Richard Tuttle - Web of Deceit

Veltar felt that Grulak was excellent in his speech. He saw many leaders agreeing that the union of tribes would be best for all, but there was also a large number who recognized the power play Grulak was selling, that it would not be a union of equals. Veltar knew the time for his demonstration was fast approaching. He merely had to wait for one of the leaders to ask the right question, and he felt strongly that the leader of the blues would be the one to ask it. The Chadang were a very large tribe and had an ancient feud with the Jiadin. He would be surprised if their leader did not ask the question.

As expected Vrylok, leader of the blue tribe, the Chadang, rose and signaled a question and Veltar began the incantation.

“What if we decide we don’t want to be part of your army?” Vrylok shouted. “What then?”

A tremendous roar echoed across the plain as the water of Lake Jabul started boiling. Steam rose off the lake and the water roiled and spat up in spouts and geysers. The tumult increased and soon human body parts could be seen rising in the geysers of the lake. Everyone’s eyes were transfixed on the spectacle as the continent’s largest lake threw off huge clouds of steam into the air.

It ended as quickly as it had started and the steam drifted off with the wind. Left floating on the surface of the lake were hundreds of bodies, the bodies of the slain villagers that Veltar had arranged to bring to Vandegar Temple. The bodies were in various stages of decay and the smell of that decay carried on the wind.

When everything had subsided and attention was once again returned to Grulak, he spoke. “I am sorry,” he stated loudly. “What was the question?”

Vrylok was beet red and everyone could see the fury in his face, but they could also see his fear. He sat down in his seat silently and Grulak continued explaining how the tribes would conquer the continent.

Veltar knew that his lake trick had accomplished its goal, as fear was evident on most of the faces. The small knots of leaders who had obviously been talking amongst themselves about leaving had become silent.

Veltar looked curiously as a Chadang rider approached Vrylok and spoke to him. Vrylok shot a look of pure hatred toward Grulak and rose as if to speak. Whatever was said by the Chadang rider spread like a fire amongst the assembled leaders. Within moments, every assembled leader was on his feet and heading towards their own troops as vanguards of the tribes came forward to protect their leaders.

Veltar could hear Grulak screaming and cursing and ordering his men to attack. Veltar saw everything coming apart, everything he had planned so long for. His mind burned with rage as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw movement across the plain. He turned and stared at the reserve army of the Jiadin that was supposed to be out of sight on the peninsula, except it was charging towards the temple. He narrowed his eyes and saw the banner of Diakles at the front of the charging army and knew what fool had spoiled his plan.

The tribes had somehow learned of the approaching Jiadin army and had reacted as Veltar had warned. He looked below and saw Grulak screaming at his army within the temple, trying to get them to come out and attack the tribes.

Veltar swore as his rage climaxed. He knew how long it would take that army to get out of the temple and by then the tribes would be long gone. Veltar entered the temple and tried to get to his quarters to plan the campaign of subduing the Fakaran tribes, which he had hoped would not be needed. The temple, however, was full of warriors trying desperately to get out. He returned to the balcony and stared at the approaching Jiadin army and vowed to himself that Diakles would pay dearly for his foolishness.

Despite the rule of silence in the slave convoy, there were muttered exclamations as the wagons descended out of the Fortung Mountains into Khadora. For the Fakaran prisoners who had spent their lives in a barren wasteland, the lush fields of Khadora were a sight to behold. The height of the mountains afforded a panoramic view of a nation blessed with fertile soil and thriving commerce. From their high vantage point, the slaves were afforded views of barges traveling down the Khadora River and colorful wagon conveys traversing the roads. The barges were loaded with livestock and produce and one could only imagine the contents of the wagons. Even the air smelled sweeter on the Khadoran side of the mountains and many of the slaves wore smiles of excitement and appeared to forget their bondage.

“With all of this wealth in Khadora,” Rejji whispered, “why would Brontos waste his time coming to Fakara? What do we have to offer that could not be found here?”

“I would suspect there is more profit in supplying things where the items are not plentiful,” responded Mistake. “The goods you see moving on those barges are certainly plentiful here. I guess they are also cheap here.”

“But not in Fakara,” Rejji added. “And the shark’s teeth from my village could not be found here at all I bet. So he makes his gold by transporting goods where they are plentiful and common to areas that lack them.”

“Makes sense,” Mistake agreed. “I wonder what our lives would have been like if we had been born in a paradise like this.”

“From what Brontos said,” Rejji replied, “not everything is paradise here. Do not forget that we are to be sold as slaves.”

“Not for long,” promised Mistake. “I will run away the first chance I get. I am sure I can make a living somehow on my own.”

“I wonder how,” frowned Rejji.

“I will do what I must to survive,” declared Mistake. “Would you do any differently?”

“I could envision myself as a merchant in this land,” sighed Rejji. “Remember what Brontos said though. Everyone belongs to a clan here. They will kill you if you are caught escaping.”

“They will have to catch me first,” retorted Mistake.

“Quiet,” shouted one of the slavers.

The noise from the slaves ceased but everyone clung to the rungs of the cage and peered at the landscape as the caravan progressed. The whole morning and most of the afternoon was spent traveling down from the mountains and late in the afternoon, the convoy turned off the road to enter an estate. Soldiers in white uniforms with blue waistbands, armbands and headbands stopped the wagons. After a short pause, the convoy continued down a smaller road with large fields of wasooki on each side.

Rejji watched in wonder as they continued down the road and fields, rich in the green splendor of some type of vegetable, replaced the fields of wasooki. Buildings started to appear after a while and people working in the fields. When the vegetable fields faded, smaller fields with clova in them appeared and Rejji shot a look at Bakhai who had moaned audibly. Rejji moved his seat to sit next to Bakhai as the caravan turned in front of a large mansion and stopped.

“Are you sick?” Rejji whispered. “I heard you moan.”

Bakhai shook his head. “The wasooki looked wonderful,” he said, “but those clova are dying.”

Rejji tried to look back at the clova fields, but they were no longer visible. The slavers appeared at the back of the wagon and unlocked the door and ordered everyone out. The slaves were ordered to stand in a straight line and Rejji ended up being separated from both Bakhai and Mistake. Slaves from the other wagons were also being lined up and three people came out of the mansion and greeted the head slaver. Rejji was close enough to hear the introductions. He learned that the name of the tall, lean slave master was Mulando. The man in the military uniform was Marshal Ulmreto of the Pikata clan and the other two were Bursar Wicado and Seneschal Trang.