The Mists of Sorrow: The Morcyth Saga Book Seven

by Brian S. Pratt

  Ceadric indicates the tarts that came along with the meal. “The cook said to tell Miko these are for him,” he says. “I don’t know who informed the cook that you were here, but if it has made it to him, it’s only a matter of time before word makes it to the Ambassador.”

  “If it hasn’t already,” finishes James.

  “How are we going to get out the gates?” asks Shorty.

  “Hedry is scheduled to lead a patrol this evening,” he explains. “I figure if you were to leave with him then your leaving may go unnoticed.” He glances to where Brother Willim sits eating in his brown robe, the emblem of the Hand of Asran upon his breast. “We are going to have to do something about your robe.”

  “I can easily take it off,” assures Brother Willim. “Maybe slip an ordinary cloak on instead?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of some armor,” counters Ceadric. “You are going to need to blend in with the others.”

  “I’ll not wear armor,” he states. “Our order forbids it.”

  “But they will realize you are not one of our men,” objects Ceadric.

  Seeing Ceadric clearly getting irritated and Brother Willim balking, James gets to his feet. “If the rest of us are wearing breastplates and helms, and we put him in the center, then in the dark we might be able to get away with it.”

  Ceadric nods his head. “That might work,” he says.

  “Why sneak out at all?” Stig asks. “There isn’t anyone around here who could effectively stop us.”

  “Two reasons,” James says as he turns to him. “One, if we are seen leaving and then moving into the Empire, war could erupt all over again and a lot of people are going to die.”

  “Second, we are trying to rescue Tinok. Our effort would only be hampered should the Empire learn we are on the move again.”

  “Oh,” says Stig slightly embarrassed, “that makes sense.”

  “Alright,” Ceadric says, “there’s an hour or so until sunset. Once it begins growing dark I will return and escort you through the back ways down to the stables. Then those of you who have no armor will be fitted with a breastplate and helm. When you are away from the keep, you can return the armor to Hedry and he and his men will bring it back once their patrol is over.”

  “In your horses’ saddlebags, you will find clothes that will enable you to blend in with the citizens of the Empire.” Turning to James he asks, “Did you wish a translator?”

  “I think that would be best,” he says.

  “Very well, I’ll have him meet you there.” Before he leaves he asks, “Is there anything else?”

  Shaking his head, James says, “Not that I can think of.”

  “Then I will return when it is dark.” With that, he heads for the door and exits to the hallway. Closing the door behind him, they can hear his footsteps as he makes his way toward the stairs.

  James commences to fill his plate and then stops when his eyes catch something. He stares at Miko until Miko asks, “What?”

  Smiling, he says, “I never saw a high priest before with tart jelly smeared across his cheek.” Laughter fills the room as Miko wipes the jelly off his reddening face.

  Now, almost two hours later, James stands at the window in the darkened room looking out into the night. A knock at the door breaks the stillness and when Jiron opens it, light comes in from where Ceadric stands in the hallway with a lantern.

  “It’s time,” he says.

  Coming from the window, James along with the others pick up their things. Leaving the dark room behind, they follow Ceadric down the hallway to the stairs where they descend all the way down to the bottom.

  Once they leave the stairwell, Ceadric takes them through hallways other than those they used to initially reach the tower. Few servants are about, those they encounter pay them little attention.

  They finally arrive at a locked door where Ceadric pauses a moment and produces a key that unlocks it. Pushing the door open, the unmistakable odor of straw and horse manure comes to them.

  Hedry along with a dozen other Raiders whom they recognize turn toward them when they hear the door open.

  “Everything set?” asks Ceadric as he moves into the stable.

  “Yes sir,” replies Hedry. He and his men begin equipping those who need it with armor they brought. All that is except Brother Willim who dons a plain dark cloak which is as far as he’s willing to go.

  Ceadric waves over a soldier who comes and joins him while he helps James into his armor. “This is Reilin,” he says. “He’s willing to accompany you and be your interpreter.”

  “Welcome aboard, Reilin,” James says in greeting.

  Reilin merely nods in reply. Standing a hair over six feet, he makes an imposing figure with his jet black hair.

  “Are the gates still being watched?” Jiron asks.

  “Last we checked they were,” Ceadric replies. “Don’t worry, I doubt if they’ll suspect anything.”

  “Let’s hope not,” says James.

  When at last they are all suitably attired in armor, they mount their horses. James and Miko need help, the additional weight of the armor making it difficult for them to make it up. With the aid of two Raiders, they manage to get into the saddle.

  Hedry mounts and looks back. “Form it up back there,” he commands. James and the rest tighten their formation with Brother Willim in the middle. “We leave the barn and head straight for the gates. No talking or stopping.” After receiving acknowledgement for the plan, he turns back toward the stable’s exit and nudges his horse into motion.

  They leave the stable and begin crossing the open courtyard toward the gate. As they draw near, a clank is heard and the portcullis begins to be drawn up. On the other side of the wall is a group of four men dressed in Empire attire not more than ten feet from the gate. Standing around a fire, they turn at the raising of the portcullis.

  One of the men comes forward and asks good naturedly, “Out for no good again Hedry?”

  “You know it Ezzin,” he replies. “You’ll have to wait to win your gold back for a few days I’m afraid.”

  Laughing, Ezzin says, “See you when you return.”

  As James and the rest pass by the area where Ezzin and his comrades take their ease by the fire, his anxiety rises with fear of being discovered. But he has little to worry about as Ezzin and the others hardly give them more than a cursory glance. Still, he doesn’t relax until they are swallowed by the night and the light from Ezzin’s fire disappears in the dark.

  “You know him?” asks Potbelly.

  “Ezzin?” asks Hedry. “Oh sure. He likes to lose at cards and I’m quite happy to oblige him.” Several men chuckle at that. “You would be surprised what one can learn during a friendly game of cards.”

  They ride to the southeast in the dark with only the stars and the moon above to light their way for an hour before Hedry brings them to a halt. “Here’s where we part ways,” he tells them.

  Removing the armor they used to disguise themselves, they return it to Hedry and his men who pack it away behind their saddles. “I appreciate this,” James tells him once the heavy weight of the armor is gone.

  “Not a problem,” he replies. “Just hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “So do I,” James tells him.

  With farewells passing from one group to the other, Hedry gets his men moving and soon James and the others are left alone in the night.

  “Which way?” asks Jiron. Now that they are finally on their way to find Tinok, his impatience is getting the better of him.

  “Better head south until daylight,” says James. “When it’s light I’ll try to get a better idea of where he is.”

  “South it is,” Jiron says and they get underway.

  James glances with foreboding at the moon shining above them. Now less than three weeks before the Shroud of Killian once again blinds the Giant’s Eye, he fervently hopes they can find Tinok before it’s too late.

  Chapter Eight


  _________________________

  After their initial grief over losing the members of their village to the grayness in the desert, Zyrn sent a rider south. He hoped that when the rider reaches the temple he’ll be able to convince someone to come and deal with this. The rider was none too happy about the fact that the only temple close was that of Dmon-Li. After all, their priests were none too helpful to the ordinary man.

  The day following Zyrn’s return to the village, he along with several others returns to the gray area. He makes sure to keep his distance, the memory of his friend’s death within the grayness still very much on his mind. When they finally reach the border of the gray area, Zyrn has the feeling it didn’t take him nearly as long to reach it as it did last time.

  Only one of those who accompanied him this time had been with him last time. Kabu, one of the ones who are seeing the grayness for the first time, sits there on his horse with eyes wide and mouth open. It seems as if the grayness extends all the way to the horizon. “I can’t believe this,” he says.

  “Believe it,” asserts Zyrn. “Don’t go near it or it may kill you.”

  “Why are we here?” another asks.

  Coming to a stop well back from the edge of the grayness, Zyrn removes a bundle from behind his saddle. Laying it on the ground, he unrolls the cloth to reveal six Parvati longswords. Picking up one of the swords acquired during their initial scavenging expedition, he begins walking toward the edge of the grayness.

  “The last time I was here…” he explains then stops and glances back to where the others remain with the horses. “It’s safe enough to come a little closer,” he assures them.

  “If it’s all the same,” Kabu says, “we’ll stay right here.”

  Sighing with a shake of his head, Zyrn resumes his trek to the edge of the grayness. “As I was saying,” he begins again, this time raising his voice so the others can hear him better, “the last time I was here, I saw it expand.”

  Stopping three feet from the edge of the shimmering grayness, he eyes it warily. Grasping the hilt of the sword, he holds it point downward. Raising the hilt as high as he can, he thrusts it into the ground. The blade sinks half a foot before coming to a stop. Making sure it is securely in the ground, he then turns back and hurries to rejoin the others.

  “What I want to do is see how fast it is growing,” he explains as he reaches the others. “By placing these swords along its edge every fifty feet or so, we’ll get a good idea of what it’s doing.”

  “Why?” asks one of the men as Zyrn takes another sword.

  Zyrn stops and looks the man in the eye. “I don’t want to wake up one night to find it at our village,” he says. “Or worse yet, not waking up because it is encompassing our village.”

  Striding off to the right of the spot where he placed the first sword, he goes approximately fifty feet from where the first blade is in the ground before coming to a stop. Trying to place the sword exactly the same distance from the edge of the grayness as the other, he thrusts it into the ground. Again making sure the sword will remain standing upright, he returns for another.

  Again and again he takes the swords and thrusts them into the ground at the edge of the grayness. When all six swords are firmly fixed into the ground, he stands back and looks at them.

  “Now what?” asks one of the men.

  Gesturing to the swords he says, “Look at where the swords stand.”

  After they look for a few seconds one of them asks, “So?”

  “Can’t you see?” he asks. “They do not mark the edge of a circle.”

  Taking another look the men see what he is trying to explain. Instead of a smooth circular line, the swords mark areas that extend further out than others.

  “It isn’t growing consistently,” Zyrn summarizes. “Rather different areas are pushing out at different rates.”

  “Guess your time at the School paid off,” Kabu says.

  “The High Lord Magus would know what to do,” he explains. “Though by the time word reached him it might be too late for our village.”

  “What now?” asks one of the men.

  “Now we wait,” he says. “Learn as much as we can about it so when the priest gets here we can give him some idea of what he’s facing.”

  “Look!” one of the men says as he points to the first sword Zyrn placed in the ground. Already the edge of the grayness has reached the blade and is creeping past. Glancing to the others, they see that the grayness in those areas has not moved forward at all.

  “Let’s return home and come back tomorrow,” he says. “Then we will know how fast it is spreading.”

  Mounting their horses, they turn around and race back to their village.

  Day after day they return, Zyrn continues bringing six swords to mark the new edge of the grayness. Though it is spreading, it isn’t spreading very fast. As near as Zyrn can figure, the grayness is advancing around six feet per day. Some areas advance faster while others not so much. Overall, it is keeping a somewhat consistent shape. Should one area advance six or more feet one day, the next day it may only advance a foot or two allowing the rest to catch up.

  The mood of the village is gradually worsening. Talk is beginning to spread that they are cursed because they stole from the dead, that the gods are angry with them. Some believe the grayness is their punishment.

  After the third day, others from various villages in the area can be seen as they too keep an eye on the advancing carpet of gray. Zyrn confers with other learned men from the different villages but this is beyond them. Still no word from the rider he sent to the south, he can only watch and wait.

  By the fifth day, no one bothers coming out with Zyrn. Talk of the area being cursed by the gods and other such nonsense has kept anyone else from even thinking about going out there.

  In the late afternoon of the fifth day, he again goes out and marks the edge of the shimmering gray area. Four rings of swords now stand within its boundary, every ring marking a different day. Zyrn shakes his head, worried over where this might lead if nothing is done to curb its growth. But what can be done about it?

  On his way back home, he tries to think about what could possibly halt the spreading of the grayness. Halfway back to his village, he encounters a score of people from his village coming his way. Among them are the ones who have been most vocal about the gray sand being a punishment of the gods.

  As he approaches them, he takes note of Khalim, the only young man to have survived the ill-fated second expedition to the battlefield. That is if you can call having lost his mind and constantly gibbering incoherently surviving. Nothing they’ve attempted has done anything to restore his mind back to him.

  A feeling of dread comes over Zyrn when he sees Khalim’s arms are bound behind him. The grim set of the men’s faces does nothing to alleviate the feeling. Kicking his horse faster, he rushes to meet the approaching group.

  “What are you doing with him?” he asks, gesturing to Khalim.

  “We go to appease the gods,” replies Maki, the one who has most fervently purported the theory of the gods being angry.

  “Khalim has brought this doom upon us,” another states. “Had he died with the others, the grayness would not be seeking him.”

  “Is that what you think?” asks Zyrn in disbelief.

  “Yes,” asserts Maki. “Only his death at the hands of the grayness will appease the gods.”

  “You are wrong!” Zyrn exclaims. “He is blameless for this!” Bringing his horse before Maki he says, “I will not allow you to do this.”

  “Stand aside Zyrn,” Maki says. The others with him are unsure of themselves, but Maki glances back and hardens their resolve. “We do this for the survival of our village.”

  Another of the men says, “You yourself said that if the grayness isn’t stopped, it will come to the village and destroy us all.”

  “We will satisfy the gods with our piety and devotion,” Jatta asserts. Jatta, one of the elders of the village, is hardly some
one Zyrn would believe to be party to something like this.

  “All you will do is kill an innocent man!” he yells. “Will the blood of an innocent appease the gods? Do not fool yourself into a course of action that will damn you for all eternity.” He meets the eyes of each of them and sees his words are having little effect. Fear, fear of the unknown has robbed them of their senses.

  Knowing he will be unable to sway them with words, he reaches out and takes hold of Khalim’s arm. Just before he pulled the mad young man onto his horse, he hears a whisk of a sword leaving its sheath.

  “Take your hands off him,” Maki says. The point of his sword is but inches away from Zyrn’s throat.

  Zyrn’s gaze bores into that of Maki’s. Releasing Khalim’s arm, he stares at the men before him.

  “Go home Zyrn,” says Jatta.

  “Let us do what must be done to save our village,” Maki tells him. Still holding his sword, the threat of bodily harm hangs between the two men should Zyrn continue in his attempt to stop them.

  “Don’t do this,” he again pleads with them.

  Ignoring his plea, they begin moving again. Walking around Zyrn’s horse, they head out toward the grayness.

  Zyrn watches them go, a tear in his eye. What madness! Khalim will die because they are afraid. Turning his horse toward his village, he races across the desert. If he can get there in time, he might be able to convince others to go with him to rescue Khalim.

  When his village comes into view, Zyrn knows he will not be too late if they can return quickly. Wailing comes to him as he draws closer. He finds the family of Khalim grief stricken.

  As he approaches the outlying buildings, the people take note of his arrival. None are able to meet his eyes.

  “Maki plans to sacrifice Khalim!” he cries out to a group of men standing together. “We must stop him. If we leave now we may be able to get there in time!” None of the men make a move or even raise their eyes to look at him. Then Zyrn understands, they all made the decision to sacrifice Khalim and are too ashamed to meet his eyes.