Jiadin crowded into the room from the corridor while Fisher ran to the window and looked out. There was a low roof below the window, but there was no one in sight. He turned to see Wyant getting up off the floor. He appeared unhurt. Fisher started to search the floor for the dagger that he had thrown.
“What was all that about?” asked Wyant. “What is going on?”
“Someone jumped out the window,” replied one of the Jiadin. “He had a knife buried in his arm.”
Wyant turned and stared at Fisher. “Your knife, Scarab?” he asked.
“I wasn’t sure if I had hit him,” Fisher nodded. “A bright light filled the room. I could not see.”
“You got him alright,” stated the Jiadin standing in the doorway. “All we need to do is look for a Jiadin with knife deep into his arm.”
“He was not a Jiadin,” countered Fisher. “That bright light was magic. He is only disguised to look like us.”
“So look for someone who is disguised as a Jiadin with a hole in his arm,” Wyant ordered. “Move. Find that assassin.”
The Jiadin crowded in the doorway turned and ran. Within minutes the entire city was awakened in its hunt for the mage. Fisher sheathed his knife and tried to return to his room, but Wyant grabbed him by the arm.
“Heck of a shot,” complimented Wyant. “How is it that you just happened to be in here to halt the assassin?”
“I am in the next room,” shrugged Fisher.
“The next room?” echoed the marshal. “I would have suspected that you would be staying with your close brother, Scarab. Do you not get along with Harmagan?”
“We get along just fine,” replied Fisher. “If you are wondering if I was in on the assassination, think again. I have no reason to see you dead.”
After a few moments of silence, Wyant nodded. “I can accept that,” he said, “but I find it hard to believe that you just happened to be here. It does not take long to enter a man’s room and stab him. You had to be waiting for him.”
“I was,” Fisher admitted. “I took the room next to yours and sprinkled peanut shells outside your door. When I heard the shells crack, I came running.”
“So you knew there would be an attempt on my life tonight?” frowned the marshal.
“Not for sure,” Fisher shook his head. “We knew the mage was in the city. He is seeking the location of Angragar. He first appeared as Brakas with a plan to force you to tell of its location, but Brakas is already dead. We had no idea who he might look like the next time, so I waited for him to show up here, just in case. Why do you think Harmagan insisted on protection for you today?”
“You could have warned me,” sighed Wyant.
“The reconciliation between the Jiadin and the Free Tribes is too important,” answered Fisher. “If you had been scared out of the city, it would never have occurred. Besides, we didn’t really think he would just kill you. It is information that he is after.”
“And you took it upon yourself to protect me against a mage with your knife?” questioned the Marshal of Fakara.
“You are still alive, aren’t you?” grinned Fisher.
“I am at that,” chuckled Wyant as he slapped Fisher on the back. “I am indebted to you, Scarab, not only for saving my life. Do not think that I did not notice your pivotal role tonight in swaying the other Jiadin towards the Free Tribes. I will not forget that. I hope they have chosen you as one of the ones to go to Angragar.”
“I cannot go to Angragar,” replied Fisher. “I am leaving in the morning to continue my search for lost friends from the Khadora wars.”
“So you were involved in that fiasco?” frowned Wyant. “Many died in Khadora. I doubt that you will ever find them, but I can’t blame you for looking. I hope we meet again some day.”
“I am sure that we will,” smiled Fisher. “Good luck, Marshal. I am going to try to get some sleep.”
* * *
Marshal Wyant watched the Jiadin warriors ride out of Meliban. Thousands of riders bearing red scarves with a black slash through it surged through the gates of the city and turned to the west. The men were in a jubilant mood at being released from the confines of the city. At the tail end of the procession were a dozen riders who halted next to Wyant. Harmagan gave orders to the group, and six of the men turned eastward, heading for the city of Taggot. The other six sat waiting for Wyant to lead the way to Angragar.
“It has been a long time since I saw so many happy faces, Marshal,” grinned Harmagan. “Lead the way.”
“I am still uneasy about this,” admitted Wyant. “Not one of your men refused the black stripe on his scarf. Am I really to believe that all of the Jiadin have accepted the move to return to the tribes?”
“All of the Jiadin in Meliban have,” replied Harmagan. “There are still those in Taggot. That is why I sent six men there. I cannot force the rest of the Jiadin to make the same choice as we have, but those six will be persuasive. Truthfully,” he smiled, “I cannot imagine any Jiadin not accepting the chance to rejoin the tribes. Living in a city has been like a prison to us. I am sure that those in Taggot will feel the same. It is high time that Grulak and his plans be discarded as past mistakes. The wars of the horsemen are over. Now we join with our brothers to bring death to the invaders. Lead on.”
“I will have to take you at your word,” nodded Wyant, “but I must warn you. The location of Angragar must remain a secret. If the Motangans find out where the lost city is, many of us will die trying to defend it. I prefer to meet our enemy on the plains as any horseman would.”
Chapter 28
Birth of a Shaman
Bakhai sat cross-legged on the roof of the temple in Angragar. His head was bowed, and his eyes were closed. Behind him stood Yltar, the head shaman of the Qubari tribe. Yltar’s eyes were focused on the distant jungle, although he was too far away to see that which he wanted to. Instead he gazed blankly, listening to the voice coming through the air tunnel. He nodded in satisfaction as his lips turned upward in a smile.
“Well done, Bakhai,” congratulated Yltar. “The tyrik is following your instructions perfectly. The range of your abilities is wonderful.”
For several moments, Bakhai did not respond. Suddenly, Yltar’s face clouded with concern. Bakhai opened his eyes and smiled as he rose to face the head shaman. Yltar saw the smile on Bakhai’s face and started laughing heartily.
“You did that to Almos, didn’t you?” he asked accusingly. “How did you know that the mound of fire ants were nearby?”
“The tyrik told me,” grinned Bakhai. “Shall I call off the ants?”
“No,” laughed Yltar. “Let Almos practice his own animal-talking to get them to stop attacking him.”
Both men laughed for several minutes until Yltar finally regained his composure. His eyes turned serious as he gazed upon his student.
“Communicating with such a primitive species over that distance is quite an accomplishment,” Yltar mused. “Your power is far greater than I would have ever imagined. It is greater than even your father’s, and he was a powerful shaman. We must work together to develop your skills more fully.”
“That is why I am here,” shrugged Bakhai. “I want to learn.”
“You are here to learn the ways of the Qubari shaman,” corrected Yltar. “I am talking about more intensive training. Your skills are so impressive that I want the Astor to place you in my care. There are ancient spells that no recent shaman has been able to duplicate. I think you may have the power necessary to try them.”
“What kind of spells?” asked Bakhai.
“Qubari magic is unique in many ways,” explained the head shaman. “It is human in nature, but it is blended with elven magic. I know of no other people who combine magics as the Qubari do.”
“What are the differences between human magic and elven magic?” Bakhai frowned in confusion.