While the room stood silent and frozen, Scarab walked to the table. Everyone’s eyes focused on him as he tore off his scarf and grabbed the charcoal.
“Harmagan is right about this,” Scarab said loudly. “We have been outcasts long enough. It has gained us nothing. Over the years tribal alliances have come and gone, but this time is different. We are fighting an enemy that wants us all dead. I would rather ride alongside my former enemies than die like a rodent in a trapped box. The Jiadin rebellion is dead!” he added as he rubbed the charcoal across his red scarf.
The other Jiadin leaders watched the display, their eyes large as they listened to what could only be called a call to war. When Scarab was done, the other leaders cheered and shouted insults to the Motangans. One by one the leaders removed their scarves and created black stripes across them. When they were all done, Wyant smiled and nodded.
“Welcome home,” grinned the Marshal of Fakara.
“You have us on your side, Wyant,” declared Harmagan, “but there are many more Jiadin who wear the red scarf unadorned. Your speech tonight must convince them to accept the stripe. We are giving you our loyalty. Show us that it is not mistaken.”
“I will do more than that,” promised Wyant. “Help me win over your men tonight, and I will give orders to evacuate Meliban. The Jiadin will be returned to the wilds. Food and supplies will still be delivered to specified places at specified times.”
“What of Meliban?” asked Scarab.
“It is only wood and stone,” shrugged Wyant. “We built it once; we will build again when the Motangans’ blood has drained from their bodies.”
“One more gesture is in order,” stated Scarab. “Many of the Jiadin believe that Angragar is a city of gold and spoils. They believe that the Free Tribes are hoarding it for themselves. As a show of good faith, I think you should take some of the leaders to see it for themselves. That will prove once and for all that King Rejji is dealing honestly with the Jiadin.”
Wyant stared at Scarab for several moments before nodded.
“Done,” agreed Wyant. “I will take six men with me to Angragar. It will be up to the Jiadin to select the men. Talk it over. I am going to the park to await the rest of your people.”
The Marshal of Fakara left the administration building. The leaders of the Jiadin grinned and congratulated each other after he had left. After all of the years of division, they felt good about returning to the tribes. Many of them slapped Harmagan on the back. One of them even dragged Scarab into the circle and spoke loudly.
“I say that Scarab should be one of those who goes to Angragar,” he proclaimed. “I never thought that I would live to see anyone enter the fabled city.”
Scarab grinned but shook his head. “I will not go,” he announced. “I hold no illusions about Angragar. I never believed those old tales about gold and riches. No, let six of you go. I must leave the city in the morning anyway. I will continue my search for friends lost in the wars in Khadora.”
* * *
Fisher lurked around the edges of the large gathering overflowing the park. He tuned out Wyant’s speech and the speeches given by the Jiadin leaders. His eyes continually scanned the crowd, hoping to catch sight of a Jiadin with Clarvoy’s deformity, but he could not find the Motangan spy. He had been hoping, when he made the suggestion about visiting Angragar, that Clarvoy would find a way to be included in the six. That now appeared to be Fisher’s last chance to snare Clarvoy.
The meeting disbanded with loud shouting and cheering. Boisterous insults regarding Motangans flowed down every street as the Jiadin rejoiced the decision to abandon Meliban. Fisher watched Wyant leave the park and retire to the Kheri Inn. The Marshal of Fakara appeared weary as he passed through the common room and ascended the stairs. He did not even bother with the evening meal.
Fisher halted in the common room and gazed at the customers. Most of the Jiadin in the room were eating, which made looking for the deformity difficult at best. Some of the men that were eating shouted his new Jiadin name and waved for him to join them. He smiled in return and waved to the men, but he shook his head and started up the stairs. When he reached the door to his room, Fisher stood in silence for a moment as he studied the corridor. The corridor was dark with no torch at the end of it, so the entrance to Wyant’s room was in complete darkness.
Fisher spun and headed back downstairs. He entered the kitchen and deftly avoided the large woman who spun with her knife ready to gut any unexpected visitors.
“You again?” the large woman snapped.
“Have you any nuts?” asked Fisher.
The woman grunted and pointed to the corner of the room with her knife. Fisher walked to the corner and gazed at the barrels of nuts. He grabbed two large handfuls of peanuts and shoved them into a pouch. Without a word, the spy left the kitchen and returned upstairs. He entered his room and reclined on the bed, eating the peanuts and wondering where Clarvoy was at the moment. He also wondered what he would do when he found the Motangan spy.
Fisher was not a mage, and Clarvoy appeared to be a rather accomplished one. The Motangan spy could not only appear as someone else, he had other capabilities that Fisher could only dream of having. It was not a contest of equals, yet Fisher could not back away from the challenge. Clarvoy’s successes had to stop if there was to be any chance of defeating Vand.
By the time Fisher had finished eating the peanuts, the noise throughout the city had diminished. Only an occasional shout could be heard through the window. Fisher gathered up the peanut shells and quietly opened the door to the corridor. Seeing no one present in the corridor, Fisher crept out of his room and sprinkled the peanut shells on the floor in front of Wyant’s room. He silently retreated to his room and stretched out on the floor near the door. After a while, the spy drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Fisher set his jaw firmly and refused to speak. He would not give Vand the satisfaction of hearing him whimper and cry. The spy cringed and ground his teeth together as another bone cracked somewhere in his body. He thought it was strange that he could not feel the pain of the torture that they were inflicting on him. A dozen bones must have already been broken, but Fisher felt nothing. He glared at Clarvoy as if to say that a Chula could not be broken. Clarvoy only smiled in return, his smug face suddenly changing in appearance to look like Brakas. The soft click of a door lock floated through Fisher’s mind, and he immediately sat up. He looked around the dark room and realized that he had been dreaming. He was not being tortured in Vand’s temple, and Clarvoy was not standing there smiling at him.
It took only a second for Fisher’s mind to register where he was and what the cracking noises had been. The moonlight flowed through the window of his small room, illuminating the floor he had been sleeping on. He quickly rose to his feet, a knife sliding into his hand. He slowly opened the door to the corridor and peered out. A small sliver of moonlight pierced the darkness of the corridor, but a much wider swath of light overpowered it. The door to Wyant’s room was open.
Fisher knew that the peanut shells would now help his adversary as much as they had helped him. He ignored the need for silence and rushed into Wyant’s room. A Jiadin warrior stood bathed in the ghostly moonlight from the window. The light reflected off the blade the warrior was bringing down on the sleeping form in the bed before him. Fisher did not hesitate.
“Assassin!” Fisher shouted as he threw his knife at the Jiadin warrior.
Suddenly, a brilliant light flared in the room. Fisher closed his eyes and rolled into the room, pulling a knife from his boot as he rolled. He heard a snarl from one direction and a body hit the floor in the other direction. Fisher came out of his roll and opened his eyes, quickly seeking the target to skewer with his blade. The assassin was gone.