Richard Tuttle - Island of Darkness

“No,” Lyra responded. “Larst helped me get my people out of Okata when the last Katana died. He was a man who was truly dedicated to peace.”

“Was?” questioned the general. “What do you mean was? The Katana is still alive.”

“Indeed the Katana is,” declared Lyra, “but that man is not Larst.”

“Preposterous,” bellowed the general. “What do you mean he is not Larst?”

“I mean some magician has stolen his body,” replied Lyra. “It had to have happened the day I last saw him. Once the Katana’s shield are in place, no mage could get near enough to him to assume his identity.”

“That does sound absurd,” interjected Mayor Reaker. “Such a thing is not possible.”

“That is what I thought at first,” Lyra said. “I wondered how I could have so poorly misjudged a man. That was before I learned that such a thing just happened recently in Khadora. A magician took over a lord’s body and brought Jiadin warriors into Khadora from Fakara. As with the Katana, the man looked the same, but his actions were the opposite of what people expected him to do.”

“That is probably just a tale,” Mayor Reaker shook his head.

“No,” declared General Manitow. “I heard reports about the Jiadin in Khadora. They were indeed invited into Khadora by rogue lords. General Valdey mentioned something about it being a wise time to invade Khadora while they were preoccupied elsewhere.”

“Why didn’t we attack?” asked the mayor.

“The Katana’s Council forbade any such talk,” replied the general. “They said that we were a nation at peace and that we were going to stay that way.”

“And who was leading the Katana’s Council that spoke so elegantly for peace?” questioned Lyra with a victorious smile.

“First Minister Larst,” conceded the general. “Look, I will agree that attacking the Sakova makes absolutely no sense to me. And that is coming from a military man, but I am not the one making the decisions.”

“But you are the decision maker for a thousand men,” countered Lyra. “A thousand men and many thousands of Omungan citizens.”

“I only lead them,” sighed the general. “What is it that you expect me to do? Sacrifice my men to General Romero’s army?”

“Never,” Lyra shook her head vigorously, “but there are other ways.”

“What other ways?” asked Mayor Reaker.

“Stall and delay,” answered Lyra. “I will keep this city flush with food for your men and your citizens. General Romero’s troops will have none. How is he going to feed his ten thousand men if you refuse to let him enter the city without proof that his orders come directly from the Katana?”

“That is treason,” balked the general. “I might as well hang myself.”

“How is that treason?” retorted Lyra. “You just said yourself that the orders make absolutely no sense from a military standpoint. Would you not be remiss in not demanding verification of such ridiculous orders?”

“You are good,” grinned the mayor as he looked at the Star. “We could not possibly let ten thousand men into a starving city. They would eat all the food meant for the citizens. Everything would be gone in a day.”

“But General Romero will demand entrance to the city,” the general shook his head. “He will see the abundant stores of food.”

“Only if he gets this far,” argued the mayor. “This is something that we can do, General.”

“How?” asked General Manitow.

“The mage Temiker has a plan for revitalizing our farms,” explained the mayor. “The plan requires the burning of diseased fields, which means all of them. We also have to build large fences to halt the spread of the disease to the new fields. He has asked for the help of the citizens. I have agreed.”

“I don’t see how this helps with General Romero,” frowned the general. “It may help in the long term with our food supply, but there is no long term if his army arrives here.”

“Think in terms of strategic deceit, General,” grinned the mayor. “General Romero is going to see league upon league of burnt fields as he approaches the city. His army will have absolutely nothing to eat. Not even diseased grain.”

“That is not deceit,” Lyra pointed out.

“No,” agreed the mayor, “but the mounds and mounds of freshly turned dirt will deceive him. What he will see as he travels towards us is burning fields followed by burnt fields with what appears to be massive graves.”

“Disease of the people?” gasped the general as he began to see the picture that the mayor was painting. “He will think our own region is diseased and dying. Only a fool would continue marching his army into such an area.”

“Regardless of his orders,” the mayor nodded enthusiastically. “He may be willing to sacrifice some men by sending them to see what is up ahead, but he will not bring his army to Alamar.”

“We can either turn his scouts back, or hold them for questioning,” nodded the general. “This can work, and we will not have to speak a single untruth. We can let General Romero evaluate what he sees for himself.”

“The Sakovans can help persuade him to reverse directions,” offered Lyra. “If the armies coming into the Sakova from the west run into problems, the Katana will need reinforcements. General Romero’s army will be idle.”

“He will be recalled,” nodded the general. “How does that help your people? You will still end up with the same number of troops invading the Sakova.”

“One problem at a time,” answered Lyra. “Perhaps if I can keep the Omungan armies moving around the country long enough, someone in Okata will find out that the Katana is not really Larst. There is little hope for peace until that happens.”

“I hope you can find a way to expose him,” sympathized the mayor. “I am beginning to appreciate our Sakovan neighbors. I would not want to see you wiped out.”

“Oh, we will not be wiped out,” promised Lyra. “If it comes to war, our armies will prevail. I am trying to promote peace because it is in everyone’s best interests.”

“Prevail?” echoed the general. “Surely, you are joking?”

“Not in the least,” replied Lyra. “Every Sakovan learns to fight at a young age. Every man, woman, and child will fight for their lives. They will never surrender. The Sakovan people have trained for this day for a thousand years, General. We have fervently tried to avoid it, but we are more than capable of defending our homeland. Thousands upon thousands of young Omungan soldiers will die needlessly. Work with me to avoid such a catastrophe for your people.”

“I know of one thousand who will not be invading the Sakova,” declared the general. “Do not ask me to go further than that.”

“All I can ask of any leader is to think about what is best for the people in his care,” Lyra replied.

The large chamber was silent as were the tunnels that ran out of it. The large wheel had remained motionless for hours, and the rope holding the buckets was unmoving. Twenty paces above the floor of the chamber, Mistake’s eyes were closed as she rested her head on her arms. MistyTrail grew impatient waiting for the elf to return. Her mind wandered aimlessly. She thought about the sinking of the boat, and the strange guardhouse on the beach, but mostly she thought about her friends still in the Sakova. She missed them and wondered why she was where she was.

A soft and distant padding dragged MistyTrail away from her thoughts. She peered into the large chamber and tried to determine where the sound was coming from. The sound echoed lightly off the rock walls, masking the true directions, but MistyTrail knew they were coming closer. She gently touched Mistake to wake her up. Mistake’s eyes popped open, and she raised her head. She heard the soft sounds immediately. Her eyes focused on the tunnel that Eltor had disappeared into hours ago. She watched as Eltor came into view.