Fall of Angels

LXXVIII

THRAP!

Hissl glances up from the table to the half-open door to the outside landing, half-open to allow in the spring breeze.

“Yes?”

“I seek the great wizard Hissl,” comes the voice from beyond the door.

Hissl rises and picks up the white bronze dagger from the table as he steps toward the door. “And why might you seek him?”

The door swings open, but the hooded figure standing there does not enter the room.

“I’m not exactly interested in cutthroats sneaking around with their faces hidden.” Hissl’s tone is faintly ironic.

“I am not a cutthroat, and I offer you the key to your wishes, honored Wizard,” begins the hooded figure.

“My wishes? How would you presume to know my wishes?” asks Hissl.

“An unnamed brethren of yours presumes, not I.” Thehooded figure extends an object … very slowly.

Hissl reaches, then draws back his hand. “Iron! That is no token of friendship!” His fingers tighten around the dagger.

“Look again, I was told to tell you.”

Hissl’s eyes narrow, but he studies the object on the other’s palm. “Chaos, bound in iron, and yet, the chaos binds the iron. How can that be?”

The hooded man steps forward and sets the object on the white oak table. “I will leave that for you, and for you to consider.” He turns and walks down the narrow steps from the upper room.

Behind him, Hissl studies the iron and the chaos which surrounds it. “But how? How?”

He finally glances out into the afternoon, but the hooded figure has vanished into the streets of Clynya, and the spring wind bears no hint of the stranger or his origin.