Richard Tuttle - Aakuta - the Dark Mage

“I would be willing to just view the message after your people return to the mansion with it,” offered Shamino. “After many years as seneschal, I know Lord Quavry’s handwriting well. I will know if he has written the message.”

“You must see it when it is captured,” stated Lord Marak. “The message will not be returning to the mansion.”

“Not returning?” puzzled Seneschal Shamino. “I do not understand.”

“We have not discovered who our enemy is,” shrugged Lord Marak, “and I doubt that Lord Quavry will tell us even when he is confronted with his deceit. Our only option is to allow the message to get through to its intended recipient. We have made plans to engage the enemy when they strike at the caravan.”

“I see,” murmured the seneschal. “Very well. I will be ready for Marshal Patoga when he summons me.”

* * *

Mistake walked away from her horse and greeted some old friends that she had met on her last visit to Fardale. The diminutive Fakaran talked briefly to her friends and started towards the mansion. Suddenly, a voice pierced the air, and Mistake sprinted for the cover of a large tree.

“Misty?” called the male voice. “Misty come back. What are you doing here?”

Mistake had caught a glimpse of the tall blond stranger before seeking the safety of the tree. She was sure that she had never seen the man before, and her mind whirled with questions. As she heard the man coming closer, a knife slipped from its sheath on her arm and slid smoothly into her waiting hand. She looked around frantically for a path of retreat, but the area was far to open to slip away. Bravely, she stepped out from behind the tree, her knife rising menacingly as she faced her opponent.

“Not one step farther,” Mistake warned. “I do not know who you are, but I am sure that we have never met. How do you know who I am?”

The man stopped and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the petite thief. Finally he shook his head in confusion.

“I am sorry,” he apologized. “I mistook you for someone else. Now that I can see you clearly, I know that you are not MistyTrail, but you look an awful lot like her. You move like her, too.”

Mistake dwelled on the man’s last statement. She had never known that her swiftness was a product of magic until the mages at Fardale had told her. Now this man was saying that he mistook her for another. He had to be lying, or was he?

“Who is this MistyTrail?” questioned Mistake. “Who are you?”

The man held up his hands to indicate that he was not a threat. “I am HawkShadow,” declared the man. “I am Sakovan, and MistyTrail is a friend of mine. I mean you no harm. I will leave you in peace and apologize for my actions.”

“No, wait,” Mistake blurted out. “You didn’t tell me who this MistyTrail is.”

“She is a Sakovan like myself,” shrugged HawkShadow. “That is why I was surprised to see her here in Fardale. She should be back home guarding the Sakova.”

“And I look like her?” questioned Mistake.

“From a distance,” HawkShadow nodded. “Now that I am closer I can tell that you are not her.”

“And she moves like me?” probed Mistake.

“She does,” HawkShadow nodded as he gazed questioningly at the small Fakaran. “She moves faster than anyone I know. She is also an excellent knife thrower. I would appreciate if you would put that knife away.”

Mistake nodded distractedly as she slid the knife into its sheath. She reached into her pack and extracted her carozit. She held it upside down and watched as the balls fell. They did not swing down and touch each other as gravity demanded, but they also did not stand out at right angles to the stick as they always had in the past. Instead the balls hung at an angle between the two likely positions.

“How far is this Sakova?” questioned Mistake.

“It is several days of riding to the south,” answered HawkShadow. “I cannot be more accurate than that. What is that thing you are holding?”

“It is a carozit,” answered Mistake. “It is meant to help me find my family.”

“Your family?” echoed HawkShadow. “I doubt MistyTrail could be your family. If you were Sakovan, I would know you. What is your name?”

“Mistake,” she answered. “Some people call me Missy. Is that what you call this MistyTrail?”

“Close,” HawkShadow shook his head. “We call her Misty for short at times. They do sound alike. Now we know why both of us were confused. Do you live here in Fardale? I have not seen you around before.”

“No,” answered Mistake as she returned the carozit to her pack. “I am from Fakara. I am visiting Lord Marak.”

“As are we,” smiled HawkShadow.

“We?” asked Mistake. “Is the Star of Sakova with you?”

“No,” HawkShadow responded. “She was here, but she left last week. Just StarWind and I are left. You must know Rejji, the Astor?”

“We are good friends,” Mistake nodded. “I help him with everything he does in Fakara.”

“Then we have much to talk about,” smiled HawkShadow. “I would like to learn everything about Fakara that I can. Come. I would like you to meet StarWind.”

“I have not yet told Lord Marak that I have arrived,” Mistake shook her head. “I must deliver something to him first. Perhaps later you can tell me about the Sakova and MistyTrail.”

Without waiting for a response, Mistake started running towards the mansion. She dashed up the steps and through the doors without looking back. As she waited inside the doors for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, she heard Lord Marak’s voice as he stepped out of the meeting room.

“Mistake!” greeted Lord Marak. “I had word that you would be arriving. What brings you to Fardale?”

“I came to speak to you, Lord Marak,” answered the Fakaran.

“Then come into my office,” offered Lord Marak as he led the way.

They moved along the corridor in silence until they were both seated in Lord Marak’s private office. Mistake reached into her pack and produced an ancient scroll and handed it to Lord Marak.

“Rejji wanted you to see this personally,” she said. “He felt it important enough to send me here with it. He did not want to chance the information in it to anyone else.”

Lord Marak carefully opened the ancient scroll and gazed at it. “Did this come from Angragar?” he asked.

“No,” Mistake replied. “We journeyed to Angragar to get more gold. After visiting the ancient ruins, we spent several days with the Qubari so that Rejji and Bakhai could visit with their people. I spent the time in their temple going through old scrolls. I found it there.”

“Would they archive a children’s story in the temple?” inquired Lord Marak.

“No,” Mistake shook her head. “This is no children’s story. Chief Dumo said it was correspondence from the elves.”

“Elves?” frowned Lord Marak. “Were there really elves?”

“He insists there were,” replied Mistake. “This scroll surely indicates that he is right.”

“But this is so outlandish,” retorted Lord Marak. “And where are the elves now? What happened to them?”

“Dumo insists that they still live,” responded Mistake. “But then again, he thinks I am one of them, so maybe it is all a children’s tale.”

Lord Marak stared at the small women across the desk from him. His eyes paused as they passed over her pointy ears, but he shook his head and returned his attention to the scroll.

“I read a small passage about the island of Motanga long ago,” sighed Lord Marak. “It also mentioned large apes, but I have since found out that the author’s knowledge of those places that he described was very limited. He mostly repeated tales that he had heard in a tavern somewhere. Certainly no reliable information.”