Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two

by Brian S. Pratt

  Her little face grew animated as she got into the story.

  “One day while Little Tail hid in the forest after his brothers had stolen his food and driven him away, he found the Golden Acorn.

  “Poor Little Tail was so hungry that he ate the Golden Acorn and was transformed into a sly fox. He then returned home and ate his brothers.”

  Her grin was infectious and James couldn’t help but smile. “And the acorn glowed?”

  Her little head bobbed up and down.

  “So the mage was Little Tail?”

  Potbelly’s question generated much laughter. James ignored it. He stepped forward and patted her on the head. “Thank you, Jira. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You’re welcomed, Uncle.” Turning about, she returned to her seat.

  “It is possible the mage’s artifact came from The School of the Arcane,” Nerun suggested. “Who knows what they may have had secreted away in there. Once it blew, things hidden may have been revealed.”

  James nodded. “That makes sense. Once the masters were gone, their apprentices might have helped themselves to potent magical objects.”

  “The one who attacked your island, after having discovered the latent magical powers of the object in his possession, went after you for the rewards being offered?” Scar proposed.

  Potbelly nodded. “The men with him may have been mercenaries, and not associated with any of the Warlords.”

  “Very likely.” James turned to Illan. “What do you think?”

  Illan considered Nerun’s theory for a moment. “We have heard nothing of this. Had someone suddenly come into so much power as you say this object provided the mage, I would have thought our spies would have gotten wind of it. Also, we would have heard if anyone was putting out feelers for mercenaries to take you on.”

  “Still, that would explain why we hadn’t heard of this object before, or the mage wielding it.”

  “True,” Illan agreed.

  James glanced at Jiron. “The School wouldn’t be too far out of our way.”

  “Are you thinking of paying a visit and see if we can discover anything?”

  “Possibly.”

  “I understand your need to reunite with your wives,” Illan said. “But you must realize, the Empire remains in utter chaos. Passing through unmolested will not be easy.”

  “Patrols are everywhere,” Captain Ranthus added. “All the main roads are watched, as are the areas in between. It won’t be long before they will know who it is that has entered their territory.”

  “Be that as it may,” James replied, “that is where our road lies. We have business within the Empire.”

  “Investigating the whereabouts of this mage?” queried Nerun.

  “In part, yes. But there is another matter of slightly more importance that needs doing.”

  “What is that?”

  James smiled. “A task that has long been overdue.” What that task may be and how it could possibly be of more importance than discovering the identity of the one who attacked his island, he kept to himself.

  “I would appreciate it if you could send word to Ollinearn, as well as Ellinwyrd in Cardri. One of them may have some idea as to the identity of those behind the attack, and might also have an idea about the yellowish object of power the mage wielded.

  “Don’t bother attempting to find us in the Empire. If you learn anything, send the information to Meliana’s father in Corillian.”

  Illan nodded. “I can do that. Might take some time, though. Corillian is no small distance from here.”

  “I understand.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard to find us,” quipped Scar. “Last time we entered the Empire, we left a swath of destruction behind us a mile wide.”

  “This time, we are going to slip through quietly.”

  Potbelly shook his head. “We tried that once, remember?”

  In the guise of caravan merchants, James and the others had first traveled to the slave markets of Korazan where they rescued Jiron’s sister from the slave block, then pushed deeper into the Empire to find Miko who had also been captured and enslaved.

  Throughout the trip to Korazan, the plan went off without a hitch. After that, things had taken a turn for the worse culminating in a desperate fight and flight from the Empirical Capital, Azzac.

  “Yes, I do,” James replied. “I also remember that it was a certain pair that had gotten us into most of it. I trust we will have a better appreciation for discretion this time through?”

  Scar nodded, then jerked his head toward Potbelly. “I’ll make sure to keep him in line.”

  “Me? Who was it that went drinking…?”

  “Enough.” James waved them to silence as he turned to Illan. “We leave in the morning.”

  The sound of a stool scraping across the floor heralded the rise of Miko. “In that case, my priests and I have work to do.”

  Fathers Vickor and Keller stood. Father Keller glanced to their young novice. “You too, Kip.”

  Engrossed in a game of Bones and Daggers, one which he was on the verge of losing, Kip failed to notice. A sudden quick blow to his shin from a well-placed, beneath-the-table kick from Jira brought him back to the here and now.

  Giving her a grimace, he followed her nod and saw his superiors staring at him. “What?”

  Miko broke into a half-grin. “Come, Kip. There are people who need attending.” As his apprentice hopped to his feet, he said to Illan, “We shall do what we can before departing.”

  “Any help would be most appreciated.”

  Nodding, Miko led his priests and novice from the room.

  Once they were gone, James retook his seat, turned to Illan and said, “Now, what can we expect once we pass into the Empire.”

  Throughout the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, they discussed patrol patterns, the political climate, and a myriad other points needful for those seeking to slip through unnoticed. A map was produced marked with the boundaries for each of the Warlords. Illan made it clear that these lines were impermanent and were but rough estimates.

  The intelligence was most detailed in the area north of Korazan. After that, it was spotty at best. They worked out an initial route. Once they left Tinker, they would move south-west toward Zereth-Alin. South from there would take them to Tears of the Empress, a sizable lake on whose eastern shore laid Korazan. James planned to skirt the western shore and avoid coming anywhere near the slave markets. Too many chances of being spotted. Memories of what he did there still ran deep. Once across the river they would at that time determine the best way to proceed.

  Miko spent a sleepless night with the mindless victims of the mage-turned-creature. Despite his best efforts, by the time the sun rose over the horizon he had come no closer in restoring them to their former selves.

  “This is not my task.” That was his answer when James queried him about his ineffectualness. “Had Morcyth wished me to be the bringer of their restoration, they would have been restored.”

  “Why wouldn’t Morcyth want you to heal them?”

  Shrugging, Miko replied, “I do not know. Maybe they are beyond even Morcyth’s reach. Or maybe he does not care.” James’ frown prompted him to elaborate.

  “Each god has a purpose to which they strive. Morcyth is not a healing god though we, his priests, can heal. His mandate is more that of a teacher.”

  James’ frown remained as he glanced to the vacant-eyed villagers around them. “Couldn’t he teach you how to cure them?”

  “Most likely. But he has not and we must accept his will. Gods do not obey the wishes of men. Not even those of their High Priests.”

  “Then what good are they?”

  Turning, they found Tinok staring at them from astride his horse.

  “The gods hold the balance of the universe in their hands. Woe to us should the gods depart.”

  “I doubt that.”

  About that time, Jira came running up to James. “Are we ready to go see Mother?�
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  “It’s still a long road ahead?”

  “I know.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw her father riding toward them. “It’s exciting.” Darting forward, she took three steps and leapt. Jiron extended his hand, Jira grabbed it and was plopped before him on the horse. She turned to him and hollered, “Come on, Uncle. Let’s go.”

  James grinned as he and Miko crossed to their horses and mounted.

  Illan was there to see them off; as were Nerun and Captain Ranthus. “You shouldn’t have any problems for the first day or so. After that, be wary of anyone you meet.”

  “I think it’s the other way around,” Shorty said. “Everyone should be wary of us.”

  The group setting off from Red’s Place that morning was about as deadly a bunch as one could every hope to bring together: First there was The Dark Mage; a High Priest who happened to be one of the most deadliest sword fighters around; and a bevy of ex-pit fighters that would love nothing better than to enter a fight, each a deadly foe in their own right. James felt fairly confident that there was little his group couldn’t handle.

  Illan grinned. “You may be right. But be careful anyway.” He came and extended his hand.

  James took it and said, “We will.”

  “Bye, Uncle Illan.”

  “Tell your mother I said ‘hi’.”

  Jira bobbed her head. “I will.”

  Scar and Potbelly once again took point as their group headed out from the ramshackled collection of buildings. At Tinker, they encountered a group of Raiders with another six villagers in tow on their way to the stockade.

  “Hope they find them all, Father,”

  Jiron gave her a hug. “So do I, Jira.”

  From Tinker, they followed the same trail as they had on the way in. Once they hit the main road, they turned to the right and began the two day ride to Zereth-Alin.

  As Illan predicted, the first day remained uneventful and they made good time. The second day proved just as lacking in hindrances. Twice they saw patrols off in the distance, but none bothered to come and investigate. When the skyline of Zereth-Alin came into view the sun hung low in the sky.

  Illan had indicated that their group would be well advised to not only give the town a wide berth, but to head cross-country from this point.

  “You run a greater risk of encountering a patrol after reaching Zereth-Alin. Once past, stay east of the road until reaching Tears of the Goddess.”

  As supplies were not yet an issue, they cut cross-country through farms and fields. A few farmers turned to gaze at the group passing before returning to their toils. The sun was all but set by the time Zereth-Alin faded from view in the growing dusk.

  They continued on until all vestiges of daylight were banished and stars reigned supreme. After making camp, a watch was scheduled that included everyone but James and Miko; James because he was in charge, and Miko due to being a High Priest. The one-time street kid didn’t mind the arrangement at all.

  While the adults talked among themselves, Jira and Kip settled in for a game of Bones and Daggers. She was growing ever more proficient at the game, a situation that did not sit well with the young novice.

  In the beginning, his wins came easily. Now though, he had to work much harder for every victory; victories that were no longer certain.

  Once the board was set, Jira grinned that mischievous grin of hers and asked, “Six?”

  Kip shook his head. “Three.”

  “Okay.”

  The last time game they played where Long Daggers could capture and retain six pieces, Jira had trounced him unmercilessly. He still felt the shame of that loss. After all, he was nearly a young man, and she but a child of five!

  In a regular game, whenever a Dagger captures either a Bone or an opponent’s Dagger, the piece is placed beneath it and the Dagger becomes a Long Dagger. With each succeeding piece placed beneath, it gains one additional move. At six, Jira could move nearly halfway across the board, readily penetrated his defenses and snatched his own Long Daggers out from under him. He vowed never again to play a game beyond the normal three.

  “Going to beat her this time, Kip?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Shorty approaching.

  “Of course.”

  “Hmmmm.” As he came and sat before the board between them, he turned to Jira, “What do you think?”

  She giggled and shook her head. “As Uncle would say, ‘He’s toast.’”

  Shorty grinned. “That he would, Little One.”

  Kip glanced between them, grimaced and moved the first piece.

  “See,” Jira said as she slid a Dagger forward. “He always starts with the same piece.”

  “You better watch yourself, boy. When a woman learns your ways, you’re in trouble.” He winked at Jira who giggled.

  Kip nodded, smiled half-heartedly, and kept focused on the board. A second piece moved forward to join the first.

  One of Jira’s Daggers moved into position and Kip discovered he could capture it. “Aha!” he exclaimed and moved his own Dagger to take it. Now he had a Long Dagger able to move two spaces. He met her gaze and smiled most satisfactorily. From where his Long Dagger sat, he had a good portion of her pieces pinned in place. For her to move any of them would enable him to strike.

  She moved a piece forward along the edge of the board. Thrice more they alternated moving pieces. When it came her turn again, she gave him a worried look then pushed a piece forward that put it within two spaces to the right of his Long Dagger.

  A grin spread across his face as a two-move Long Dagger struck. Now his piece could move three spaces. At three, it was now the mightiest piece on the board.

  But, since his Long Dagger now sat on the right side of the board, pieces on the left were vulnerable. One of Jira’s Daggers struck and took one. He moved his Long Dagger to the left, but failed to reach her piece before it took a second.

  “You’re in trouble, boy.”

  Kip ignored him. Her Long Dagger was now equal to his. He could no longer get within striking distance without putting his own piece at risk. Indecision turned to recklessness. Moving a piece to threaten hers, he lost another which gave her a second Long Dagger.

  As he sought to pin her Long Daggers down, her smaller, single-move Daggers snatched his out from under him which turned them into Longs. Oh sure, he took a few of hers, but she laid waste to his pieces until he had no choice but to capitulate.

  Shorty laughed and clapped Jira on her back. “You are your father’s daughter.”

  Kip glowered at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Son, you don’t rise to become one of the best knifers in the world without understanding strategy.” He pulled one of his knives from the brace around his chest. “Against a sword, this isn’t much of a defense. You have to think ahead and plan your moves…” thrusting the blade toward Kip, he halted it less than an inch away from his heart, “or you’re dead.”

  He nodded toward Jira. “She does that.”

  “And I don’t?”

  Gesturing to the scene of his latest defeat, Shorty asked, “What do you think?”

  Jira’s grin faded as she grew to understand how Kip’s mood was turning sour. “I like playing with you.”

  “What you need to do, is not be so predictable. If you play with someone long enough and always use the same strategies, eventually they’re going to catch on. Like Jira has with you. Try new ways to win. It might work. Or, it might not.”

  “But she’s only five!”

  Shorty laughed. “What does age have to do with it?” Turning, he flung his knife and skewered the apple right out of Potbelly’s hand as he was about to take a bite? “I could do that before I could walk.”

  Kip doubted that, but left such sentiment unsaid.

  Getting to his feet, Shorty went over to retrieve his knife and mollify an indignant Potbelly.

  The young novice watched him go until Jira asked, “Another game?”

  Meeting her
hopeful look, he nodded. “This time, things will be different.”

  She giggled and began resetting the pieces.

  The next two games he concentrated less on what he was doing, and more on her moves; he lost badly. By the third, he began to understand how she thought and tried predicting her reactions to his and managed to lose only by a small margin. The fourth game he maneuvered her three-move Long Dagger into a trap and this time won.

  Two eyes watched Potbelly’s silhouette as it moved just beyond the campfire’s reach. It was a quiet night; stars filled the sky and off in the distance came the cries of nocturnal predators. Completely unaware that his movements were under surveillance, the Pit Master moved a little farther from his sleeping comrades and sat upon a nearby fallen tree.

  The owner of the eyes kept still until certain he planned to remain where he was, then crept from hiding. The small form snuck stealthily through the camp; its gaze never once leaving Potbelly. When the Pit Master shifted position upon the trunk, it hit the ground and froze.

  A snore from two feet away broke the stillness of the night. Had Father Vickor been awake, the priest would assuredly have seen the diminutive person that attempted to avoid detection.

  Picking itself up, it hurried through the camp toward where the horses were picketed and the supplies kept. It took only moments once it arrived at the packs, small hands searched and found the store of apples. Taking two, it glanced to ensure Potbelly’s attention was still focused in another direction, then raced quietly for the night.

  Fifty feet from the camp, it came to a halt. A knife glittered in the moonlight as an apple slice was removed. With stars as the only witness, it set the slice upon the ground, took two steps back and sat. Legs crossed, it hummed a soothing tune and waited.

  Time passed; its head swiveled periodically to glance back at the camp to see if its nocturnal activities had been discovered. Finally, motion appeared out of the night. A hand, smaller than the one that had stolen the apple, snatched the slice from where it laid upon the ground.