Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two

by Brian S. Pratt

  The town behind them was quickly being swallowed by the storm. Glancing over his shoulder, Miko gauged that little time remained before it reached the plaza wherein stood the soldiers. Turning back, he saw the girl racing along the open space toward the building.

  He stood frozen for only a moment, unsure just how she had slipped her hand from his. But then a cry rang out from an officer. Pointing to the girl, the officer shouted, “Take her!”

  Miko sprang into action as the uniformed rows disintegrated; every soldier drew his sword and rushed toward the girl. His sword was in his hand.

  The gap around the girl closed rapidly. Hundreds of men converged on her. Miko laid about with his sword. Soldiers fell as he cut a swath toward the girl. He heard her cry out, the first sound she had ever made. What she had said he couldn’t make out, but it had been a cry of distress.

  Redoubling his effort, he hacked away. Ten soldiers…twenty, the count was horrendous but still he hewed and hacked. Almost to her side, a fetid odor wafting on the breeze nearly made him gag. Then he saw her. Two soldiers had her by the arms and were attempting to drag her back away from the building.

  “Leave her be!” he warned.

  Blade flashing, he dropped two more nearby soldiers then advanced on those holding her.

  “We will keep her safe,” the soldier on her right said.

  “She will be happy and safe with us,” added the other.

  Miko stepped forward and leveled his sword at the one on the right. “You cannot even save your own city.” Behind him, the sound of buildings being sundered and breaking apart grew loud as the storm drew closer. “Now, let her go.” When the soldier looked to begin arguing, Miko struck.

  A thrust through the chest dropped the one on the right, then pulling his blade free, he slashed across the neck of the other, nearly taking the head clean off.

  “Come on,” he said as he grabbed the girl’s hand. The only possible refuge from the storm lay in the doorway of the building at the end of the plaza. A mass of soldiers barred their way.

  The wind now whipped his clothes. Where the street had entered the plaza was now a whirling mass of darkness. Soldiers, lifted by the winds, were drawn into the chaotic maelstrom.

  His blade danced and soldiers fell. Step by step he made his way through their ranks. With but fifty feet remaining, the fetid odor returned. Through a momentary gap in the soldiers, he saw a figure standing before the doorway. Cloaked in black, the figure wielded a curved dagger. Then the press of battle once again obstructed the view.

  The ring of soldiers was tight, half a dozen blades attacked and it was all he could do to keep them at bay and the girl safe. When an opening came where he could press the attack, he had to let it go in favor of blocking a thrust or hack aimed at the girl.

  Winds whipped fiercely now. Their roar nearly drowned out all other sound. He could feel their tug and feared they would not make it in time.

  Then the girl screamed. Miko turned, but not fast enough. A blade shot forward aimed at her chest. He couldn’t bring his sword around in time to save her. Time slowed…the blade came forward and just as it pierced the front of the girl’s shirt, a curved dagger hooked it, knocked it aside. Miko watched as the cloaked figure’s hand wrapped around the soldier’s neck and twisted. The fetid odor was very strong now. For a split-second, their eyes met, the cloaked man and his, then the battle resumed.

  Soldiers fell to Miko’s sword and the cloaked man’s dagger. Together they fought for the safety of the girl. Then, they were before the doorway. Such was the fierceness of the maelstrom that it rent the very cobblestones from the ground.

  The cloaked man stood within the doorway.

  Miko made to enter and the curved dagger rose to block his way. He raised his sword to force his way in, but the girl stood before him and laid her hand upon his blade. She smiled at him and he lowered his blade.

  Turning to the cloaked man, she said not a word, merely smiled. The man’s features were obscured by the shadows of the hood, yet it was clear he looked at her intently. His hand raised and rested upon her head. She and he stood still for a moment, their eyes gazing into each other’s, then he released her, and the cloaked man stepped aside.

  Taking Miko’s hand, the girl led him into the building.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “He’s hidden, that’s for sure.”

  Father Vickor glanced to Tinok and nodded. Two hours on the road since leaving the tavern and not a sign of where Potbelly had holed up for the night.

  Tinok brought his horse to a stop and glanced back the way they had come.

  “What do you…,” began Shorty before Tinok shushed him to silence. A moment later came the sound of riders fast approaching.

  “Shorty…” Tinok said and then motioned toward the side of the road.

  “Right.”

  Slipping of his horse, Shorty moved to a vantage spot off the road where he wouldn’t be readily observed and readied his knives.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Tinok turned to Father Vickor, “Depends who it is.”

  Moving to the side of the road, they waited for the riders.

  Eight men rode hard in the moonlight. They were nearly upon Tinok and the others when they noticed them and came to a stop.

  The riders formed a semi-circle around them and one came forward. “Who are you?”

  “Could ask you the same question,” Tinok replied.

  “None of your smart mouth,” the rider spat. “Now, I asked you a question.”

  Tinok pointedly ignored him. “Are you looking for someone?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” the man replied, “but we’re looking for a pair of riders.”

  “Haven’t seen anyone on the road for hours.” Tinok rested his hand on a knife hilt. “What do you want them for?”

  “They’re murderers,” the man spat. “Killed a bunch of our friends earlier this evening.”

  “Out for vengeance, are you?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “They wouldn’t be those cursed fellows we heard about back at the inn, would they?”

  “That’s them.”

  “Figure just the eight of you can take them?”

  “We got more than enough,” the rider laughed.

  “You should have brought more.” Drawing his knife, Tinok kicked the sides of his horse and hollered, “Now!”

  Bolting forward, Tinok slammed his knife in the man’s chest, pulled it out as his horse drew him past, then charged into the middle of the remaining seven.

  Smaller, well-balanced knives flew from the darkness with deadly accuracy. Riders cried out as blades sank into their backs.

  Tinok’s knife felled a second rider as the man tried to pull his sword and a third before the rider had a chance to draw back his blade to strike. A fourth cried out as one of Shorty’s knives struck him in the back and Tinok finished him off with a swipe across the throat.

  Father Vickor hollered, “Stay back, Kip!” as he rode forward to attack. His mace struck aside the man’s sword then with a back-handed swipe, caved in the side of the man’s head. Before the dead rider hit the ground, the fight was over.

  Wiping his blade on a dead man’s shirt, Tinok said, “We’d better get these bodies off the road and hide them.”

  “Kip, gather their horses,” Father Vickor said.

  “Yes, Father.”

  Taking Tinok by the shoulder, the priest turned him round. “Was this really necessary?”

  Gazing intently into the priest’s eyes, the knifer replied, “Absolutely. We don’t know how much time Scar has and now we can continue the search without fear of pursuit.”

  From where he was gathering his throwing knives, Shorty said, “At least for a while.”

  “It will take those back at the inn over a day to figure out they aren’t coming back,” Tinok replied. “By that time we will have found them and be long gone.”

  “Do you think we will be
able to find them tonight?”

  Tinok grinned. “Now that we no longer have to worry about avoiding notice, I have no doubts.”

  Potbelly worried for his friend. It had been far too long since Scar had eaten or had anything more than a wetting of his tongue to drink. He glanced down the backside of a slight hill to where he had placed Scar and the horses. “We’ll get you right yet.” Sighing, he turned his attention back toward the road and the pursuit that he was certain would develop at some point. Once the sun came up, he wasn’t sure what to do. Should he risk traveling on the road in the hopes of meeting up with Miko’s priests? Or would keeping to the wild country keep them safe until they put enough distance behind them that pursuit would be unlikely.

  Several hours now he’d drifted in and out of sleep as he kept watch. Dreams came and went, some were quite intense while others less so. His latest one was of him and Scar sneaking into some long abandoned castle rumored to be filled with treasure. The fact that evil spirits abounded and would kill them quickly deterred them not a bit.

  Real world intermixed with dream as he hovered on the cusp of sleep. At times he and Scar would be searching hidden rooms for magical artifacts only to drift closer to wakefulness and the dream would fade to a whisper as the dark landscape upon which he kept watch would come into greater focus. Then he would once again drift off to sleep and the dream would take over yet again.

  He and Scar find treasure…dark landscape…hidden room with a spectral statue…dark landscape…running from the castle with a horde of ghosts hot on their trail…dark landscape…ghost riders thundering from the sky…faint light moving way off in the dark…Scar making a last stand to buy him time…light moved along the road…“Potbelly!” Scar cried as he fell to a spectral blade…as it drew closer, the light manifested into the shape of a man…turning to his friend, he reached out as Scar said his name one last time “Potbelly”… “Potbelly!”

  Snapping awake, it took his mind a moment to realize the phantom moving along the road a ways off was not part of his dream. It was a man on horseback.

  “Potbelly!” came the cry again from the direction of the phantom.

  He broke into a grin when he realized the phantom was Father Vickor surrounded by the glow of Morcyth. Standing, he hollered, “Over here”

  The priest turned in his direction as two other riders barely seen in the glow’s radiance galloped toward him.

  “Tinok!” he cried when the riders came closer. “And Shorty. Am I glad to see you guys.”

  “Where’s Scar?” Shorty asked. “Heard you two got into a little trouble.”

  “You might say that.”

  When Father Vickor with Kip in tow joined them, Potbelly took them down the other side of the small hill to where Scar laid upon the ground.

  “We encountered one of those creatures that took Jira,” he explained. “Scar got hit by its darts.”

  Maintaining the glow, Father Vickor dismounted and knelt next to the unmoving Scar. The glow reached out and enveloped the Pit Master.

  “I gave him what water he could take,” Potbelly explained. “Which wasn’t much.”

  Tinok patted him on the back. “He’ll take care of Scar.”

  “He sure will,” agreed Kip. “He’s one of our best healers.” Then he lowered his voice and added, “Though he doesn’t look it.”

  “Heard that, Kip.”

  The glow surrounding the two men faded and then Father Vickor stood and turned to Potbelly. “The poison has been neutralized, I think.”

  “You think?” Potbelly asked. “You don’t know?”

  “Not entirely, no,” the priest responded. “It acted in a way with which I am unfamiliar, and I know a lot about such things. But I believe he will make a full recovery.”

  “How do you know?”

  Father Vickor shrugged. “It feels that he will. The Reverend Father calls it the Priestly Certainty.”

  Shorty didn’t appear convinced. “I sure hope you’re right.”

  “Will know by morning. He should rouse by then.” He turned to Tinok. “A fire would do him a world of good.”

  “Dare we risk it?” asked Shorty.

  Tinok nodded. “This is why we took out those searchers. Kip, scavenge fuel for a fire.”

  “In the dark?”

  Even in the dark Kip withered beneath the glare Tinok gave him.

  “Now would be a good time to practice summoning the power,” Father Vickor said.

  A few moments of futility later, the young Novice said, “Can you do it?”

  Laughing, Father Vickor summoned the power of Morcyth and slapped Kip on the back. “It will come, young Kip.”

  Kip wasn’t so sure. All the while he gathered wood, he sought the elusive power of Morcyth, yet it failed to come within reach. What if it never comes to me? What if the Reverend Father is wrong about me? Dejected and feeling useless, he gathered sufficient quantity to see them through the night.

  Once the fire blazed forth and pushed back the dark, Kip laid out his bedroll and climbed into it. Tinok took the first watch with Shorty on the second. Potbelly was out before the fire was lit and would be allowed to sleep through the night. The last watch Kip would share with Father Vickor. He knew the Father would work with him to find Morcyth’s power, as well as drill him in the doctrines of the faith. Sometimes he wished he could just take watch with Shorty. He at least could tell jokes.

  Sighing, he drifted off to sleep.

  With the brightening of the dawn, Scar began to stir just as Father Vickor had predicted. At first he just moved his eyes and slight, uncoordinated movements of his limbs. But as the sun rose above the horizon, he found his voice.

  “How long was I out?”

  “A couple days,” Potbelly replied. “Do you remember any of it?”

  He closed his eyes. “Bits and pieces. Not sure if they were real or a dream.”

  Father Vickor summoned the power of Morcyth and checked on his patient. “You’re going to be fine,” he assured Scar. “May be weak for a few days as your body shakes off the remaining effects of the creature’s poison.”

  Scar tried to sit up and Potbelly moved to help him. He weakly pushed him aside. “Don’t need no wet nurse.”

  “When you can stop me, I’ll believe you.”

  Despite his friend’s complaints, Potbelly aided him in sitting up then gave him his water bottle.

  Scar upended it and drained it in one go.

  “Easy,” advised Shorty. “You don’t want to go and make yourself sick.” His advice was promptly ignored as Scar asked for a second bottle and drained it by half. Then his stomach growled.

  Potbelly laughed. “You’ll be your old grumpy self in no time.” He handed Scar several slices of jerked beef.

  Tearing off a sizeable section, Scar commenced to chew as he asked, “Where is everyone else?”

  “About half a day behind,” Father Vickor explained. “Once we learned that you had been stricken by a creature from the Waste, the Reverend Father sent us ahead to provide what aid we could.”

  From the vantage point atop the slight hill where Potbelly held vigil the night before, they had a good view of the road where it ran off in the distance. One lone rider was all they saw.

  “I figure they’ll be along before noon,” Tinok said.

  “Provided they don’t run into trouble,” added Shorty.

  “They won’t,” Father Vickor assured them. “Father Keller saw to that.” Then he glanced to Tinok and Shorty, “All the hot heads are already here.”

  “Hey!” Shorty exclaimed.

  Father Vickor laughed.

  Tinok almost cracked a grin…almost.

  Shorty went to sit next to Scar and Potbelly. “So, did you two get your creature?”

  Scar turned to Potbelly. “Did we?”

  Nodding, Potbelly replied, “We did. Almost killed us both, but we got it.”

  “Excellent,” Scar said. “Will make a good addition to The Pits.”

&nb
sp; “I’ve already got it figured out,” Potbelly began. “Put it in the old Pit, the one Levryn lost his arm in back before the war.”

  Scar nodded. “It’s away from the others… I agree. And it would be easy to set up Alexander’s containment rods there too.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “I hate to break this up,” Father Vickor said, “But now that you’ve eaten, you should try to get some rest before the others arrive.”

  Eyes heavy with fatigue, Scar nodded. “You may be right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” the priest insisted. “A couple more hours would do you wonders.” Then he cast Potbelly a look full of meaning.

  The Pit Master nodded. “I’ll see to it,” he said quietly.

  Father Vickor glanced around. “Now where is Kip?” he asked loudly. “Be a good time to instruct my young Novice in the intricate details of the Morning Blessing Ritual.”

  From down by the horses came a groan and the others laughed.

  Sleep had been hard to come by. Throughout the night, a steady stream of stalkers had arrived and now there were dozens, maybe even over a hundred milling about just beyond the fringe of the vine patch.

  “How many are there?”

  Miko chewed on the last piece of jerked beef in his pack as he gazed at the herd. “Hard to tell.”

  “No,” James said, shaking his head, “how many are there? You would think with the number we’ve killed in the past few days there wouldn’t be another still alive in the Waste.”

  “Maybe these are the last?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Miko drank from his water bottle then put it back in his pack and stood. “At least today we should pass beyond reach of the deadly radiation.”

  James nodded. “I think so too. Help me gather stones and I’ll take care of them before we leave.”

  “You got it.”

  While Miko set about gathering stones of suitable size, James picked up the small pile he had gathered last night. He walked to the edge of the dead, safe section of vines and paused to gaze upon these creatures and ponder how different they were from anything he’d ever seen before. “They really aren’t of this world, are they?”