“Well, we couldn’t very well allow you to have all the fun,” Potbelly said.
“The Pits are fun, but nothing like adventure on the open road.” Turning to Potbelly, Scar added, “Remember the time when the princess of Carhali ran afoul of the Crimson Sorcerer?”
“Do I?” Potbelly replied. “We almost lost our necks on that one.” Spying Kip and Jira, he went forward to lend a hand in their dismounting. “She was guarded by a pair of the meanest…”
James cast a grin to Jiron as the pair began regaling his daughter and the young novice with yet another of their improbable exploits. “I see they haven’t changed.”
Jiron shook his head. “Doubt if they ever will.”
From the tent, Father Keller shouted. “Sausage and tubers are ready. Better eat them before they turn cold.”
Hurrying to the tent, Jiron came to his boyhood friend. “I’m glad you came.”
Tinok nodded. “Had nothing else to do, and Miko indicated my coming was important.”
“It is.” Laying a hand upon his friend’s shoulder, Jiron met a gaze difficult to read. “I am thankful.”
A small smile cracked the stony visage. “Friends don’t let friends travel dark roads alone.” The smile vanished.
Jiron wasn’t sure what to make of that, but chose to take it positively.
“Uncle Tinok!”
Jira had somehow wormed her way from the pair of storytellers, leaving Kip to being regaled alone. Spying Tinok, she leapt for the pit fighter.
Catching her with ease, Tinok smiled as he spun her about. “How are you doing, little Jira?”
“Fine. We had the most fun adventure; and I met an earth spirit.”
“An earth spirit?” Tinok glanced to Jiron for confirmation and arched eyebrows when Jiron nodded. “That must truly have been exciting.”
“It was!”
Keeping his gaze on Jiron, he said, “There must be more to the story than Miko led us to believe.”
The others had gathered around the fire and were helping themselves to the provided fare.
“Some. We’ll talk more once we’re on the road.”
Receiving a bowl with two sausages and half a dozen tubers that were marginally warm, James cleared his throat to draw the others’ attention.
“Just so everyone understands what we are planning to do, let me start by saying this will be no simple jaunt through the Empire so Jiron and I can be reunited with our families.” He eyed each in turn. “Although, that will be our main objective.
“Somewhere out there lurks the ones who sought to destroy me. If they learn that I yet live, we may find ourselves the focus of devastating power.”
“No one can take you on,” Scar stated. “You’re the Dark Mage.”
James shook his head. “The person who assaulted my island met everything I could muster and prevailed. It was only by pure luck that we three managed to escape with our lives.”
Through a mouth full of tuber, Potbelly said, “Miko claimed that once you were no longer on the island, they didn’t bother with the others remaining at the manor.”
“That is correct. Since our families yet live and are free, such would be a safe assumption. We will stop briefly to consult with Illan and get the latest intelligence from the Empire and see if he knows who may have been behind the attack.”
“I still think it’s Lord Cytok,” Jiron stated. “It is widely known that he wishes you dead.”
“There are many who wish me dead. He may very well be at the top, but he is not alone.”
“It wouldn’t be him.”
James turned toward Tinok. “What makes you say that?”
“If he had someone with power enough to take you out, he would first consolidate his rule over the Empire. Once his powerbase was secure, then he might consider risking the loss of such a force to one who took on the best the Empire had to offer and prevailed. He might wish you dead, but would never risk all on a single throw of the dice.”
Jiron looked unconvinced. “Still, I would not discount the possibility.”
Tinok merely shrugged.
Potbelly turned to James. “Are you planning on paying him a visit?”
“I’m not sure. Such a move would assuredly make any chance for continuing the belief I am dead, moot. I doubt if he would keep news of my return secret.”
“I would agree with that.” Tinok cracked a half-grin. “I’m sure that even if he had nothing to do with the attack, he knows it has taken place and that you can no longer be found. He would spread the knowledge of your return in the hopes those who attacked the first time might return to finish the job without risk to him or his forces.”
Jiron glanced to James. “Perhaps it would be best to avoid Azzac altogether.” Azzac, once the seat of the Emperor, was now the base of operations for Lord Cytok and those loyal to him.
“I hadn’t planned making a stop there in any event. The less entanglements with local forces the better.”
“You could always travel to Cardri and take ship from there to Corillian,” suggested Potbelly. “The risks would be minimal.”
James shook his head. “Such a route would prolong the time before we could reunite with our families. Besides, I do hope to be able to ferret out who was behind the attack.”
After the meal concluded, Miko, Vick, Keller, and Kip broke down the tent and secured it to one of the packhorses. They got underway and made good time down the road on their way to Hawk’s Aerie. Once a keep of the Empire, Illan had taken it over and now used it as a base of operations to keep Madoc’s southern border secure.
They made it as far as the town of Loread, some miles south of Reardon. Once an important trading city situated on the convergence of two main trade routes, Loread had been all but destroyed during the Empire’s invasion. Now it was but a modest town that was gradually recouping its former glory.
The next morning, they headed out before the sun rose and reached the hills surrounding Saragon at midday. Saragon had played no small part in the riddle of what had happened to the previous priests of Morcyth. James and Jiron had sneaked within during the enemy’s occupation and discovered a clue put in place centuries before in anticipation of James’ arrival. It had been mere chance they had come across it.
Its walls were still undergoing repairs, and the sight of them brought back memories of the courage and valor exhibited by those that gave their lives so that James and Jiron might win free. A glance to Jiron revealed that he, too, remembered.
Once past, they continued south as the road followed the river. The sun had hit the horizon when Al-Ziron, a.k.a. Hawk’s Aerie, came into view.
The keep and defensive wall dominated the landscape. At the time of James’ last visit, there had been only a small village not far from the keep’s southern wall. During the interim, it had blossomed into a sprawling town encompassing nearly three square miles.
“Illan certainly has been good for this area.”
Miko nodded. “Al-Ziron is rapidly growing into a major trade city. Merchants from Madoc, the Empire, and even a few from the Kirken Federation to the east meet here to trade.” He pointed off to a large open-air market on the western edge of the town. “Most of the trading goes on over there.”
“Black Hawk requires any Empire merchant who wishes to caravan his wares to towns within Madoc acquire a travel voucher,” offered Tinok. “Empire merchants bristle under the requirement, but bow to the necessity if they wish to widen their concerns.”
“Serves them right,” spat Scar. He had never been able to be completely rid the hatred of all things Empire after his brief stint as one of their slaves. If not for James and Jiron buying him, Potbelly, Shorty, and others, his present circumstances may not have been good.
“It is better to cultivate friendships, than hatred,” James announced. “Friends are more likely to stand by you.”
“Or turn on you when your back is turned,” Scar countered.
“Either way, such prosperity for the
common man as we see here cannot be a bad thing.”
Scar had no argument for that.
The keep’s gate loomed in the distance. James took in the four guards keeping an eye on those who passed through. “Do you recognize any of them?”
Jiron shook his head. “No.”
“Neither do I,” Miko added. “Could be new recruits.”
“Most likely. Let’s find an inn and then we can arrange a meeting.”
“As you wish.”
Scar and Potbelly, having been here many times to recruit fighters for the Pits, knew the area well and suggested an inn called The Desert Rose. It turned out to be a nice enough place run by an elderly couple that was clearly of Empire stock. The Desert Rose boasted two suites of rooms that would suit their purposes. James, Jiron, Jira, Kip, Miko, and Father Keller took one room, while Tinok, Scar, Potbelly, Shorty, and Father Vickor took the other. Each suite had four beds divided among two sleep areas that were attached to common rooms, which was where Kip and Jira bedded down.
While the others took their meal in the common area of James’ suite, the Masters of the Pits, along with Shorty and Father Vickor, adjourned to the inn’s common room for dinner.
Jira wanted to accompany them as the tunings of a bard wafted up from below.
“Not this time,” her father stated. “You can hear it well enough from here.”
“Besides,” chimed in Kip, “who am I going to beat at Bones and Daggers.”
She hardly looked mollified.
“In the morning, we’ll see about contacting Illan,” James announced. “He should be able to give us an accurate idea of what we’ll be heading into.”
“I can tell you that,” Tinok announced. “Raids between the Warlords as each seeks to bring more territory under their control. I’ve heard entire villages have been massacred.”
Jiron glanced to him. “Would it have been your friend from the caravan who told you that?”
Tinok returned a half smile. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“How is it that you have a friend with the skin of one from the Empire?”
“I just do and let’s leave it at that, shall we?”
The two friends locked gazes for a moment. Jiron could see there was much more to the story but knew that to press Tinok to divulge more would do little good.
James cleared his throat and drew Tinok’s gaze to him. “What else can you tell us about what we may encounter?”
“Not much more than what you already know. Bandits are rife, although most are agents for the Warlords. They waylay travelers and raid caravans that do not bear the sign of their Warlord. I understand most of what they take is used to further their Warlord’s cause. Some caravans have taken to carry signs of all Warlords, exchanging one for another depending on where they happen to be.”
“Does that work?”
“So I understand.”
Jiron turned to James. “Perhaps we could get hold of some?”
Tinok shook his head. “That won’t work. First, you would need to have a caravan for them to work, and second, the flags are only allowed for those of the Empire. Any outsider caravan bearing a flag is fair game. Some have tried much to their sorrow, or so I hear.”
“Do you have any idea how many bandits usually ride together.”
“Not really. One band had fifteen.”
Jiron nodded. “We could handle that many.”
Frowning, James said, “I’d rather not.”
“It would be foolish to believe we will remain unmolested as we travel through,” Tinok said.
James sighed. “I realize that.” He could hope, though.
Down in the common room, the others were having a grand time. The bard proved to be exceptionally good and the inn’s patrons were in high spirits. Two soldiers from the local garrison wandered in and sat at an adjacent table. Both were of northern stock. The one with dark hair glanced toward Scar.
“Hey, don’t I know you?”
Scar gazed closely at the man. “Possibly, though you don’t look familiar.”
“Name’s Brody.” Slapping his taller, fair-haired companion, he said, “And this here’s Calen.”
“Nope. Don’t sound familiar.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re that guy from up north who comes down here and tries to get us to leave the service and come fight for you in the Pots.”
“Right you are, though it’s called the Pits, not Pots.”
Brody waved away the correction and laughed. “Last time you were here, we lost four good people.”
Scar merely shrugged.
“If our captain knew you were back…”
Scar glanced to Calen. “Well then, let’s not tell him.”
Learning forward to join the conversation, Potbelly said, “Black Hawk might not take kindly if one of his men went on a personal vendetta.”
“First off, Captain Lawrence doesn’t answer to Black Hawk,” explained Brody. “Second, he’s not even at the keep. By the time he returned and learned of what happened, it would no longer matter.”
“I doubt that,” Scar replied.
Brody shrugged. “Any how, what he doesn’t know won’t bother us.” Raising his mug, he grinned and said, “To a night of debauchery. May both the wine and women flow freely.”
Scar and Potbelly laughed and clanked their mugs to his. “Here, here.”
Shorty watched as the three men drank deep. Once Brody came up for air, he asked, “Did I hear you correctly in that Black Hawk is not at the keep?”
Calen nodded. “That’s right.” He glanced to Brody, “Off to Tinker, right?”
“That’s what I heard,” affirmed his partner.
“Is that a town?”
Brody nodded. “Half a day’s ride to the west in Briddlestone Hills.”
“Wonder what he’s doing there?” Shorty exchanged concerned glances with Father Vickor.
“Who knows? He left late yesterday.”
The priest set his mug on the table. “Has there been trouble recently?”
Brody paused with mug to lips as he contemplated the query. “Now that you mention it, I believe there was some scuttlebutt going around the barracks about trouble to the west.” He glanced to Calen and received an affirming nod. “Could be he took some men to investigate.”
Trouble? “And you have no idea what the trouble was?”
Calen shrugged. “Most likely bandits. They spring up from time to time. I doubt if it would be one of the Warlords causing mischief. They have enough problems with each other to worry about sending raiders this far north.”
Applause erupted throughout the common room as the bard brought his song to a close. Joining in with the others, Father Vickor’s thoughts were hardly on the bard and his music. Once the adulation died, he stretched, faked a yawn, then rose to his feet.
“I think I’m to bed, gentlemen.”
“So early?” asked Scar.
He gave the Master of the Pit a grin. “My day began early, and I think it may yet again tomorrow.”
Tinok stood, “That sounds good, Fa…, uh, Vick. I think I’ll join you.”
When Shorty stood and stated that he too would call it a night, Potbelly grunted, mumbled something incoherently. He and Scar would be staying a bit longer. “At least until my mug runs dry.”
Shorty guffawed. “Your mug won’t ever run dry.”
“Then I’ll never leave.
Father Vickor rolled his eyes, and with Tinok and Shorty accompanying him, headed for the stairs. They remained silent as they ascended to the second floor. At the landing they turned into the hallway where Tinok brought them to a quick halt. Farther down, a man stood with ear pressed to the door of James’ room.
Tinok turned to Shorty.
Shorty nodded and removed one of his throwing daggers.
“Don’t kill him,” whispered Father Vickor. “We need to know who he is and what he may have heard.”
Motioning for the other two to move aside and allow him room
for throwing, he drew back the knife. Just before he threw, Father Vickor’s foot pressed upon a creaky board. Although it could barely be heard, it drew the attention of the man at the door. The knife flew from Shorty’s hand.
At the same instant, the man took a step backward.
Thunk!
The knife missed the eavesdropper by a hair’s breathed and embedded itself in the wooden jamb of the door.
“Get him!” Tinok cried as he leapt forward and brandished his knife.
Turning about, the man fled down the hallway. A cry of pain tore from his throat when one of Shorty’s knives sank into the meaty part of his left calf. Hitting the ground, the man quickly righted himself and raced with a limping gait toward the window at the end.
Another knife struck him in the back as he reached the window. Knocked forward from the impact, the man stumbled right into the window; glass shattered. Knees striking the window pane, the man did a somersault through the window and fell to the ground below.
“Father!” cried Tinok.
Even before the word was uttered, Father Vickor was halfway back down the steps in an attempt to save the life of the eavesdropper. Shooting through the common room to a mass of surprised and slightly annoyed looks, the priest entered the kitchen area and flew through the back door.
By the time he made it outside, several people had gathered around the man. “Back!” Shoving people aside, he reached the injured man’s side. But he was too late, the man’s neck had broken upon impact.
“Murder!” came the cry. “A man has been murdered!”
Chapter Nine
At the window overlooking the scene below, Tinok turned back to where Jiron, James and the rest were emerging from the room.
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Shorty asserted. “It just happened.”
“Thought you were better with your knives than that.” Jiron’s words struck the knife-thrower to the bone.
“He’s dead,” Tinok said.
The cry of “murder” came from below.
Moving to the window, James saw Father Vickor standing among an ever growing sea of onlookers.
Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two Page 11