“If the light is good,” Mandel said in parting, “you will have a good view of the action. If you need to, you can glide off your perch to any one of us. Stay dry, my friend.”
Mandel sunk back into the swamp and moved off towards the enemy encampment, which was well lit with roaring campfires. When he drew close to their perimeter, he met up again with Hortice and the others.
“The black-cloaks have split up,” stated Hortice. “There are four of them to the right and four to the left.”
“I will take the left,” stated Mandel. “Take half the men and focus on the mages to the right. It is early yet, so they will not be anxious to confine themselves to the tents. They will probably try to keep near the fires so that the stinging flies and mosquitoes don’t eat them alive. Try to kill them when they wander off to relieve themselves, or anytime that you can get one of them alone. When you have killed them all, return to Moth’s tree.”
Hortice nodded and selected three men to join him. Mandel led the other three men to the left. The grassy island where the Federation armies were camped was relatively dry ground, but watery channels ran through it in all directions. Sometimes the channels were so narrow that you could step over them, but other times they were wide enough to force you to go around them. Almost all of the channels were fairly deep, even the narrow ones. The setup was ideal for the gypsy mission, and Mandel’s men soon split up to cover as much of the left portion of the encampment as possible. As was Mandel’s nature, he took the most precarious section for himself, never willing to order a man to do something that he would not do himself.
Mandel was a patient warrior, which was necessary this evening. It took nearly three hours before he finally managed to get near a black-cloak relieving himself. The mage broke away from a group of soldiers near one of the big fires, and the soldiers were glad to see him leave. Mandel anticipated the mage’s path and slowly moved through one of the channels to get close. He eased a reed and a myric quill out of his small quiver and fed the quill into the reed. As the gypsy got into position, he spooked one of the large carnivorous reptiles that had been resting in a dark spot on the mud bank. The large creature slithered off the mud and disappeared under the water. Mandel tried not to think about it. He had run into the creatures several times already, and so far they had not tried to attack him. He hoped his luck endured through the night.
Moments later, the black-cloak appeared on the bank of the channel. Mandel wasted no time. He brought the reed to his lips and blew the quill into the mage’s stomach. The mage’s body stiffened and fell forward, loudly splashing into the water, directly onto the giant reptile that had moved away from the gypsy. The creature immediately attacked the mage’s body, thrashing violently as its massive jaws clamped down on the black-cloak’s leg. The beast shook the body noisily and then dragged it under the water, but not before some soldiers had taken notice of the event. Mandel smiled as he put the reed to his lips and slid under the water before the running soldiers arrived to gawk at the black-cloak’s demise.
Hours later, Mandel and his men met up with Hortice below the tree where Moth was perched. The eight gypsies were waterlogged and tired.
“We have failed,” sighed Hortice.
“Seven out of eight is not exactly a failure,” replied Mandel, “but neither is it a success. Perhaps the last black-cloak will come out of his tent early in the morning.”
“Why don’t we go in the tent and finish this?” asked Hortice.
“Because we have been forbidden to do so,” answered Mandel. “Were it up to me, that is exactly what I would do, but Adan has made it clear that the gypsies will not enter the mage’s tents.”
“One battle mage can kill hundreds of our people,” protested Hortice. “They must all die for this trap to work.”
“You will get no argument from me,” Mandel agreed, “but we will follow our orders. If the last mage does not give us the opportunity we need by dawn, you will take the rest of the men back to dry ground.”
“And you will do what?” frowned Hortice. “You will attack him in broad daylight on the trail tomorrow? That is suicide.”
“I am not happy about our choices,” frowned Mandel, “but I understand what must be done. The last black-cloak will die before he gets back to where the bridges were. I will not allow him to kill our people.”
“I am not forbidden from entering the tent,” chirped Moth.
The gypsies glanced up at the chubby fairy.
“We need to do more than just put him asleep,” stated Hortice.
“And you cannot levitate him out of the tent without getting caught,” added Mandel.
“I will stab him with a quill,” Moth said with determination.
One of the gypsies laughed and Mandel shot the man a glare. The laugh died instantly.
“You carrying a quill would be like one of us holding a tree out before us,” said Hortice. “Even if you could carry it, a fairy would never have enough force to stab it into the mage’s body.”
“I can do it,” declared the fairy. “Will you sacrifice your people because you do not believe me?”
“You do not have to do this to impress us, Moth,” Mandel said softly. “We are already impressed with the fairy people.”
“You said earlier that we always have choices, Mandel,” retorted the fairy. “I am making this choice because I believe that I will be successful where others cannot be, not to impress you. Will you deny me my chance to strike out at evil?”
Mandel stared at the little man, and he liked what he saw. He smiled and nodded. “I will give you whatever chance you want, Moth, but I expect you to act with clear thought and without emotion. Can you promise me that?”
“I can and I do,” the fairy said with confidence. “Ready me a quill. I will be right back.”
Moth took a running leap off the branch. His body dropped towards the ground, but his wings soon provided the lift he needed. He soared skyward and headed for the Federation encampment. The mage tent was not hard to find, and he flew right into it. For a moment, he hovered in the dark staring at the empty bunks. When he found the bunk that was occupied, he noted its location and retreated outside. He flew up and landed on the roof of the tent and visualized where the occupied bunk was below. He then found the nearest seam and pulled his knife. It took him several minutes to cut through the stitching with his knife, but when he was done, the section of the roof over the sleeping black-cloak hung down into the tent. Moth sheathed his knife and threw himself off the roof. Minutes later he landed on the tree branch above the gypsies.
“Hand me a quill,” ordered the fairy.
Mandel extracted a quill and held it out for the fairy to grasp. Moth grabbed it with both hands and held it above his head. His little face frowned as he tried to figure out how to launch himself.
“Would you like a boost?” asked Mandel.
“Yes,” the fairy nodded enthusiastically.
Mandel held out his palm and let Moth walk onto it. When the fairy signaled that he was ready, Mandel tossed the fairy high into the air. Moth’s wings beat frantically, but the boost had worked well. Before Moth reached the apex of the toss, his wings were already carrying him higher. He continued high into the sky before turning and heading towards the camp. When he was over the opening in the mage tent, he tilted the quill and let its weight pull him into a dive. Moth dove with a speed he had never achieved before, the extra weight propelling him downward at a frantic pace. He soared through the hole in the roof and the quill slammed into the mage. The force of the collision tossed the fairy roughly to the floor, but Moth stood up and dusted himself off, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Chapter 32