Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two

by Brian S. Pratt

  “Father, those aren’t the Glerhan…”

  “Jira, hush!”

  “Mage!”

  The terrified gaze of the mage darted from the monstrous Glerhan back to James.

  Assuming the stance he would take when meting out punishment to an errant Kenny, James said, “A choice stands before you, boy. Live or….”

  He trailed off as the Glerhan raised their spears and made ready to plunge them into the mage. The winds increased in severity for a brief moment, then ceased altogether. It seemed as if the world grew darker in anticipation of the mage’s response.

  Lips opened and closed twice in mute response, then on the third try, the mage finally managed to say, “Please…” The declaration took all by surprise for it was spoken in the language of the north. “Do not kill me.”

  James maintained his stern demeanor as he said, “So be it.”

  The two Glerhan lowered their spears and brought the tips together to just in front of the mage’s chest. Where they met, darkness welled. A foul smelling mist expanded outward from the point of darkness and moved to settle upon every inch of the mage’s exposed skin.

  It took all of Tinok’s strength to keep the lad from fleeing in terror. Sheathing his knife, he kept one hand firmly gripped in the mage’s dark locks, the other dug painfully into the left shoulder just below the neck.

  “You are mine, body and soul. Attempt to flee, and your flesh will rot from your body. Summon magic, and suffer an eternity of pain. Betray me in any way, and the Glerhan will seek you out.”

  The mist quickly coated the mage from head to toe. Every inch of exposed skin reeked with its foul odor.

  James brought his hands together above his head so the palms touched.

  “I am the Dark Mage.”

  His hands separated and between them a crackling orb of light sprang into being. As his hands moved farther apart, the orb grew in both brilliance and intensity.

  “There is no escape!”

  With a sudden downward swing of his arms, his hands parted and the orb flew at the mage. There was a momentary burst of light followed by a single, terrified scream. When the light vanished, the Glerhan were gone and the mage lay unconscious upon the ground.

  James glanced to Jiron and grinned. “There. That should do it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I liked your Glerhan at your island better, Uncle. The kr…uh, krak…”

  “Kraken?”

  She nodded to her father. “Kraken, yes. I liked the kraken they rode.”

  James patted her on the head. “It wouldn’t make much sense to have sea creatures in a place like this.”

  The mage remained unconscious; Shorty and Tinok were given the task of keeping an eye on him. The others sat some distance away where their conversation would not be overheard.

  Father Keller had remained quiet ever since the disappearance of the Glerhan. But now he asked, “Will his flesh really rot from his bones should he try to escape?”

  James shook his head. “No.” Lowering his voice he added, “It was all a bluff.”

  Scar laughed. “After what he just saw, I doubt if that mage will try to see if anything the Dark Mage here just said would come to pass.”

  Shifting position in order to alleviate his aches and pains, Potbelly nodded agreement. “From what we’ve heard, you have quite the reputation down here; master of demons and mortals alike.”

  Father Keller glanced to the mage and wrinkled his nose. “Then what is that smell?”

  “Bug repellant.”

  Turning to Miko, Father Keller raised an eyebrow. “Bug repellant?” Then he glanced to James.

  “During the war, we had occasion to travel through a pest infested swamp. That was something I cooked up to keep them away. Did a good job, too.”

  “Only problem was,” Jiron explained, “the smell was so strong it attracted everything in the area.”

  James chuckled. “True enough.”

  “Won’t all that magic you did draw mages to the area?” Father Vickor asked.

  “Maybe. But from what Azhan said, the nearest one is hours away. I doubt if what I did would carry across such a distance. In any event, if one did sense what I did and does come calling,” he paused then gestured toward the young mage, “they would attribute the magic to him.”

  Jiron nodded. On the ground before him were arrayed several important looking documents retrieved from the pack carried by the leader of the soldiers. One bore the seal of Lord Cytok. He picked up the one with the seal and held it before him.

  “This looks important.”

  “Can Tinok read it?”

  Jiron shook his head. “No. He can speak the language, but not decipher it.”

  Glancing to James, Miko said, “Azhan could.”

  “Do you think he would?”

  “After what you just put him through?”

  Scar laughed. “I doubt if he could bring himself to deny you anything at this point. His dreams are bound to be haunted with visions of rotting flesh and spear-toting Glerhan for some time.”

  The mage stirred as if aware others talked about him. He took one look at Tinok standing over him and froze.

  James watched as his gaze darted to and fro until finally settling on him. He wondered what was going on behind the young mage’s eyes. Would he try to escape? That was the question burning uppermost on his mind.

  Moving cautiously as if fearing to provoke Tinok into attacking him, the mage rose to a sitting position and crossed his legs. Shoulders drooping, head hung low and eyes downcast, the mage made a rather pitiable sight.

  “Let’s see if what I did will be enough.” Raising his voice, he hollered, “Tinok. Bring Azhan over here. I want to talk to him.”

  If there was any doubt that the mage understood their language, the raising of his head and sudden look of fear dispelled the uncertainty.

  Stepping toward the mage, Tinok said, “Come on. You heard him.”

  Azhan bobbed his head and rose. For a moment, it looked as if he would bolt. But then his shoulders sagged and he walked slowly.

  Tinok shoved him once to quicken his pace and the mage was soon standing before James.

  “Your name is Azhan, correct?”

  The mage nodded. “Yes, Master.”

  “Ma…?”

  James began to question the use of the title then stopped. He had said, You are mine, body and soul. Perhaps from the young mage’s perspective, he was now the property of the Dark Mage; in essence, a slave. Despite his aversion to all things relating to slavery, he thought this misunderstanding might help keep the mage in line until he figured out what to do with him.

  Extending his hand toward Jiron, he took the message bearing Lord Cytok’s seal. To Azhan he said, “Tell me what this says.”

  The mage bobbed his head then took the message. After a cursory examination he looked up from the message. “It orders my former captain to enter Kazan’s territory and destroy any patrols encountered.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Father Keller.

  Azhan glanced to the priest. “There were rumors of Kazan’s men crossing the border and raiding our villages. This would seem to be the Lord Cytok’s response.”

  James eyed the young mage. “Just your captain, seven soldiers and you to do this?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “You must have no small amount of skill then.”

  Lowering his eyes, Azhan nodded. “I am deemed competent, Master.”

  Staring for a moment at the young mage, James wondered about him. Azhan didn’t have the feel of one steeped in power. But then, after the destruction of the School of Magic and the devastation wrought throughout their ranks, maybe one such as him would be considered competent in this post-war Empire.

  Raising his hand to reach for the other papers in Jiron’s possession, he couldn’t help but notice the way Azhan flinched, as if expecting to be on the receiving end of a blow. James lowered his hand and the young man relaxed.
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  To Jiron he said, “Let me have the others.”

  Azhan examined each of the letters in turn and pronounced them mundane.

  James glanced to Miko who nodded indicating Azhan was being truthful. He then turned to Potbelly. “Are you ready to ride?”

  Sighing as if such a possibility would be taxing in the extreme, the Pit Master nodded.

  “Good.” Coming to his feet, James announced, “Then let’s get out of here. We’ve still a long way to go.”

  “Kip,” Miko said, summoning his young novice to him. “Give our guest one of your shirts and trousers. You are about the same height and attention would be drawn should he travel in naught but his small clothes.”

  “Yes, Reverend Father.”

  Lowering his voice, Miko said, “Not Reverend Father. Just Miko, at least until we return to the temple.”

  “As you wish,” a grin creased his face, “Miko.”

  Once Azhan donned Kip’s donated attire, they mounted and continued south. The young mage rode next to James. Behind them came Tinok; ready to intervene should the mage prove troublesome. But they had little reason to worry. Azhan appeared, at least for the moment, docile in his new circumstances.

  “Azhan.”

  “Yes, Master?”

  “If we return to the road, will we encounter any patrols this side of the river?”

  He thought a moment before saying, “I do not think so, Master. Captain Allin said that another patrol was being dispatched from Morac to guard this area while we dealt with Kazan. They are due to arrive in two days.”

  “Two days? From today?”

  Azhan nodded. “That is what Captain Allin said, Master.”

  From where he rode on the other side of James, Jiron said, “By then we should be south of the river.”

  They rode for a few moments in silence before James glanced to Azhan and asked, “Will we be safe once we cross over?”

  The young mage shrugged. “These are unsettled times within the Empire, Master. For those not of the Empire, there is no place of absolute safety.”

  “But we won’t be hassled by every patrol we meet.”

  “Most likely, no. Once you are beyond the Tears of Empress, you will draw less suspicion for any soldiers you encounter will assume that those guarding the borders already checked you out and cleared you for entry.”

  James glanced back to where Miko rode and raised his eyebrows.

  Miko nodded and mouthed, He speaks the truth.

  “You’re uncharacteristically forthcoming with information,” Tinok accused. “I would think that you would seek to undermine our efforts at every opportunity.”

  Azhan remained quiet.

  “We shouldn’t trust him.”

  “Miko says he speaks the truth,” Jiron argued. “That is enough for me.”

  Tinok made a derisive noise before spitting on the ground.

  They rode southeast for an hour before the road appeared. A ten wagon caravan heading south was making its way; off the road a bit next to it walked two men and a woman, all three having bundles upon their backs. All were heading north.

  As they approached the road, the trio of pedestrians cast glances of mild curiosity their way as did the teamsters and guards of the caravan. None appeared alarmed by their appearance.

  Scar gave each a friendly wave and nod as he and the rest of their group rode past. One teamster offered a greeting that was returned by Tinok. What was said appeared to be met with approval.

  Once on the road, they turned south and rode at a quick pace.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent alternating between a fast, ground-covering gait and that of a slow, energy restoring one. By early evening, the glistening waters of the Ti-Migala River came into view. Not long after that, the bridge spanning it appeared. Four soldiers in the service of Lord Cytok stood guard.

  James had them slow and come to a stop. He sat there a moment contemplating the scene.

  “Azhan, will they let us through?”

  “Possibly, Master. I was not informed as to their orders.”

  “What difference does it make?” Scar asked before the mage could answer. “There are only four of them. We can take them easily.”

  “And have Cytok send his men out to track down their killers? Hardly.”

  “You could follow the river west and cross at Tapu, Master. There are no soldiers garrisoned in Tapu.”

  James glanced to Azhan. “How far is it?”

  “You can’t seriously be considering this,” Shorty exclaimed.

  All eyes turned to him.

  “A few hours ago he would have killed us, now you are going to take advice from him?” The knifer’s expression clearly indicated he considered such a thought beyond all reason.

  “Shorty has a point,” Jiron said. “How far can we trust him?”

  James turned to Miko. “Well? What do you think?”

  “I believe he is telling the truth.”

  “Okay, then.” Turning back to the young mage, he asked, “Azhan, how far to Tapu?”

  “A long day’s ride, Master.” Casting his gaze to the position of the sun, he added, “Or rather, a long night’s.”

  Various forms of non-vocalized, incredulous expressions followed. James allowed it to continue without reproach. He trusted Miko, and if Miko said that Azhan spoke the truth, then he would plan accordingly. It would be far better to cross the river without running the risk of questions being asked that could not be satisfactorily answered. Once on the southern shore, suspicion arising from their presence would greatly diminish.

  Coming to Potbelly, he noticed how the Pit Master’s face was pale and drawn. “Can you ride?”

  “Of course I can ride. If you are asking whether or not traveling tonight will be without discomfort, I can assure you that it will not.”

  Scar stood behind his friend and rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

  James cracked a smile and nodded. “Very well. Let’s get going.”

  They headed northwest until the river, the bridge and the guards patrolling it faded from view. Then after another mile or so of westward traveling, they veered south and continued until the river once again appeared on the horizon. Keeping it just within visual range, they made for Tapu.

  At nightfall, they took a break and rations were distributed. Azhan looked surprised when James handed him a share equal to his own.

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Not a problem, Azhan.”

  Sitting on the ground next to the young mage, James tore off a chunk of dried beef and started to chew. Azhan merely sat there holding his ration of dried beef, half a dried apple and a chunk of bread that was on the stale side of fresh.

  “Go ahead. Eat.”

  When the young mage still hesitated, James swallowed and said, “Is there something wrong with your food?”

  Azhan shook his head vigorously. “No, Master. The food is most acceptable.” He stared at the food for several moments, then glanced nervously at James. Raising the half portion of dried apple, he continued staring at James as he took a hesitant bite.

  James grinned as he too nibbled on his piece of dried apple. “Not bad, is it?”

  Azhan nodded and took another bite. The nervous hesitancy, the flicking of his eyes to and from James in rapid succession, all gave the appearance that the young mage expected some sort of reaction from his new “master.”

  His actions were not lost on James. Given the numerous bruises and scars marring his youthful skin, James figured his life had not been a pleasant one. Coupled with the stories being told about the Dark Mage, it was no wonder the young man was wary. He gave Azhan a reassuring grin and continued eating.

  As the meal progressed, the young mage gradually relaxed but never managed to completely be at ease. He would jump and start whenever anyone would rise or walk near.

  Finally, after seeing him shy away when Jiron came to his feet and walked passed on the way to the horses, James asked, “What is life lik
e for a mage in the Empire?”

  Wariness replaced apprehension for a brief moment before turning into nervousness once again. “Not like it was.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Azhan hesitated for a few seconds before replying. “Before the war, we were treated with awe and respect.” There was a touch of wistful sadness coloring his words. “People feared us.”

  “But not now?”

  He shook his head. “There are very few of any great ability remaining. Most are of the First and Second Circles; meager in talent and more often than not, useless. Less than a score remain within the Third and Fourth Circles. Of the Masters, only two survived the war. One currently advises the Emperor and never leaves Azzac.”

  “And the other?” Jiron asked.

  Conversations faded away as everyone listened to the young mage.

  “I heard that a Warlord, I am not certain which, offered an unbelievable amount of gold and stole him away.”

  Scar laughed. “I bet that made Cytok mad.”

  Azhan glanced to the Pit Master and nodded. “He put a thousand gold piece bounty on the mage’s head.”

  Shorty whistled. “That’s quite a sum. Anyone try to collect?”

  “Against a Master Mage? None would dare.” He turned his attention to James. “But you could, Master.”

  “Maybe so, Azhan. But I’m not interested and I doubt that even if I presented Lord Cytok with his head, I would receive any such reward for my trouble.”

  “True enough,” Jiron agree with a chuckle.

  James grew thoughtful. He recalled the numerous bruises and scars marring Azhan’s chest and back. “Life in the patrol wasn’t pleasant, was it?”

  Sadness and no small amount of shame shadowed the young mage’s face. “No, Master.”

  “Well,” he began, his voice softening, “you won’t have to worry about that now.”

  Azhan lowered his gaze; his whole demeanor indicated that he didn’t believe it.

  With the meal over, they resumed their journey.