Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (13 page)

He turned his attention to the man.
“What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re a stranger,” replied
one of the lads. Brown eyes stared out from beneath unruly brown
locks.

The dark haired lad next to the brown
haired one nodded. “It’s all over town that the Empire is going to
invade.”

Invade?

“You know this?”

“No one gives such falderal a bit of
credence,” interjected the man with but one leg.

The woman glanced to Legless then to
James. “They say that is why…” she lowered her voice, “The Dark
Mage was destroyed.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Legless. “The Dark
Mage is still around. I saw his handiwork in the war. Ain’t no one
can take him on and live. This is just
rumor-mill-grist!”

“You saw him?”

Legless nodded. “I and a hundred
others had just been delivered as slaves to a city deep within the
Empire. The Dark Mage and his army showed up. He and another walked
to the wall beneath a withering rain of bolts.”

“Was he hurt?” asked the little
girl.

“No, darling. Bolts can’t harm the
Dark Mage. He and his companion walked as calmly as they pleased,
as if they were out on a stroll through the park. Walked right up
to the wall and tore it down. Freed us all, he did. Never got to
thank him, but I owe him a debt I’ll never be able to repay. So do
countless others.”

Korazan perhaps? He
had
blown a sizeable hole
in the wall.

James glanced at the others sharing
the table. He wondered what their reaction would be should they
learn the identity of the one sitting in their midst.

“This is the first I’ve heard of any
talk of war,” he said, moving the conversation away from such a
sensitive topic.

“And that’s all it is, talk,” Legless
stated with finality. He glanced to the couple, eyes settling upon
the man. “Last week everyone was certain that the Council had
declared beggary unlawful; and sure as chickens lay eggs, next week
there’ll be something else that everyone is ‘sure’
about.”

The woman nodded. “I suppose you’re
right. There haven’t been any unusual happenings at the Keep.
Certainly, we would have observed some increase in soldiers if Lord
Pytherian thought war was coming.”

Her man’s expression never changed. “I
tell you, something’s going on.”

“Bah! Think that if you will, but I’ll
not lose any sleep over market-gossip.” Legless snorted, then
grabbed the crutch that lay upon the floor next to his stool. Using
it for leverage, he came to his feet, uh, foot, then made for the
door.

James returned his attention back to
his stew. Breaking off a piece of bread, he dipped it in the sauce
and ate it. He hardly gave any credence to the possibility of the
Empire launching any sort of assault northward. Its various
factions were too busy fighting each other for supremacy. Any that
should be so foolish as to send troops north would be torn apart by
their neighbors.

The three lads quickly left and the
little girl followed shortly after. By the time it was down to the
couple and himself at the table, the refectory had lost a third of
its patrons. It was time for him to leave. A glance to where Kip
and Jira had sat found them no longer there. Jiron, too, had
already left.

Eating the last of the stew in a few,
big bites, he took the remainder of the bread as he stood to
leave.

“You take care,” the woman said with a
half-hearted smile.

“And you as well.”

The man met his gaze but failed to
offer any parting salutation.

James still gave him a nod and when he
turned to leave, could feel the man’s gaze linger upon him as he
crossed the room to the exit.

He kept the hat low as he passed by
the novice standing at the door.

“May the peace of Morcyth be with
you.”

Mumbling an incoherent response, James
kept his eyes lowered and hurried past. Once outside, he took a
roundabout route through the streets until reaching the southern
gate. As usual, it was crowded with people and carts. Being close
to sunset, those that had traveled outside the walls wanted in, and
those having business within, wanted out.

Spying three carts accompanied by a
dozen men, he fell in behind and followed them through the gate.
The guards were being harangued by an elderly woman; about what,
James didn’t bother to find out. He was merely thankful that she
was there to aid in his departure.

Once past, he made his way southward
through the outlying buildings. Not long after clearing the last
building, he saw three people standing a ways off the road beneath
a tree. One was rather small and waved when he looked their way. He
returned no recognition, merely continued along the road while the
other three left the tree and angled to intercept him at a point
farther south.

James refrained from using magic to
see if their departure had generated any interest. If they had a
mage with them, he definitely didn’t want to alert them to his
presence.

“Any trouble?” he asked when the
others joined him.

Jiron shook his head. “No one followed
us and I didn’t see anyone trailing after you.”

“Good. Maybe my presence still remains
a mystery.”

Kip had a pack slung across his
shoulder, within was the unmistakable Bones and Daggers game board.
“The Reverend Father said I should bring it.”

“Oh?”

“I think he wants to beat me
again.”

Jiron laughed. “More than likely, it’s
to keep you and Jira occupied instead of getting
underfoot.”

“Hey!”

Jiron looked down at his daughter and
chuckled.

They continued following the road
until a smaller, less maintained path branched off to their left.
Jiron indicated for them to take it. “It will take us to the
river.”

“How far do we have to go until we
find Father Berron?” James asked.

Shrugging, Jiron replied, “I don’t
know. A mile? Two?”

James glanced to where the sun had
reached the horizon. “Hope not too much longer.”

Already the day was fading. Autumn was
in full bloom, the trees in the fields were beginning to change
color and leaves floated upon the breeze.

The path continued until the river
came into sight, then split into two rutted paths; one heading
upstream and the other downstream. The one to the south was nothing
more than a pair of ruts badly in need of grading.

An hour later, when night had begun to
set with earnest, the flickering of a small campfire could be seen
ahead along the river bank. They found Father Berron alone before
the fire with five horses silhouetted at the firelight’s fringe,
their reins secured to the branches of a fallen tree.

“Father Berron!” Jiron
hailed.

The priest shot to his feet, tried
drawing his sword but got it entrapped in his robes before it
cleared the scabbard.

“It’s Kip, Father!” the novice
hollered as he ran forward.

Peering into the darkness, Father
Barron ceased trying to free his sword. “Is that truly you, young
Kip?”

“Yes, Father.”

Upon seeing the lad race into the
circle of light, the priest visibly relaxed. “Praise
Morcyth!”

Jira quickly followed with her uncle
and Jiron joining them moments later.

Father Berron turned to Jiron. “Master
Jiron, I thought you would never be here.”

Jiron couldn’t help but smile. “Our
apologies, Father. We arrived as soon as we could.”

Nodding, the priest turned his
attention to the other adult male of the group. He eyed James with
great curiosity. “You must be the Dark Mage then?”

“That’s me.”

Jira tugged on the priest’s robes.
When he glanced down to her, she said, “Don’t be afraid. My uncle
won’t hurt you.”

Father Berron laid his hand upon her
head and gave her a reassuring grin. “Do not worry, child. I do not
fear him.” Turning back to James, he removed a small pouch from out
of his robes. “The Reverend Father said to give you this. It’s ten
gold’s worth of silver and copper. He wasn’t certain if you would
have funds when you arrived at your destination.”

“Thank you, Father,” James said as he
took the pouch. He tossed it over to Jiron who slipped it in a
pocket of his beggar costume.

He gestured to a roasted haunch of
beef that lay upon a layer of leaves. “Would you care to share my
dinner before you leave?”

James looked at the piece of
undercooked meat with lackluster enthusiasm. “I’m afraid not. We
must hurry on this night, the Reverend Father plans to meet us
farther south in the morning.”

“I understand.”

Moving to the horses, the priest freed
their reins and handed them to the others. When he handed one to
Jira, Jiron shook his head. “She’ll ride with me.”

Jira looked disappointed at having to
ride double, but the look her father gave her silenced any
objections.

Taking hold of the reins, James said,
“We’ll take it for a packhorse, however.” The priest
nodded.

To Kip, James asked, “Can you
ride?”

The lad bore a nervous expression as
he stood with reins in hand, staring up at the saddle. His look of
barely concealed fear reminded James of his own trepidation at
riding years ago.

Kip nodded. “Uh, yes.”

When he didn’t mount right away, James
went forward to help him. He indicated the stirrup. “First, take
hold of the pommel, place your foot in here, then swing yourself
up.”

It took three attempts, the last one
with a generous portion of help from James, before Kip made a
successful mount.

“It’ll get easier with
time.”

Kip sat frozen, his hands grasped the
pommel so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“If you don’t relax, you’re thighs are
going to be chafed raw before we get there.”

“I’ll try.”

Unlike young Kip, once Jiron mounted,
Jira scrambled up to sit in front of him with the surety of one
that had done that maneuver many times before; which of course, she
had.

James mounted and then waited while
Father Berron gave a blessing to their endeavor and wished them
good journey.

“You too, Father.”

He had Jiron take the lead while he
kept close to Kip, just as Corbin had to him back during his early
days in Trendle. As they moved out, he explained the basic commands
needed to have the horse do what he wanted.

Kip had a rough time at first. After
all, he was learning in the dark of night on a rutted road. Every
time his horse stumbled or suddenly increased its speed due to an
unintentional nudge by Kip, the novice would cry out as he tipped
to the side, at times coming dangerously close to
falling.

Hours passed as they followed the
river south. When at last the lights of Inna’s Bend came into view,
he prayed a prayer of thankfulness to Morcyth. This night’s ordeal
would soon be at an end. They reached the bridge and crossed over
to the small village

Inna’s Bend wasn’t much,
but it did have a tavern that boasted a dozen small rooms.
Throughout the year,
The Wayfarer’s
Tavern
saw little in the way of travelers,
as it was situated some distance off the main road.

The tavern sat near the river within
sight of the bridge. Jiron led them to it and the others waited
outside while he went to get their room. When he returned, they
went around back to the stable and settled in their
horses.

“I’m having our meal sent to our
room,” he explained. “I didn’t recognize anyone in the common room,
but no sense tempting fate.”

“Good thinking.”

Their room, as it turned out, boasted
two beds, a table and two chairs. Kip’s offer to sleep on the floor
before the door was readily accepted. Of course since he was, Jira
wanted too as well which suited her father. She was a squirmer and
always got him in his particulars whenever they shared a
bed.

Jiron had opted for one of the four
rooms on the second floor. It cost an extra two coppers, but it
overlooked the river and the bridge. Such a vantage would make it
easier for them to keep an eye out for Miko when he and the others
arrived the next day.

After the meal, they settled in to
wait.

Some distance to the north, in a room
more suited to a single individual, five men sat around a small
table.

“There has been no further word
concerning the dead men in the Merchant’s Quarter.”

Miko glanced to Brother Horka. “What
do those of the streets have to say?”

“Not a word of Dmon-Li. A few rumors
floating about T’Lea, however.”

“T’Lea?”

Brother Horka nodded. “Two of his
followers died in Reardon, another in Cerinet. This was confirmed
by two reliable sources.”