Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (59 page)

“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.”

Not to be denied, Scar lit the second
tube, held it aloft and did his best to avoid the shower of sparks
as the tube rocketed its fiery package into the night sky. Another
brilliant explosion banished the darkness for a moment, but then
faded quickly.

Potbelly rested a hand on his dagger
and cocked his head to better hear. Once again, time passed without
a creature putting in an appearance. When Scar reached for a third
tube, Potbelly said, “Don’t. There is nothing out
there.”

“There has to be.”

“Look,” he said, “we have another day.
We’ll search in the morning for more tracks. This time we’ll follow
them.”

“Or push further in.”

Potbelly shook his head. “And risk
dying? No thank you. We’ve already gone as far as we
dare.”

Scar had that stubborn look that
always meant headaches for Potbelly.

“Fine, one more,” Potbelly finally
said. “But if it fails to yield results, we turn in.”

“Fair enough.”

He lit the wick, colorful blast rocked
the night, and nothing.

“Damn waste of time,” Scar grumbled,
tossing the spent tube into the fire. He stared off into the
night.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Potbelly
offered.

Turning back to him, Scar nodded.
“Okay.”

Potbelly stoked the fire and then set
to walk the perimeter, making sure not to gaze toward the flames as
he didn’t want to ruin his night vision. He glanced back to his
friend. “We’ll get one tomorrow,” he whispered. “And if not, we
still have a long trail ahead of us before this is over.” With
Scar’s snores as company, he continued another circuit around the
camp.

The following morning they were on
their way as the sun crested the horizon. Alexander’s equipment was
again stored upon the pack horses.

Morning came and went without a
sighting. Noon faded to mid-afternoon then to late afternoon. Just
as they were about to call it a day and set up camp, a lumbering
form was spied at the edge of vision deep within the
Waste.

“Yes!” Scar cried. Slinging a leg over
the saddle he slid to the ground. “Come on,” he hollered as he
raced to the pack horses. “Let’s get set up.”

Potbelly got the four poles and wooden
chest. He set the poles in the ground while Scar took the horses
off a ways and secured them to a dead tree where they would be
safe. By the time Scar returned with two Illuminator tubes in hand,
he found the four poles set in the ground and Potbelly down on one
knee as he opened the chest.

Across the center of the chest was a
plank of wood with six circular holes, two lines of three, each
roughly four inches across. Set within five were perfect spheres
made of some sort of ceramic; the sixth hole was empty. A single
crystal with a faint glow was embedded in each. A line of what
looked like crystalline shards or dust created a thin band that
completely encircled the sphere dividing it into two separate
hemispheres. One half was a deep red color while the other was an
off-white.

For whatever reason, Alexander had
produced six containment spheres instead of the one they had
originally bargained for. He gave no reason and Scar wasn’t one to
question good fortune when it fell into his lap. Potbelly paused a
moment upon seeing the sixth, empty hole. He couldn’t help but
smile as he recalled how it came to be empty.

“Set the poles and have the creature
run between them before activating the sphere. Let me be very clear
here,” Alexander had said, “the creature must be completely within
the poles. If you activate the sphere and any part of the creature
is without, it won’t work and you will have wasted one.”

“But how do we do that?”

Alexander turned to Potbelly. “Have it
chase one of you while the other stands ready with the
sphere.”

Scar didn’t look happy. “This isn’t
what we wanted.”

“Yes, it is,” Alexander asserted. “For
what you wish to do, this is it. Take it or not.”

“How do we know it will
work?”

“What? My word is not good
enough?”

“We demand to see that our money was
not wasted,” Scar said. “I don’t plan to be in a tight situation
and not know if these work.”

“As you wish.”

Alexander took the four poles and set
them in their square formation near one of the cavern walls. He
then removed a sphere from the chest and turned to the wall behind
the poles.

“Watch.”

Raising his staff, he spoke a single
word and the crystals atop it flared brightly. A rumbling noise
sounded and the wall behind the poles began to rise. When it
cleared three feet from the floor, it stopped. A second later, a
snarling dog shot through.

Scar drew his swords and took a step
back.

The dog entered the area marked off by
the poles; Alexander said the word of activation and the four poles
flared white. The dog was gone.

“Where did it go?” Potbelly
asked.

Alexander held out the sphere. “It is
in here.”

Potbelly took the sphere and gauged
its weight. “It doesn’t feel any different.”

“No, it won’t.”

Scar gazed skeptically at it. “How do
we know it’s in there and that this isn’t a trick?”

“Say the word of release I taught
you.”

Potbelly eyed the sphere then glanced
to Scar who nodded.

“Go ahead.”

About to say the word, he was stopped
by Alexander’s staff tapping him on the shoulder. “It might be
prudent to set the sphere down and back away before you do. You
wouldn’t want whatever is inside to materialize right on top of
you.”

“Good point.”

He crossed to the pillar wherein they
had deposited their ten coins and set it on top. Backing fifteen
feet away, he drew his sword and said the word of
release.

Instantly the dog appeared and
continued in its charge as if it had not been imprisoned at all.
Before it could reach them, Alexander’s staff flashed and it was
grabbed by an unseen force. It growled and snapped as it was
carried back to and then through the opening through which it had
first appeared. Once it was within, the wall slid shut.

“There,” Alexander said. “Did that
satisfy you?”

Potbelly nodded. “I’ll
say.”

Scar nodded slowly as he walked to
where the sphere sat upon the pedestal. Its surface was scarred and
pitted; the crystal lay shattered.

“What’s this?” he exclaimed as he
rounded on Alexander.

“Each sphere has but one use. Once
whatever it contains is released, the magic is spent.”

“But you wasted one!”

“On the contrary,” Alexander said, “I
simply acquiesced to my customer’s desire for a demonstration. As I
had no other spheres with which to use, I used what was
available.”

Scar did not look pleased in the
least.

“Thank you,” Potbelly said,
stepping between the two. “We appreciate all your help.” He turned
to Scar. “I’m sure five will more than suffice.” When Scar looked
to be dug in and planning to be mulish, he added, “Especially since
we came here expecting but
one
.” Potbelly put extra emphasis on
the “one.”

Scar’s blustering all the way back to
the City of Light greatly amused Potbelly. As far as he was
concerned, they have an extra four and couldn’t see what the fuss
was about. He couldn’t help but point out that it had been Scar’s
insistence on a demonstration that had cost them the sixth sphere.
Each time he brought up that fact, it elicited a prolonged tirade
full of colorful metaphors.

Scar saw his grin as he stood with the
sphere. “Don’t you start.”

“I have no idea what you are talking
about,” Potbelly replied in all innocence. Then he chuckled. “You
going to be the rabbit, or should I?”

“I better,” Scar said. “You couldn’t
keep up.”

Potbelly let that go. “As you
wish.”

The creature continued moving
laterally across the horizon, as yet unaware of their presence.
Scar hurried farther out toward it then used flint and steel to
light one of the tubes. As the wick ignited, he held the wick of
the second tube to the top and when the first tube launched its
fiery projectile, the wick of the second tube was lit. A moment
later the second tube shot forth in a blaze of sparks.

Scar tossed the spent tubes to the
ground and began hopping up and down, waving his arms.

“Hey, you! Over here!”

Having stopped after the first
explosion, the creature turned their way. The stalks on its head
were clearly visible and Scar shouted all the louder. This would do
just fine. But it didn’t approach. It merely stood there looking
their way.

“What’s wrong with it?” Potbelly
asked. “Doesn’t it want fresh meat?”

“I’ll get closer,” Scar shouted over
his shoulder then hustled farther out into the desert. He closed to
within fifty feet before it made any move.

Lumbering forward, it made for
Scar.

He picked up a stone and threw it; had
the satisfaction of seeing it land amidst the stalks.

The creature roared and
charged.

“Run!” Potbelly shouted.

Scar didn’t need any encouragement.
Heading back at full speed, he aimed for the poles.

Seventy-five feet away, the creature
roared.

Glancing over his shoulder, Scar saw
that it was gaining. He redoubled his speed.

At fifty feet from the poles he felt
several points of sharp pain in his back and one at the base of his
neck. Stumbling, he kept going.

Twenty feet… and the world grew foggy.
It was by sheer force of will that his legs kept pumping. Potbelly
shouted at him but he couldn’t make out what it was. The world
started tipping sideways.

Five feet from the poles he lost his
balance and hit the ground. Something flew over his head as he
tried to get to his feet.

“Crawl, damn you!”

He was aware of the poles on either
side. Ahead was Potbelly waving him forward, the sphere in his
hand.

One arm reached out, then a leg pushed
him a few inches forward; bit by bit he crept toward Potbelly. He
had forgotten why he was crawling, or why Potbelly was so insistent
that he do so.

“Almost,” Potbelly said.

Scar collapsed between the far set of
poles, unable to will his body to move. He felt a hand grab his
shirt and pull him violently forward. Then the world went
blank.

Eddra woke the morning of the second
day at the old farmhouse. Though her good eye opened and she took
water and a heavy broth, she failed to respond to any of Azhan’s
questions or comments. Whether she even understood him was in
doubt. He would ask questions and she would lay there unresponsive.
The only time she moved was when presented with food. Then her
mouth opened, she drank and continued staring at
nothing.

“Is she addled?” asked
Jiron.

Father Vickor shook his head. “I do
not think so.”

“My great aunt went crazy at about her
age,” Shorty said. “Couldn’t remember who she was or any of the
family. One day she wandered away and we found her body several
days later.”

Jira’s eyes widened. “What killed
her?”

“We never found out.”

She turned to Jiron. “Is that what
happened to her, Father?”

“Shhh, let Father Vickor figure it
out.”

Nodding solemnly, she turned to the
priest.

“I sense nothing wrong with her,
Jira,” Father Vickor assured her. “It is possible that the blow to
her head could have done some damage to which I am unaware.” He
looked to their patient and she was already asleep.