“I want to talk to all of you before Wyant gets here,” Harmagan began. “Most of you probably heard that Brakas is back in town and urging us to make Wyant mention the location of Angragar. As far as the Jiadin are concerned for now, let Brakas ask Wyant what he wants to. What we are interested in is much different. We want to know when we can get out of this city and kill something.”
The Jiadin cheered and raised their fists in the air. Harmagan grinned and waited for the commotion to die down.
“Not sure if any of you remember him,” Harmagan said as he put his arm around Fisher, “but this is my little brother, Scarab. You old timers will remember him for sure, but not you young pups.”
Amazingly, some of the older Jiadin professed to remember Scarab. Fisher figured that they were either drunk and couldn’t see, or they wanted to act as if they were founding fathers of the Jiadin clan and remembered everyone. In the end it didn’t matter much. Scarab was enthusiastically welcomed by the Jiadin leaders.
“Scarab here has brought me some disturbing news,” Harmagan frowned as he regained everyone’s attention. “It appears that there is a plot to kill Wyant. Now, we all know that no good will come to the Jiadin if that happens.”
“Does this have to do with Brakas?” asked one of the men.
“No,” Harmagan shook his head. “As I said, Brakas has already left the city. No, this is some type of scheme to kill Wyant and blame the death on the Jiadin. We can’t let that happen.”
“What scum would do such a thing?” one of the men shouted angrily.
“Let’s not worry about the who for now,” replied Harmagan. “I want each of you to be responsible for Wyant’s safety while he in our city. What happens to him after he leaves here is not our concern, but that man will not die in Meliban. Everyone clear on this?”
The Jiadin leaders all acknowledged their understanding about Wyant’s protection. Harmagan was pleased and opened the floor for discussion on what they wanted to talk to Wyant about. Scarab listened to the Jiadin complaints, which centered mostly on the inactivity of being cooped up in the city, but his mind was on Clarvoy. He wondered what the evil mage had up his sleeve, and who he would look like next.
The door to the administration building opened and Wyant entered with a group of six Jiadin warriors surrounding him. Harmagan and the other leaders greeted Wyant while Fisher tried to fade into the background. Fisher had been in Angragar at least once while Wyant was there. Although they had never been introduced to each other, Fisher was slightly concerned that Wyant would recognize him and inadvertently expose him. The spy’s fears were overblown. Harmagan grabbed Fisher by the shoulder and pulled him forward to meet Wyant. The Marshal of Fakara nodded as Harmagan introduced Scarab, his younger brother.
“Have there been troubles in Meliban?” Wyant opened the discussion.
“Little outside the normal problems,” shrugged Harmagan. “The men are tired of being held in this city. When can we leave?”
“Soon,” answered Wyant. “Very soon. I was asking about troubles because you seem to have afforded me an escort on this visit to the city. Why?”
“The men have been rowdy lately,” smiled Harmagan. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt. Does the protection bother you?”
“No,” frowned Wyant. “I just sense that there is more to the story than you are telling me.”
“Well,” shrugged Harmagan, “that is all there is to it. Tell us what is new in this supposed war we keep hearing about. I have to tell you that many of the men are beginning to doubt that there will be a war.”
“Oh, the war is coming,” stressed Wyant, “and much sooner than we had thought. Already the enemy has destroyed a city down south. The full invasion cannot be far off.”
Harmagan shot a glance at Scarab as he addressed Wyant. “What city was destroyed?” he asked.
“A Sakovan city,” Wyant replied. “You probably never heard of it. It was called Duran.”
“Duran?” echoed the Jiadin leader. “I think that I have heard of it recently. Were the city defenders beaten badly?”
“Beaten?” Wyant frowned heavily. “They were utterly destroyed. It was not a fight; it was a slaughter. I am not talking about a city like Meliban that is filled with Jiadin warriors. Duran was a farming and fishing city. The Motangans literally killed every living thing in the city. You do not understand what we are facing, Harmagan. These Motangans have no use for prisoners. They already hold thousands and thousands of slaves on the Island of Darkness. They have no need for more slaves, nor will prisoners have any value in negotiations, because there will be no negotiations. This coming war is a fight to the death. Either our civilization wins, or theirs does. There will be no in between.”
The assembled Jiadin leaders glanced at one another in silence. Finally, Harmagan broke the quiet.
“You must explain this to all of the men in the park tonight,” Harmagan demanded. “I also think the Jiadin should be returned to the plains and the mountains. We are not a defending army. Our strength lies in the swift attack on slow moving armies. Our talents are wasted in Meliban.”
Wyant stared at his old foes and suddenly saw them in a new light. His main focus as Marshal of Fakara had been to avoid fighting the Jiadin. Segregating them in Meliban and Taggot had solved that problem, but now he saw that he was wasting a valuable resource, if they could be trusted.
“I am willing to talk about a change in duties for the Jiadin,” offered Wyant, “but I cannot allow the lawlessness that existed in the past to reoccur. How can I be assured that the Jiadin will fight the same war that the Free Tribes are fighting?”
Harmagan fell silent for a moment as he tried to figure out how to answer the question. The other Jiadin leaders looked on in confusion. They were not quite sure what Harmagan was trying to accomplish.
“There is no easy answer to your question,” Harmagan finally replied. “The Jiadin have been very deceitful lately, but they have also been deceived by others. Truth has become elusive for all of us. What I can tell you is that the Jiadin were once valiant warriors, before the time of Grulak. Unlike many of the present day Jiadin, I was born with a red scarf. That honor still runs through my veins. If what you are saying about the Motangans is true, and I now believe it to be true, I will offer up my life in the defense of our homeland. No foreign army has the right to march through the Land of the Tribes. All I am asking of King Rejji and the Free Tribes is the chance to fight like a warrior, to die like a warrior, with honor.”
Wyant stared at the Jiadin leader for a few moments before nodding. “The Jiadin are one of the tribes,” Wyant conceded. “No one has the right to deny them the option of fighting for Fakara, but our only chance of survival rests in the coordination of efforts. To win this war, we must fight together. Otherwise, we will all die. Are the Jiadin capable of putting their rebellion behind them and rejoining the Free Tribes?”
Harmagan turned abruptly and walked to the fireplace. He picked up a piece of charcoal and carried it back to the table. While the other leaders watched, Harmagan tore off his red scarf and firmly rubbed the charcoal across it to create a black diagonal stripe.
“This is my answer to you, Marshal of Fakara,” Harmagan said loudly. “Let any Jiadin who will unite with the Free Tribes to battle the infidels mark his scarf in this manner. This will be the mark of the Jiadin of the Free Tribes.”
The other Jiadin leaders appeared frozen, each afraid to be the first to commit to a drastic change to the only life they had ever known. Harmagan’s statement was clear to all of them. To accept the black stripe was to put behind them the hatred and animosity of the other tribes that had driven the Jiadin for so long. It was a commitment that could not be reversed, for they would be placing themselves directly under the rule of the other tribes. Any rebellion would not only be crushed by the Free Tribes, but by the other converted Jiadin.