Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two

by Brian S. Pratt

  “That will only work for the Pit crowd, but at least it is something.”

  “True.”

  “We are leaving in three days. Make that two, now.”

  “We? You’re going with them?”

  Miko nodded. “I plan to take Fathers Vickor and Keller with me. Kip too I suppose. He is in this and we cannot risk leaving him behind. We will head down to see Illan, then make our way into the Empire.”

  Father Tullin frowned. “I don’t like it. Why do you have to go?”

  Silence hung in the air for several seconds before Miko responded. “There is a matter that requires my attention.”

  It was Tullin’s turn to grow quiet. “There’s something else. Not sure if it means anything.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I heard a couple of the fighters talking about a body found near the Pits four days ago.”

  “Four?”

  Father Tullin nodded. “Bodies found in the vicinity aren’t unusual enough to cause men to talk about unless it was one of them.” He paused a moment as he glanced toward his superior.

  Miko nodded for him to continue.

  “It wasn’t the identity of the man they had been discussing, though it did come up. No, it was the manner in which the body had been found that aroused conversation. Twin cuts to the chest, one on either side of the heart. Apparently, the cuts were delivered in a very precise manner, something one doesn’t see in combat.”

  “Knives?” Miko asked, afraid to know the truth.

  Father Tullin shook his head. “They believed the wounds were caused by a sword’s blade. I thought you might be interested, so I asked a few question to see if I could discover the man’s identity.”

  He paused momentarily, then leaned closer. “He was a priest.”

  Miko’s eyes widened. “A priest? Whose?”

  “T’Lea’s.”

  T’Lea, god of assassins, his name was used to frighten children into doing their parent’s bidding. If you don’t do your chores, T’Lea will send one of his Aega’s after you. Aegas were created from the darkest souls that had been delivered into T’Lea’s realm. Only those who never performed an act of good, who instead had dedicated their lives to the basest and most evil atrocities were said to be granted such an exalted position.

  “I didn’t know they held a presence in the City of Light.”

  “Neither did anyone else.”

  Miko gazed off into the air as he internally reflected upon the news. When his eyes once again grew focused, he shook his head. “I cannot say as I am sorrowed to hear T’Lea lost one of his faithful. The world will be a better place.”

  Of the two gods, Dmon-Li and T’Lea, T’Lea’s priests were by far the more evil. Where followers of Dmon-Li tended to use evil measures as a means to an end, T’Lea’s performed wanton acts of terror and malice out of pure enjoyment.

  “Indeed.”

  “Any idea who it was that killed him?”

  Father Tullin shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Keep it discreet.”

  “As always.”

  When by the morning of the next day, Tinok had still not surfaced, Jiron prevailed upon James to find him through means magical. Miko offered the use of his mirrored table which he readily accepted.

  While maintaining a visualization of Tinok in his mind, James sent forth magic to find him. Seconds passed and the magic flowed outward in an ever widening radius until he felt the searching energy suddenly meld into a tight beam.

  “I’ve got him.”

  Jiron gazed at the table as the surface turned black. “Where is he?”

  James looked up from the table. “Somewhere dark. Let me see if I can determine where this place is.” Returning his attention to the dark image, he pulled the image back until the darkness was replaced with a poorly maintained shingled roof. Widening the scope still further, they made out a street and several of the adjacent buildings, one of which was boarded up and abandoned. The corral out back seemed to indicate it had been a stable.

  “Do you know this place?” Miko asked.

  Jiron nodded. “It’s on the other side of town.”

  James glanced up from the image once again. “Any idea why he’d be there?”

  “There’s nothing but abandoned buildings. It used to be part of the old Merchant’s Quarter, but after the war few of the owners returned. Vagrants, thieves and others of ill repute call it home. Some of Scar and Potbelly’s fighters live there as well.”

  “Could be why he’s there.”

  “Maybe.”

  Their attention was drawn back to the image when Tinok emerged from the building. Another man walked with him, one that had the distinct look of being from the Empire.

  “Do you know him?” James asked.

  “Never seen him before,” Jiron replied.

  They watched as Tinok and the man walked down the street. Upon reaching the next intersecting cross-street, Tinok and the other fellow paused. Tinok passed a small pouch to the other man, then they both went in opposite directions.

  “What is he up to?”

  James cast a questioning glance to Jiron who shrugged, then pointed to the man. “See where he goes.”

  “Shouldn’t we keep our eye on Tinok?”

  Jiron shook his head. “I know he’s alright. It’s this other man that has me worried.”

  “As you wish.”

  The man continued down the street, eventually making his way to the gate leading from the city. From there, he went straightaway to the caravansary located at the outskirts. One of the caravans encamped therein hailed from the Empire. It was to that group of wagons that the man headed. Entering the encampment, he strode toward a tent larger than the rest having two guards stationed before the flap. Without hesitation, he passed between the guards and disappeared within.

  “Curious.”

  Jiron turned a questioning look at James. “Curious, how?”

  “If our assumption that Tinok killed those four people hailing from the Empire is correct, then it just seems odd that he would have any sort of contact with another.”

  “I see your point.”

  James allowed the magic to fade and the image atop the table to vanish. “In any event, we at least know Tinok is okay.”

  Jiron nodded, then turned to Miko. “You haven’t heard word of Tinok have you?”

  “No,” Miko replied. Earlier, he had related the information Father Tullin had delivered to James and Jiron. While the news had raised eyebrows, neither thought that it pertained to their current situation.

  “Maybe we could track him down?”

  Glancing to his friend, James shook his head. “That would risk revealing the fact I’m alive and in the City. We dare not chance it.”

  Jiron frowned, but acceded to the necessity.

  Adjourning back to their room, they found Kip and Jira hunched over the Bones and Daggers board. James gave them a cursory glance and saw that Jira had a greater concentration of pieces left in the game. Either Kip was allowing her to win, or her skill was improving.

  The rest of the day and part of the next were spent in anxious boredom. Impatient, Jiron continuously paced. His recovery was proceeding with greater speed than Miko had first thought. James was anxious to get going. This period of inactivity was wearing upon them.

  Late in the afternoon, the door opened and Miko entered the room. “Tinok is slated for a fight in the Pits tonight.”

  Jiron took a step toward him. “Tonight? Are you sure?”

  Miko nodded. “Scar spoke with him this morning.”

  James glanced to his friend and could see the wheels turning. “Not a good idea.”

  “This could be my last chance to see him before we leave. It’s obvious he doesn’t plan on returning here.”

  “It’s too risky. Should those who attacked my island get wind we are around, it could put our families in jeopardy.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Two heads turned toward Miko. “Those freq
uenting the Pits are often in disguise. I believe masks of an animal nature are currently in style. If you were to wear a hooded cloak, bulky attire, and a mask, there is no reason anyone should recognize you.”

  James’ attention returned to Jiron. After several moments of quiet contemplation, Jiron asked, “Are you coming with me?”

  “You mean to do this?”

  “I have to speak with him. If he’s in trouble, maybe we can help.”

  “Very well. I’ll come.” To Miko he asked, “Can you put together the disguises without tipping our hand?”

  “Not a problem. I’ll have Father Tullin acquire something appropriate, and the three of you can arrive together. If you are in his company, few will give you a second look. He often brings others along.”

  From Jiron’s elbow, a small voice asked, “Can I come?”

  He looked down into the eyes of his daughter. “You know the Pits are no place for little girls.”

  “I’m not little anymore.” She placed her fists on her hips and met her father’s gaze with every ounce of fortitude five years of life could deliver.

  “Maybe not, but you’re staying here with Kip.”

  “Rat poop! I never get to have any fun.”

  James laid a hand on her shoulder. “I think you’ve had plenty of fun and excitement the last couple weeks. Don’t you?”

  That settled it. When adults ganged up on you, there was only one recourse a small girl could employ. As tears welled in her eyes, Jira gave her father a look of unendurable sadness and heartbreak. He wasn’t moved.

  “You may as well turn that off right now. You’re not going.”

  As quickly as they started, the tears vanished. Turning about on her heel, she stomped off toward where Kip remained with the Bones and Daggers board.

  James flashed his friend a grin. “What are you going to do when she starts maturing?”

  Jiron sighed. “Go off on another wild adventure with you for three years.”

  Laughing, James slapped his friend on the back.

  Three men walked the streets of the City of Light. One was well known, a priest of the new religion and very congenial. He always had a smile and friendly word to those he passed. The other two wore masks, one being the grim visage of a dog, the other, a wild boar.

  It felt good to be free of the temple and out in the open again. The stench associated with cities in this stage of technological development proved to be nearly overpowering. James had grown reaccustomed to the cleanliness of Earth, and it would take some time before he “acclimated” back to the nauseatingly unsanitary air of city-life in this world.

  Jiron, on the other hand, welcomed it like a long lost child who had found his way home. The City of Light was where he had been born, made himself in the Pits, and grown to a man. It would always hold a special place in his heart.

  Many of those they passed were men known to the one-time Pit fighter; some friends of long standing, others mere acquaintances and a few that could use a knife through the heart for past fell deeds.

  “Father Tullin!”

  A hail from farther down the street caused the priest to pause. The voice belonged to a young man in his early twenties. He boasted a wild set of brown locks, was a bit shorter than the average for those from Madoc, and carried a piglet beneath his right arm.

  “Ah, Chalrin. So nice to see you this evening.”

  As Chalrin approached, he slowed and eyed the two masked individuals that stood with the priest. “On your way to the Pits?” When Father Tullin nodded, the young man said, “Heard there was a fight on tonight.”

  “Aren’t there fights every night?” James asked.

  “Uh, yeah, sure.” Turning to Father Tullin, Chalrin said, “Aunt Munn said she couldn’t make it.”

  Nodding, Father Tullin slipped the lad a coin. “You tell her to buy some broth.”

  Slipping the coin into his pouch, the young man bobbed his head. “Good evening to you, Father.”

  “Take care, Chalrin.”

  James watched him dash away through the throng upon the street. “One of your informants?”

  The remark caught Father Tullin completely off-guard. He turned a surprised look upon the dog’s mask, which was the one James wore. “What makes you say that?”

  Lowering his voice, James said, “Just something that a mutual friend of ours and myself spoke of one day several years ago.”

  Understanding dawned in the priest’s eyes. “I see.”

  Jiron was at a loss. “What do you mean?”

  “The lad made a statement in the negative. I’m assuming it referred to information that our mutual friend was interested in. The piglet beneath the arm determined whether the statement was true or false. Under one arm, take what he said at face value, under the other, the statement means the opposite.”

  “That’s clever.”

  “Or some variant of that. If he had carried a package I probably wouldn’t have thought of it. But a piglet? Too unusual.”

  “Not for around here, many taverns and inns offer roast pig of one variety or another.” Father Tullin gazed at those on the streets about them. “Perhaps we could conclude this discussion at a later time?”

  The dog mask nodded. “Right you are.”

  They arrived at the building wherein the Pits could be found. Standing two stories tall, this new building held bolder presence than the one destroyed during the enemy’s occupation.

  Where before the Master of the Pit had tried to keep the place out of the public eye, Scar and Potbelly strove to be more obvious. Shortly after assuming proprietorship, the duo had managed to procure the warehouses on either side. Over the course of two years, they had demolished everything and built one mammoth building spanning nearly a city block.

  The north and east side held public entrances while the west boasted the Golden Arch, something they had come up with for their more distinguished patrons. Through this Arch, nobles and the wealthy could obtain easy access to the arenas. There was another entrance, but only a few knew of its existence and rarely was it used.

  It was to the northern entrance that Father Tullin brought them. Standing upon a pair of pedestals before the entrance stood two warrior statues; one bore twin blades while the other a knife and sword. James couldn’t help but grin upon seeing the spitting images of Scar and Potbelly. The statue with the twin blades, of course, was Scar while the other depicted Potbelly who had always favored a knife and sword. If memory served, the duo hadn’t taken over the Pits a month before these statues appeared.

  “Big crowd tonight,” commented Jiron.

  “It has been like this of late.” Father Tullin paused as another recognized him and a brief exchange of pleasantries ensued. Once concluded, he resumed heading for the entrance.

  “It was Scar’s idea I believe. He believed there was a market in skill rather than blood. Five months ago, he started the Exhibitions where combatants did not strive to draw blood, but to impress the crowd with their skill. In fact, any who draws blood loses the match by default.”

  James turned his dog mask to the priest. “Really?”

  “Yes. To draw blood shows that they lack the proper skill to prevent it.”

  “Then how do they determine the winner?”

  “Once the fight is over, the crowd cheers for the one they liked the best. He who receives the loudest acclaim, wins.”

  Jiron chuckled. “It’s actually working very well, at least from what they tell me. Potbelly claims that once a person gets a taste for the Exhibitions, it’s easy enough to get them to the real matches.”

  “I suppose so.”

  At the entrance, James almost expected to find a kiosk where those attending would pay a fee. He figured that would come soon. The real money the Masters of the Pit take in come in the way of wagers. Just as people would bet at the track in his world, so too did they bet on the winners in this one. One could even win extra if his bet was marked kill, rather than just win. But then if the loser of the match s
urvived, they received nothing.

  The crowd at the entrance was thick, and the hallway extending into the building was choked with people. Along this hallway, six others branched off each leading to a pair of Pits. There were a dozen in all, each with their own taproom where ale and food could be procured for a price, a steep price if James recalled correctly.

  Just within the entrance began the Pit Boards. Upon these were listed the names, matches, and rough estimate of times when the matches were to begin. Each Pit had two boards, one for today’s matches, and the other for tomorrow’s. The second board had been suggested by James and was readily implemented by the new Masters of the Pit.

  Along with the betting against the house, patrons would bet among themselves. Throughout the building, James could overhear snippets of conversation that would put rival Super Bowl enthusiasts to shame. Once in a while such energetic “conversations” would get out of control, so Scar and Potbelly had placed a number of those Pit Fighters who were not slated for matches throughout the hallways to maintain order. Woe be it to them whose actions caused these guards to intervene. It has been rumored that more than one disturber of the peace at the Pits turned up broken and missing parts of their body.

  Jiron knew just about everyone there. After all, having grown to manhood within the Pits, it was now a regular haunt of his when not otherwise engaged. Without the mask, he would have assuredly been recognized by now. To further disguise himself, he had left his trademark blades at home, and had taken but a single dagger.

  James scanned the Match Boards as they passed. None listed Tinok’s name. He knew of the saying, there were the Pits, then there were the Pits! Most patrons were unaware that a thirteenth Pit was located within this building. Or rather, beneath it.

  In a sub-basement with but a single, well guarded entrance, those in-the-know and with a heavy purse could see matches the way they used to be fought back before the Empire’s occupation. No rules other than the match wasn’t over until one was either dead, or unconscious. Most often, matches within the thirteenth Pit ended tragically.