Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two

by Brian S. Pratt

  Time passed slowly as they waited for the time when the temple served the evening meal to the hungry. They offered both breakfast and dinner, though dinner was by far the more bountiful of the two.

  When Father Keller finally appeared, he handed a set of boyish clothes to Jira and a ragged beggar’s outfit to Jiron. He and his daughter were familiar to many within the temple as well as those of the streets. Jiron readily donned the disguise but would not relinquish his knives. The outer garment was sufficiently voluminous to hide their presence if he was careful. James remained in regular clothes with only a floppy hat to conceal his features.

  The plan was simple. Intermingle early on, then leave at the height of confusion, that time when the temple would be most packed with those seeking a hot meal. James and Jiron would each make their way alone to where Kip and Jira waited a mile or so down the road from the gate. The foursome would then make their way down the river to the broken-down dock and Father Berron.

  Kip changed out of his novice attire and into a set of well-worn travel clothes, then with Jira at his side, left for the dining hall. A few minutes later, Jiron followed. James was the last to leave.

  Chapter Seven

  Nearly every available place at the tables in the refectory was filled. Most were obviously from the streets; their use of language’s cruder side would have given them away if nothing else. Beggars, street kids, the old and infirm, and several whole families complete with babes on the teat were intermixed throughout.

  James remained just within the hallway for several moments. He saw Jiron hunched within his beggars’ clothes being regaled by a toothless crone. From the way her arms gyrated, she felt quite strongly about whatever it was she spoke of.

  Jira and Kip could be seen all the way at the end. Kip sat with two temple novices, they spoke with heads held close together. James hoped this would not be a problem. One wrong word near a sharp ear could have trouble hot on their trail.

  “Excuse me, good sir.”

  The greeting practically caused him to jump out of his skin so unexpected was it. A temple novice stood behind him in his white robe, a serene smile fixed firmly upon the young man’s face.

  “What?”

  “Is this your first time here?”

  Realizing he was being taken for one of the street people come for a meal, James nodded. “Is this where I go?”

  The smile broadened as the novice nodded. “Come. Let us find you a place and get you a hot meal. Morcyth helps all who come to Him.”

  James allowed the novice to escort him into the refectory and to a table with but a lone stool left available. The other seven were taken by a couple in their sunset years, three boys that looked to be entering puberty, a beggar missing a leg, and a young girl who couldn’t be more than six. The boys, girl and beggar flat out ignored him while the man and his wife nodded in greeting. Once seated, the novice departed promising swift arrival of the evening’s victuals.

  The man with the woman openly stared at James, a frown upon his face. James met the stare for a moment before breaking contact and glancing around the refectory.

  “Never seen you here before.” The man had a deep bass voice and his tone hinted at some unknown displeasure.

  James glanced back at him. “No, probably not.” Glancing to the woman, he could tell she was nervous, about what remained unclear.

  “Been here before?”

  “A couple times.”

  The woman’s nervousness faded as she worked a grin into place. “We never had much to do with temples before, but we never miss a meal. The food here is very good.”

  The man flashed a disapproving glare which she pointedly ignored.

  “Most places only give old bread and castoffs. These priests bake it fresh for us every day. The meat, though not in any great quantities, has yet to be gamy.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “Are you a follower of Morcyth?” Now that a conversation of sorts had developed, she seemed to relax.

  James shook his head. “No.” He noticed the man’s expression had taken a turn for the worse.

  “Just where are you from?”

  “Not here.”

  That answer hadn’t set well with the man for his eyes narrowed.

  “What’s your name?”

  The woman laid a hand on her man’s arm. “Don’t bother the man, Jessup. Anyone can see he’s from around here.”

  James glanced between the two and didn’t answer. Just then, the novice returned with a bowl filled nearly to overflowing with a thick stew. He set it and a quarter loaf of bread on the table in front of him.

  “If you desire more, you have but to ask.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Morcyth is always willing to help.”

  At the center of the table was a pitcher of water and a single mug. James took the mug and helped himself to the water. It was purer than average, containing only a few foreign particles. Miko had taken much of James’ feelings concerning sanitation and hygiene to heart.

  The stew was flavorful, if heavy on vegetables with only a few pieces of beef. The bread was fresh as the woman had stated. It still held warmth deep within its center.

  “Is it good?”

  He glanced to the woman and nodded. “Very good.”

  She smiled.

  The woman was proving to be a congenial table-mate while James cared little for the scrutiny from her man that he still had to endure.

  To his left sat the little girl. She leaned close to him and said, “He thinks you’re a spy.”

  James about spewed the half-chewed contents of his mouth across the table as he tried to rein in the laugh that threatened to explode. Swallowing hard, he glanced to her and asked, “A spy?”

  She nodded as did two of the three boys.

  He turned his attention to the man. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because you’re a stranger,” replied one of the lads. Brown eyes stared out from beneath unruly brown locks.

  The dark haired lad next to the brown haired one nodded. “It’s all over town that the Empire is going to invade.”

  Invade?

  “You know this?”

  “No one gives such falderal a bit of credence,” interjected the man with but one leg.

  The woman glanced to Legless then to James. “They say that is why…” she lowered her voice, “The Dark Mage was destroyed.”

  “Bah!” exclaimed Legless. “The Dark Mage is still around. I saw his handiwork in the war. Ain’t no one can take him on and live. This is just rumor-mill-grist!”

  “You saw him?”

  Legless nodded. “I and a hundred others had just been delivered as slaves to a city deep within the Empire. The Dark Mage and his army showed up. He and another walked to the wall beneath a withering rain of bolts.”

  “Was he hurt?” asked the little girl.

  “No, darling. Bolts can’t harm the Dark Mage. He and his companion walked as calmly as they pleased, as if they were out on a stroll through the park. Walked right up to the wall and tore it down. Freed us all, he did. Never got to thank him, but I owe him a debt I’ll never be able to repay. So do countless others.”

  Korazan perhaps? He had blown a sizeable hole in the wall.

  James glanced at the others sharing the table. He wondered what their reaction would be should they learn the identity of the one sitting in their midst.

  “This is the first I’ve heard of any talk of war,” he said, moving the conversation away from such a sensitive topic.

  “And that’s all it is, talk,” Legless stated with finality. He glanced to the couple, eyes settling upon the man. “Last week everyone was certain that the Council had declared beggary unlawful; and sure as chickens lay eggs, next week there’ll be something else that everyone is ‘sure’ about.”

  The woman nodded. “I suppose you’re right. There haven’t been any unusual happenings at the Keep. Certainly, we would have observed some increase in soldiers if Lord Pyt
herian thought war was coming.”

  Her man’s expression never changed. “I tell you, something’s going on.”

  “Bah! Think that if you will, but I’ll not lose any sleep over market-gossip.” Legless snorted, then grabbed the crutch that lay upon the floor next to his stool. Using it for leverage, he came to his feet, uh, foot, then made for the door.

  James returned his attention back to his stew. Breaking off a piece of bread, he dipped it in the sauce and ate it. He hardly gave any credence to the possibility of the Empire launching any sort of assault northward. Its various factions were too busy fighting each other for supremacy. Any that should be so foolish as to send troops north would be torn apart by their neighbors.

  The three lads quickly left and the little girl followed shortly after. By the time it was down to the couple and himself at the table, the refectory had lost a third of its patrons. It was time for him to leave. A glance to where Kip and Jira had sat found them no longer there. Jiron, too, had already left.

  Eating the last of the stew in a few, big bites, he took the remainder of the bread as he stood to leave.

  “You take care,” the woman said with a half-hearted smile.

  “And you as well.”

  The man met his gaze but failed to offer any parting salutation.

  James still gave him a nod and when he turned to leave, could feel the man’s gaze linger upon him as he crossed the room to the exit.

  He kept the hat low as he passed by the novice standing at the door.

  “May the peace of Morcyth be with you.”

  Mumbling an incoherent response, James kept his eyes lowered and hurried past. Once outside, he took a roundabout route through the streets until reaching the southern gate. As usual, it was crowded with people and carts. Being close to sunset, those that had traveled outside the walls wanted in, and those having business within, wanted out.

  Spying three carts accompanied by a dozen men, he fell in behind and followed them through the gate. The guards were being harangued by an elderly woman; about what, James didn’t bother to find out. He was merely thankful that she was there to aid in his departure.

  Once past, he made his way southward through the outlying buildings. Not long after clearing the last building, he saw three people standing a ways off the road beneath a tree. One was rather small and waved when he looked their way. He returned no recognition, merely continued along the road while the other three left the tree and angled to intercept him at a point farther south.

  James refrained from using magic to see if their departure had generated any interest. If they had a mage with them, he definitely didn’t want to alert them to his presence.

  “Any trouble?” he asked when the others joined him.

  Jiron shook his head. “No one followed us and I didn’t see anyone trailing after you.”

  “Good. Maybe my presence still remains a mystery.”

  Kip had a pack slung across his shoulder, within was the unmistakable Bones and Daggers game board. “The Reverend Father said I should bring it.”

  “Oh?”

  “I think he wants to beat me again.”

  Jiron laughed. “More than likely, it’s to keep you and Jira occupied instead of getting underfoot.”

  “Hey!”

  Jiron looked down at his daughter and chuckled.

  They continued following the road until a smaller, less maintained path branched off to their left. Jiron indicated for them to take it. “It will take us to the river.”

  “How far do we have to go until we find Father Berron?” James asked.

  Shrugging, Jiron replied, “I don’t know. A mile? Two?”

  James glanced to where the sun had reached the horizon. “Hope not too much longer.”

  Already the day was fading. Autumn was in full bloom, the trees in the fields were beginning to change color and leaves floated upon the breeze.

  The path continued until the river came into sight, then split into two rutted paths; one heading upstream and the other downstream. The one to the south was nothing more than a pair of ruts badly in need of grading.

  An hour later, when night had begun to set with earnest, the flickering of a small campfire could be seen ahead along the river bank. They found Father Berron alone before the fire with five horses silhouetted at the firelight’s fringe, their reins secured to the branches of a fallen tree.

  “Father Berron!” Jiron hailed.

  The priest shot to his feet, tried drawing his sword but got it entrapped in his robes before it cleared the scabbard.

  “It’s Kip, Father!” the novice hollered as he ran forward.

  Peering into the darkness, Father Barron ceased trying to free his sword. “Is that truly you, young Kip?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Upon seeing the lad race into the circle of light, the priest visibly relaxed. “Praise Morcyth!”

  Jira quickly followed with her uncle and Jiron joining them moments later.

  Father Berron turned to Jiron. “Master Jiron, I thought you would never be here.”

  Jiron couldn’t help but smile. “Our apologies, Father. We arrived as soon as we could.”

  Nodding, the priest turned his attention to the other adult male of the group. He eyed James with great curiosity. “You must be the Dark Mage then?”

  “That’s me.”

  Jira tugged on the priest’s robes. When he glanced down to her, she said, “Don’t be afraid. My uncle won’t hurt you.”

  Father Berron laid his hand upon her head and gave her a reassuring grin. “Do not worry, child. I do not fear him.” Turning back to James, he removed a small pouch from out of his robes. “The Reverend Father said to give you this. It’s ten gold’s worth of silver and copper. He wasn’t certain if you would have funds when you arrived at your destination.”

  “Thank you, Father,” James said as he took the pouch. He tossed it over to Jiron who slipped it in a pocket of his beggar costume.

  He gestured to a roasted haunch of beef that lay upon a layer of leaves. “Would you care to share my dinner before you leave?”

  James looked at the piece of undercooked meat with lackluster enthusiasm. “I’m afraid not. We must hurry on this night, the Reverend Father plans to meet us farther south in the morning.”

  “I understand.”

  Moving to the horses, the priest freed their reins and handed them to the others. When he handed one to Jira, Jiron shook his head. “She’ll ride with me.”

  Jira looked disappointed at having to ride double, but the look her father gave her silenced any objections.

  Taking hold of the reins, James said, “We’ll take it for a packhorse, however.” The priest nodded.

  To Kip, James asked, “Can you ride?”

  The lad bore a nervous expression as he stood with reins in hand, staring up at the saddle. His look of barely concealed fear reminded James of his own trepidation at riding years ago.

  Kip nodded. “Uh, yes.”

  When he didn’t mount right away, James went forward to help him. He indicated the stirrup. “First, take hold of the pommel, place your foot in here, then swing yourself up.”

  It took three attempts, the last one with a generous portion of help from James, before Kip made a successful mount.

  “It’ll get easier with time.”

  Kip sat frozen, his hands grasped the pommel so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  “If you don’t relax, you’re thighs are going to be chafed raw before we get there.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Unlike young Kip, once Jiron mounted, Jira scrambled up to sit in front of him with the surety of one that had done that maneuver many times before; which of course, she had.

  James mounted and then waited while Father Berron gave a blessing to their endeavor and wished them good journey.

  “You too, Father.”

  He had Jiron take the lead while he kept close to Kip, just as Corbin had to him back during his early days in
Trendle. As they moved out, he explained the basic commands needed to have the horse do what he wanted.

  Kip had a rough time at first. After all, he was learning in the dark of night on a rutted road. Every time his horse stumbled or suddenly increased its speed due to an unintentional nudge by Kip, the novice would cry out as he tipped to the side, at times coming dangerously close to falling.

  Hours passed as they followed the river south. When at last the lights of Inna’s Bend came into view, he prayed a prayer of thankfulness to Morcyth. This night’s ordeal would soon be at an end. They reached the bridge and crossed over to the small village

  Inna’s Bend wasn’t much, but it did have a tavern that boasted a dozen small rooms. Throughout the year, The Wayfarer’s Tavern saw little in the way of travelers, as it was situated some distance off the main road.

  The tavern sat near the river within sight of the bridge. Jiron led them to it and the others waited outside while he went to get their room. When he returned, they went around back to the stable and settled in their horses.

  “I’m having our meal sent to our room,” he explained. “I didn’t recognize anyone in the common room, but no sense tempting fate.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Their room, as it turned out, boasted two beds, a table and two chairs. Kip’s offer to sleep on the floor before the door was readily accepted. Of course since he was, Jira wanted too as well which suited her father. She was a squirmer and always got him in his particulars whenever they shared a bed.

  Jiron had opted for one of the four rooms on the second floor. It cost an extra two coppers, but it overlooked the river and the bridge. Such a vantage would make it easier for them to keep an eye out for Miko when he and the others arrived the next day.

  After the meal, they settled in to wait.

  Some distance to the north, in a room more suited to a single individual, five men sat around a small table.

  “There has been no further word concerning the dead men in the Merchant’s Quarter.”

  Miko glanced to Brother Horka. “What do those of the streets have to say?”

  “Not a word of Dmon-Li. A few rumors floating about T’Lea, however.”