Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two

by Brian S. Pratt

  “Two days should prove adequate.”

  Jiron left the priest in the farmhouse and went outside to assess the tactical situation. They were a fair distance from the road so those passing by would not stumble upon them. If they kept smoke to a minimum they may be able to escape detection until they departed.

  Kip reached the others and after a brief interchange with Father Keller, turned around and headed back. Jira joined him. Starting out at first at a walk, Jira kicked her horse into a gallop. Kip was quick to follow suit. She had a lead on him but he quickly gained it back.

  Jiron walked to the front and arrived a moment before Jira passed him.

  “I won!” she squealed, though her elation was short-lived. The look her father flashed her subdued her. He didn’t say anything, his displeasure at her dangerous gallop was quite clear.

  “Sorry, Father.”

  He gave Kip an equally disapproving glare. “You two are on firewood duty. Gather enough for two days.”

  “But…”

  His expression would brook no argument.

  Her shoulders sagged as she sighed, “Yes, Father.”

  Shorty and Tinok he sent out hunting small game.

  The priests used some of her blankets, pillows and other cushionings from the carriage for a pallet then transferred her very carefully from the carriage and placed her on it.

  To his fellow priest, Father Keller said, “She will need broth.” He pulled two blankets over her then brushed aside a wayward strand of gray hair.

  “I will make a stew and drain off a bowl for her,” Father Vickor replied.

  Father Keller laid a hand on her chest and Morcyth’s glow suffused them both. “Even with the carriage I’m afraid she hasn’t fared well on this journey,” he said with eyes closed. A moment later the glow faded and he looked to Father Vickor. “Life has a tenuous hold on her.”

  “Two days rest will help.”

  “I hope so. If not, I fear for her survival when we leave.”

  “Where are you two going?”

  Scar tightened the strap on the pack horse and turned to Jiron. “Me and Potbelly are going to reconnoiter a little closer to the Waste. Make sure no creature sneaks up on us.”

  “Yes,” agreed Potbelly. “Wouldn’t do to have a pitched battle with poor old Eddra lying there on her deathbed and all.”

  “Uh-huh,” he replied, suspiciously. “See that you don’t get yourselves killed.”

  Grinning, Potbelly slapped him on the back. “We’ll be back before you leave.”

  “If you aren’t,” Jiron warned, “meet us in Zixtyn.”

  Scar swung up into the saddle. “You worry too much.”

  “And you not enough.”

  Scar just laughed. Then to Potbelly he said, “Let’s go.”

  “See you in a few days,” Potbelly hollered.

  They headed out due west with their packhorses in tow.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Three hours later they came across tracks cutting diagonally across their path. From the depth of the indentation and the distance they were from each other, whatever it was had to be big.

  “Came out of the Waste.”

  Scar dismounted and gave the tracks a closer scrutiny. “Might be one of those stalky-creatures that Brother Willim killed.”

  Scanning the land where the tracks were headed failed to reveal their owner.

  “How long ago?” Potbelly asked.

  Standing, Scar shook his head. “Not sure. Less than a day I would think.”

  “Should we go for it?”

  Weighing the possibility of catching it before their time ran out versus encountering another coming from the Waste, Scar finally shook his head. “I could be wrong on the time. If less than twelve hours we might stand a chance. Besides, it’s moving toward populated areas and whoever it encounters will surely kill it.”

  “Be a waste of time following it only to find it dead.”

  Grabbing the pommel of his saddle, Scar swung up. “Exactly. We’re close to the Waste. Bound to be others.”

  “Then let us find them.”

  The dead patch of vines they sat in was barely fifteen feet across. It had been the only one large enough to have an inner dead patch they had seen today. Others had held small patches less than a meter in diameter to ones with healthy patches of vines forty-fifty feet wide whose center growth had yet to even begin to wither.

  “Once we leave here there’s a chance we may not find another where we can remove our suits,” James commented. “At some point we are going to come to where the vines have barely begun to feed on the radiation. The patches will be smaller and less numerous.”

  He glanced to Miko when his friend failed to reply and found him with his eyes closed.

  “You must be more tired than I thought…” he said quietly to himself.

  “No.” Opening his eyes, Miko turned his head toward James. “Merely listening to the Star.”

  “It’s talking to you?”

  “Not exactly.” Sitting up, he tried to find the words. “I can hear it, and it fills me with great peace and contentment.”

  “Like listening to wind in the leaves or waves crashing on a beach.”

  Miko smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  He raised his hand and pointed to the southwest. “Half a day’s journey I believe.”

  James eyed the position of the sun. “It’s mid-afternoon now. Make it there by dark?”

  Miko took a moment to gauge the distance to the Star, then nodded. “I think we could,” he replied. “Or a little after.”

  “Then I propose we stay here until just before dawn. That way we could get the Star and be out by nightfall.”

  “Very well.”

  “Same watch schedule as last night?”

  “That would be fine,” Miko said. Having the late watch, he laid back and while James busied himself finding rocks and killing those creatures that wandered by, allowed the song of the Star to lull him to sleep.

  “Maybe we should have gone after that first one.”

  After finding the earlier set of tracks, they had decided to follow it back toward the Waste but all that had led them to was disappointment.

  Scar shook his head. “Had we followed it we’d be grousing about how we shouldn’t’ve.”

  “I suppose so.”

  The tracks had meandered aimlessly across the desert. By midafternoon they came to another of the signs warning travelers to stay out.

  “Didn’t Brother Willim tell James he could travel an hour or two beyond this point and still be relatively safe?”

  Scar nodded. “He most certainly did.” Nudging his horse, he continued past the sign and pushed further into the Waste.

  Despite scouring the horizon for signs of creatures both rare and exotic, they had little luck during their two hours. When carcasses of dead animals started appearing, they decided to withdraw a ways and camp for the night.

  Potbelly unloaded a small chest and four short poles from one packhorse. Each pole had two crystals glowing with power, one at the top and the other midway down. The lower end was sharpened for insertion into the ground. The chest was rectangular and made of wood, two feet by one. Just above the latch was an engraved anvil, the symbol of he from whom they bought it.

  “I’ll get set up,” he said. “Maybe one will come calling tonight.”

  “Do that,” Scar said. “I’ll get a fire going.”

  Fifty feet from camp he set the four poles into the ground, one at each corner of a square ten paces across. The box he left closed and set nearby.

  Returning to camp, he removed a stack with half a dozen six-inch cylindrical paper tubes. They had acquired these from the Illuminator’s Guild some time ago. Thought they might prove useful in this venture. Potbelly removed the tubes and set them side by side upon the ground near his bedroll.

  “What do we do if this stuff doesn’t work?”

  “Kill Ale
xander of course,” Scar replied. “For what we paid, these had better work exactly as promised.”

  Three years ago Scar and Potbelly got wind through their contacts of a fellow over in the Kirken Federation who made magical items to order. Supposedly, he could make any kind of item that would do the most amazing things. At the time they had merely been curious, but later when one of their pit fighter scouting trips took them that way, they sought him out.

  It took some doing for he wasn’t exactly in the good graces of the ruling council of the Kirken Federation and had gone underground. They had been assured that if they could find him, and had enough gold, they could convince him to help. A month and a score of dead ends and false trails later, they found themselves before the dark maw of a nondescript cave.

  Within they were told stood the remains of three stone pedestals. One would have a crack at the top just wide enough to slip through a coin. If they dropped ten gold coins through that crack, they would meet Alexander. They had found the pedestals, dropped in the required coinage, and waited.

  At first nothing happened. A minute ticked by, then two and still no Alexander. Thinking they were being cheated or played the fool, Scar was all for smashing the pedestal to get his coins back. Finding a suitable boulder, he picked it up and brought it to the pedestal. Raising it high, he slammed it down. Before it could hit, the boulder abruptly stopped in midair.

  “Sorry about that, gentlemen,” a voice said. “Had to make sure you were who you said you were.”

  Scar and Potbelly whirled around and there was Alexander.

  He looked nothing like what they had expected. Saying he was scrawny would have been kind. Alexander bordered on the emaciated. Roughly five feet three and all of ninety pounds, a breath of wind could have bowled him over.

  Upon his head he had a broad-brimmed gray pointy hat that was two sizes too big. He wore a gray robe that came to his ankles and carried a staff bearing a trio of glowing gems set into the head.

  Potbelly eyed him critically. “How old are you?” If the boy was fifteen he’d be surprised.

  “Does it matter?” Alexander replied. Tipping his staff forward, the gems upon it glowed brightly. The boulder in Scar’s hands moved laterally through the air until settling down to where it had originally rested before Scar picked it up.

  “Uh, no,” Scar replied. “I guess it doesn’t.”

  “So what can I do for you gentlemen?”

  “Can you, as we hear, make magical items?”

  Alexander nodded. “You have heard correctly.” When Scar started to continue, Alexander held up a hand. “But I must tell you that I will not craft any item that is malignant in nature, nor will I do anything that I perceive could conceivably cause harm to others.”

  “You must not get many customers then,” quipped Potbelly.

  The boy shrugged. “What would you like me to do for you?”

  “How much will it cost us?” Scar asked.

  “Depends on what you wish me to do.” He paused a moment. “Regardless, it won’t be cheap.”

  They explained about the hell hounds encountered during the war, and how they wished some way to capture one and transport it back to the Pits. Then once there, have a way to contain it so it will not escape or be a danger to others yet still be able to put it on view for paying customers.

  “Can you do it?” Potbelly asked.

  “It’s not if I can,” Alexander explained. “It’s if you are willing to pay.”

  Scar looked slightly annoyed. “So you can do it?”

  “I believe so.”

  “How much?”

  “Twelve hundred golds.”

  “What?” Scar exploded. “Twelve hundred golds? Are you out of your mind?”

  “I would think eight hundred closer to the mark,” Potbelly argued.

  “I do not haggle,” Alexander stated. “The price is what it is. Either agree to pay,” his staff dipped and pointed toward the cavern opening, “or leave.”

  Scar was ready to turn and walk out when Potbelly grabbed him by the arm. “Let us confer a moment.” Pulling his friend off to the side, he whispered, “Even at twelve hundred, we’ll make a profit.”

  “How do you figure? He’s trying to rob us.”

  “People will want to see this hell hound. We have them pay an extra fee to see it. Say two silvers, four if the crowds stay heavy. We’ll get our money back in a year, maybe two. And those who come to look, may stay to watch the matches…buy the food…bet? Never know, we could gain a whole new set of regulars because we would offer something unique.”

  Still feeling like he’s being cheated, Scar nodded. “Very well.”

  Potbelly returned to Alexander with a glaring Scar behind. He held out his hand. “We accept your terms.”

  The boy didn’t at first take the hand. “I demand payment up front.”

  “Half,” Scar said.

  “As you wish.” Alexander took Potbelly’s hand and they shook.

  “Do you know James?” Scar asked. “The mage that took down the Empire?”

  “I know of him,” the boy replied.

  “He’s a friend of ours.”

  For the first time, Alexander’s face which had been stoic throughout turned grimmer. “Are you telling me this as a threat?”

  “Merely letting you know who you are dealing with.”

  “Well, the fact that you are here, right now seeking my help, tells me that either this James is a good friend but can’t make these items which means he isn’t a threat to me at all; or he isn’t that good of a friend for he refused to make these items for you. Either way, I don’t see where I should be worried.”

  Scar bristled, but Potbelly’s steadying hand kept him from responding.

  Alexander’s grin faded. “So when can I expect my payment?”

  “We must return to the City of Light for the coins,” Potbelly replied.

  “As you wish.”

  “What about our ten golds?”

  Alexander turned to Scar. “Price of admission. Now, if you gentlemen don’t mind leaving, I have other matters that require my attention.”

  “You cross us and we’ll kill you,” Scar vowed.

  Alexander waved the threat away dismissively.

  A month later they returned to the cave and dropped off the first payment. Six months later a message arrived at the Pits stating that their items were ready and to not forget the rest of the gold.

  True to his word, Alexander had their equipment ready. After a short demonstration on how to set up the equipment for capture, transport, and ultimate confinement of the creature within the Pits, they traveled back to the City of Light.

  For months they tried hunting for the elusive hell hounds or any other creature out of the norm, all with nothing to show. Either their luck had been poor or creatures such as they had in mind were rare in the extreme. And so it was like a god-send when they happened to overhear Tinok and Father Tullin discussing Miko’s impending adventure into the heart of the Empire.

  They packed up their capture and transport equipment; what they would use to confine the creature they left at the Pits, and volunteered to help James in his quest to reunite with his family.

  Fire made, dinner ate and with daylight all but gone, they grew worried as to the likelihood of success. They scrounged every stick larger than a finger and kept the fire roaring high for hours. It had been their hope that a creature passing in the dark would see the flames and investigate.

  When they burned all but what had been set aside to see them through the night and the following morning, Scar grew impatient. He paced back and forth and gazed at the darkness surrounding them. He would pause now and then to listen for the tell-tale sound of an approaching creature.

  “I bet if James was here we would have seen fifty of them by now.”

  Potbelly sighed. “The Waste is a large place and we are on the outer edge. It was a longshot in any event.”

  Scar eyed the six Illuminator sticks lying nea
rby.

  “We only have another six on the pack horse,” Potbelly advised.

  “Don’t care,” Scar replied. “What good are they going to do us if we never use them?”

  The Illuminator tubes were made of a sturdy paper with one end flattened; the other stuffed with cotton. Scar took the tube and pulled out the cotton. He felt inside until finding the wick and gently pulled it forth. They had been cautioned against pulling too hard for if the wick came free, the tube would not be usable. Taking a burning brand from the fire, he held it to the wick and waited until it started to crackle, then raised the tube high.

  One second… two… then a shower of sparks burst from the end. From out of the sparks a larger flaring ball of fire rose high into the air where it exploded in a brilliant, widespread blossoming ball of red light.

  Potbelly stepped to his friend and brushed off several smoldering embers, remnants of the initial burst.

  “That should attract anything in the area,” he said.

  Scar nodded as the night once again claimed the sky. “It better.”

  “Of course,” Potbelly said, “that all depends on if there is anything in the area to see it.”

  Turning to him, Scar said, “Why do you have to say that?”

  Potbelly shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  Scar gave him a glare then spat. “We best be ready.”

  He loosened his twin blades; Potbelly readied his long sword and dagger.

  The pop…crackle…pop of the fire were the only sounds disturbing the quiet of the desert. Minute followed minute and no creature came to investigate the bright lights and loud noise of the Illuminator tube.

  “I’ll get another.”

  “Don’t waste them,” Potbelly urged. “If the first one didn’t attract anything, why should we believe a second will do any better?”

  Scar picked up another tube. “Do you want to go back home empty handed?”

  “Well, no. But I don’t want to throw good money after bad, either.”