Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (45 page)

For a brief moment, a dark metallic
object was visible where her heart should have been. The last rays
of sunlight fell upon it and it cracked. Then the Gyomar added
their majestic power and the newborn Heart of Darkness
shattered.

Once the Heart was fully and utterly
destroyed, the Gyomar let go the sunlight and came to land.
Leathers released the power of Gyomias.

“Lay her down, gentlemen.”

Taking great care, they laid her down
and arranged her arms and legs as if she was but sleeping. One
removed his shirt and laid it over her.

“Only a union of good and evil can
produce a Heart of Darkness,” Leathers explained. “When it came to
light that her father was of Asran and mother of Dmon-Li, I
suspected.”

“That poor girl,” one said.

Leathers nodded. “Now we understand
why none could be brought out of there alive. Had she lived, T’Lea
would have returned to this world. And with only a handful of the
Gyomar remaining, it took the light of the sun upon the Heart to
sunder it.”

He walked to the lip of the valley and
gazed down to where the temple lay. “Bring forth her mother and
father. We shall bury them as befitting children of Asran. May
their souls find one another beyond the Great Veil.”

“Yes, milord.”

While his men gathered torches from
their supplies to return for her parents, Leathers gazed off toward
the west. Somewhere out there was the last vestige of evil on this
planet. Half of his mandate had been accomplished. Only when
Dmon-Li’s priests were vanquished and the Fire destroyed would evil
be gone from this world forever.

“Should we even be on the
road?”

James turned to Father Vickor. “We
need to move fast to put Tapu behind us.”

“I agree,” the priest said, “but in
remaining on the road, we run the risk of encountering those sent
to investigate its destruction.”

“We’ll deal with that should the
situation arise.”

In the four hours since crossing the
river and following the road south, they had yet to encounter
anyone. Had someone been nearby and sent to investigate, they
assuredly would have already met them. Providing they encountered
no opposition, he planned to follow the road until reaching Morac
some two to three days farther south.

Something happened back in Tapu,
something he couldn’t quite explain. His spell had been corrupted.
It was the only way to describe what occurred. All was going well,
and then… somehow it changed. The why and how of it eluded
him.

He could understand how in the course
of the five years since he first put the seed of destruction in the
wagon the spell deteriorated, maybe, though never before had any
spell of his done such a thing. On his island there were spells
that had been active for just as long, yet they remained whole and
unchanged.

So what happened in Tapu?
Could the locals have had it right and the place was cursed?
He doubted that. In any event, it was best to put
that place as far behind them as fast as possible even at the risk
of being discovered. So he had them set a quick pace and the miles
passed quickly.

They reached Inziala mid-afternoon the
next day and skirted around its southern edge. James felt tempted
to take the southeast road. It led to the Empire’s School of the
Arcane. He was curious as to what was going on there.

His two apprentices, though seemingly
totally devoted to their new master, exhibited reticence in
divulging specific information concerning the School. Their answers
to his inquiries, though fact-filled, didn’t feel as if they held
the whole truth.

But such was not to be. A side-trip
would cost too much time and he was antsy to reunite with his
lovely Meliana and son, Kenny. He’d thought about them much the
last few weeks. For a brief moment every day, he watched them in
his mirror thankful they were alive. They still remained at
Meliana’s family’s estate in Corillian. A few times her father
Kendrick had been with them; they all seemed rather solemn. It
would be a happy day when they reunited.

And so they passed the road leading to
the School and instead took the one heading more west than south.
If they kept a fast pace, they would make Jihara late tomorrow
morning.

Fellow travelers upon the road seemed
not at all concerned that a group of northerners were in their
midst. Five years ago they wouldn’t have gone a mile without being
accosted by a patrol inquiring as to their business.

Azhan explained that the Warlords
encouraged trade with their northern neighbors. Each needed the
added revenue from northern caravans to fund their wars. His words
proved true as between Inziala and Jihara, they passed no less than
three caravans crewed by predominantly northern
teamsters.

His apprentice had given one bit of
warning. Between Jihara and Morac the road would pass through a
range of hills. Those hills marked the boundary between the
Warlords Kazan, through whose lands they currently passed, and Lord
Cytok. They would certainly be heavily patrolled by both
sides.

“Would love to get my hands on Lord
Cytok,” Scar mumbled.

“As would I,” agreed
Potbelly.

“If we learn he orchestrated the
attack on my island,” James announced, “we will take him out. Until
then, we avoid confrontation. At least until reaching
Corillian.”

Where the road from Inziala to Jihara
had been moderately busy, beyond Jihara held nary a
traveler.

“Seems as if few care to venture to
Lord Cytok’s lands.”

Azhan glanced to his master and
nodded. “Well-armed caravans brave this route, but no one else. The
border is a dangerous place to be these days.”

James nodded. “Patrols from both
sides?”

“In part…” he began then hesitated and
finally clamped his mouth shut and grew still.

Sensing he had left something unsaid,
James asked, “What is it?”

Azhan cast a brief glance
to his fellow apprentice, Hikai before returning it to James.
“There have been rumors coming from the lands bordering
The Great Waste
.”

“The Great
Waste
?”

“Yes. It was once
called
The Mists of
Sorrow
, back before the war. Now, nothing
lives there and few who enter ever return.”

Miko rode forward and came abreast of
them. “What have you heard?”

“Nightmarish creatures spawned by
Dmon-Li; the god’s curse falling upon anyone who enters; those who
manage to make it out unscathed die horribly; weeks, even months
later.”

James glanced to Miko. “Go
on.”

“Two months ago, I shared
an ale with Akim. He’s a mage riding with Captain Edi’s patrol.
They keep watch on the area from the hills up ahead to the
Waste
. He was pretty
shaken up.”

Azhan paused a moment, looked to Hikai
once again, then continued.

“He told of their patrol
encountering a monster from out of the
Waste
. It was a nightmarish creature
twice the size of a man. Fangs the size of daggers and its body was
a motley-mix of matted fur and oozing flesh.”

“Oozing flesh?” Miko
questioned.

The apprentice nodded.

“He claimed yellowish-green pus oozed
from open sores that marred wherever there was no fur.”

“And what happened?”

Azhan looked to his master.

“It killed half their company. Not all
died during the battle, though many did. Akim said that Captain Edi
thought it was the green pus that had killed the others. Every man
that came into contact with it grew violently ill.”

“How so?” questioned Miko.

“Three days after the battle ten men
grew fevered and had the flux something awful. The next day
vomiting ensued and red patches formed over most of their skin.
They were in so much pain, Akim said. Captain Edi tied them to the
backs of their horses and they raced for the nearest temple. Akim
said the screams of those men will forever haunt him.

“By dawn the next day, those patches
had spawned sores that oozed the yellowish-green pus just like the
creature. They were no longer conscious by that time. Not one ever
regained consciousness. Captain Edi ordered the bodies
burnt.”

James nodded. “Smart idea.”

“Indeed,” agreed Miko.

“Captain Edi no longer
patrols so near the border of the
Waste
.”

“Don’t blame him.”

They turned to find Kip riding behind
them.

“Attend Father Keller, Kip,” Miko told
him.

Bobbing his head, the young novice
replied, “Yes, Reverend Father.”

Azhan turned to James. “We
should avoid the
Waste
, Master.”

“I wish we could, Azhan.
But there is something within the
Waste
that must be
recovered.”

His face blanched and looked on the
verge of arguing with his master. But then he lowered his head, “As
you wish.”

“Do not fret, young apprentice,” James
said, “You and the others will remain far from its borders. Only,”
he gestured to Miko, “he and I need enter.”

“But you will die,” Azhan insisted.
“None who enters, survives.”

“I understand your concern. And trust
me, if there was any other way, we would not step one foot in that
accursed place. But this is something that must be
done.”

“Yes, Master.”

That evening gathered
around the fire, they discussed their route the following morning.
Should they remain on the road and continue on to Morac? Or instead
skirt the hills and head to the town of Cyzt that lay further to
the east. Both routes rested along the northern border of
The Wastes
.

“I say we head to Cyzt,” Scar said.
“With Corillian being our final destination, we would have to go
through Cyzt in any event.”

“But that is only if we waste our time
going overland,” argued Potbelly. “We could go to Morac and then to
Azzac where we could commandeer a ship and sail the rest of the
way.”

“You got rocks for brains, Potbelly,”
countered Scar. “Lord Cytok’s in Azzac; and we can assume so will
most of his forces. That way is suicide.”

“Bah! We been there
before.”

“Yeah,” chuckled Shorty, “we have. Let
me see…seems we barely got out with our skins.”

“I agree with Shorty,” James
announced. “Azzac is too dangerous. If there is anyplace I am
likely to be recognized, it would be there.”

Taking a stick, he drew a
line in the dirt running left to right. “This is the road running
north to southeast along the boundary of
The Waste
.” Then he poked two dots,
one at the far right, “Morac,” and the other a little left of the
first, “Cyzt.” At the far left he poked another dot. “Hyrryth.”
From there he drew a line southwest as long as the first and poked
a dot at the end, “Zixtyn.”

Moving the stick to above
the indentation denoting Morac, he made some rough-looking upside
down “U’s.” These are the hills.” Tracing a line in the dirt above
the hills and around to Cyzt he said, “We’ll go this way to Cyzt.
There we acquire sufficient supplies. From there, we head
into
The Waste
.”

Turning to Azhan, he said, “Am I right
in thinking they have put some kind of warnings outside the area
where people keep dying?”

His apprentice nodded. “Half a day’s
ride in you will find poles with red banners. To go beyond the
poles is to die. Or so I have heard.”

“Then that is where we’ll
part company. Miko and I will continue into
The Waste
while the rest of you pass
around it and make your way to Zixtyn. Once there, get more
supplies and wait for our arrival. It’s safe to say we may be some
days longer in getting there.”

“If at all,” mumbled Hikai.

James rounded on him with a fearsome
expression. “What did you say?”

The young mage’s face turned pale and
his knees nearly buckled but he managed to reply, “Nothing,
Master.”

The Dark Mage glared at his apprentice
until Father Vickor spoke.

“This is foolhardy, Reverend Father,”
the priest said, shaking his head.

“Fear not. Morcyth shall be with
us.”

Miko wore a look of complete
confidence that his priests were loath to challenge.

“First,” James said, “we need to make
it to Cyzt.”

Jira laid in her bedroll, feigning
sleep until the camp quieted and snores gradually began to fill the
night. The only one moving was Scar who had the watch. In the
moonlight his silhouette was clearly visible where he sat on a rock
outside of camp.