Richard Tuttle - Winged Warrior

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.

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.