Richard Tuttle - Island of Darkness

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.”

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.”