Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two

by Brian S. Pratt

  The rest gradually came into view, each burdened with packs and sacks. Jiron cast a questioning glanced to the two horses free of encumbrances.

  Noticing the unspoken question, Scar replied, “Father Vickor thought that considering their injuries, they should rest at least a day before we pack them up.”

  Jiron nodded. “Did James’ equipment survive?”

  “Most of it.”

  “What didn’t?”

  “That clicking box. A rock must have hit it square for it is half the size it used to be. Kip’s got James’ equipment.”

  “James will want to see it when he comes around.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Pretty much undamaged other than a slight squashing when the horse carrying it hit the ground.” A low whistling escaped him upon seeing the pit and the small pillar of rock upon which James and Miko rested.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Never does anything small, does he?”

  “Nope,” he replied then glanced around until spying Tinok and Azhan. He signaled his friend to bring the young mage to him.

  “I need you.”

  Azhan’s eyes met his then lowered them. “How may I be of assistance?”

  Jiron pointed toward the pillar at the center of the pit. “Your master is unconscious and we need a way to get him down without hurting him further.”

  Raising his gaze, Azhan saw the sincerity in his eyes; then he turned to take in the pit. “I don’t understand how I can help?”

  “A little while ago you raised a six foot earthen barrier to protect us from annihilation.” He pointed toward the pit. “I want you to do the same thing here. Raise a rampart so they can walk off.”

  Instant panic flared upon the young mage’s face. The effect of his words was not lost upon Jiron.

  “I…I can’t.”

  Tinok grabbed him by the hair and twisted his head around. “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “Easy, Tinok.” Jiron motioned for his friend to release Azhan.

  When the knifer’s hand let go of his hair, Azhan practically collapsed to his knees. The young mage’s body started trembling.

  Father Vickor came forward and knelt by his side. He laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder. “I think I understand.” Glancing up to Jiron, he said, “The Dark Mage forbade it. When he, uh, cursed him, the Dark Mage said ‘Summon magic, and suffer an eternity of pain.’ He’s afraid that if he does, the curse will take affect.” Turning back to Azhan, he asked, “Isn’t that right?”

  Though still quaking, the lad relaxed somewhat. A tremulous “Yes,” was heard by all.

  “But he has already performed magic,” stated Tinok.

  The young mage blanched.

  “A little more shouldn’t make any difference.”

  Tinok’s reasoning did little to ease Azhan. The mage looked as frightened as a mouse in a room full of cats.

  “My son,” began Father Vickor, “The Dark Mage would not punish you for doing such a deed.” Moving his hand to the young mage’s chin, he raised Azhan’s face to meet his own. “I will explain to him that circumstances demanded you to use magic and he will have mercy.”

  “Aye,” agreed Scar. “It’s for his own good, after all.”

  When the mage looked to him, Jiron nodded. “That’s right.”

  Then Azhan turned toward Tinok. The knifer’s expression remained as stone.

  Jiron caught his friend’s attention and silently gestured for him to add his voice to the chorus.

  Tinok glanced to Father Vickor. “Couldn’t you do it?”

  The priest shook his head. “Not as well as him. His berm was precise and well formed. I have no experience in such magic.”

  “Ours is a different sort,” Father Keller added.

  Frowning at the young mage, Tinok gave a curt nod. “Fine. He shall not be held to account.” Then his face hardened even further. “But stray from your task, and I’ll end your life.”

  Patting Azhan on the shoulder several times in light succession, Father Vickor got to his feet. “I’m sure that will not be necessary.”

  “No,” Azhan replied. “It won’t.”

  Coming to his feet, he whispered to Father Vickor, “Could you stand with me?” There was something about the priest that he found comforting.

  “If you like.”

  Father Vickor walked with the young mage to the edge of the pit.

  The eyes upon him made it difficult for him to connect to the magic. He knew that if he didn’t get this right a knife would be in his back in a flash. It took several moments to quell his shaking nerves and reach a point where his mind was sufficiently at peace to find the magic.

  The distance was greater than any he had attempted before. The sheer amount of earth needing moved might be more than he could master. The one consoling thought that steeled his will to undertake this task was that if he succeeded, it might prove to The Dark Mage his worth. This had to be done right. Maybe lead to more than Master and Slave. Dare he hope, Master and Apprentice?

  Taking hold of the magic, he sent his senses into the ground. As he had been taught, he spread a network of magic throughout the dirt to either side of where he wished the earth to rise. He took extra care not to send magic beneath the pillar upon which his master lay. Such would result in toppling the precarious perch. Once the magic encompassed a wide enough area, he altered it slightly and began pulling it toward a central line stretching from where he stood and across to his master.

  The ground shook and an earthen rumble came from beneath their feet. Raising his hands, Azhan made the ground dance to his will. Dust blasted upward as the shaking and rumbling increased. No longer could the pit be seen for the sheer volume of dust particles filling the air.

  As the dirt and rocks moved together they compacted, then rose. Realizing his initial net had not caught enough material to create the earthen rampart, he extended it outward and downward to bring in what was required.

  His mind’s eye kept track of it all. This was his forte. Not many of his peers could do this, and not many of those above him either for that matter. Pride sought to disturb his concentration so he banished it and kept focused on the raising of the berm.

  “It’s caving in!” a voice cried.

  Off to his left, Azhan sensed the surface above an area from which he had drawn earth had collapsed

  “Touch him not,” warned Father Vickor.

  As to whom the priest warned and why, Azhan gave little thought. His concentration was for the steadily rising berm alone. It now rose over halfway to the top and still more earth was being pulled in to elevate it yet higher.

  Minutes ticked by as he worked. With every inch in height, the required stone became more and more. When it came to within five feet from ground level, he deemed that to draw more would risk toppling the pillar of earth upon which his master lay.

  The rumbling stopped and the ground grew still as he let the magic go. He reached to the heavens and took hold of the winds. This was a skill none of his former masters knew he possessed and one that he had worked diligently on in secret. A gentle breeze began to blow to push aside the dust cloud and reveal his creation.

  A level strip of earth, three feet wide, now lay from the edge of the pit and extended at a slight downward angle until connecting to his master’s pillar of earth, five feet from the top.

  Father Vickor patted him on the shoulder. “Nicely done.”

  “Thank you.”

  Azhan received several nods of approval and more than a few grins. Glancing to Tinok revealed no sign of approval. The stony visage remained firmly in place. He was sure the knifer would love nothing better than to kill him on the spot.

  Jiron went to where it began and tested it with his foot. “Is it strong?”

  “Yes,” Azhan replied “It will easily hold your weight and maybe another. I would advise against testing it further.”

  “Scar, come with me and let’s get them off of there.”

 
“You got it.”

  Together, Jiron and the Pit Master hurried across. Scar remained below while Jiron climbed up to join Miko and James. The Dark Mage remained unconscious.

  “I thought for sure that would have woken him.”

  “It would have if he but slept. This is something more.”

  “More?”

  Miko nodded. “But not permanent. I believe he will come out of it in a day or two.”

  “Can he be moved?”

  “Yes. His physical injuries are minor. It is his mind and spirit that require healing.”

  “Good.”

  Kneeling next to his friend, Jiron slipped his arms under James’ shoulders and knees. Then with gentle pressure, he lifted him as he rose to his feet and carried him to where Scar waited. After setting James on the ground once more, he eased him over the edge and transferred him to Scar. Once the Pit Master was on his way back with James, Jiron turned to Miko.

  “This is going to attract everyone in the area,” he said as he gestured to the surrounding devastation.

  Miko nodded. “Probably.”

  “Can he travel?”

  “If kept upright, traveling should not aggravate his condition.”

  “Good.”

  Once Scar made it across, Jiron hopped down to the berm with Miko following suit. Together they crossed to where the others had gathered around James.

  “Put him on the horse that suffered the least amount of damage.”

  Scar glanced to Jiron.

  “Neither one is in good condition.”

  “Still, we need to depart immediately.”

  Nodding, Scar enlisted Potbelly’s aid and they managed to get James mounted.

  The horse looked none too sturdy, but it did appear marginally stronger than the other.

  To Kip, Jiron said, “Get up there and keep him upright.”

  The novice looked skeptical.

  “Me?”

  “Is there another here whose weight that horse can bear?”

  Though nervous about being in contact with someone as infamous as The Dark Mage, Kip realized there was little choice. Swallowing his anxiety, he steeled his nerve and mounted. He then wrapped his arm securely around James’ chest.

  Scar let go and the corner of his mouth crooked up slightly as he said, “I wouldn’t let him fall. The last person who did now boasts a tail and walks on four feet.”

  Kip’s eyes widened.

  Father Vickor came to Kip’s side. “Pay him no attention. He’s just having a bit of fun at your expense.” When Scar chuckled, the priest said, “Wait until he needs healing again, young Kip.”

  Scar’s humor quickly vanished.

  “Then we’ll see how funny he thinks this is.”

  “Aw, didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Enough of this!”

  Jiron’s exclamation silenced them all. “Let’s go.” He took the lead and headed for the bridge. Jira walked at his side.

  Chapter Twenty

  They heard the water long before it became visible in the moonlight. Debris clogged it throughout a mile-long stretch. Water that had once flown still and quiet now crashed against a network of building sections, trees and the odd statue. White froth sent plumes of mist into the air.

  Jiron stood where the Tapu Bridge had once spanned the river. A jagged outcropping of worked stone on the far side was all that remained. The others gathered around as he took in the roiling, debris-choked river.

  “We’ll never make it across.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded silently to Scar.

  “Have the mage erect another of his earthen berms,” suggested Potbelly.

  Jiron turned to Azhan. “Think you can?”

  The young mage, already fatigued by his earlier ordeal, took but a moment to consider it before shaking his head. “It’s not just raising the earth, but fighting against the power of the river. It is beyond me.”

  Father Keller joined them. “We could go back to the main road and cross there.”

  Scar shook his head. “Too far, especially on foot.”

  Glancing back to the river once more, Jiron then turned toward where Kip sat on horseback with arm around James’ chest to keep him upright.

  “No telling how long he’ll be out.”

  Then to Azhan, “If a patrol were to come investigate, from which direction would be most likely?”

  He pointed downriver. “Captain Aziri and his band patrol the northern shore near the bridge to Inziala. It’s a full day’s ride from here.”

  “How many men does he have?”

  “Fifteen when we passed through not long ago.”

  “Do they have a mage?”

  Azhan turned to Tinok and nodded. “Hikai.”

  “Powerful?” Jiron asked.

  “Slightly less skilled than myself; he has been trained for combat so do not dismiss him lightly.”

  Jiron looked to Miko who nodded, confirming Azhan’s truthfulness.

  To Scar he asked, “Have any more of those drugged darts?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Okay, then.” Turning downstream, he said, “Let’s go.”

  Kip looked worried when he said, “Shouldn’t we go upstream? Away from the patrol?” He glanced from Jiron, then Scar then to Tinok. “Aren’t you afraid that our presence will be discovered?”

  Tinok turned an unreadable gaze upon the young novice. “He’s counting on it.”

  “We needed horses, Kip,” Father Keller explained.

  “The desert will kill us if we try to cross it on foot,” added the knifer. “Water is scarce with many miles between oases.”

  “Oh.”

  Jiron took the lead with Jira by his side. The others fell in behind.

  Somewhere near the rear walked Azhan with Tinok ever present at his back. But it wasn’t the knifer that filled his thoughts as they left the ruins of Tapu. Rather, it was the inescapable fact that they meant to take down Captain Aziri and his men for their horses.

  That alone would not cause Azhan much worry. Captain Aziri was a heartless man who took pleasure in the torment of others. But his friend, Hikai, rode with Captain Aziri. And with the Dark Mage unconscious, there would be no one to speak up and prevent his death, as had happened to him. He knew Tinok would slit Hikai’s throat without a second thought. Gaze moving to the figure riding slumped forward in the grasp of the boy, he hoped his master would waken before it was too late.

  They walked until the sun neared its apex, then found a place in the lee of a small hillside that afforded some protection against prying eyes. A watch was set, a meal taken, and then those not on guard duty took what rest they could.

  The day passed uneventful. Miko and his priests took turns looking after James. Other than a grunt or two, and a mumbled word now and then, he failed to stir. When the sun neared the horizon and the shadows grew long, they tried to waken him but all attempts failed.

  “Will Uncle be okay?” Jira asked Miko.

  “I believe so. His mind needs to heal and it keeps him asleep so it can.”

  She looked worried for her uncle, but trusted in Miko.

  Jiron once again set a brisk pace. Two hours they walked before a halt was called.

  “We’ll set up camp here,” he announced. “Gather wood for a fire.”

  Father Keller glanced around at the expanse of open grassland that Jiron had chosen. Even in the deepening gloom, he could tell there was little cover.

  “Kind of exposed here, aren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned to Shorty. “How are you doing?”

  The knifer knew what he was really asking. Spying Scar pulling a dried piece of beef out of his pack, he drew a knife and threw. The blade sailed through the air.

  Scar had the piece of meat near his mouth when he suddenly backpedaled with an expletive as the knife struck the meat and plucked it from his grasp.

  Jiron grinned. “I guess you’re fine.”

  Sword drawn, Scar rounde
d on Shorty. “No he isn’t!”

  Potbelly intercepted his friend, his barely concealed amusement did little to calm Scar’s anger.

  “Miko, you and your priests stay here by the fire with James. Kip, you too.”

  He turned to Azhan and grew thoughtful.

  “I will do nothing to interfere with your attempt to kill Captain Aziri and his men. Their deaths matter little to me.”

  Again, Miko nodded at Azhan’s truthfulness.

  Tinok caught the young mage’s attention. “You do anything and you will be the first to die.”

  Azhan nodded gravely for he could see the threat naked upon the knifer’s face.

  Jiron turned to the others. “Alright, let’s get ready.”

  Jira laid sleepily against her father’s side. With eyes half-lidded she could see the campfire burning in the distance. She didn’t like sitting out in the dark and cold, though she did have her blanket wrapped snuggly about her.

  She moved slightly to adjust an uncomfortable position and felt her father’s arm snake around her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  “I wish we were by the fire.”

  “I know. So do I.”

  Sleep had come and gone twice before she felt her father move from her side and stand. The sound of approaching hoof beats banished all traces of sleep.

  “Stay here, Jira.”

  She could feel more than see her father looking down at her.

  “I will.”

  Then he was gone.

  As the riders approached, she pulled her blanket tighter about her shoulders. Before long, over a dozen riders entered the fringe of campfire light.

  Scar stood as the riders slowed and came to a stop. His gaze quickly swept over the eight swordsmen and six crossbowmen arrayed behind an older soldier bearing a battle-worn countenance that had to be the leader. To the leader’s right rode a robed man of youthful appearance; the mage.

  Moving more to the leader’s left, Scar stepped forward and said, “Good evening, gentlemen.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potbelly edging to the right…and the mage.