Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (7 page)

“Neither did anyone else.”

Miko gazed off into the air as he
internally reflected upon the news. When his eyes once again grew
focused, he shook his head. “I cannot say as I am sorrowed to hear
T’Lea lost one of his faithful. The world will be a better
place.”

Of the two gods, Dmon-Li and T’Lea,
T’Lea’s priests were by far the more evil. Where followers of
Dmon-Li tended to use evil measures as a means to an end, T’Lea’s
performed wanton acts of terror and malice out of pure
enjoyment.

“Indeed.”

“Any idea who it was that killed
him?”

Father Tullin shook his head. “Not
yet.”

“Keep it discreet.”

“As always.”

When by the morning of the next day,
Tinok had still not surfaced, Jiron prevailed upon James to find
him through means magical. Miko offered the use of his mirrored
table which he readily accepted.

While maintaining a visualization of
Tinok in his mind, James sent forth magic to find him. Seconds
passed and the magic flowed outward in an ever widening radius
until he felt the searching energy suddenly meld into a tight
beam.

“I’ve got him.”

Jiron gazed at the table as the
surface turned black. “Where is he?”

James looked up from the table.
“Somewhere dark. Let me see if I can determine where this place
is.” Returning his attention to the dark image, he pulled the image
back until the darkness was replaced with a poorly maintained
shingled roof. Widening the scope still further, they made out a
street and several of the adjacent buildings, one of which was
boarded up and abandoned. The corral out back seemed to indicate it
had been a stable.

“Do you know this place?” Miko
asked.

Jiron nodded. “It’s on the other side
of town.”

James glanced up from the image once
again. “Any idea why he’d be there?”

“There’s nothing but abandoned
buildings. It used to be part of the old Merchant’s Quarter, but
after the war few of the owners returned. Vagrants, thieves and
others of ill repute call it home. Some of Scar and Potbelly’s
fighters live there as well.”

“Could be why he’s there.”

“Maybe.”

Their attention was drawn back to the
image when Tinok emerged from the building. Another man walked with
him, one that had the distinct look of being from the
Empire.

“Do you know him?” James
asked.

“Never seen him before,” Jiron
replied.

They watched as Tinok and the man
walked down the street. Upon reaching the next intersecting
cross-street, Tinok and the other fellow paused. Tinok passed a
small pouch to the other man, then they both went in opposite
directions.

“What is he up to?”

James cast a questioning glance to
Jiron who shrugged, then pointed to the man. “See where he
goes.”

“Shouldn’t we keep our eye on
Tinok?”

Jiron shook his head. “I know he’s
alright. It’s this other man that has me worried.”

“As you wish.”

The man continued down the street,
eventually making his way to the gate leading from the city. From
there, he went straightaway to the caravansary located at the
outskirts. One of the caravans encamped therein hailed from the
Empire. It was to that group of wagons that the man headed.
Entering the encampment, he strode toward a tent larger than the
rest having two guards stationed before the flap. Without
hesitation, he passed between the guards and disappeared
within.

“Curious.”

Jiron turned a questioning look at
James. “Curious, how?”

“If our assumption that Tinok killed
those four people hailing from the Empire is correct, then it just
seems odd that he would have any sort of contact with
another.”

“I see your point.”

James allowed the magic to fade and
the image atop the table to vanish. “In any event, we at least know
Tinok is okay.”

Jiron nodded, then turned to Miko.
“You haven’t heard word of Tinok have you?”

“No,” Miko replied. Earlier, he had
related the information Father Tullin had delivered to James and
Jiron. While the news had raised eyebrows, neither thought that it
pertained to their current situation.

“Maybe we could track him
down?”

Glancing to his friend, James shook
his head. “That would risk revealing the fact I’m alive and in the
City. We dare not chance it.”

Jiron frowned, but acceded to the
necessity.

Adjourning back to their room, they
found Kip and Jira hunched over the Bones and Daggers board. James
gave them a cursory glance and saw that Jira had a greater
concentration of pieces left in the game. Either Kip was allowing
her to win, or her skill was improving.

The rest of the day and part of the
next were spent in anxious boredom. Impatient, Jiron continuously
paced. His recovery was proceeding with greater speed than Miko had
first thought. James was anxious to get going. This period of
inactivity was wearing upon them.

Late in the afternoon, the door opened
and Miko entered the room. “Tinok is slated for a fight in the Pits
tonight.”

Jiron took a step toward him.
“Tonight? Are you sure?”

Miko nodded. “Scar spoke with him this
morning.”

James glanced to his friend and could
see the wheels turning. “Not a good idea.”

“This could be my last chance to see
him before we leave. It’s obvious he doesn’t plan on returning
here.”

“It’s too risky. Should those who
attacked my island get wind we are around, it could put our
families in jeopardy.”

“Maybe not.”

Two heads turned toward Miko. “Those
frequenting the Pits are often in disguise. I believe masks of an
animal nature are currently in style. If you were to wear a hooded
cloak, bulky attire, and a mask, there is no reason anyone should
recognize you.”

James’ attention returned to Jiron.
After several moments of quiet contemplation, Jiron asked, “Are you
coming with me?”

“You mean to do this?”

“I have to speak with him. If he’s in
trouble, maybe we can help.”

“Very well. I’ll come.” To Miko he
asked, “Can you put together the disguises without tipping our
hand?”

“Not a problem. I’ll have Father
Tullin acquire something appropriate, and the three of you can
arrive together. If you are in his company, few will give you a
second look. He often brings others along.”

From Jiron’s elbow, a small voice
asked, “Can I come?”

He looked down into the eyes of his
daughter. “You know the Pits are no place for little
girls.”

“I’m not little anymore.” She placed
her fists on her hips and met her father’s gaze with every ounce of
fortitude five years of life could deliver.

“Maybe not, but you’re staying here
with Kip.”

“Rat poop! I never get to have any
fun.”

James laid a hand on her shoulder. “I
think you’ve had plenty of fun and excitement the last couple
weeks. Don’t you?”

That settled it. When adults ganged up
on you, there was only one recourse a small girl could employ. As
tears welled in her eyes, Jira gave her father a look of
unendurable sadness and heartbreak. He wasn’t moved.

“You may as well turn that off right
now. You’re not going.”

As quickly as they started, the tears
vanished. Turning about on her heel, she stomped off toward where
Kip remained with the Bones and Daggers board.

James flashed his friend a grin. “What
are you going to do when she starts maturing?”

Jiron sighed. “Go off on another wild
adventure with you for three years.”

Laughing, James slapped his friend on
the back.

Three men walked the streets of the
City of Light. One was well known, a priest of the new religion and
very congenial. He always had a smile and friendly word to those he
passed. The other two wore masks, one being the grim visage of a
dog, the other, a wild boar.

It felt good to be free of the temple
and out in the open again. The stench associated with cities in
this stage of technological development proved to be nearly
overpowering. James had grown reaccustomed to the cleanliness of
Earth, and it would take some time before he “acclimated” back to
the nauseatingly unsanitary air of city-life in this
world.

Jiron, on the other hand, welcomed it
like a long lost child who had found his way home. The City of
Light was where he had been born, made himself in the Pits, and
grown to a man. It would always hold a special place in his
heart.

Many of those they passed were men
known to the one-time Pit fighter; some friends of long standing,
others mere acquaintances and a few that could use a knife through
the heart for past fell deeds.

“Father Tullin!”

A hail from farther down the street
caused the priest to pause. The voice belonged to a young man in
his early twenties. He boasted a wild set of brown locks, was a bit
shorter than the average for those from Madoc, and carried a piglet
beneath his right arm.

“Ah, Chalrin. So nice to see you this
evening.”

As Chalrin approached, he slowed and
eyed the two masked individuals that stood with the priest. “On
your way to the Pits?” When Father Tullin nodded, the young man
said, “Heard there was a fight on tonight.”

“Aren’t there fights every night?”
James asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Turning to Father
Tullin, Chalrin said, “Aunt Munn said she couldn’t make
it.”

Nodding, Father Tullin slipped the lad
a coin. “You tell her to buy some broth.”

Slipping the coin into his pouch, the
young man bobbed his head. “Good evening to you,
Father.”

“Take care, Chalrin.”

James watched him dash away through
the throng upon the street. “One of your informants?”

The remark caught Father Tullin
completely off-guard. He turned a surprised look upon the dog’s
mask, which was the one James wore. “What makes you say
that?”

Lowering his voice, James said, “Just
something that a mutual friend of ours and myself spoke of one day
several years ago.”

Understanding dawned in the priest’s
eyes. “I see.”

Jiron was at a loss. “What do you
mean?”

“The lad made a statement in the
negative. I’m assuming it referred to information that our mutual
friend was interested in. The piglet beneath the arm determined
whether the statement was true or false. Under one arm, take what
he said at face value, under the other, the statement means the
opposite.”

“That’s clever.”

“Or some variant of that. If he had
carried a package I probably wouldn’t have thought of it. But a
piglet? Too unusual.”

“Not for around here, many taverns and
inns offer roast pig of one variety or another.” Father Tullin
gazed at those on the streets about them. “Perhaps we could
conclude this discussion at a later time?”

The dog mask nodded. “Right you
are.”

They arrived at the building wherein
the Pits could be found. Standing two stories tall, this new
building held bolder presence than the one destroyed during the
enemy’s occupation.

Where before the Master of the Pit had
tried to keep the place out of the public eye, Scar and Potbelly
strove to be more obvious. Shortly after assuming proprietorship,
the duo had managed to procure the warehouses on either side. Over
the course of two years, they had demolished everything and built
one mammoth building spanning nearly a city block.

The north and east side held public
entrances while the west boasted the Golden Arch, something they
had come up with for their more distinguished patrons. Through this
Arch, nobles and the wealthy could obtain easy access to the
arenas. There was another entrance, but only a few knew of its
existence and rarely was it used.

It was to the northern entrance that
Father Tullin brought them. Standing upon a pair of pedestals
before the entrance stood two warrior statues; one bore twin blades
while the other a knife and sword. James couldn’t help but grin
upon seeing the spitting images of Scar and Potbelly. The statue
with the twin blades, of course, was Scar while the other depicted
Potbelly who had always favored a knife and sword. If memory
served, the duo hadn’t taken over the Pits a month before these
statues appeared.

“Big crowd tonight,” commented
Jiron.

“It has been like this of late.”
Father Tullin paused as another recognized him and a brief exchange
of pleasantries ensued. Once concluded, he resumed heading for the
entrance.

“It was Scar’s idea I believe. He
believed there was a market in skill rather than blood. Five months
ago, he started the Exhibitions where combatants did not strive to
draw blood, but to impress the crowd with their skill. In fact, any
who draws blood loses the match by default.”