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Old 07-15-2004, 01:01 PM   #251
piosenniel
Desultory Dwimmerlaik
 
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Wasim . . . the return of the failed assassin . . .

The more he considered his options the less he like the idea of having to report to Wyrma. He knew, though, that if he did not the long talons of the maenwaith leader would reach out to crush his family. His family . . . A loud weary gasp was strangled back as he thought of his brother, now dead at the hands of the men of the north.

‘Bird’s got a touch of something,’ he heard one of the sailors below say, pointing up at him. ‘Let’s move away before he lets fly something foul.’ Wasim rocked back and forth nervously on the cross-tree of the mast. The headlands that marked the entrance to the Havens of Umbar were in sight, and the little tern stretched out his wings, then folded them securely against his body, waiting for the right opportunity for flight.

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The two guards eyed him as he stood fidgeting in the hallway, their lips curled in a smirking manner as they considered what their Mistress might do with him. ‘Where’s your brother, eh?’ one of them asked, prodding him with the end of his lance. ‘Give her the wrong answers and you might have the privilege of joining him,’ snorted the other.

Called in at last to Wyrma’s office, Wasim shuffled in and stood disconsolately before her desk, head down. She did not acknowledge his entrance right away, but sat looking through some pieces of parchment that were spread before her on the desk’s shiny surface. Wasim dared a look up at her and caught the image of her face as it rippled over the wood grain. He shivered and cast his gaze back to the floor. The angles of her face and jaw, the glittering orbs of her eyes as her visage passed over the shining surface reminded him too much of childhood stories and the murderous cunning of dragons.

He jerked up his head when she rasped out in a cold voice her command.

‘Report!’

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Wasim detailed his and Wahid’s plan, step-by-step, followed by a description of what had actually gone on the night of the attempt. He could see her back stiffen at his use of the word ‘attempt’, and he squirmed under her cold gaze. Wahid had been killed and he had barely escaped. And yes, the King still lived.

He’d shut his eyes tight by this time, expecting the worst, but was met only with an engulfing silence. Hopeful, and relieved that he still breathed, he went on. The King and his men had seen him change from man to bird as he flew away. Wyrma’s eyes narrowed at this revelation. Wasim hurried on to explain that they had arrested someone else the very next morning. Someone they called a ‘skinchanger’.

‘Another maenwaith?’ she asked, her brow furrowed.

‘Not one I’ve ever seen in any of the tribes here. A giant of a man, pale skinned with long dark hair and a full beard. He smelled familiar in an odd way, though – I visited him in his cell when he was sleeping. I’ve never seen another like him.’ Wasim pursed his lips, trying to dredge up the last bit of information he had wanted to remember about the man.

‘Baran,’ he said softly, nodding to himself. ‘They called him Baran.’

His reporting done, he cast his eyes down once again, hoping he would make it out of her office alive and safely home . . .

Last edited by piosenniel; 07-15-2004 at 02:37 PM.
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