also confused and saddened at Tabilo’s reply even though he was not surprised. Despite his sadness and anger, he could not help but smile at Tabilo, who in his haste, tripped over bodies trying to get to the lone mark.

  “No,” Zenak replied to Habor. “Gam, come here.” The war mark quickly trotted to Zenak’s side and nuzzled his nose in Zenak’s face. Zenak patted Gam, pulled out his longbow, and took an arrow out of the quiver. He casually put his longbow into firing p
osition and aimed it at Tabilo. By this time Tabilo had reached the mark but was having trouble mounting. The mark kept moving away and biting Tabilo. The poor animal only wanted its master, not Tabilo. Finally, after some heavy beating from Tabilo, the mark allowed him to mount him. All this time Zenak carefully took aim. Once Tabilo had successfully mounted the mark, Zenak let his feathered death arrow fly. Tabilo never realized what hit him as the arrow passed through his throat. He wheeled a bit on the mark but somehow stayed on. Then the mark trotted quickly in Zenak’s direction, not because of any action by Tabilo, but because it was easier to go that way for there were less hindering bodies of warriors. The mark bearing Tabilo trotted right up to Zenak’s side. Zenak looked at the mark and eyed Tabilo. Then Zenak mounted Gam. Tabilo could now see Zenak, and he tried to talk but the only sound he could make was a soft gurgling noise as he slowly drowned in his blood.

  “No suffering for a warrior,” Zenak said as he sliced Tabilo’s head off.

  Zenak turned away from the convulsing headless body of his long-time enemy and early friend and studied the situation. From what he could discern at least half of his marksmen had met their end on the bloody battlefield that day. Zenak shook his head. Even to a man who lives by the sword, the stench of death is a sad, worrisome smell. This man, this warrior, always has the feeling that death should be conquered. Maybe that’s why a warrior loves to fight: if he lives to fight another day, he has conquered death. He has proven that life is the stronger side of this two-headed coin—Life and Death.

  Habor came up to Zenak and reported, “Two thousand mer­cenaries are left. I know that you ordered all of them to be killed, but they threw down their weapons and raised their hands. I couldn’t order unarmed men killed.”

  Zenak stared quietly at the large, littered battlefield. He turned and looked at Tabilo’s gruesome head and said, “Good. There has been too much death today. Brand the mercenaries’ right cheeks with a Z so they will always remember their most useless battle and let them go. Do not let them go, however, without this warning: tell them if they are ever caught in Deparne again, they will be disemboweled on the spot.”

  Habor smiled broadly and rode off to relay the orders.

  The sun was bloody red as it tottered above the horizon revealing the living men surrounded by the bodies of well over 100,000 men and almost as many dead war marks. The heat from the sun was gone and the cold, damp, night air was descending upon the scene. Zenak shivered a bit and then called as many captains left alive that he could find.

  “The town of Gaston lies some forty karns off the road from Balbania and next to the River Volski. Am I right?” Zenak asked

  “Forty-three karns,” corrected a young captain.

  “Good. Get our comrades buried and leave our enemies for the animals and the bugs. When we are finished we’ll go to Gaston and take a well-needed day of play and rest,” Zenak said. “After that we will ride back to Balbania. Habor, send a rider back toward Balbania and tell the generals we have won without them. Tell them to disperse their men back to their homes,” Zenak continued.

  The job of burying 20,000 men was not as ponderous as it seemed for there were approximately 25,000 men left alive. Each man, including Zenak, carried a shovel on his saddle. So with 25,000 shovels digging and with the prospect of rich ale and loose women filling their minds, the marksmen had their comrades buried in time to arrive in Gaston before midnight for the great­est debauchery the town ever experienced.

  Chapter 7

  For many years Vokar had worked on his magic, but only in the few days that Zenak had been at the Volski battlefield had Vokar discovered his full potential. He realized, to his evil joy, that with just a few more weeks’ work he could control entire towns and probably entire nations. He felt he had more power than all of Soci herself. Because of this great confidence, Vokar prepared to take over Deparne, for he was certain that the mercenaries he had hired had overcome Zenak. Vokar, for a time, could have been described as a happy man. His step was a little brisker. His eyes were a little warmer and the night before the battle he surprised his priests by joining them at dinner, something he never did. At the dinner, again to their surprise, he told some hilarious stories of his early priesthood days, and he laughed louder than the rest of his followers. But that happiness was not to last long, for when he went to sleep on the night after the great battle at the Volski, he discovered the truth of his plot.

  He had not been asleep for very long when a vision came to him. It was Tabilo riding on a war mark and laughing in the loud and spirited way he had. The more he laughed, however, the smaller he shrank until he had reduced himself into a small droplet of blood. Rising swiftly out of the blood came Zenak holding Tabilo’s sullen head by his hair. Zenak’s eyes were fierce and enraged and he kept repeating, “Vokar, your head shall be mine when I return.” Vokar awoke with a start. Cold sweat broke out all over his body and his hands trembled as he fumbled to get out of his bed. For a moment he stood quietly shaking, trying to compose himself. Once he had calmed down somewhat, he rushed to Mara’s room, which was on the other side of the large palace. His nerves were on end when he broke into Mara’s room without his usual courtesy of knocking first.

  “Who goes there?” Mara demanded as she kicked a screaming lady-in-waiting out of her bed and tried to cover her pulsating body with one of her sheets.

  “Vokar,” replied the priest nervously. “Light a candle. I can’t see a thing.”

  Mara lit the candle next to her bed and stared at Vokar intently. She was angry, for the young lady-in-waiting had not finished her nightly chores on the queen.

  “Zenak has won and marches back with revenge in his heart. Get that wench out of here.” Mara motioned the lady-in-waiting out of the room. The young girl left through a private door in the queen’s chamber.

  “How do you know this?” Mara asked Vokar.

  “I saw it in a dream,” Vokar replied

  “In a dream? How do you know your dreams are true?” Mara asked sarcastically.

  “My dreams never lie,” Vokar said so coldly that Mara wished she had not asked.

  “Yes, yes, it’s true your dreams never lie,” Mara said. She didn’t know why she even questioned it. “So, do the same to him as you did to Tenen,” Mara said half impatiently and half-afraid.

  “I cannot. He is the only man in the world who can fight my demands,” Vokar answered frantically. He paced the room as a tiger paces in his cage.

  Mara now realized the importance of the situation and asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “Run, run until my powers can overcome him so I’ll be able to crush the life out of him with my eyes,” Vokar answered viciously.

  “Then I shall run with you, for I will not be able to see his face again until it is severed from his body,” Mara said in a tense voice.

  Vokar stopped pacing and looked at her. Mara’s flowing black hair was draped over her bare shoulders and her blue eyes looked as innocent as a baby mark’s. Vokar’s heart softened a little as he looked at her innocent face and her young lithe body. He thought to himself how she was the first and only woman that he had ever wanted for his own. Was it because she was beautiful? Or was it because she shared in his ambition? Even the most ambitious man needs to share that ambition with someone for it to be worth anything. Whatever it was he was happy she suggested that she go along. It showed that her feelings, no matter how perverted, were for him.

  “Pack your things, for we shall flee tonight,” Vokar ordered Mara.

  “Yes, and give me time to get the child ready for the trip,” Mara said as she jumped out of bed.

  “Leave him,” Vokar commanded.

  “No, I cannot,” Mara said with the determination of a she-wolf guarding her cub. How strong the mother’s instinct is! It even shone through the evil that had engulfed Mara.

  “All right take him then, but remember, if he slows us down the slightest, I will strike him dead,” Vokar said.

  “He
will not slow us,” Mara said. She began packing a small pack for she knew the escape was going to be on markback. There was no other way to escape Zenak.

  “I will meet you here in your room in fifteen minutes,” Vokar said, for he had to pack up himself. Vokar rushed back to his room avoiding any eyes that might see him.

  Back in his room Vokar was putting together all his scrolls of sorcery and legends when a vision once again appeared to him. The vision had Zenak chained to a cross with the prince’s heartless body at the king’s feet. Vokar smiled at this vision for now he felt that this flight was only a temporary sidetrack that Destiny herself had decided upon. Then he finished his packing and loaded his scrolls into a leather pack. Before leaving he stopped to look at his room. He had been raised here and this room had been his for the entire forty-eight years of his life. Even Vokar looked with a little bit of nostalgia at the scribbling on the wall next to the door that he had done when he was a child. It said: If only I knew where I was from and from whose womb I had been taken before I was sent here.

  Vokar had been born on a certain day under a certain star at a certain time. The priests had waited for a child to be born on that day and that time for many years. And when Vokar was born the priests declared a holi­day and proclaimed that the greatest of all priests had been born. So Vokar was taken from his family, farmers living on the outskirts of town, and raised by the priests. His family was murdered two days after he had been taken away. Nobody ever knew why, but there was some speculation that the priesthood did it so the family could never reveal themselves to Vokar. Vokar knew that he would never see this room or the palace again. He was certain that the world would be his, but he had an equal certainty that this room and this palace were soon to be for­ever out of his life. He turned his back quickly and rushed out of the door not even taking the time to shut it.