“That is a possibility,” admitted the spy. “I will try to delve a little deeper into Sorgan affairs. Where were you heading when I came in?”
“Someplace where you would not be welcome,” stated Marak. “I was going to visit some friends.”
“You consider the Kywara friends?” asked Fisher.
“Yes, I . . . how do you do that?” demanded Lord Marak. “I never once mentioned the Kywara and you knew where I was going. Do you read minds as well as your other crafts?”
“No,” laughed Fisher. “I just learn to listen to everything and logically put facts together. You would never wear the blacksuit to visit any of your own men and, according to Kasa, you have not looked at a woman since you arrived in Fardale. You are not on friendly terms with any of your three Khadoran neighbors. The logical assumption is you are going to meet with the Kywara, who would, incidentally, appreciate your choice of garments.”
“And how do you know they would appreciate my clothing?” pushed Lord Marak.
“I have known Tmundo for many years,” smiled Fisher.
“How is it that you know the leader of the Kywara?” queried Lord Marak. “Surely they are not clients of yours.”
“I am half Kywara,” frowned Fisher. “I sought Tmundo’s advice when my family was killed. My mother was Kywara and my father served in a Khadoran Army. She left the tribe to be with him. They were very much in love.”
“Who is the Lord who had your family killed and why?” asked Marak.
“That is something I do not wish to discuss,” straightened Fisher. “Come, I will accompany you to the Kywara. It has been a long time since I have tasted the good life. Perhaps Tmundo will have some wisdom concerning Lord Quavry. You will find that not much escapes Kywara eyes.”
“All right,” agreed Lord Marak as he donned his blacksuit. “I will get a horse for you. Or did you bring your own?”
“We do not need horses,” chuckled Fisher. “We have legs that work very well. Have you never ridden a tiger?”
Marak paused and stared at the spy. “Are you serious?” gaped the Lord of Fardale. “I look at those beasts and am thankful they don’t eat me.”
“Then you shall have a treat tonight,” Fisher laughed. “The big cats are much faster for this type of journey. You said the Kywara were your friends. Would you insult a friend by refusing his food or drink?”
Lord Marak paused as he shoved his double-edged sword into its sheath. “I intend to learn a great deal from you, Fisher,” Marak said softly, “but if you get me killed, you have to find another client.”
The two blacksuited men crept out of the mansion and made their way to a small service gate in the wall. Marak unlatched the gate and led Fisher out. Fisher hesitated outside the gate and Marak turned to see him rigging the latch with a thin piece of stiff cord. “We might want to reenter the same way,” whispered the spy.
Marak simply shook his head in disbelief and waited. When Fisher completed his preparations on the latch, he turned and took the lead. Together they ran silently, keeping to the darkest areas of the estate. Marak marveled at the comfortable feel of the blacksuit and the firmness with which his back sheath rode while he ran. Once they were well beyond sight of anyone guarding the walls, Fisher stopped and issued a series of bird calls. It sounded to Marak as if Fisher was conversing in bird talk. Another series of calls answered Fisher’s and then they waited in silence.
“What are we waiting for?” whispered Lord Marak.
Fisher just smiled and pointed. Marak’s mouth hung open as a Kywara warrior approached riding a tiger. It was not the sight of the warrior that shocked Marak. It was the two unburdened tigers that accompanied him.
“You can’t be serious,” protested Lord Marak.
“Did you not feel terrorized the first time you straddled a horse?” laughed Fisher. “They are very intelligent and you will be exhilarated by their swiftness. Just don’t kick them to make them go faster. You only need to pat their shoulders with a rhythm. The faster the rhythm, the faster the ride. If you wish to slow or stop, smooth your hand over its shoulder.”
Marak shook his head in disbelief, but he watched Fisher mount the tiger and then did the same maneuver and found himself astride a beast that would terrorize most Khadorans just by looking at them. The Lord of Fardale was amazed at the relative smoothness of the ride. It was not the bouncy wobble of a horse, but a powerful lope as the beast seemed to barely touch the ground. Marak leaned far forward as the giant cat sprang up the mountainside and the ride was over before the novelty wore off.
“So, you have decided to become a Kywara?” greeted Tmundo. “I wondered when you and Fisher would get together.”
Marak slid off the tiger as an involuntary spasm rippled through his body. “I have never experienced such a ride,” commented Lord Marak. “Such power and yet so graceful. No wonder you scorn horses.”
“Flatlander,” chuckled Fisher. “It is an honor to be welcomed back to your home, Tmundo. It has been a long time.”
“Too long, favored son of the Kywara,” embraced Tmundo. “I heard that you were skulking around these parts and knew you could not resist a visit before long.”
“You keep good company, Lord Marak of Fardale,” Tmundo said as he turned to greet Marak.
“So I have come to learn,” agreed Marak. “I have been meaning to visit for some time. You have my deepest gratitude for your people’s efforts in Fardale. You have become a most welcome neighbor.”
“As have you,” greeted Rykoma. “An old Kywara proverb states that a prosperous neighbor is a peaceful neighbor.”
“I wish all of my neighbors agreed with your proverbs,” sighed Marak. “Still, your help is a blessing to the people of Fardale. Admittedly, there is still some fear of the Kywara and their strange beasts, but the people of Fardale are a good people and they will learn to appreciate their neighbors.”
“As their Lord already has,” interjected Fisher. “Tmundo, what do you hear of the Sorgan?”
“Come,” motioned Tmundo towards his hut, “let us sit and refresh ourselves while we talk. Join us, Rykoma. Your insight is always useful.”
“At least one flatlander has learned how to dress,” remarked Rykoma as they entered Tmundo’s hut.
“We know that Lord Quavry is blocking you from getting to Lord Ridak,” Tmundo offered, “but we did not think you would care. He would probably not be pleased if he had word of the improvements you have made at Fardale. The bandits do not trouble anyone but the green and yellow of the Situ Clan. One of your laborers could walk through the valley unmolested if he wore nondescript clothing and I assume the same is true for Lord Ridak’s men. The Sorgan have not been a concern of the Kywara in many generations. They learned early not to invade our lands and have kept a respectable distance away ever since.”
Marak did not need to ask how the Sorgans learned their lesson. The tales of the Situ massacres were still too fresh in Fardale. That was one of the problems Marak faced in convincing his people that the Kywara were friends.
“We do know that the Ragatha are leery of you,” Tmundo continued. “They are bitter enemies of the Litari and Fardale is their only route to the outside world. They do not respect the Kywara and we do not allow them on our land. They, too, have had to learn a lesson, but they are slow learners. There will certainly be trouble if you attempt to restrict their access. We have seen some of their spies watching you to see what you will do, but they do not get close enough to tell what you are doing. It is a rather foolish way of gathering information.”
“I should have made contact with my neighbors by now,” admitted Marak, “but I have become engrossed in daily affairs of Fardale. I will attempt to rectify that soon.”
“Making contact with these other flatlanders will not necessarily result in better relations,” Tmundo pointed out. “They are as likely to take your revisions to Fardale as a sign of weakness as they are to accept them. Tread carefully, friend.”