Winged Warrior

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “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.

  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.

  “Human magics are centered on the elementals,” explained the shaman. “They primarily seek to control the elements of this world and harness their powers. The Khadorans, for example categorize their mages as having power in one of the four elemental areas, sun, air, water, and soil. The air tunnel spell is a good example of human magic. The mage sets up a corridor of air and then manipulates the pressures within it to obtain the desired effect.”

  “And the elves?” prompted Bakhai.

  “Elves have a totally different concept of magic,” replied Yltar. “Their spells revolve around senses and feelings. It is a more intangible branch of magic. They seek to influence nature and allow life forms to provide the changes that they desire. The expedited growth of plants and animals is an example, as are their spells of compulsion. Instead of directing outside energy to affect an object, they use the object’s own life force to accomplish their goal.”

  “But mages can do both,” frowned Bakhai. “Princess Alahara is quite capable of throwing a fireball or casting an air tunnel, yet she knows elven magic as well.”

  “Correct,” nodded Yltar, “but few elves see magic through the eyes of a human. It is not that the mages are incapable of such deeds; it is that they do not think in such terms. The Qubari, however, were human shaman that were taught elven spells to enable them to protect Angragar. For generations we have used elven magic to nurture the jungle and communicate with the animals.”

  “So animal-talking is an elven art?” asked Bakhai.

  “By its very nature,” nodded Yltar, “although I do not know if the elves still practice it. I look forward to the days when elven mages return to this land so that I may learn what magics they still focus on.”

  “Mistake will know,” shrugged Bakhai. “Rejji said that she was learning magic in Elvangar.”

  “You must learn to call her Princess Alahara,” cautioned Yltar. “We do not want to offend our elven friends.”

  “Sorry,” sighed Bakhai, “but I knew her before she became a princess.”

  “I understand,” smiled Yltar. “You will learn. Let’s go talk to Rejji about you becoming a full fledged shaman.”

  They left the roof of the temple and walked across the plaza to the administration building. They looked in the Astor’s office, but Rejji was not there. Walking the corridors of the complex, they finally found the Astor in one of the large meeting rooms. The leaders of the free tribes were all present and voices were raised to alarming levels. Yltar and Bakhai slipped into the room to listen.

  “I can’t imagine what Wyant has in mind,” scowled Yojji, leader of the Kheri tribe. “The Jiadin were sent to Meliban and Taggot precisely to keep them away from Angragar. Why in the world would he bring some of them here?”

  “We should ride out and confront him with that very question,” stressed Adger, leader of the Mutang tribe.

  “And befo
re he gets much closer,” added Blaka, leader of the Extala tribe. “Already the Jiadin will have been able to narrow down the location of the lost city.”

  “I will not have the free tribes confronting Wyant and the Jiadin in an aggressive manner,” warned Rejji. “While I am as surprised as you are about this development, I have a great deal of faith in Wyant. The Marshal of Fakara well knows the reason that the Jiadin have been kept separate. It was his idea in the first place.”

  “So you are just going to allow them to continue on their way here?” asked Yojji.

  Rejji looked around the room as if measuring the degree of hostility present. His eyes landed on Yltar and Bakhai, and a smile crossed his lips.

  “No,” answered Rejji. “A delegation from Angragar will go out and meet Wyant and the Jiadin, but it will not be members of the free tribes. I will go myself to find out what the situation is. Yltar and Bakhai will accompany me.”

  “The Jiadin may turn on you,” cautioned Blaka. “You should have protection.”

  “I will be protected,” Rejji assured the tribesmen. “Not only by Bakhai and Yltar, but Kaltara will be with me as well. What better protection could I have?”

  The tribesmen grumbled, knowing that they could not argue with the Astor.

  “I will send word back to Angragar well before we return,” Rejji continued, ignoring the mood of the tribesmen. “If I allow the Jiadin to enter Angragar, they are to be treated as long lost brothers. Their desire to rejoin the brotherhood of the tribes is the only reason that would force me to allow them to come here. Has not our goal been to eventually bring the Jiadin back into the fold?”

  “But that could be a ploy,” balked Adger. “We should watch them closely. I doubt that the Jiadin can ever be trusted enough to rejoin the free tirbes.”