Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (31 page)

She had tried several times
without success to entice her Little Brother in coming to where she
lay beneath her blanket in camp. But it had never appeared. Her
Uncle James had said they were shy and that they didn’t like being
around people. But they liked being around her. Or at least
hers
did.

Moving through the sleepers, she had
almost made it when she heard Shorty’s voice.

“Jira?”

Freezing in place, she turned back to
find him coming toward her.

“Can’t sleep?”

Her little mind whirled with possible
replies, but fear that her secret would be discovered caused her
tongue to be glued in place and prevented her from
speaking.

“You best get back to your blanket,
Jira. The night is no place for a little girl. You might get
lost.”

Glancing to where Potbelly
was snoring quite loudly, she silently thought,
Not likely
. “I needed to relieve
myself.”

“Okay, then. But make it quick and let
me know when you have returned.”

“Okay, Uncle Shorty.”

Her plans ruined, she walked a short
distance away. There, she laid her apple on the ground and paused
only a minute or two in the hopes that her Little Brother would
appear. But Shorty was not far off and looking in her direction.
Remaining as long as she dared, she whispered, “Good night, Little
Brother,” then hurried back to camp.

Under Shorty’s watchful eye, she
returned to her blanket and settled in to sleep. Despite being mad
at not being able to be there when her Little Brother appeared, she
couldn’t keep awake for long and soon drifted off to
sleep.

They got an early start the following
morning. Dawn had barely broken before sleepers were roused and a
quick meal consumed. Scar and Potbelly again led the way as the
group headed deeper into the Empire.

In the distance off to their left, the
beginnings of the day’s travelers were seen moving upon the road to
Akai. Ahead and to the west lay long expanses of lands teetering
between being scrubland and desert with but a single farm visible
off to their right. Past experience told them that farther south,
this area of small growth and sparse trees would degenerate
altogether to inhospitable desert. But such a landscape lay days
away.

Hours passed as they forged deeper
into the scrublands. The few farms they encountered were easily
avoided. It wasn’t until late morning when seven riders emerged
from the southern horizon. An attempt to veer west proved
unsuccessful at avoiding their attention. Unerringly, the riders
altered course and made straight for them.

James brought them to a halt upon
feeling the unmistakable tingling sensation that came with the
workings of magic.

“They have a mage.”

Already, the cowled figure could be
made out where he rode beside the lead rider.

Father Keller turned to James. “Black
Hawk said we might find mages with their patrols.”

“I doubt if he’s a match for The Dark
Mage,” Potbelly said.

“Maybe so, but should he and I
exchange magic, that will alert every mage in the area. We dare not
risk it. Not just yet.”

“Not a problem,” Scar assured him.
“You let me and Potbelly handle the mage.”

“You got another magic charm,
Scar?”

Turning to Shorty, Scar shook his
head. “Not exactly.” Then to James he said, “Trust me. You won’t
have to do anything.”

James glanced to Jiron who didn’t look
very certain.

Potbelly moved his horse to within
inches of Scar’s and the group waited for the arrival of the
patrol.

Six soldiers accompanied the leader
and mage; four carried crossbows. These riders didn’t bear any
insignia such as the ones encountered earlier. They merely wore the
traditional uniform of the Empire. Lord Cytok maintained that he
was now Emperor and thus retained the uniform as is. His
predecessor had “died” during the explosions that took out
Dmon-Li’s temples. Some questioned that assertion, believing that
Lord Cytok had merely rid himself of the last impediment to
becoming Emperor during the ensuing confusion and panic.
Unsurprisingly, those who had voiced such speculation tended to
disappear shortly afterward. In any event, he did have the largest
army and nearly all the mages that hadn’t fallen during the
war.

Though the mage’s hood was in place,
it did little to hide his features. The mage was young. If he was
more than two years Kip’s senior James would have been surprised.
Most likely, he had been an apprentice at the time of the war. The
Empire tended to start the training of their mages at a young age;
eight to ten had been the norm.

Haunted eyes stared out from beneath
thin brows of black. As the riders drew close, a darkening of the
skin just below the mage’s right eye became clear. To James it
appeared to be a bruise. There was scant time to ponder the
ramification of that revelation before the riders came to a stop
ten feet back. The leader and the mage rode forward. It was clear
the mage was not the one in charge.

The soldier was in his mid twenties.
Hardened lines and several scars gave his visage an ominous
appearance. Eyes devoid of mercy roved over those arrayed before
him, finally settling upon Scar and Potbelly.

“What brings you so far south,
strangers?”

Grinning amiably in the hopes of
putting the soldier at ease, Scar replied, “We are agents of a
newly formed trading house located in Cardri and have been sent to
see about the possibility of trading contacts with your
merchants.”

The mage cast furtive glances from
Scar, to the soldier next to him, and then to Potbelly before
dropping his eyes toward the ground.

Taking in the barren landscape first
to the right, then to the left, the soldier asked, “Do you normally
seek merchants in the middle of the desert?” He looked less than
convinced.

Scar shook his head. “Not normally,
no.”

“Then why do you travel here and not
upon the road? Merchants are more likely to be found where there
are people.”

“Earlier, we had the misfortune to
meet a band of men wearing uniforms bearing an emblem depicting
crossed swords within a red circle. They sought to rob us. A number
of our comrades fell in the battle that followed. We thought it
prudent to avoid contact with locals until reaching Korazan. We had
heard the situation was more, uh, stable to the south.”

A wicked grin broke the soldier’s
stony countenance. “How many of Kazan’s men did you
kill?”

Scar matched the leader’s grin. “More
than we lost.”

The leader’s laughter held more malice
than mirth. “Good riddance.” His humor was short-lived and his face
returned to harder lines.

“Now, let me see your Letters of
Authorization.”

“Letters of Authorization?” Scar
asked, puzzled.

“Yes; the letters in which your
employer empowers you to negotiate on his behalf.” When Scar failed
to offer an immediate reply, the leader’s malice-laced grin
reappeared. “I thought not.”

Sensing their story wasn’t going to be
believed, James began gathering magic to counter whatever the young
mage would do. At the same time, Potbelly began coughing
severely.

James ignored the Pit Master’s plight
and instead remained focused on the enemy mage. Less than a
heartbeat passed before the mage’s eyes widened and turned to meet
James’. He could sense the gathering magic.

As the mage’s lips parted to speak,
his hand suddenly flew to his neck and brushed against the skin as
one would should they be inflicted with a biting insect.

“Looks like we got ourselves some
spies.”

“We are not spies!” argued
Scar.

The leader’s visage hardened further.
“Then let me see your Letters of Authorization.”

“They were, uh, lost in the battle
with Kazan’s men.”

“How unfortunate for you.” Raising his
voice so as to be heard clearly by all, he said, “Drop your
weapons.”

“This is preposterous!” Scar
exclaimed.

Holding his hand before him, the young
mage looked at a drop of blood upon his fingertip. Lips worked but
no sound came forth. He returned a gaze of confusion to James, then
his eyes glassed over.

“
Are you going to drop your
weapons?” the leader asked. His four crossbowmen raised their
weapons. “Or shall I have my mage destroy you?”

A look of smugness replaced Scar’s
indignated demeanor. “If it’s a battle you wish, we’re game.” He
laid his hands upon his sword hilts.

“Fools. Azhan!”

When after a moment passed and nothing
happened, the leader turned wrathfully toward the mage. “Azhan!”
Striking the mage forcefully upon the shoulder, the leader’s anger
turned to shocked surprise when the young mage toppled from his
horse.

“What…?”

With the mage out of commission, James
focused on the next threat, the crossbowmen. Concentrating on the
bowstrings just as he had before, he let loose the magic. This
time, instead of explosions that destroyed weapons and men, a
series of “twangs” sounded as three bowstrings snapped. A painful
cry quickly followed when one snapped back into its owner’s face
and took out his right eye.

“Shorty!”

No sooner had Jiron shouted the
knifer’s name than deadly projectiles took out two of the remaining
three crossbowmen.

The fourth got off a shot sending
Potbelly flying backward off his horse. A moment later he fell to
another of Shorty’s knives.

Scar drew both swords, kicked the
sides of his horse and bolted for the leader.

Shock at the unexpected turn of events
having worn off, the leader drew his sword and met Scar’s
attack.

“You should have let us go,” Scar
said. Coming abreast of the leader, he diverted a thrust with one
of his blades then followed through with a swipe with his
second.

Twisting in the saddle to avoid
decapitation, the leader’s maneuver was cut short when Tinok raced
by behind him and struck with great precision at the base of his
neck.

Without even slowing, Tinok withdrew
his knife and galloped toward the two men-at-arms who had been en
route to aid the leader. But upon seeing him topple to the ground,
they came to an abrupt halt and turned to flee. Tinok failed to
allow them such an opportunity.

They had barely spun about when he was
upon them. Slamming his horse into one, he stabbed twice; once in
the side and then in the neck before the soldier could even think
to defend himself. As the man’s life swiftly departed, Tinok
whipped his horse into a gallop.

The remaining soldier already had a
lead on him, but somehow, Tinok managed to slowly close the gap.
Both riders kept low against their steeds’ necks as they raced
across the scrubland.

Reins in one hand and knife in the
other, Tinok encouraged his horse to even greater speed.

The Empire soldier glanced back, saw
Tinok gaining and drew his sword. When Tinok’s stead came close, he
took a swipe at its head, causing it to shy away. His lead
increased.

Undaunted, Tinok kicked the sides of
his horse and the chase resumed. When he again drew near the
hindquarters of his prey’s horse, Tinok kept directly behind him.
In such a position, the soldier would have to extend father
backward in order to attempt another attack. Should he do so, he
would risk throwing off his horse’s gait.

The man glanced back toward Tinok and
the pit fighter could tell that he contemplated making the attack.
When the soldier’s shoulder muscles tightened in anticipation of
the attack, Tinok struck first opening a shallow, two-inch gash to
the right of the horse’s tail.

Though not fatal, the blow had the
effect of causing the beast to stumble and crash to the ground; the
rider was thrown clear. The soldier hit the ground and tumbled for
several feet before coming to rest.

Tinok slowed and leapt from his horse.
Drawing his second knife, he advanced toward where the man lay
prone. Behind him, he could hear other riders approach. A glance
back revealed Jiron and Shorty racing to his aid.

But help was not needed. As he neared
the soldier, Tinok saw how the head laid at an unnatural angle; the
neck had broken when the man hit the ground.

“He’s dead.”

Jiron nodded as he slowed.

Shorty surveyed the scene, then the
surrounding countryside. “We should get out of here before someone
comes looking for them.”

Wiping his blade upon the dead man’s
tunic, Tinok glanced at him and shrugged. “Should they come, we’ll
do them the same.”

Gone was the humor that once had laced
his words. Jiron missed the man his friend had been before the
death of his beloved Cassie. So senseless a death, and coming on
the eve of their betrothal made the wound all the more
severe.

Over the years since the end of the
war, many times had Jiron tried to bring forth the good-naturedness
that once had been Tinok’s hallmark, all to no avail. What he had
been was gone; it made Jiron sad.