Winged Warrior fl-7

by Richard S. Tuttle

  HawkShadow veered into the empty lot beside the school and placed his back to a tree as he observed the people there. StormSong was sparing with SkyDancer and had drawn quite an audience, not only of fellow Sakovans brought to Alamar to prepare the city for defense against the invasion, but also of regular citizens of the former Omungan city. The crowd cheered and groaned with each bold move or hazardous slip of the battling women. HawkShadow smiled broadly as he remembered such bouts in StarCity.

  StormSong was a powerful and brutally aggressive warrior, while SkyDancer relied on speed and surprise to keep her opponent off stride. Judging from the amount of perspiration flowing over each of the women, HawkShadow knew that the bout had been going on for some time before he arrived.

  The assassin’s eyes roved over the assembled crowd, noting the many familiar faces of Sakovans. Scores of his friends where assembled in this once-foreign city. He shook his head imperceptibly as he thought about what had brought them all here.

  “It is good to see the young warriors unwind a bit,” came a friendly voice from behind HawkShadow.

  HawkShadow smiled as he recognized the voice and footstep of Lyra’s uncle. He did not bother to turn and greet the old mage.

  “They have a very physical way of unwinding,” chuckled HawkShadow. “Sweat is a great cleaner of the mind. Any word from the Star yet?”

  “Just a few minutes ago,” Temiker replied as he moved alongside the Sakovan assassin. “LifeTender took the message. She says that we are to continue our preparations here at Alamar. The generals have accepted the fact that this city will be the prime target.”

  “And Zaramilden?” asked HawkShadow.

  “It is to be evacuated as we suspected,” answered the mage. “The Sakovans from StarCity are to complete the work here in Alamar quickly. Lyra has decided to hide the bulk of the armies in the heartland. That will require constant shipments of food and supplies from StarCity.”

  “And a resumption of the patrols on the fringes of the Sakova,” nodded HawkShadow. “I am pleased. I am not a city boy, and I yearn to return to my homeland.”

  “I can understand your feelings,” smiled Temiker as he gazed around at the crowd. “Still, you and your people will be greatly missed here. I never thought that I would live long enough to see Omungans and Sakovans enjoying each other’s company as I see today. It is a heart-warming thing to witness.”

  “We will be back,” promised HawkShadow. “Besides, we still have a few days of work before we can leave, and not all of us will be leaving. LifeTender and some of the mages will stay to help out with your magic tutoring. I suspect that SkyDancer and I will be among the first to move out. We will have to choose encampments for the armies that will be arriving in the heartland.”

  “Yes,” nodded Temiker. “I could not manage without the mages. We have a great bunch of students, but there is little time to get them ready.”

  “What about the Khadoran mages?” asked HawkShadow. “Can’t they help you?”

  “They already are,” answered Temiker. “We have sent over a thousand students north to be trained, but Khadora is going through the same problems that we are. It takes time to determine a student’s abilities. One cannot teach magic overnight any more than one can instantly become a great warrior.”

  “We will all do the best we can,” shrugged HawkShadow.

  * * *

  The fishermen sailed into the port of Alamar in a mass of sails and hulls as they always did at the end of the day. The small ships darted every which way through the harbor as some headed for private docks while others tied up to the public wharves. Others, having no permanent dockage, merely ran their ships up on the beach. Hundreds of fishermen secured their boats and gathered their catch. The two Motangan men in the stolen boat blended in easily as people scurried about to finish their chores before the sun set.

  Clarvoy led Pango through the streets of Alamar until he found the location that he wanted. There he left Pango to hide in the darkness as the sun dropped below the horizon.

  The streets started to empty as the sky grew darker, citizens returning home, their tasks for the day complete. Clarvoy walked the city streets, still dressed as a poor fisherman with a canvas rain barrier covering his clothes. His black eyes scanned the city searching for the chosen host. When he finally found the Sakovan, Clarvoy drew attention to himself by carelessly discarding the canvas cloak.

  As Clarvoy had expected, the Sakovan noticed the careless act. Dressed completely in black, Clarvoy did his best to look suspicious, knowing that the chosen Sakovan was proud and would never call for assistance unless it was needed. Clarvoy smiled inwardly as he walked to a corner and peered nervously around it. When he casually glanced back, Clarvoy noticed that the Sakovan had disappeared from view. The spymaster’s smile broadened as he turned the corner and walked slowly along the street.

  Clarvoy did not bother to turn and verify that the Sakovan was following him. He had enough respect for the Sakovans that he knew he was being followed. The Motangan spymaster moved at a leisurely pace, stopping every so often to suspiciously listen to a conversation or peer into an open window. He made sure not to do anything so openly brazen that it would cause the Sakovan to act. Rather he tried to remain suspicious without providing any proof that he was actually a spy.

  Clarvoy moved into a dark alley, its only illumination being a street torch at the far end. He slowly walked the length of the alley and halted in the glow of the light. Unexpectedly, Clarvoy swiftly turned around and stared into the dark alley. He saw a dark shape move swiftly towards a small alcove along the side of the alley. He smiled openly and listened intently. He heard the sounds of a brief struggle and then marched into the darkness. As he approached the alcove, the Sakovan walked out and smiled at Clarvoy.

  “You certainly know your trade,” smiled the Sakovan. “It happened just like you said it would.”

  “All things are predictable,” nodded Clarvoy. “Do you know what to do next?”

  “I have everything memorized,” nodded the Sakovan. “I will report in regularly.”

  “Good,” replied Clarvoy. “As of this moment, Pango no longer exists. Remember that. Never let your mind wander back to your old self. You must assume your new identity at a primal level.”

  “It shall be as you command,” nodded the Sakovan.

  Clarvoy nodded silently and turned. He walked out of the alley leaving his new Sakovan spy behind.

  * * *

  Fisher and the Torak stepped into the library of the temple at Changragar. The chill air sent a shiver through Marak as he walked across the room and exited the library. The two Chula guards posted outside the library bowed their heads as the Torak led Fisher past them. Marak turned in the corridor and walked to the office of the shaman. Ukaro, Axor, and Rykoma were waiting for him.

  “I did not realize that this would be a meeting of the head shamans of the Chula,” quipped the Torak as he entered the office.

  “Then you have much to learn about the Chula,” grinned Ukaro as he crossed the room and hugged his son. “The head shaman is always involved in such lofty meetings. It is we who keep the chieftains in line.”

  “I should have realized as much,” smiled the Torak as he returned the embrace. “What is the mood of the chieftains?”

  “Most are excited about an audience with the Torak,” answered Rykoma, “but a few are worrisome about what matters might be decided here today.”

  “Like giving away Chula land to the flatlanders?” probed Marak.

  “You are perceptive,” nodded Axor. “The Chula have held fast to their land for many generations. It is against our basic code to cede one small pace of it willingly.”

  “I understand,” nodded the Torak as he broke his father’s embrace. “Tell me what I must do to ease their concerns without losing the unity of the Khadorans.”

  “The simple answer,” shrugged Rykoma, “is to tell the flatlanders where their land really ends. In their hearts, they know t
his already. They are greedy and taking this opportunity to expand their lands without a struggle. It is not right.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” admitted the Torak, “but that does not make the problem go away. I need the armies of the Khadorans.”

  “Have you given this problem no thought before bringing the chieftains together?” asked Rykoma.

  “I have given it great deal of thought,” replied Marak. “I believe that I have a solution in hand, but that is not the point. I come here today seeking the advice of the Chula. What advice do you have to offer?”

  “The Chula must obey the Torak,” declared Ukaro. “There is no other option. Tell the chieftains what must be done, and it will be done, even the giving of sacred land.”

  Marak frowned as he waited for another viewpoint, but it became apparent that the religious leaders were not the ones to decide the issue.

  “Let us meet with the chieftains,” stated the Torak. “This issue must be resolved.”

  Ukaro nodded and led the small group out of the temple. In the clearing before the temple was a large crowd of Chula. Scores of Chula chieftains sat on the ground in a large semicircle. Behind each of the chieftains was the head shaman for that tribe. Ukaro, Axor, and Rykoma took their places as Fisher led the Torak to a spot in the center of the circle. Marak turned slowly, gazing upon the faces of the Chula leaders. He saw bright eyes and smiles from most of the men, but he also saw frowns of suspicion on a few faces. His eyes dallied on those few who showed some measure of discomfort.

  “This meeting of the Chula tribes is long overdue,” Marak began. “I am Marak, Emperor of Khadora and the Torak. I thank each of you for coming today, and I apologize for the short notice of this gathering. The Time of Cleansing is soon upon all of us, Khadorans and Chula alike. I know that the Chula have been preparing, as have the Khadorans. It is important that we continue to do so.”

  While no expressions had changed so far, Marak was pleased that he had everyone’s full attention. Other than his voice, not a sound was heard in the clearing.

  “As you are aware,” Marak continued, “I am trying to formalize the borders of the Khadoran clans. This includes the borders with the Chula in cases where they are neighbors. I am also aware that most, if not all, of the Khadoran claims are false. Still, I must make a decision on the boundaries, and I must do it immediately. To deny every single Khadoran claim would result in losing the support of many of the Khadorans. To ask the Chula to give up the land of all of the claims is to insult the rightful owners of the land. I wish to do neither. What I would like to hear from you today are your thoughts on this problem. Who would like to begin?”

  A huge burly man stood swiftly among a smattering of suppressed chuckles. Marak noted that he had been one of those frowning.

  “I am Grundar,” bellowed the giant, “chief of the Sookie tribe. I am pleased to hear the Torak declare that he will not honor all of the Khadoran claims. Many of my brother tribes are involved in these disputes, if you can call them that, but the claims made by the flatlanders in regards to the Sookie tribe are outlandish. It is an outright theft of vast areas of Chula territory. It cannot be allowed to stand.”

  “What is your solution to the problem?” asked the Torak.

  “You do not want to hear my solution,” Grundar said to a chorus of laughs from the other chieftains.

  Marak could not resist smiling to himself as he envisioned Grundar’s solution to the problem.

  “What is your alternative solution?” asked the Torak.

  “I do not know,” admitted Grundar. “I have spoken to my brothers about this problem before today. Many of them are quite willing to give up small portions of Chula land to ease the Torak’s problems. We understand that we will never again be pressed to make concessions and that dulls the pain somewhat, but the claims against the Sookie tribe are enormous. My people would no longer be able to live upon our lands. Whole valleys would be taken from us as well as the rivers that flow out of the mountains. We would have no access to the feeding grounds of much of the game in the forest. It would be better to just disband the Sookie tribe and make my people move to other tribes.”

  “I will not ask that of any Chula tribe,” Marak replied seriously. “I am aware of three Khadoran clans that border your territory, Grundar. They are the Seth, Rican, and Disina clans. Are there others making claims to any of your land?”

  “There are two others,” nodded Grundar, “but their claims are not as onerous, although they are also false.”

  “Would you be willing to compromise with the two clans who claims are not onerous?” asked the Torak.

  “By compromise,” frowned Grundar, “are you asking if I would honor their claims and forfeit the land?”

  “I am,” nodded the Torak. “And I am speaking only of the those two clans, not the other three.”

  “I would,” nodded Grundar, “but only because the Torak wishes it to be so. My people can live without the land represented by those smaller claims.”

  “And are you willing to fight the other three clans to preserve your land?” inquired Marak.

  “With your permission,” Grundar beamed broadly as the other Chula shouted encouragement, “my warriors would sweep over those flatlanders in a single day.”

  “That speaks well of the Sookie warriors,” replied the Torak, “but it did not answer my question. Would you personally fight the other three clans to preserve the land of your people?”

  “I do not understand your question,” frowned Grundar. “I would certainly lead my people into battle. No Chula chieftain would shy from a battle while sending his warriors to attack. If you mean would I fight them alone,” he added as his frown deepened, “that would be the act of a fool, but I would agree to it if that is what the Torak demands. I have an obligation to my people, Torak. If you were to give me permission to defend my land, but denied that same permission to my warriors, I would be bound to attack the flatlanders by myself.”

  “You feel that strongly about this dispute that you would throw your life away?” asked Marak.

  “I have three responsibilities that I cannot ignore,” replied Grundar. “They are to Kaltara, the Torak, and the Sookie tribe, in that order. Were you to present the situation that I just described, I would be honor bound to carry out the actions that I just spoke of. It is not a case of throwing my life away. It is a case of living up to one’s responsibilities. My people cannot survive with the loss of the lands that the flatlanders are demanding. My only alternative is to forcefully reclaim my lands. The only two things that can stop me from doing that are God and the Torak.”

  Marak frowned and nodded slowly. He was impressed with Grundar’s devotion, but he would not allow a bloodbath to mar the progress that he had made so far.

  “Thank you for your honest words, Grundar,” the Torak said loudly. “I would like to hear some other views regarding this problem. Who will speak next?”

  Tmundo of the Kywara tribe rose to speak.

  “The Kywara have no claims against their land by flatlanders,” Tmundo began, “but that is only because our lands border the clans of the Torak. Almost every other tribe present here today has at least one claim of land set against it by the flatlanders. Most of the claims are small, but it is basic Khadoran greed to grab what is free. These Khadoran know that you will not allow the Chula to defend their land. In a sense, your actions have prompted these false claims. Now you come to us to provide a solution. We feel that we know what solution you want to hear. You want us to voluntarily give up our lands to please the greedy Khadorans. You know in your heart that these claims are wrong. The assembled chieftains of the Chula who are gathered here today know that these claims are false, and the greedy Khadorans who made these claims know that they are false. Why do you torture us with this meeting where we are pushed to say things that are not truly in our hearts? You are the Torak. Tell us what we must do, and we will obey.”

  Tmundo sat down and silence fell over the clearing.
Marak scanned the faces of the chieftains and saw both defiance and acceptance in their faces. He smiled.

  “I have not asked to lead people,” stated the Torak, “but Kaltara has seen fit to place me in charge of two very diverse peoples. I will never spite one to please the other. Kaltara’s commandment to me was to unite the two peoples, and that is what I intend to do. Are there any other thoughts that should be expressed before I explain what my solution is?”

  Many an eyebrow rose in surprise at the Torak’s words. The chieftains had come into the meeting expecting that they knew the outcome, but they learned that the Torak was wiser than they had given him credit for.

  Chapter 17

  Strange Proposal

  The evening before the Assembly of Lords convened, Emperor Marak sat in the chambers of the Lords’ Council along with the members of that elite group.

  “Spotters are now in place along the entire coast from the Fortung Mountains to the Kalatung Mountains,” reported Lord Patel. “The requirement of spacing them no more than one league apart has been met.”

  “Excellent,” nodded the Emperor. “What are their means of communications?”

  “There are not enough air mages available at this time to accommodate all of the spotters,” answered the Nordon lord, “but provisions have been made for swift communications. In cases where no mages are available, runners have been substituted. The runners will ride swiftly to the nearest air mage.”

  “That will have to do for now,” sighed Emperor Marak. “We are spreading our people thin.”

  “We have little choice,” interjected Lord Quilo. “We are trying to train thousands of our own mages in addition to contingents from Sakova and Fakara. We simply can’t afford to spare that many for monitoring the coastline.”