“Are you going to tell him?”
Looking indignant, Father Keller replied, “I don’t see how it is any of his business.”
“Then I shall.”
“Don’t you dare!”
Putting finger to lips, Father Vickor nodded to those sleeping nearby. “Shhh! You’ll wake them.” Turning to Kip, he said, “It was during our second year at the Temple. I had already mastered summoning the power of Morcyth a year earlier, as had the seven others who had been novices with us. Keller, me and those who joined with us were among the very first to be inducted into the priesthood.”
“Is this really necessary?”
He gave Father Keller a grin and shook his head. “No, not really.” Then he returned his attention to Kip. “Now, as I was saying, he and I were at this tavern having a few ales during the first break we had been allowed after a long fortnight of studies. As you know, our order has no rule about chastity like some of the others do.
“Well, there were these two girls; and they were very friendly toward us let me tell you.” He nodded toward Father Keller. “He disappears with one to a room upstairs. They weren’t gone two minutes before that poor girl gave out with a shriek that nearly stripped the wood from the walls.
“Down the stairs she flew as if the Death Specter was hot on her heels. A moment later, here comes poor Father Keller.”
Kip couldn’t help but give out with a chuckle at the image.
“’What’s wrong?’ he shouted, not knowing that he was aglow with the power of Morcyth.”
“Screaming the whole way, the... the…,” reining in his laughter, he glanced to the others to see if he had disturbed them; he hadn’t. “The girl ran from the tavern!” Laughter finally got the better of him and ended any further attempt to continue the story.
His attempt to keep a solemn expression failed and Father Keller added his baritone cackle to that of his fellow priest and novice.
“Okay, I think he gets the picture.”
It took a bit before their laughter ran its course and conversation was once again possible.
“So you see, Kip, it’ll come when it does and not always when you hope.”
Still bearing a grin, their young novice nodded at Father Vickor’s sage words.
“But,” the priest continued, his face losing much of the merriment it had held but a moment before, “that still does not reprieve you from attempting to seek it on your own. Now, begin again.”
Sighing, Kip returned to his kneeling position as Father Vickor assumed the role of instructor, and Father Keller, turn at watch over, went to his bedroll.
Early the next morning they encountered a small village of little more than half a dozen ramshackle huts thrown haphazardly together along either side of the road. There they inquired about the whereabouts of Black Hawk.
An old man, blind in one eye, said that Black Hawk had taken the road leading to Tinker, a small mining town nestled deep in the Briddlestone Hills to the north.
“There have been some strange goings-on around here of late.”
Acting the leader, Scar did the talking for their group. “Like what?”
“Little Holly disappeared not two nights ago. About that time, strange noises could be heard, but only at night.”
“I’m sure the night is full of all kinds of noises.”
The old man shook his head. “Not like this. Growls there were, but also…”
Scar leaned forward. “What?”
“Well, I didn’t hear it, but Gwellyn claimed that three nights before Black Hawk rode through, there came the most unnatural growling from just outside his window ledge. And there weren’t just growling. Gwellyn said that intermixed among the growls and grunts was speech, speech just as you and I are talking now.”
Scar chuckled. “A beast that talks?”
Jiron glanced to James, but his friend’s face was unreadable.
“Yes, sir. If not for Adge saying he heard it the night before as well, we would hardly have thought anything about it. Gwellyn has been known to take a few too many sips from the cask if you take my meaning.”
“Do you know if these growlings and voices were the reason Black Hawk was heading for Tinker?”
“I’m not the sort a great lord like Black Hawk takes into his confidence, but,” he pointed to where a small dirt trail broke from the main road and turned north, “he went that way when he left.”
Taking a silver from his pouch, Scar flipped it to the old man. “Thank you for your help.”
A bony hand snatched the coin from the air and quickly secreted it away within his worn shirt.
Scar nudged his horse into motion and turned onto the trail heading for Tinker.
As James rode past the old man, he slowed.
“Did Gwellyn mention what the words he heard, were?”
The old man glanced up and shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry, good sir, but Gwellyn had been in his cups as it were and his memory is a bit hazy even in the daylight. He does stand by his saying that the beast spoke, though he can’t recall the actual words.”
Jiron brought his horse in next to James’. “He could have imagined it.”
James nodded. “True.”
The others came to a halt as they waited for James to finish with the old man.
“What about this Adge. Did he mention anything about the beast talking like a man?”
“No, sir. All he heard was growling.”
James considered the old man’s words for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”
The old man bobbed his head as James nudged his horse into motion. He rode in silence until the small gathering of huts had all but vanished in the distance.
“What do you think, Miko?”
Glancing back from his position at third in line, the High Priest of Morcyth shrugged. “He spoke truth, at least as far as he knew it.”
“The guy was drunk,” Scar commented. “I’ve heard dogs talk and seen horses fly when I’ve been ‘in my cups.’”
Potbelly sniggered. “And when you haven’t been, too.”
Scar gave his friend a playful smack in the shoulder and laughed. “Right you are. In fact, there was that time when we went to the Isle of Demogorata. Their god took the form of a dog, and the god’s statue in front of the temple spoke whenever the faithful drew near.”
From where she rode next to her father, Jira hollered, “What about flying horses, Uncle Scar. When did you see one of those?”
“Well, my little one, it was seven…no eight years ago. Potbelly had gone on one of his binges and had vanished for three days…” The next half hour was filled with ships, flying horses, and as unlikely a tale ever told in the world of man.
The Briddlestone Hills was a rough-hewn landscape, only sparsely forested. The predominate feature of this unforgiving terrain were the large boulders scattered over and around the rolling hills. Birds were few in number and of other, land-bound wildlife, there was no sight.
Given the tale of this beast spoken of by the old man, Jira and Kip were made to ride in the center of the group. Scar and Potbelly took the lead while Shorty and Tinok brought up the rear. Jiron kept near his daughter, always keeping one hand resting on a knife’s hilt.
“Wonder how much farther this place is?” mused Father Keller. He turned to Miko. “Think they ever heard about Morcyth?”
“Why?” replied Father Vickor. “Are you looking to set up a temple here?”
Father Keller flashed him a sour look.
Miko grinned. “Until we return to the City, we are naught but simple travelers. There will be no spreading of the Word.”
“True enough,” James added. “For all we know, Tinker might hold a Dmon-Li temple and we do not wish to allow our enemies knowledge of my return. At least not yet.”
The trail wound its way up along a rather steep incline. At the summit, twin boulders sat as silent sentinels on either side of the road.
“Good place for an ambush,” murmured Jiron.
>
Fortunately, his words failed to prove prophetic and they passed through unmolested. Once past the massive stones, they overlooked a valley wherein lay the town of Tinker.
It was a fair sized town given the remoteness of its location. Over twenty buildings comprised the town center with another dozen in view sprinkled throughout the neighboring hills.
From their vantage point, they could see where another two trails departed from Tinker. The one heading deeper into the hills to the north was wider and better maintained than the one cutting its way along an arroyo to the west.
James moved forward to come abreast of Scar and Potbelly.
“Do you see Illan or his men?”
Scar shook his head. “The place looks deserted.”
Tinker did look bereft of living inhabitants; chimneys were smokeless and the streets vacant. The valley was ominously quiet.
Looking to James for direction, Scar continued forward upon receiving the go-ahead.
“Keep an eye out,” Jiron announced. Grabbing Jira from off her horse, he placed her in front of him on his so he could better protect her. The scene below made him uncomfortable, and he’d long ago learned to trust his feelings about such things.
The town unfolded with greater clarity as they rode down from the hill and approached the outlying buildings. First to be encountered was a farmhouse with a sizeable corral.
“Hello the house!” Scar shouted as they approached.
When no reply came, he slowed and glanced back to James. “Should we investigate?”
James took in the corral devoid of livestock and the house seemingly empty. It didn’t appear abandoned, but rather like someone had just gone to the neighbor’s.
“Yes.”
“Vick, go with him. There could be people in need.”
Father Vickor nodded and dismounted joining Scar as the Master of the Pit approached the front door. It was closed.
“Do you sense anything?” James asked Miko.
“Nothing definite.”
“I feel it too.”
“What?” Jira asked, then turned her gaze upon Jiron. “What does he feel, Father?”
“An uneasiness, Jira. Something is not right here.”
She returned her attention back to Scar and Father Vickor.
Scar was the first to the door. Drawing one of his two swords, he gently pushed the door open with his free hand.
“Is anyone here? Are you in need of aid?”
Again, the only reply was silence.
Father Vickor now held his mace in hand and together, he and Scar entered the farmhouse. A moment later, they re-emerged.
“No one here,” Scar announced.
“Any sign of trouble?”
Father Vickor shook his head. “No.”
“Well, let’s get going,” Potbelly said. “The sooner we find Illan, the sooner we can get out of here.”
Jiron noticed James’ attention was now being directed toward the town center. He followed his gaze. “Empty.”
“I know.” Turning to look toward his friend, James said, “Even a town this small should have someone out and about. It’s only a little past noon.”
A lonely breeze picked up as they left the farmhouse behind. They next came to a two-story building that was obviously a local watering hole; the evenly spaced windows on the second floor indicated it doubled as an inn. Out front hung a sign depicting a frothy flagon.
“Care for a drink?” Glancing back over his shoulder, Scar saw James nod.
“Go ahead and check it out.”
“Same as before,” Jiron added. “A quick in and out.”
Potbelly laughed. “That’s what he always does in a place like this.” His humor fell short as everyone was much too concerned with where Tinker’s people had gone.
Father Vickor dismounted and joined Scar at the front door. Just as the Pit Master was about to reach for the door, the priest grabbed his arm.
“Wait.”
Radiating the white glow of Morcyth’s power, Father Vickor turned to Miko. “There is a presence here.”
Miko closed his eyes as the white glow of Morcyth enveloped him as well. A moment later, the glow vanished. “It is an old presence, one trapped here from long ago. It will not harm you.”
“A ghost?”
Giving James a nod, Mike replied, “You might say that. Quite often, old buildings contain remnants of those who have passed on. This one is weak and benign.”
Scar gazed uncertainly at the door. “Are you sure?”
Miko gave him a half-grin. “Absolutely.”
Despite assurances that all would be fine, Father Vickor retained the power of Morcyth as he and Scar entered the tavern.
“What causes a presence to be left behind after a person dies?” Shorty asked.
Miko shrugged. “I do not know for certain. I only know that it does happen. Sometimes the presence is harmless, other times not so.”
“Any idea who it is, or was?”
“No. You would have to speak to it in order to discover its identity.”
Jiron turned his gaze from the building to Miko. “You can talk to ghosts?”
“Those more powerful, yes. This one however is much too weak for any attempt at conversation to be successful.”
“Interesting.”
A thoughtful look came over Potbelly. “Can you catch one?”
“I suppose anything is possible. Why?”
Quickly assuming nonchalance, he replied, “Oh, no reason.”
James recalled a meeting years ago with the spirit of a former priest of Morcyth. It had been set to guard the hiding place of the Fire, the focal point on this world for the god Dmon-Li. That spirit must have been among the more powerful.
There had been another instance in a swamp where there had been pyramids formed of skulls where James, Miko and Jiron encountered many spirits.
These thoughts and others occupied his mind until Scar and Father Vickor emerged from the tavern. Scar carried a small keg beneath one arm.
“Just like the farmhouse,” he announced. “Deserted and not looking disturbed.”
Potbelly swung a leg over his saddle and slid to the ground. He nodded to the cask. “What do you have?”
“Wine,” he replied with a grin.
“I hope you paid for it?”
The Pit Master turned to James and nodded. “Sure did.”
James eyed the former pit-fighter. The fact that Scar had neglected to mention the number of coins left behind was not lost on him. Probably left a copper. Disapproval was clearly written upon his face.
Once the keg had been secured to a pack mule, they continued on toward the unnaturally empty town center. Not a sound could be heard aside from the intermittent rustle of leaves and the clip-clop of hooves.
The next few buildings they gave but cursory inspections as they rode past. Each time they found the scene the same: normalcy. At least it would have seemed normal if the entire town were not deserted.
James had them pause before a three-story stone building that housed the town’s administrative offices. The front door was ajar.
“Shall we investigate?” Scar asked.
Shaking his head, James replied, “No. Better find Illan first.”
Jiron glanced to the dirt street and the multitude of hoof prints that led toward the northern trail and into the hills. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”
Scar and Potbelly again took the lead. At Tinker’s northern edge, they discovered a bivouac site less than two days old.
“He was here,” Potbelly announced.
The hoof prints continued on into the hills. James indicated for them to continue. Once over a wooden bridge that spanned a creek cutting across their route, the trail serpentined through a series of rolling switchbacks until Tinker was lost to view.
Moving deeper within the hills, the trail came to pass along the banks of a small lake before returning to the hills. As they traversed the lake and were about to leave it
s shoreline, Potbelly signaled them to stop.
“Something up ahead.”
Scar frowned and scanned the trail before them. “I don’t see anything.”
“I doubt if you would,” returned his friend. Glancing back over his shoulder to the others, he said, “Listen.”
Other than intermittent bird calls, James couldn’t detect any reason why Potbelly would have had them stop.
“You’re crazy,” Scar said.
Potbelly ignored his friend.
Moving to join the two at the fore, Jiron kept searching the hills as he asked, “What was it you heard? Illan’s men?”
“I…I’m not sure.”
Turning back toward the trail ahead, Potbelly cocked his head to one side. After a moment he shook his head and said, “It’s gone.”
“What do you think?”
Jiron glanced to James, then returned his gaze to where the trail ahead passed alongside where part of the hill had given way some time in the past. Bordering the trail on the opposite side lay a tangled mass of fallen trees. “Perfect place for an ambush.”
“Who would there be to ambush us with Illan and his Raiders in the area?” Shorty asked.
Casting a glance to the knifer, Jiron shrugged. “Didn’t say there was one, just that it would be a good place for one.”
Potbelly scanned the gap ahead between the hillside and the trees, but failed to locate whatever had caught his attention.
Jiron turned to James. “Shall we continue?”
“Yes, but everyone stay on their guard.” Despite Scar’s assertion that Potbelly was crazy, he knew the one-time pit fighter was not prone to nervous imaginings. As their party resumed heading up the trail, James felt unease.
Scar took the lead upon reaching the narrow gap in the trail. He too gave more credence to Potbelly’s warning than he had led onto. One hand held the reins while the other rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it forth should danger develop.
Moving into the gap, he followed the trail as it moved beyond the collapsed hillside and into an area where the land rose at a greater angle than what they had yet encountered. Trees sparsely dotted the landscape.
Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two Page 16