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 this 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.