“We better get out of here.” He glanced to Jiron who nodded.
“Take Jira and Kip and go,” Miko said, then glanced to Scar and Potbelly. “You two better make yourselves scarce as well.”
Scar looked offended. “But we didn’t do anything.”
“Did you not?”
Tinok stepped quickly away from the window when someone below glanced up. “It won’t be long before they’ll be up here.” His time spent running wild in the Empire sowing death and havoc all said this situation could degenerate quickly.
“Illan will protect us,” Potbelly stated, then looked to James. “He wouldn’t dare do anything to the Hero of Madoc.”
Tinok shook his head. “Illan departed a couple days ago. Not sure when he’ll be back. In any event, the fact that the Dark Mage lives will soon become common knowledge if we remain.”
From the stairwell came the sound of many feet hurrying up the steps.
Miko pointed to the room. “Everyone inside and away from the window, I will deal with them.” Laying his hand on Kip’s shoulder, he said, “Go with them.”
Jiron motioned for Tinok to enter the room, but the knifer shook his head. “I’ll stay.”
Pausing but a moment, Jiron nodded, took Jira’s hand and rushed into the room; James followed, then Kip. Scar and Potbelly, with Shorty in tow, passed into the room just as the first local cleared the landing.
Miko moved to put several feet between the room’s door and his back before coming to a stop. Father Keller stood on his left and Tinok on his right.
“There they are!”
Father Vickor appeared on the landing and elbowed several out of the way as he forged his way to the head of the pack.
Miko, looking the innocent, asked, “Good gracious, is something the matter?”
“Yes!” hollered the lead man as he pointed toward the end of the hallway. “A man was killed and his body tossed through yonder window.” His demeanor indicated his belief in Miko’s culpability.
Stepping forward, Father Vickor came to a stop before Miko and bowed deeply. In a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in attendance, he said, “Reverend Father, a man has been slain, tossed from this very hallway. I was nearby and did my best to save his life, but his spirit had already fled.”
Miko took on a look of profound sadness as he gazed upon his priest. In the crowd behind Father Vickor, a few gasped and he heard the name “Morcyth” passing from one to another. He had been recognized.
Not only were Miko’s priests active in this area, spreading the word, but Morcyth played a prominent part in many a tale concerning the Madoc-Empire war.
The lead man’s anger and suspicion vanished. “Pray forgive us, Reverend Father, but did you see anyone in the hallway when you emerged from your room?”
“There were a couple men, but they quickly departed.” He glanced to Father Keller who nodded.
“They didn’t go down the stair,” a lady shouted.
“They must still be in one of the rooms,” another hollered.
At that, the crowd dissolved as everyone immediately began flinging open doors. If one proved to be locked, they kicked it in. A few screams from those occupying the rooms went unheeded as the search progressed.
When two men with drawn swords entered the room in which James and the others had fled, Miko waited for the cry. But they quickly emerged and moved to the next door.
Father Vickor came to stand next to Miko. “Shall we adjourn to our room, Reverend Father?”
Miko nodded.
Once they were within and the door closed, the lock was thrown and he crossed to the opened window. Tinok came to stand behind him. A man lay on the ground, looking to have been knocked cold. “They made it.”
Tinok nodded. “So it would seem. We should make our way from this place.”
“I agree,” said Father Vickor. “The Dark Mage cannot afford to be found. Not yet at any rate.”
“Yes. Go to the stable and ready the horses.” To Father Keller he said, “Gather everything from the rooms. We shall leave within the hour.”
Before doing as bid, Father Keller asked, “Will they be able to find us?”
Miko grinned. “I have no doubts. We shall head south at a leisurely pace and make camp along the road. I expect James will be along directly.”
Out in the hallway, the sound of running feet gradually faded once the searchers realized the killers must have fled. They now concentrated their search to the streets outside.
Five blocks from the scene of the murder, in what had once been a tavern but was now a burned-out shell of its former glory, the fugitives waited. Kip had been sent back to the inn to discover what Miko planned to do. Until his return, they would keep out of sight.
“Well, this is a great start.”
Jiron turned to find James glaring at Scar, Potbelly, and Shorty. The Masters of the Pit hardly looked remorseful. Shorty on the other hand had eyes downcast.
“I didn’t mean for him to crash through the window.”
“Of course not! Who would have thought having a flight of knives hurled toward someone could possibly result in their death?” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
Mad was a mild description of the way James felt. They had barely left the City of Light, and a person had already been killed. More than likely the entire city guard was combing the streets for them.
“Won’t Uncle Black Hawk help us?”
James gazed into the young eyes of Jira and shook his head. “Not this time.”
“He’s not in town,” Scar explained. “Went somewhere to the west.” When James glanced to him, he added, “Or so one of the City Guard thought.”
“I’d still like to talk to him before heading into the Empire.”
Crossing through charred rubble to a window facing in the general direction of the inn, Jiron said, “First, we need to get out of here without being seen.”
“Better wait for the commotion to die down,” Potbelly suggested. “We’ll stand less of a chance of being recognized.”
Scar snickered. “You always knew how to point out the obvious.”
Shooting his partner a look that vowed future reckoning, Potbelly kept quiet.
Jiron cast his gaze out the window and saw Kip enter an area illuminated by a corner lamppost. He made his way through the diminishing crowds bustling along the street. The lad had the good sense to walk at a steady, unhurried pace.
“Kip’s back.”
The others came to the window just as the young novice turned the corner and passed from view.
Jira tugged at her father’s sleeve. “Where’s he going?”
“Coming around the back if he’s smart.” Jiron glanced to James. “The boy has a good head on his shoulders.”
The Dark Mage nodded.
It wasn’t long before the sound of movement in the back of the tavern heralded Kip’s return. The boy gave them a grin as he cleared a fallen beam and joined them. He came to stand before James.
“The Reverend Father is leaving.”
“Leaving?” queried Jiron.
The novice nodded. “I saw Fa…uh…Vick in the stable. They plan to head south.”
“Did he say where we should meet them?”
He shook his head. “Just that they were heading south and planned to make camp an hour or so down the road.”
“How about the search for us?”
Turning to Jiron, Kip said, “There isn’t going to be one.”
“What?” James exclaimed in surprise.
“A guard said the dead man was a local they knew all too well; a thief and murderer that had caused them no end of trouble. Once his identity became known, the search was called off. They aren’t going to waste much time in finding his killer.”
Jiron flashed James a grin. “That is good news.”
Not looking convinced, James replied, “Still, we should wait a bit before making our way from the city.”
Scar nodded. “That would be prud
ent.”
“Until then,” Jiron said as his gaze quickly moved to encompass the others, “we stay put and keep quiet.” Coming to rest on Scar and Potbelly, he held their eyes until both nodded.
Being quiet was never easy, especially for a lad embarking upon what he perceived to be a grand adventure. Kip was filled with barely contained excitement. Unable to sit still as they waited for the sun to go down, he would fidget until subdued by another’s reprimand, usually Jiron.
Jira had an equally difficult time. Their Bones and Daggers game had been left behind in their abrupt departure from the inn. They tried creating one from the rubble, but the noise produced by Kip’s attempt at forming appropriate sized pieces from the debris scattered across the floor brought Jiron’s wrath upon him and he quickly gave up.
Jiron manned the window. His ire spiked with every noise the others made. After his third chastisement of Kip, he threatened to bind and gag the lad if he wouldn’t be quiet. When he had been Kip’s age, he could have remained motionless and silent for hours on end should the situation warrant.
Outside grew quieter by the minute. Most respectable people had already returned home from their evening entertainments. A few couples walked the streets interspersed with the odd carriage or lone watchman making his rounds.
“I think it’s safe now.”
James joined him at the window and looked out on the quiet street. Glancing to his friend, he nodded. “Let’s go.”
Two groups emerged onto the darkened street. Two men, a girl and a lad nearing manhood comprised the first group. The second followed a few minutes later.
They kept calm and proceeded at a pace just north of leisurely. As always in situations such as this, Jiron took charge and maneuvered them through the back alleys of Al-Ziron. Guards wearing the uniform of the City Watch appeared periodically; Jiron altered direction as needed.
Minutes passed as they drew ever nearer to the outlying buildings. Pausing momentarily in the lee of a building that exuded the unpleasant stench commonly associated with a knacker, they waited for two guards to pass
James’ stomach grew sour from the malodorous aroma that permeated the area. He cast the building a look of pure disgust. Once informed about what transpired within walls such as these, he made a vow to never again eat sausage except what they made themselves. Many a dead or dying horse had been dragged within only to later find themselves served as sausage at less-than-fine eateries. It wasn’t so much the horse meat, but the “other” items commonly added that turned his stomach. Jiron’s claim that they threw rats, alive and kicking into the grinder was what had done it for him.
Speaking in low tones the two guards passed, oblivious to those that hid in the darkness nearby. Once they moved farther down the street, Jiron signaled for the others to follow. He took a step and was about to cross the mouth of an alley when from several blocks behind them, a shout broke the night.
“Guards! Guards, to me!”
Jiron came to a halt and glanced toward the cry. “Damn!”
“Scar and the others do you think?” James asked.
“Has to be.”
One of the Town Watch dashed around the corner nearby and raced with all speed back into town.
A small hand gripped Jiron’s arm. “We have to do something, Father.”
Jiron glanced down to his daughter, then cast a questioning glance to James.
Meeting his friend’s gaze for a moment only, James turned to Kip. “Find out what’s going on. Meet us half a mile down the road.”
The young novice nodded. After a quick look to ensure no one would witness his emergence onto the street, he left the shadows.
“Come on,” Jiron urged. “It won’t do to get caught up in this.”
James barely heard as he stared back into the city. Shouts for guards and cries for someone to stop continued unabated. Then, the night grew quiet. “They got them.”
After several seconds of quiet, Jiron nodded. “So it would seem.”
James pulled his gaze from the city and turned one filled with worry upon Jiron. “I hope Scar and the others had the good sense not to kill anyone.”
A fountain sat at an intersection of two main thoroughfares. Water poured from the mouth of a rearing horse to crash into the pool below as its rider held aloft a mighty spear. Everything from the horse’s fore-shoulders down was obscured from Kip’s view by the press of people filling the intersection. Whatever was happening, transpired at the fountain’s base.
The novice tried elbowing his way to the fore, but his efforts proved fruitless and he was forced to remain at the rear.
“We haven’t done anything!” Scar’s shout penetrated the murmur of the crowd.
Whatever reply may have been given, it failed to reach Kip’s ears. The novice feared for their friends. He tried a second time to forge his way through the crowd. Able to get a third of the way in, his forward progress was abruptly curtailed when those in front began moving backward.
“Back I say!” cried an authority-filled voice.
The crowd parted along the street heading back into town. Guards, over a score strong, escorted four men at sword point. Scar, Potbelly, Tinok, and Shorty had been divested of their weapons. With gentle, and at times not so gentle prodding, the guards ushered their prisoners along. Tinok’s anger looked barely kept in check.
Unable to push forward through the crowd from where he stood deep within the pack, Kip immediately turned about and made his way through the less packed throng at the rear. Once out, he quickly skirted the crowd, raced down an alley running parallel to the street upon which the guards marched, and hurried to get ahead of the procession.
It took him two blocks before he managed to get in front of the guards. Standing before a candle maker’s shop, he dithered about what to do.
Scar glanced his way, met his gaze, and nodded his head once in acknowledgement. When Kip made to speak, Scar shook his head then turned to the guard leading the procession.
“Where are you sons of dogs taking us?”
The lead guard glanced back over his shoulder. “Shut up back there!”
“Are you taking us to stand before Black Hawk?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, you’re going to the see the Watch Commander. He’s been interested in speaking with you for some time.” He then nodded to one of the guards at the rear who proceeded to strike Scar across the back of the head with the flat of his blade.
When Scar’s vision cleared from the blow, he again met Kip’s gaze. Kip now knew where they were being taken.
The novice waited until the procession had passed before heading with all speed back to where James and the others waited.
“The Watch Commander, huh?” James was not happy about this turn of events.
Kip nodded. “That’s what they said.”
Jiron glanced to his friend. “That means they’re at the City Jail, not the Keep.”
“Trying to avoid letting Black Hawk and his men know what’s going on you think?”
“Sounds that way.”
James turned a careworn look upon the young novice. “Was anyone hurt?”
Shaking his head, Kip replied, “I don’t think so.”
“Good.” To Jiron he said, “I’m surprised Tinok let them take him so easily.”
Jiron replied, “I’m not.” When James cast him a questioning look, he added, “If he gets into it with the guards here in Al-Ziron, he’ll never get the chance to kill more soldiers of the Empire.” Feeling a tug on his sleeve, he looked down into his daughter’s worried eyes.
“What are we to do, Father?”
James glanced to Jiron. “Can’t use magic. It would give me away to any mage in the area.”
“And neither of us can be seen.”
The gates of the Keep loomed before him. This late at night, there were but two guards on duty. Despite the fact that the pair idled away the time in quiet conversation, the chance of sneaking past was nil. One was of average hei
ght and carried a pole-arm. The other was slightly taller and wore a sword strapped around his ample girth.
Kip watched the pair from the shadowy front of a weapon’s smith. The Dark Mage had instructed him to approach the Keep, reveal that he was a novice of Morcyth on business of the High Priest, and ask to be taken to Ceadric.
Unsure exactly who this Ceadric might be, Kip knew the others depended on him. But guards such as what barred the Keep’s entrance had made his early years a misery. Fear, not felt since coming to the temple, unexpectedly resurfaced.
I can do this.
There was no one else. Squaring his shoulders, the young novice strode from the shadows and marched resolutely toward the Keep’s main gate. The two guards soon became aware of his approach.
As he drew close, the taller guard nudged the one with the pole-arm. “Look what’s coming to pay a call on the Lord Black Hawk.”
“Maybe he thinks he’ll be taken on as a Page,” quipped Pole-arm. Holding up his hand, he stepped forward to bar Kip’s way. “Boy, just turn around. You got no business here tonight.”
“I’m here with a message for Lord Black Hawk.” Voice cracking, words uttered in a tremulous tone, his fear was evident.
“A message you say?” Tall Guard asked.
Kip nodded. “I am a Novice of Morcyth and have come with word from the High Priest.”
Laughter split the night. Tall Guard glanced to Pole-arm. “I ain’t heard that one before.”
Pole-arm nodded. “What about the girl claiming to be his long-lost daughter?”
“Oh, aye!” he laughed. “Forgot about that one.”
The guards’ merriment unnerved Kip even more. This was not going well. What he really wanted to do was slink away, but knew others counted on him. Swallowing hard, he said, “I am of the temple, and I do have a message for Black Hawk.”
Pole-arm’s humor died quickly as his face turned serious. “That’s Lord Black Hawk to the likes of you, boy.”
“May I be admitted to see Lord Black Hawk?”
“It’s night, boy. Everyone’s asleep,” stated Tall Guard.
Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two Page 12
