The Mists of Sorrow: The Morcyth Saga Book Seven

by Brian S. Pratt

  Chapter Seventeen

  _________________________

  As the sun makes its way above the horizon, they break camp and make ready to ride. Jiron takes the lead with Reilin close behind in case they are approached along the road. The day goes by rather uneventfully. They pass through many small towns and when the sun begins its descent back to the horizon, the town of Jihara appears in the distance ahead of them.

  “Should we stop there for the night?” asks Reilin.

  Jiron gazes at the position of the sun and shakes his head. “There are still a couple hours of daylight left,” he says.

  Pushing on, they reach the walls of Jihara and work their way through its streets. Once on the south side, they resume their quick pace and leave it behind. Jiron keeps the pace quick until well after the sun has set and the stars have come out. When the horses begin to droop from the steady pace he’s kept, he leads them off the road and they make camp. In the morning, they are again on the road before the sun even rises.

  During the hour after they leave camp, James has Reilin ask a fellow traveler on the road how much further they have until they reach Morac. The traveler tells them they should reach it before late afternoon which greatly boosts Jiron’s moral. The sooner he gets to the bottom of what happened to Tinok, the quicker he’ll be able to track him down.

  Anticipating that they will reach Morac before the end of the day, Jiron keeps them at their speedy pace. Hour after hour the miles fly by until two hours after noon when a city appears out of the horizon ahead of them. “That has to be it,” asserts Jiron.

  As they draw closer to the walls, James all of a sudden starts chuckling to himself.

  “What’s so funny?” asks Miko.

  James glances at him and then over to Jiron. He can see Jiron’s ears burning slightly with the memory of their last visit to Morac. “Should I tell him or do you want to?” he asks.

  “You can,” he replies. “This is the one story you love to tell.”

  “I do don’t I,” he states with a grin. “On our way to rescue you from the mines, we passed through here. This was just after Cassie died and Jiron’s friend Tinok left. Yes,” he says, “the same one we’re searching for. Anyway, Scar, Potbelly and several others took Jiron into town to get the recent events off his mind. To make a long story short, Roland and I had to go and find them when they didn’t return. Seems they ran afoul of a woman and her old mother who somehow managed to get them into the basement of their house and tied them up.”

  He pauses a moment and then looks to Jiron. “You never actually told me how you got down there,” he says.

  “Frankly James,” he says, “I don’t remember.” The blush that comes to his cheeks tells him that he probably does.

  “Right,” replies James with a little sarcastic tone to his voice.

  Miko grins and Reilin actually breaks out into laughter at Jiron’s and the other’s expense. Jiron casts him a dirty look and he brings his amusement under control.

  By this time they’ve come close to the gates of the city. The traffic moving in and out is quite heavy for this time of the day. They make their way closer to the gate and take their place in line. Somewhere behind the walls is a man named Azku and Jiron intends to find this man before the sun rises the following morning.

  The line entering the city continues to move forward until they are but a few people away from the gate. When it’s their turn to pass through, a squad of guards exits from within the city. All of a sudden they are surrounded by guards and James is about ready to panic. Then Jiron shakes his head telling him not to worry. The guards are merely there to relieve the ones who were on duty. Paying those in line little attention, the new arrivals take position while the ones being relieved form up to march back inside. James and the others pass through the gate quickly and into the city before the changing of the guard can be completed.

  “Better find an inn first so the rest of us can be out of sight while you go in search of this Azku,” suggests James.

  “Very well,” he says and starts scanning the streets for any sign of an inn. When he comes across a three story building bearing a sign depicting a winged bird in flight, he comes to a stop out front. He and the others wait while Reilin enters to see about getting the rooms.

  They don’t have long to wait before Reilin makes his appearance back out the front door. He holds up the keys showing them he got the rooms. Then they take the horses around back to the stables and are soon up in their rooms.

  Dinner is still a couple hours away so Jiron suggests that he take Reilin and see about locating The Cracked Ladle. James tells him to take Stig along just in case and the three of them leave on their hunt.

  Jiron hits the stairs down to the common room almost at a run in his impatience. “Hey,” Stig cautions, “not so fast. We don’t want to draw any attention.”

  Jiron holds back several choice words about unwanted attention, but heeds Stig’s warning and slows down. Once in the common room they make their way through the tables toward the door. Several of the tables have men and women taking their ease during the heat of early evening. One of the ladies gives Jiron a slight grin and a wink. If he wasn’t so intent on finding out what this man knows about Tinok, he might have paused. But then thoughts of Aleya come to mind and any errant thought he has about the woman in the common room vanishes like a breeze.

  They exit through the door and come to a stop in the street. Unsure where the Cracked Ladle lies, Jiron has Reilin ask one of the passersby. Luck is with them and the man is able to give them directions. He points down the street they are currently on and tells them to continue for six blocks, then to take a right. And that’s where his memory gets a little hazy. “It borders on a plaza that has a three tiered fountain,” he says. “You can’t miss it, it’s the only public fountain here in Morac. Also, atop the uppermost tier of the fountain lies a statue of Aziki.”

  “Aziki?” asks Reilin. The man looks at him odd that he wouldn’t know who Aziki is. “Oh yeah, right,” he says to the man then thanks him for his help. He indicates to Jiron and Stig that he’s got the directions and leaves the man standing there as he rejoins the others. Glancing back, he sees the man still standing there looking at him oddly. Wonder who this Aziki is?

  Leading the others, he takes them down six blocks and then turns right down a cross street. “Somewhere in this area is a fountain with a statue of someone on top of it,” he tells them. “The Cracked Ladle borders the plaza.”

  “Excellent,” says Jiron. They continue down a few more blocks and at each intersection of streets they come to they scan down the cross streets for the fountain. The first two intersections yield nothing, but at the third when they look down to the left, they see over the heads of the crowds on the streets, a statue of a warrior.

  “That must be it,” Reilin observes.

  “Let’s hope so,” Stig says.

  Moving down the street to their left, they work their way through the crowds until the street opens onto the plaza the man had described. The splash of water can be heard as it cascades over the tiers of the fountain. It’s actually quite large and children, some of them naked, are playing in the water.

  The buildings bordering the plaza all look fairly identical. Most appear to be open markets where many people are currently looking over goods or sitting at tables having a drink or a meal.

  “Which one is it?” Stig asks.

  “The name indicates an eatery,” Jiron replies. “Let’s make our way around the plaza and see if there’s a sign hanging out front of one of them that may tell us.”

  Moving through the crowds, they work their way from one shop to the next. By the time they have made a complete circle and come back to where they started, no sign indicating a Cracked Ladle could be seen.

  “Go ask someone,” Jiron finally tells Reilin.

  Nodding, Reilin goes to one of the men passing by and asks, “Excuse me sir, could you tell me which one of these establishments is the Cra
cked Ladle?”

  The man stops and peers at him through squinted eyes as if he’s unable to see well. “The Cracked Ladle you say?” he asks. Casting his eyes around the plaza, they finally stop at one with a red tapestry bearing the design of a sword hanging next to the door. “I believe that is the one there.”

  “Thank you good sir,” Reilin says before the man walks away. Returning to the others, he indicates the door with the red banner and says, “It’s that one.”

  “Doesn’t look like an eatery,” Stig says.

  “No, it doesn’t,” agrees Jiron. Turning to Reilin he asks, “Are you sure that’s the one the man told you?”

  Nodding, Reilin replies, “Absolutely.”

  “Very well then,” Jiron says. Moving out, he crosses the plaza toward the door next to the red banner. Coming up to it, he takes hold of the handle and pushes it open.

  On the other side they find a wide hallway extending further back. Lining the hallway are six suits of armor three to a side, each one from a different nation or era. “I don’t think this place is an eatery,” whispers Reilin when he sees the armor.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Jiron says as he passes through the doorway. His feet echo off the hardwood floor. Gazing down at it, he suddenly realizes whatever this place is, it has money. A floor like this, especially in this part of the world, had to have cost a fortune.

  Just after the six suits of armor, the hallway ends at an open archway. On the other side is a large room, richly furnished. Couches, chairs and tables are spaced in such a way as to afford at least a small amount of privacy to those using them. Rugs line the floor and tapestries hang along the walls. Not cheap ones, these look to be made of fine cloth by master artisans. A few statues sprinkled here and there give the room an even added touch of elegance.

  The room is empty but for a lone gentleman sitting at one of the tables reading a book. As they enter the room the man looks up from his reading, his expression is one of irritation. His eyes never leave them as Jiron comes to a stop just within the room.

  He looks at the man then glances around the room in the hopes of someone else making an appearance that they could deal with. When after a minute of fruitless waiting, he sighs and begins walking over to the man.

  Reilin walks at his side and notices the man’s mood turns darker when he realizes they mean to approach him. “Good day,” Reilin greets the man as they reach the table. Coming to a stop, they give the man a slight, respectful bow in the hopes of mellowing out his mood.

  Unresponsive, the man continues to glare at them.

  “We were hoping you could tell us if this is in fact the Cracked Ladle?” Reilin asks.

  The man’s eyes flick from one to the other. He closes his book and sets it on the table before him. “It is,” he replies.

  Reilin turns to the others and translates, “He said it is.”

  “Good,” says Jiron.

  Jiron was just about to tell Reilin to ask about Azku when the man says in perfect northern, “I can understand you.”

  “Thank goodness,” he says turning to the man. “This doesn’t look like an eatery.”

  “That’s because it isn’t,” the man explains. Remaining ramrod straight in his chair, the man’s expression hasn’t softened in the least.

  “Oh?” asks Stig. “What kind of place is this?”

  “One where those who are not invited are not welcome,” he states. “You are intruding where you don’t belong. Please leave.”

  “But we have come a very long way,” objects Jiron. “We very much need to find a man by the name of Azku. We’ve been told he comes here.”

  The man’s eyes react slightly when Jiron said the name ‘Azku’, then returns to the same perturbed expression once more. “Please leave,” the man says again. “I don’t wish to tell you a third time.”

  Jiron locks gazes with the man and begins contemplating the ramifications if he were to force the man to talk to them.

  “Oh, hello,” a voice says from behind them, also in northern.

  They turn to see another man, this one wearing a more jovial expression. “I see you’ve met Kozal,” the jovial man says with a smile. Then he glances to the man in the chair and says, “Being your usual unpleasant self?”

  “They’ve got no right to be in here,” Kozal says.

  “I suppose in the strictest sense that is true,” the jovial man states. “But you can be my guests and that will settle that.”

  The man in the chair picks up the book and grumbles something as he returns his eyes back to its pages.

  “Don’t let Kozal’s unpleasantness give you the wrong impression of us here at the Order of the Scarlet Sword,” the jovial man says. He glances again at the man at the table and whispers to them, “We better find another place where we can talk so we won’t bother him any longer.”

  “How about outside in the street,” mumbles Kozal.

  Shaking his head at Kozal’s rudeness, the jovial man indicates for them to follow him. “We don’t get many visitors here,” he explains.

  “I never heard of the Order of the Scarlet Sword,” Jiron says.

  “Not too surprising,” the man replies. “Even here in the Empire it’s not too well known. Being from the north, I would have been surprised if you had heard of it.”

  “What is it?” Stig asks.

  “It’s kind of like a guild,” he replies. “Those of us who belong to the Order of the Scarlet Sword are mainly comprised of soldiers, fighters, weapon smiths and a few others whose profession has to do with such things. I believe we even have a couple Empire Commanders and Commanders of Ten counted as members.” As he talks he takes them through the room and opens a door on the far side.

  The hallway they find themselves in has a very fine carpet lining the floor. The walls are adorned with many fine works of art. “There’s a room down here where we can have some peace and quiet while we talk.”

  “Are you a swordsman then?” asks Jiron. From the man’s manner and build, he would hardly consider him a formidable opponent if he were.

  “No,” he replies. “I’ve never been one for the actual use of weapons. Rather, I teach those willing to learn.”

  He stops before a door on the left side of the hallway and removes a key. Using the key to unlock the door, he opens it and leads them inside. The room they find themselves in, considering the ostentatiousness of what they’ve seen so far, is rather plain. A simple wooden table in the center of the room with chairs set around it upon a bare wooden floor.

  “Now, if you will take a seat,” the man replies, “we can discuss whatever it is that brought you here.”

  Jiron takes his seat but feels slightly put off by the amicable nature of their host. “Who are you?” he asks.

  “Where are my manners?” he asks. “You can all me Ohan.”

  “Ohan?” asks Stig. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.”

  Ohan gives him a grin and says, “Not too surprising. In my life I’ve only encountered one other person who had the privilege to be called such. And that was quite a ways from here as a matter of fact.”

  “Indeed,” says Jiron.

  “You seem awfully…uh…” stammers Reilin.

  “Nice?” he asks. When Reilin nods he shrugs and says, “To be honest I’m just bored. My job is to take care of the members here and to keep the House in order. Aside from Kozal, you are the only ones I’ve seen in days. And frankly, he isn’t much of a conversationalist.”

  Jiron is beginning to warm up to the man. Giving him a grin he says, “I could see that.”

  “Oh, he’s not a bad sort once you get to know him,” he replies. “Just likes to read. Never saw an ex-swordsman read like he does. Anyway, we are getting away from what it is that brought you here.”

  “We are looking for a man by the name of Azku,” Jiron explains.

  “Azku you say?” he asks.

  “Do you know him?” asks Stig.

  “I know several m
en by the name of Azku,” he replies. “Two happen to be members that stop by here from time to time.”

  “The one we wish to contact was in Inziala about a month ago,” explains Jiron. “Said he was stopping by here when he left.”

  “Hmmm,” Ohan says as he visibly turns inward to think about what Jiron just said. Finally after a full minute of contemplation, he nods and says, “Yes. I think I know the one you are looking for.”

  Excited, Jiron says, “Can you tell us where he is?”

  Shaking his head, Ohan says, “Sorry, that would be against the rules I’m afraid.”

  “Can you at least tell us if he’s here in town?” Stig asks.

  “I am not sure to tell you the truth,” he replies, “haven’t seen him in a couple days. Although many of the members don’t always drop by here on a daily basis.”

  Jiron looks at the man, frustrated by his lack of help despite his friendly and accommodating nature. “Is there any way in which you can be of help?” he finally asks.

  “Oh yes,” he replies. “You could leave him a message that I will be more than happy to deliver to him as soon as he puts in an appearance.”

  “Which could be a long time?” asks Jiron.

  “I’m afraid so,” Ohan answers.

  Stig looks to Jiron and says, “It’s better than nothing.”

  Jiron thinks for a moment and then says, “If that’s the best you can do, so be it. Tell this Azku that we are staying at the Soaring Eagle and that this regards a certain incident that happened back in Inziala. Tell him the woman in question is with child and we desire to settle this matter forthwith.”

  Ohan’s eyes widen at that. “Is the parentage of the child in doubt?” he asks.

  “As for that,” replies Jiron. “It might be best if I take it up with Azku.”

  Nodding, Ohan says, “That may be the wisest course.”

  “So do I,” replies Jiron. Standing up, he says, “We thank you for your time and if you should see him, also tell Azku that we are leaving on the morrow. It would be best for all parties to have this settled before that time.”